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Blue Lions Week, June 8: Memories
When they're children, the King and Duke invite all the children to a cabin outside of Fhirdiad.
Technically, it is invited to all of their family members, but Ingrid's parents cannot dare afford to spend any time away from their territory, and Sylvain suspects his parents simply no longer care. They are discussing a lot of things lately, things he suspects have to do with his marriage availability, but Sylvain doesn't care about that. He just cares that they let him go at all, and that Ingrid has the excuse of being able to spend time with Glenn, while the Fraldarius family takes care of her stay from their own coinpurse.
The cabin is a surprisingly simple affair, despite being a place where royalty stays. Sure, it's large, and there are many rooms, but thy only bring two servants along, and that's apparently for the four of them instead of the King and Felix's dad. They're told about some traps they'll check in the days ahead, the things they'll be taught, food they'll eat... Things like that. "We'll teach you how to take care of yourself should you ever get caught up in a snowstorm," Rodrigue promises them - him - with a careful smile. "Now why don't you all go play in the snow outside while us adults set everything up here?"
...They can't know about what happened to him last year, Sylvain thinks as he walks outside with one hand wrapped around Felix's and Ingrid sprints ahead into the white expanse. He never said anything. His parents definitely never say anything - sometimes he wonders if they even pay attention to the bruises or scrapes that he shows up with.
And in the deep colds of Faerghus - instead of this autumn chill - it's hard to send messengers to the other territories. Hell, it can be hard to say anything to the next town, with how deep the snow falls. Winter in Faerghus is just hunkering down in your home and waiting it out,.
"WHOO!" Ingrid cries out, and Sylvain snaps out of it, watches as she tosses up a handful of snow into the air as it falls down onto her and His Highness. Dimitri is laughing too, spinning in place as white decorates his blue clothes, disappears into his pale hair. Felix is tugging at his hand, Sylvain realizes, and he lets him go to run ahead for all the fun. It doesn't matter what happened last year, Sylvain tells himself quietly. The adults definitely can't know... so the best thing for him to do is just enjoy things as they are right now.
For Sylvain, that means crouching down with his hands quickly getting to work. Poor Felix doesn't even see it coming. There's just suddenly a crash of white against his back, and he yelps, whirling around. "Sylvain!!!!"
He grins, already working on another snowball. "Everyone should have a snowball fight in the winter!"
Ingrid whirls around, pointing at him accusingly. "We'll get you back, villain!" she announces, still too overwhelmingly herself to the point that it spills out of her little body. The world hasn't quite squished her personality away, made her smaller than she should be. "Lushka, Mitya, help me make snowballs!"
As if Ingrid needs either of them to help her very much, and it's a good thing, too. Dimitri promptly crouches down, tries to make a snowball only for it to splatter in his hands, and Felix's throwing arm isn't the best. Ingrid's might also not be the best, but she makes up for that by charging him, ignoring his laughing protests, and just smashes a snowball right into his hair with one huge running leap.
When they all finally get back to the cabin, every single one of them is covered in snow. Him and Ingrid are grinning. Dimitri and Felix are trying to look like they definitely didn't cry, which doesn't work with how red their cheeks are.
Everyone just chuckles, with Ingrid and Felix latching onto Glenn so fast that he nearly falls over, even as he teases them for where the ribbon for one of Ingrid's braids has ended up braided in Felix's hair. Over to the side, King Lambert sweeps Dimitri up into his arms to murmur reassurances about his Crest.
One of the servants could probably tend to Sylvain, and he's half expecting it... Except it's Rodrigue who steps forward, kneeling down with a smile and a towel in his hands. "It's good to see the four of you had so much fun already," he chuckles, draping the towel over Sylvain's hair and giving it a hard ruffle.
Sylvain is glad for it. It gives him a moment to blink away the tears stinging in his eyes from just a smile and fond touch.
A pile of snow splatters against the foot of Sylvain's boot, and he blinks down at it even as a familiar voice mutters, "Shoot!"
Oh boy. He was going to nip down to town real quick, see if he could duck into any of the taverns and see if they were open, if some poor girls could use a body to warm them up (block out his mind of miserable winters in Gautier), but Sylvain thinks he can put that on hold for at least a couple of minutes. Endlessly amused, he looks over to where Dimitri is crouched in the courtyard, knuckle deep in snow. "Did I do something to offend you, Your Highness?" he asks cheekily. Honestly, what hasn't he done to offend anyone, lately? He's... fine with it.
Dimitri jerks so hard that it looks like he might fall ass-backwards into the snow. The chill has already nipped at his cheeks and nose, turning that pale skin a bit rosy, but it deepens at him being caught. "Oh, no, it's simply... I apologize. I must look ridiculous."
He does, but Sylvain actually prefers it this way. Ever since the Tragedy, well... The change has been clear to see in Dimitri, how much more reserved he gets, how much higher the standards he holds himself have gotten. It's like watching a man force his own head to stay underwater: worrying and uncomfortable at the best of times. So to see him digging through snow, flushed... Sylvain smiles. "Don't worry about it," he says. "But seriously, what are you doing?"
"Well, I was just..." He looks even more embarrassed, hands pausing where they're deep in the snow. Sylvain wonders how on earth he can be comfortable wearing metal gauntlets during this weather, but Dimitri never takes them off. "Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"When we were children you said... Oh, this sounds foolish, now." Dimitri shakes his head. "You said... Everyone should have a snowball fight in the winter."
Oh. Something pangs in Sylvain's heart, curls up tight. "Yeah," he says after a moment, somehow still having managed to keep a smile on his face. "I guess I did. Ha, but it doesn't look like you've gotten any better at snowballs, Your Highness. Let me show you how it's done!"
Fortunately for Dimitri, he's wearing the winter version of his house leader cloak, and he tugs that up over his head with a yelled out laugh as Sylvain lobs a snowball right over at him - perfectly made, if he may say so himself. Still, he tries not to bully his old friend too much. All Dimitri can do, after all, is crouch down with his cloak up over his head in an effort to make a half decent snowball.
Sylvain forgets that they're kind of in public, honestly. At least, he forgets until suddenly a familiar voice cries out, admonishing, "Sylvain!"
Whoops. Busted. Both of them jump a little bit, Dimitri straightening up so fast that it's a miracle he doesn't launch himself into the air. Smiling a little bit, Sylvain turns around to grin at where Ingrid is stomping through the snow at him with Felix trailing behind. Felix looks like he would rather be anywhere but here, staunchly refusing to look over in Dimitri's direction as he scowls at nothing. Sylvain would ask about that, but there are more important things to deal with now. "Hey, Ingrid, Felix," Sylvain says cheerily. "Back from cleaning the snow around the stables?"
"That's not important," Ingrid huffs, crossing her arms. "What on earth were you doing to His Highness?"
Before Sylvain can say something about just having a good time, it's fine, don't worry, he'll be on his way now - a snowball smacks into his shoulder, bits of snow splattering onto his face, and Sylvain jumps. "It was my idea, Ingrid," Dimitri reassures her, trying very hard to look regal as always and failing from the large boyish grin on his face. "I mean - it is winter, isn't it?"
Felix scoffs under his breath. "Foolish," he mutters, although he doesn't explain what about it is foolish.
Sylvian half expects Ingrid to say the same, but she just pauses there for a moment in her teal scarf and long uniform coat. Her and Dimitri are obvious sorts; he can see the way something seems to be trickling through her mind, pooling into some sort of idea. "You're right," she says after a second. "It is winter." And then, while Sylvain is still brushing snow off of his shoulder, she ducks down to scoop a handful of it up and tosses it right at his face without a shred of mercy.
He barely manages to get his hands up, laughing and beating a hasty retreat. "Hey! Why are you ganging up on me!"
The answers he expects are as revenge for any wrong he's done against her lately, or because he was 'bullying' Dimitri. What comes out of her smiling mouth is instead, "Because you're the oldest!"
Ingrid almost doesn't seem to have realized what she's said, and so she certainly can't know of the way that silly little childish reasoning makes Sylvain's heart twist. She's too preoccupied with gathering up more snow into her hands alongside Dimitri, grinning. Sylvain scrambles for his own ammunition too, even as he watches Felix from the corner of his eyes. Him, he expects to leave, to think they're all idiots, or that he doesn't want to be anywhere near Dimitri right now.
It looks like he might do it, too, wavering in the direction of the monastery... but then he huffs, storms over to Dimitri. "That's not how you do it, although I'm not surprised a boar can't figure out how to make a snowball," he says, snatching a very delicately made snowball out of Dimitri's hands. The snow grumbles in his rough grasp, but Felix fixes it soon enough, makes it round, solid.
And then he flings it at Sylvain, also right at his head.
Honestly, he doesn't mind it. All he does is laugh, blocking snowballs from his face and dodging what he can until he can grab another fistful of snow. For what feels like the first time in forever... It seems like they're all laughing, burdens of the world eased up from their shoulders, their brows.
Sylvain only hopes they can keep doing this sort of thing forever.
Technically, it is invited to all of their family members, but Ingrid's parents cannot dare afford to spend any time away from their territory, and Sylvain suspects his parents simply no longer care. They are discussing a lot of things lately, things he suspects have to do with his marriage availability, but Sylvain doesn't care about that. He just cares that they let him go at all, and that Ingrid has the excuse of being able to spend time with Glenn, while the Fraldarius family takes care of her stay from their own coinpurse.
The cabin is a surprisingly simple affair, despite being a place where royalty stays. Sure, it's large, and there are many rooms, but thy only bring two servants along, and that's apparently for the four of them instead of the King and Felix's dad. They're told about some traps they'll check in the days ahead, the things they'll be taught, food they'll eat... Things like that. "We'll teach you how to take care of yourself should you ever get caught up in a snowstorm," Rodrigue promises them - him - with a careful smile. "Now why don't you all go play in the snow outside while us adults set everything up here?"
...They can't know about what happened to him last year, Sylvain thinks as he walks outside with one hand wrapped around Felix's and Ingrid sprints ahead into the white expanse. He never said anything. His parents definitely never say anything - sometimes he wonders if they even pay attention to the bruises or scrapes that he shows up with.
And in the deep colds of Faerghus - instead of this autumn chill - it's hard to send messengers to the other territories. Hell, it can be hard to say anything to the next town, with how deep the snow falls. Winter in Faerghus is just hunkering down in your home and waiting it out,.
"WHOO!" Ingrid cries out, and Sylvain snaps out of it, watches as she tosses up a handful of snow into the air as it falls down onto her and His Highness. Dimitri is laughing too, spinning in place as white decorates his blue clothes, disappears into his pale hair. Felix is tugging at his hand, Sylvain realizes, and he lets him go to run ahead for all the fun. It doesn't matter what happened last year, Sylvain tells himself quietly. The adults definitely can't know... so the best thing for him to do is just enjoy things as they are right now.
For Sylvain, that means crouching down with his hands quickly getting to work. Poor Felix doesn't even see it coming. There's just suddenly a crash of white against his back, and he yelps, whirling around. "Sylvain!!!!"
He grins, already working on another snowball. "Everyone should have a snowball fight in the winter!"
Ingrid whirls around, pointing at him accusingly. "We'll get you back, villain!" she announces, still too overwhelmingly herself to the point that it spills out of her little body. The world hasn't quite squished her personality away, made her smaller than she should be. "Lushka, Mitya, help me make snowballs!"
As if Ingrid needs either of them to help her very much, and it's a good thing, too. Dimitri promptly crouches down, tries to make a snowball only for it to splatter in his hands, and Felix's throwing arm isn't the best. Ingrid's might also not be the best, but she makes up for that by charging him, ignoring his laughing protests, and just smashes a snowball right into his hair with one huge running leap.
When they all finally get back to the cabin, every single one of them is covered in snow. Him and Ingrid are grinning. Dimitri and Felix are trying to look like they definitely didn't cry, which doesn't work with how red their cheeks are.
Everyone just chuckles, with Ingrid and Felix latching onto Glenn so fast that he nearly falls over, even as he teases them for where the ribbon for one of Ingrid's braids has ended up braided in Felix's hair. Over to the side, King Lambert sweeps Dimitri up into his arms to murmur reassurances about his Crest.
One of the servants could probably tend to Sylvain, and he's half expecting it... Except it's Rodrigue who steps forward, kneeling down with a smile and a towel in his hands. "It's good to see the four of you had so much fun already," he chuckles, draping the towel over Sylvain's hair and giving it a hard ruffle.
Sylvain is glad for it. It gives him a moment to blink away the tears stinging in his eyes from just a smile and fond touch.
A pile of snow splatters against the foot of Sylvain's boot, and he blinks down at it even as a familiar voice mutters, "Shoot!"
Oh boy. He was going to nip down to town real quick, see if he could duck into any of the taverns and see if they were open, if some poor girls could use a body to warm them up (block out his mind of miserable winters in Gautier), but Sylvain thinks he can put that on hold for at least a couple of minutes. Endlessly amused, he looks over to where Dimitri is crouched in the courtyard, knuckle deep in snow. "Did I do something to offend you, Your Highness?" he asks cheekily. Honestly, what hasn't he done to offend anyone, lately? He's... fine with it.
Dimitri jerks so hard that it looks like he might fall ass-backwards into the snow. The chill has already nipped at his cheeks and nose, turning that pale skin a bit rosy, but it deepens at him being caught. "Oh, no, it's simply... I apologize. I must look ridiculous."
He does, but Sylvain actually prefers it this way. Ever since the Tragedy, well... The change has been clear to see in Dimitri, how much more reserved he gets, how much higher the standards he holds himself have gotten. It's like watching a man force his own head to stay underwater: worrying and uncomfortable at the best of times. So to see him digging through snow, flushed... Sylvain smiles. "Don't worry about it," he says. "But seriously, what are you doing?"
"Well, I was just..." He looks even more embarrassed, hands pausing where they're deep in the snow. Sylvain wonders how on earth he can be comfortable wearing metal gauntlets during this weather, but Dimitri never takes them off. "Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"When we were children you said... Oh, this sounds foolish, now." Dimitri shakes his head. "You said... Everyone should have a snowball fight in the winter."
Oh. Something pangs in Sylvain's heart, curls up tight. "Yeah," he says after a moment, somehow still having managed to keep a smile on his face. "I guess I did. Ha, but it doesn't look like you've gotten any better at snowballs, Your Highness. Let me show you how it's done!"
Fortunately for Dimitri, he's wearing the winter version of his house leader cloak, and he tugs that up over his head with a yelled out laugh as Sylvain lobs a snowball right over at him - perfectly made, if he may say so himself. Still, he tries not to bully his old friend too much. All Dimitri can do, after all, is crouch down with his cloak up over his head in an effort to make a half decent snowball.
Sylvain forgets that they're kind of in public, honestly. At least, he forgets until suddenly a familiar voice cries out, admonishing, "Sylvain!"
Whoops. Busted. Both of them jump a little bit, Dimitri straightening up so fast that it's a miracle he doesn't launch himself into the air. Smiling a little bit, Sylvain turns around to grin at where Ingrid is stomping through the snow at him with Felix trailing behind. Felix looks like he would rather be anywhere but here, staunchly refusing to look over in Dimitri's direction as he scowls at nothing. Sylvain would ask about that, but there are more important things to deal with now. "Hey, Ingrid, Felix," Sylvain says cheerily. "Back from cleaning the snow around the stables?"
"That's not important," Ingrid huffs, crossing her arms. "What on earth were you doing to His Highness?"
Before Sylvain can say something about just having a good time, it's fine, don't worry, he'll be on his way now - a snowball smacks into his shoulder, bits of snow splattering onto his face, and Sylvain jumps. "It was my idea, Ingrid," Dimitri reassures her, trying very hard to look regal as always and failing from the large boyish grin on his face. "I mean - it is winter, isn't it?"
Felix scoffs under his breath. "Foolish," he mutters, although he doesn't explain what about it is foolish.
Sylvian half expects Ingrid to say the same, but she just pauses there for a moment in her teal scarf and long uniform coat. Her and Dimitri are obvious sorts; he can see the way something seems to be trickling through her mind, pooling into some sort of idea. "You're right," she says after a second. "It is winter." And then, while Sylvain is still brushing snow off of his shoulder, she ducks down to scoop a handful of it up and tosses it right at his face without a shred of mercy.
He barely manages to get his hands up, laughing and beating a hasty retreat. "Hey! Why are you ganging up on me!"
The answers he expects are as revenge for any wrong he's done against her lately, or because he was 'bullying' Dimitri. What comes out of her smiling mouth is instead, "Because you're the oldest!"
Ingrid almost doesn't seem to have realized what she's said, and so she certainly can't know of the way that silly little childish reasoning makes Sylvain's heart twist. She's too preoccupied with gathering up more snow into her hands alongside Dimitri, grinning. Sylvain scrambles for his own ammunition too, even as he watches Felix from the corner of his eyes. Him, he expects to leave, to think they're all idiots, or that he doesn't want to be anywhere near Dimitri right now.
It looks like he might do it, too, wavering in the direction of the monastery... but then he huffs, storms over to Dimitri. "That's not how you do it, although I'm not surprised a boar can't figure out how to make a snowball," he says, snatching a very delicately made snowball out of Dimitri's hands. The snow grumbles in his rough grasp, but Felix fixes it soon enough, makes it round, solid.
And then he flings it at Sylvain, also right at his head.
Honestly, he doesn't mind it. All he does is laugh, blocking snowballs from his face and dodging what he can until he can grab another fistful of snow. For what feels like the first time in forever... It seems like they're all laughing, burdens of the world eased up from their shoulders, their brows.
Sylvain only hopes they can keep doing this sort of thing forever.