![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Dedue Week - Day 1 - Family/Memory
"You know, in Sreng, apparently they say that a person never really dies or disappears from the earth until their name ceases to be spoken," Sylvain says conversationally one day, when the two of them are in the kitchens.
It's become a regular part of their schedules, although Dedue wonders if Sylvain really understands what a bad idea it is to associate with him - at least if he wants to keep his reputation intact. Yet Sylvain doesn't seem to mind, laughing off his reputation as ruined already. This is not entirely true, Dedue thinks. He watches his surroundings far too carefully to miss how people still whisper to themselves about the eligibility of such a bachelor, of how one would never be left wanting so long as they could produce a child, perhaps many, while Gautier stands strong against Sreng. So even though they say things about Sylvain's skirt chasing, even though they scoff about his relaxed nature, they still watch him carefully.
Dedue always knew from the first day he stepped foot into Fhirdad that the life of Faerghan nobility is overbearing and overly complex, yet it never ceases to be tiresome whenever he is reminded of it.
"Does this have to do with the lecture from Catherine?" Dedue asks patiently, whisking together the ingredients for the glaze they're making - mustard, soy, brown sugar, olive oil. A simple marinade, brought together with ingredients that are courtesy of the Leicester Alliance's impressive trade routes.
Besides him, Sylvain does very much the same, and hums quietly. "Well, she did talk about Sreng fighters, so I guess it's been on my mind," he says.
"I take it this is something you looked into yourself."
There are layers to Sylvain's laughter, and it's at the most shallow one here. "You know my old man would throw a fit if I didn't know about the only reason our family exists as it is," he says. "Isn't that just expected of me? It's not like I did anything special."
"You are expected to know how Sreng fights," Dedue points out bluntly, and leaves the words hanging there. There's no need to say much more besides that, he feels. Not with Sylvain.
Not everyone calls him out like this, and it shows in the redhead's awkward shrug. "I just thought it was interesting," he says, voice overly casual. "Especially compared to how the Church views things - everyone goes to the Goddess and that's that. I wonder what else Sreng thinks so differently." With their marinade firmly mixed, Sylvain trots along after him over to where they sliced the salmon in half. "Would I be too nosy if I asked how it was in Duscur?"
Most people, Dedue wouldn't tell. With most people, after all, there's always the question of why they would want to know, how that would change their already negative perception of him.
Yet Sylvain, whether he knows it or not, has earned some bit of that trust. After all, he's here with him despite the rumors that are rising, perfectly content as they pour half of their respective bowls of marinade over salmon. Perhaps, like with Mercedes, it might be fine. Didn't she say something similar as well not that long ago...?
"Those who pass away become a part of a cycle," he says, setting his bowl to the side in a cool place and covered with a cloth so that nothing gets into it. The fish, left to marinate, is treated very much the same. "They are always with us."
With the bowls put away for a short while, Sylvain dutifully begins to pull out the cutting boards for the vegetables they will have to prepare - the deal he managed to make with the kitchen staff so that they could have this space for their own purposes. "Always with us anyway, huh?" he muses, lining up rows of carrots. While the actual process of baking can be tricky, Sylvain is quite skilled when it comes to the preparation step of cooking, Dedue has noticed. "I suppose that offers its own kind of comfort, doesn't it?"
And he's not wrong. When Dedue tends to the flowers in the greenhouse, he tries to tell himself that his family's souls are growing there as well. He considers that for the birds in the sky, carrying memories along the wind. It hurts a little less, to think that they are still thriving in another aspect of the world.
But it can only hurt less.
"It has to stop hurting at some point, I imagine," Ashe says, when he comes in to check on how the two of them are doing and he hears about the conversation they were having. Sylvain can barely participate in the talk, focused on making sure he doesn't burn the fish in its pan. "I wonder if that's why there are so many different ideas of what's beyond this life... Even if we don't know for sure, we want to know that those we care about can at least be happy..." His words trail off, the bright light of his eyes growing dim, and Ashe can't look at them for a moment. He doesn't say why, not exactly, but Dedue knows. It can only hurt less.
Sylvain hisses a bit from a bit of oil that crackles up from the stove, landing on skin, but he doesn't lose focus from what he's doing. He just flips the salmon over, letting it brown on the other side. "Well, we can't ever know a mystery like that," he says, nose scrunched up as he watches his fish cook. It's some commendable concentration, which Dedue quietly applauds from inside his own head. He can't applaud for real, since he's busy with his own cooking, nor would he. "There's only one thing to do, right?"
Leaning over the counter as best he can, Ashe watches Sylvain's efforts. "What is it?"
There's no answer, not immediately. Sylvain takes the cooking lessons Dedue gives him seriously, as it turns out, and he only speaks once he's lowered the heat of the flames and covered the pan. "There's nothing to do besides keep living, right? And make the people that are still around us happy as well." It's a sweet sentiment... that is completely lost when Sylvain raises a finger to his cheek and winks cheekily. "And I plan to do that by learning how to cook so good that not only will any woman fall for me, but it will make my beloved Professor Molinaro smile in bliss~."
A huff of laughter slips past his lips before Dedue can stop it. "I am no Professor."
"Head Chef!" Ashe supplies, perking up again with a smile.
"Master," Sylvain offers, waggling his eyebrows before he turns from the stove so that he can kneel down on the floor like some sort of knight dedicating himself to a lord. "Teach me all you know, Master Molinaro."
As he scrambles around the counter into the kitchen space, Ashe's smile is glowing bright again. "Please, teach me as well, Master Molinaro!" he says, kneeling down a bit more properly besides Sylvain, laughter in his voice.
"What!?" Sylvain looks aghast in the most melodramatic way, a hand on his chest as he looks at Ashe. "That's cheating, Ashe, you're already a great cook!" Before he can tease Ashe any further, however, he perks up almost like a hound and stares at Dedue. "Did you just laugh?"
"No," Dedue says, having absolutely zero conniptions about lying. "You will want to look into your fish to see if it is coming along well."
It is, of course, because Sylvain does in fact listen to him, and it's at the perfect temperature and texture by the time he pours the remainder of his marinade onto it. While Dedue sets aside half a portion for Dimitri, and gives the other half to Ashe, Sylvain slides the plate over with a grin. "It's not an apple, but hopefully this will encourage Teacher Molinaro to give me good marks," he says.
Ashe smiles around the fork in his mouth. "Wouldn't that work better if you weren't being graded on it?" he says, with just a bit of daring and tease.
"Shoot - I take it back, Dedue!"
The fish is fine. Ashe and Sylvain's company is better than that, which he can't help but worry about. Against his better judgment, he likes Ashe and Sylvain - Ashe with his attempts to constantly do better than the world has done to him, Sylvain who tries to laugh off his own abuse so that others will laugh with him. And they make him think, as he settles back down into his room when night has fallen over Garreg Mach.
He doesn't like to waste paper, or ink - doesn't like to leave behind traces of his thoughts that can be stolen away by other people. But he can trace the language of Duscur against the fine wood of his desk, trace out all the names he knows.
His mother. His father. An uncle whose leg got injured during a bad hunt, so many cousins who he used to be annoyed by when they all crowded into his family's home, a baker from down the street...
Lambert Blaiddyd, for Dimitri's sake.
Does such a thing help those who've passed? By the flickering light of candle, Dedue can't help but wonder. Yet it's as Sylvain had said: such a thing could be nothing less than a mystery. All he can do is continue living, for himself, and for the people he wants to see thrive again. Whether they're family or not, he can draw forth the flowers in Duscur once again...
And maybe, at his side, there will be others who will be smiling right alongside him. He thinks of that, as he sinks down into his bed, into sleep.
Into the future he plans to live for.
It's become a regular part of their schedules, although Dedue wonders if Sylvain really understands what a bad idea it is to associate with him - at least if he wants to keep his reputation intact. Yet Sylvain doesn't seem to mind, laughing off his reputation as ruined already. This is not entirely true, Dedue thinks. He watches his surroundings far too carefully to miss how people still whisper to themselves about the eligibility of such a bachelor, of how one would never be left wanting so long as they could produce a child, perhaps many, while Gautier stands strong against Sreng. So even though they say things about Sylvain's skirt chasing, even though they scoff about his relaxed nature, they still watch him carefully.
Dedue always knew from the first day he stepped foot into Fhirdad that the life of Faerghan nobility is overbearing and overly complex, yet it never ceases to be tiresome whenever he is reminded of it.
"Does this have to do with the lecture from Catherine?" Dedue asks patiently, whisking together the ingredients for the glaze they're making - mustard, soy, brown sugar, olive oil. A simple marinade, brought together with ingredients that are courtesy of the Leicester Alliance's impressive trade routes.
Besides him, Sylvain does very much the same, and hums quietly. "Well, she did talk about Sreng fighters, so I guess it's been on my mind," he says.
"I take it this is something you looked into yourself."
There are layers to Sylvain's laughter, and it's at the most shallow one here. "You know my old man would throw a fit if I didn't know about the only reason our family exists as it is," he says. "Isn't that just expected of me? It's not like I did anything special."
"You are expected to know how Sreng fights," Dedue points out bluntly, and leaves the words hanging there. There's no need to say much more besides that, he feels. Not with Sylvain.
Not everyone calls him out like this, and it shows in the redhead's awkward shrug. "I just thought it was interesting," he says, voice overly casual. "Especially compared to how the Church views things - everyone goes to the Goddess and that's that. I wonder what else Sreng thinks so differently." With their marinade firmly mixed, Sylvain trots along after him over to where they sliced the salmon in half. "Would I be too nosy if I asked how it was in Duscur?"
Most people, Dedue wouldn't tell. With most people, after all, there's always the question of why they would want to know, how that would change their already negative perception of him.
Yet Sylvain, whether he knows it or not, has earned some bit of that trust. After all, he's here with him despite the rumors that are rising, perfectly content as they pour half of their respective bowls of marinade over salmon. Perhaps, like with Mercedes, it might be fine. Didn't she say something similar as well not that long ago...?
"Those who pass away become a part of a cycle," he says, setting his bowl to the side in a cool place and covered with a cloth so that nothing gets into it. The fish, left to marinate, is treated very much the same. "They are always with us."
With the bowls put away for a short while, Sylvain dutifully begins to pull out the cutting boards for the vegetables they will have to prepare - the deal he managed to make with the kitchen staff so that they could have this space for their own purposes. "Always with us anyway, huh?" he muses, lining up rows of carrots. While the actual process of baking can be tricky, Sylvain is quite skilled when it comes to the preparation step of cooking, Dedue has noticed. "I suppose that offers its own kind of comfort, doesn't it?"
And he's not wrong. When Dedue tends to the flowers in the greenhouse, he tries to tell himself that his family's souls are growing there as well. He considers that for the birds in the sky, carrying memories along the wind. It hurts a little less, to think that they are still thriving in another aspect of the world.
But it can only hurt less.
"It has to stop hurting at some point, I imagine," Ashe says, when he comes in to check on how the two of them are doing and he hears about the conversation they were having. Sylvain can barely participate in the talk, focused on making sure he doesn't burn the fish in its pan. "I wonder if that's why there are so many different ideas of what's beyond this life... Even if we don't know for sure, we want to know that those we care about can at least be happy..." His words trail off, the bright light of his eyes growing dim, and Ashe can't look at them for a moment. He doesn't say why, not exactly, but Dedue knows. It can only hurt less.
Sylvain hisses a bit from a bit of oil that crackles up from the stove, landing on skin, but he doesn't lose focus from what he's doing. He just flips the salmon over, letting it brown on the other side. "Well, we can't ever know a mystery like that," he says, nose scrunched up as he watches his fish cook. It's some commendable concentration, which Dedue quietly applauds from inside his own head. He can't applaud for real, since he's busy with his own cooking, nor would he. "There's only one thing to do, right?"
Leaning over the counter as best he can, Ashe watches Sylvain's efforts. "What is it?"
There's no answer, not immediately. Sylvain takes the cooking lessons Dedue gives him seriously, as it turns out, and he only speaks once he's lowered the heat of the flames and covered the pan. "There's nothing to do besides keep living, right? And make the people that are still around us happy as well." It's a sweet sentiment... that is completely lost when Sylvain raises a finger to his cheek and winks cheekily. "And I plan to do that by learning how to cook so good that not only will any woman fall for me, but it will make my beloved Professor Molinaro smile in bliss~."
A huff of laughter slips past his lips before Dedue can stop it. "I am no Professor."
"Head Chef!" Ashe supplies, perking up again with a smile.
"Master," Sylvain offers, waggling his eyebrows before he turns from the stove so that he can kneel down on the floor like some sort of knight dedicating himself to a lord. "Teach me all you know, Master Molinaro."
As he scrambles around the counter into the kitchen space, Ashe's smile is glowing bright again. "Please, teach me as well, Master Molinaro!" he says, kneeling down a bit more properly besides Sylvain, laughter in his voice.
"What!?" Sylvain looks aghast in the most melodramatic way, a hand on his chest as he looks at Ashe. "That's cheating, Ashe, you're already a great cook!" Before he can tease Ashe any further, however, he perks up almost like a hound and stares at Dedue. "Did you just laugh?"
"No," Dedue says, having absolutely zero conniptions about lying. "You will want to look into your fish to see if it is coming along well."
It is, of course, because Sylvain does in fact listen to him, and it's at the perfect temperature and texture by the time he pours the remainder of his marinade onto it. While Dedue sets aside half a portion for Dimitri, and gives the other half to Ashe, Sylvain slides the plate over with a grin. "It's not an apple, but hopefully this will encourage Teacher Molinaro to give me good marks," he says.
Ashe smiles around the fork in his mouth. "Wouldn't that work better if you weren't being graded on it?" he says, with just a bit of daring and tease.
"Shoot - I take it back, Dedue!"
The fish is fine. Ashe and Sylvain's company is better than that, which he can't help but worry about. Against his better judgment, he likes Ashe and Sylvain - Ashe with his attempts to constantly do better than the world has done to him, Sylvain who tries to laugh off his own abuse so that others will laugh with him. And they make him think, as he settles back down into his room when night has fallen over Garreg Mach.
He doesn't like to waste paper, or ink - doesn't like to leave behind traces of his thoughts that can be stolen away by other people. But he can trace the language of Duscur against the fine wood of his desk, trace out all the names he knows.
His mother. His father. An uncle whose leg got injured during a bad hunt, so many cousins who he used to be annoyed by when they all crowded into his family's home, a baker from down the street...
Lambert Blaiddyd, for Dimitri's sake.
Does such a thing help those who've passed? By the flickering light of candle, Dedue can't help but wonder. Yet it's as Sylvain had said: such a thing could be nothing less than a mystery. All he can do is continue living, for himself, and for the people he wants to see thrive again. Whether they're family or not, he can draw forth the flowers in Duscur once again...
And maybe, at his side, there will be others who will be smiling right alongside him. He thinks of that, as he sinks down into his bed, into sleep.
Into the future he plans to live for.