crestfallenfor | Aefenglom Inbox

Mmhm... Night.

[There's no reason to thank him, so he barely acknowledges it - he'd simply been acting how it felt right to. It's fine that she wants this - she's allowed to want things - and it's good that she's finally starting to act on her wants. He's not that much of an ass that he'd discourage that.

Though what comes next just might.

Whether it's the impulse to protect her, or the closeness, or some combination of the two, once they're both well and truly deep asleep, something... shifts. Any dream they might individually be having fades away to a too-familiar battlefield.

There's a heavy fog over the landscape, thick enough to cut visibility down to an abysmal level. It's beginning to rain. The sound of clashing weapons and screams of pain and death are all around. Boots and hooves churn up the ground into a sticky mud, ground soaking wet with rain and blood.

And there's Sylvain, armed and armored, astride his large warhorse, Lance of Ruin in one hand and a powerful spell building in his other.

He has to use the lance first - an enemy soldier gets a little too close, takes a swing at him. Well-trained, the horse prances back, out of dodge, and then lunges forward, putting it's strength behind Sylvain's already devastating thrust downward.

He has to push the man's body off his lance with his boot.

The building spell takes out an entire small battalion moments later, before they can get close enough to raise their blades against him.

And then there's Dimitri, running by, at his most feral, tearing through enemy troops with lance and by hand, crushing heads and tearing out throats. Gruesome, but efficient in his singular goal of reaching Edelgard as quickly as possible, little more than a bright red spot on the other side of the field, for now.

One, two, three arrows zip by. One, two, three enemy soldiers fall into the mud, never to get up again. A crackle of lightning and a scream from a heavily armored unit marks a Thoron spell finding its mark.

And a large ballista bolt punctures clean through the chest of a soldier wearing Faerghus blues.

Soon after, Edelgard's voice rings out clearly over the battlefield.

"Those fools who went up the hill will pay with their lives... in the crimson flames!"

And the wooden battlement on the hilltop bursts into flame a moment after she gives the order. The army of Faerghus had gotten too close, and she intended to keep control of the ballista at the top... by any means necessary.

Any means necessary - as evidenced by a surely-familiar voice following immediately after the sudden influx of heat and light. That's Bernadetta's scream. That's her manning the ballista, her skill and sharp aim that made approaching to take it a necessity.

If the Adrestian forces couldn't keep it, then neither the Kingdom, nor the Alliance could have it, either.

"Ingrid!"

Sylvain's voice cuts through the din of the battle, shouting into the sky, because someone - anyone - needs to put Bernadetta out of her agony. They needed to stop the ballista anyway. Unfortunately, this is enough to make it safe enough for a pegasus to glide in and out without being shot down. Quick. Easy. Comparatively painless.

"I'll end this quickly!"

And, true to form - she does. One strike and it's over, and not a singe on the pegasus's hair or feathers.

"Wish I could've at least died at home... not in this big, stupid field..."

And with Bernadetta's death, the dream - the memory - is fading away, but not before Dimitri reaches Edelgard, not before their exchange can echo across the space, and draw the attention of most people present. Their King. Their Emperor.

"Stab your chest, break your neck, smash your head... I will allow you to choose your own death."

"I'm not interested in methods of dying. All that matters is when death takes place, not how. And I have no intention of dying today."

"I'm sure all of the people you've slaughtered so far thought the same!"

And Sylvain wakes with a start. He's dreamed of Gronder before - it was an especially gruesome battle, and if he hadn't, he would have begun to doubt his humanity, but this time... it's different. This time, he'd had Bernadetta curled against his side through the night...

He doesn't know if she saw his dream or not. Such is the way of these Bonds. He hopes she hadn't, hopes she at least got a restful night, as the light of dawn begins to filter through the curtains. Whether she did or not, though, she'll certainly wake to him holding her perhaps a bit tighter than he ought to.]

Edited 2020-05-02 17:18 (UTC)

[The dream is...horrifying. From the start it's a reminder of all the parts of the war she's hated. Namely, well, everything. She hates every part of what she sees, looking around in a panic as the scene unfolds around her. Even Dimitri is terrifying and she knows she's never seen him like this.

But then...

Those are her own screams. Spinning around, she sees what Edelgard's own orders have done to her and tears fill her eyes because of the cold truth that...she doesn't believe for a second that Edelgard wouldn't do something like this. She's always hoped she wouldn't with her own companions but...

Tears pouring down her face, she watches and feels Sylvain feel for her. Then ask for mercy for her. Ingrid delivers the final blow and she finds herself grateful for that through the horror even as she hears her last words. The rest is a blur but she vaguely remembers it as she wakes with a start, more tears on her face.

Grabbing at whatever she can of Sylvain, she buries her face against his chest, a quivering mess in his arms.

She definitely saw it.]

[She definitely saw it. There's no refuting that, as the haze of sleep is quickly replaced by her pain and horror and sorrow, as he feels her tears on his chest, as she clings tightly...

As he holds her just as tightly as she's holding him.

But at the same time - he'd lived the memory. He's seen it many times. It hits... differently, now, since they're Bonded, but he's used to it all the same, so he tries to project something... better, to her. Support. Protectiveness. As much calm as he can muster.]

Bernie... I'm sorry. It's okay... I've got you.

[Having the bond helps. It really does. She can feel that calm wash over her, all the support and protectiveness. It makes her feel so warm and safe that she finds herself calming faster. Taking in a deep breath, she sniffs soon after.

Slowly her eyes open to look at his chest, not ready to lift her head up yet. Her voice is almost inaudible when she speaks.]

W-was...that real?

[He doesn't speak until she does, and even then he doesn't let go of her, keeps holding her close and tight and secure. They're in a bed. They're warm and safe, not on a rainy battlefield. She's alive.

Here. She's alive here.

It's still not something he likes thinking about, knowing he has to go home to finish the war, but also knowing she's long dead, after they've grown so close.

It's some small consolation that they didn't have a chance to grow close at home, so even if she was alive, it wouldn't be the same.]

Yeah... That was the battle at Gronder in my timeline.

I don't want it to be real.

[But that's purely selfish. Even she can acknowledge that. Honestly though she doesn't want it to be real because it was nicer believing that maybe, just maybe, Edelgard wouldn't hurt her own allies for her goals. But the fact is that she's always known she's probably capable of it.

And now she has proof. Sure it's another timeline but it's... It's Edelgard.]

I never wanted to fight.

I don't either.

[It's selfish, sure, but... it's true. He doesn't want her to be dead. He doesn't want her to have to live with being disillusioned with her allies.

He doesn't want the war to have had to happen in the first place.

But... none of that is the case, and none of that can change, now.]

I... don't think many of us wanted to fight.

[He's pretty sure the only ones who wanted to were Edelgard and Hubert.]

[It seems weird to thank him for putting her out of her misery. Well, getting Ingrid to. Rubbing at her eyes, she tucks her head under his chin. There's no way she's leaving this bed tonight. That's for sure.]

Why was Dimitri so...scary?

[Maybe she'll...ask that instead.]

[Even if she did... he wouldn't really know how to respond. He's confident someone would have put her out of her misery sooner, rather than later - she was once their classmate, their friend, and none of them were so heartless as to want her to suffer...

And they needed to eliminate the threat of her sharp aim on the ballista. Even with the hill fortress burning down around her, they couldn't know if she'd manage to fire off another bolt or two. So it was just... war.

Her question, though... a change of subject, though just as uncomfortable to think about.]

Either during the assault on the monastery or very shortly afterwards... he was arrested by Imperial forces, framed for murder, and set to be put to death. Dedue helped him to escape, and nearly died himself for it. We thought they were dead until we returned to the monastery after five years.

[They thought Dedue was dead for even longer than that - though that feels like a superfluous detail at the moment.]

I'm...I'm so sorry. For everything the Imperials have done. I'm so sorry.

[It's not even her fault. She shouldn't have to apologize, even she recognizes that. But she does anyway because she doesn't know what else to do. It's been so easy to hide away from all the terrible things they've done. Yet now she's seeing them more up close and it hurts.

It feels like she picked the wrong side. Even with Edelgard possibly being right. Because being right and then using the wrong methods...

She squeezes her eyes shut and just holds on tight to Sylvain.]

I'm sorry...

Bernadetta... it isn't your fault. Please don't be sorry.

[He knows how war is. He knows that, sometimes, the only thing determining alliances is where you're born. He suspects that's the case with Bernadetta to at least some extent. She was born and raised in the Empire, she was a part of the Black Eagles house, her friends were on that side.

Why would she switch once war broke out? She had no reason to.

Less reason to if all she heard was the propaganda fed to the people by the Emperor. Because Edelgard's ideals might have been appealing - even to him - but her methods...

Her methods could easily be made to look like a necessity, if one only saw one side.]

[Sometimes she wishes she had been a Lion. Even with all her friends having joined the Eagle house. So many getting hurt for no reason...]

I'm sorry because...they won't be.

[Edelgard won't be. She knows that for a fact. Taking a shaky breath, Bernadetta lets herself just settle in to breathe his scent. It's soothing right now. Strong and masculine and safe.]

Bernadetta... Please don't try to take on all their wrongs.

[Edelgard won't be sorry. Hubert won't be sorry. They've done enough that if Bernadetta tries to be sorry for them, he's afraid she'll be crushed under the weight of it.

The sentiment is... there. That's good enough. She doesn't have to do any more than that.]

I didn't really think about any of it before. I didn't want to. But now...

[It's a little crushing. Realizing the weight of everything that they did. She'd just wanted the war to be over and suddenly...

She squeezes her eyes shut.]

I... wouldn't blame you, if you kept not wanting to think about it, Bernadetta.

[It is... very heavy. Even for him, and he hadn't seen his own side do anything as grave as Bernadetta had just witnessed, and he's... not sure they'd be capable of it, even at Dimitri's worst.]

Is it okay if we don't think about it now? Try to? Maybe we could talk about...nice things?

[It's probably so stupid to ask that. He's going to think it's stupid. She shouldn't have asked.

But here she is gripping him tight hoping he won't think that at all.]

Of course it is.

[It's not stupid to ask that at all. There isn't even a flicker of him thinking it is - not with how tightly she's clinging to him, how clearly unsettled she is.

He knows he's a hypocrite most of the time, but he's not heartless, and if he can indulge in escapism and ignoring his problems, then well... so can she. Especially right now.]

How have your sewing projects been going, lately? I haven't seen much other than how your clothes keep fitting you really well, even though you're getting smaller.

I...haven't been sewing as much. Maybe I'm not as good as it as I thought. Lady Edelgard wanted to take me to a tailor.

[Sylvain can hear the hurt in her voice as much as he can feel it. Her feelings were truly hurt by the words from the other woman. She's not even trying to invoke further negative feelings between the pair. Largely she just feels that Sylvain deserves honesty. Because they're bonded.

And friends.

Maybe the second one more than the first as a reason really.]

What?

[He can feel the hurt more than he can hear it, even, and it tells him that Edelgard's comment - whether she meant it to or not, though he's not feeling especially charitable towards her - cut her far deeper than she wants to let on.

So she'll feel a flare of anger in return before he pushes it down and away, squeezing her a little tighter for a moment.]

That's nonsense. You're one of the best I know.

[High praise - not only is he from a noble family, so there has to be a certain standard kept with their clothing, but... well, he knows a lot of women. A lot of common women, many of whom are probably seamstresses, not that he cared to learn all that much about them.]

[The flare of anger followed by him holding her tighter feels...protective. Like he's defending her honor? Slowly she lifts her head to look up at him. Of course she's mainly just seeing chin but even that much is still him being mad because...

Because someone hurt her. The bond tells her that, clears away any confusion.

She honestly doesn't cry much. Not these days. Usually she's too scared to cry for fear of what the consequences would be. But she's feeling so safe and protected. And...and...

And valued.

Before she can stop herself, she's moved her arms up so she can wrap them around his neck to give him a hug as tears spill down her face. She doesn't know yet if she believes in herself enough for her to feel those words are true. But she wants to believe him. More than that she's so grateful to him for believing in her like this.]

[He's not sure what to expect next - he's not even really thinking about what she'll do next, mind already working a mile a minute to try and think of some way to make her feel better about her talents, to wipe away the hurt that was done to her, because...

Well, it's the least he can do - both as a bondmate and as a friend.

But before he settles on anything, her arms are around his neck and she's holding him tight and crying and his thoughts come to a halt.

It doesn't... feel like sad tears, at least, but it still has him a little lost for what to do.

He turns to his side, first, bringing her with him, so he can wrap both arms around her waist and curl a little more protectively around her.]

Hey... Bernie, it's alright...

[He doesn't know it but he's doing exactly the right thing. He's being there for her and he's protecting her. She keeps crying of course but he's still doing everything right. Because as he's sensed, he's not sad.

She's...happy.

Bernie ends up hiccuping a little after a couple minutes when she starts to calm down some, bringing a hand to rub at her eyes. She must look just awful. She's not great to look at on the best of days but now she's got tears all over her face and she's probably mussed up her hair.]

S-sorry. I ju-just was...so...so happy.

[It takes some effort but she hiccups it out finally.]

[He's not sure what else he can do - he doesn't want to just leave her, like he might with almost anyone else, but he can't just tell her to stop crying, because he doesn't want her to feel like it's bad that she is. So he just... stays.

And holds her, until she calms down somewhat, enough to talk at least, and so then he brings a hand between them to brush away any tears that might be left after she rubs at her eyes.]

Hey, it's alright. I don't mind.

[He's just. Concerned. Not annoyed.]

I must...must look stupid. I'm sorry. I don't...cry pretty. Like in stories.

[Which is largely her main frame of reference for crying outside of her own. Such is her life really.

His hand is so warm as it dries her face though. She's never had someone to dry her eyes. Because even when her uncle was alive, she remembers trying her best not to cry in front of him. To avoid worrying him.

She sniffs a little.]

Heh, I don't think many people cry pretty, Bernadetta.

[He's not sure if he does. Some people have told him he does, and others the opposite... it doesn't really matter in the end - he doesn't cry that much anymore, either.

What does matter right now is that she's starting to feel a little better, and... well, that neither of them are going to be getting back to sleep for the rest of the night.]

Hey, do you want to go to the fabric district this morning? We can go out for breakfast, and then you can get all you want for whatever projects you have in mind. My treat.

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