victory_road | I want to Beheeyemlieve

You are sitting in front of an enormous, roaring fireplace in a plush, comfortable armchair that seems too big for you. You are much smaller than you're used to - about 4'10", maybe. Despite the heat of the fire, you can feel that outside this bubble of warmth, the air is cold.

You are staring at a suit of light plate armor that looks like it was just dragged out of the fire after being dented and punctured many times, mounted on a stand. There are tears in your eyes and staining your cheeks. You feel lightheaded, like you've been crying without interruption for hours, or even days.

And an adult Felix is standing on the side of the fireplace opposite the suit of armor. He's staring at it, too, looking like it's the last thing in the world he wants to see.

The stinging eyes and headache are all too familiar to Grant - though this is a little more severe than he's used to. He hurries to scrub at his face, even knowing it probably won't do much; any tears he wipes away now may well be replaced with more.

"F-Felix?" He looks from him to the suit of armor, letting his hands drop back into the chair. "What... what's going on?"

Indeed, scrubbing at your face only spreads the tears around, as new ones well up in your eyes immediately.

Felix's reaction to you is delayed by a few seconds, but he turns slowly to you. "...Grant." There's a certain tightness to his voice. "You're me. When I was thirteen. Why the fuck you ended up here, I don't know, but..."

His gaze strays back to the armor on its stand. "That was my brother's. If I'm right about where we are, then it was just delivered here not long ago. With a letter. ...the body was unrecognizable. So they didn't bother returning it."

That... about tracks. Grant gives up pretty rapidly on that particular endeavor, instead choosing to just focus on Felix, blinking away what tears he can.He looks to the armor again, this time processing more - taking in the punctures, the fire damage, and horror turns his stomach. "...Jesus."

He doesn't say any more than that. There's not much of substance to say, and he already knows how tired Felix is of platitudes.

So he leaves it at that.

Footsteps approach from the hall, and Felix's eyes slide over to the doorway. Here it comes.

"That's my father. Coming to 'console' me." He sneers.

Sure enough, the man who appears in the doorway is Rodrigue Fraldarius, who looks like he hasn't slept in days. Nonetheless, he finds a tired smile for you and comes over to place a hand lightly on top of your head. "Felix. You should be asleep."

"Hypocrite," the adult Felix mutters.

Grant finds himself tensing, just slightly, as Felix's father approaches. It's been an incredibly long time since he's been in this position: Small and teary-eyed, with an adult reaching toward him. He'd already been nearing six feet at this age, and most people shied away from touching him, even as they found other ways to make sure he knew who held the power between them.

Of course, this goes very differently than he's come to expect; sure, even before he shot up like a tree most people were reluctant to hit him outright, knowing how strong he already was. But there's still a world of difference between a calculatedly too-strong grip, or a nudge that's more of a shove forward, and... this. An actual attempt at comfort, albeit a flimsy one.

He opens his mouth, searching for something to say; his own first instinct, of course, in this position, this role, is to agree and go. Maybe think of a really good excuse not to, at most.

But he hears Felix's comment. Right. This is Felix's father - who, for all that he's heard wildly conflicting reports on the guy, has never sounded from any source to be particularly strict. Plus, Felix is... the way he is, so... if he assumes Felix was anywhere near the same way as a child as he is now...

So, after a moment of silent struggling, he manages: "Shouldn't you?"

Rodrigue chuckles softly, even as his eyes tighten a little. He pulls another nearby chair closer to sit just beside you. "Perhaps I should. But there's so much left to do for...for the funeral." The look on his face says that he probably wouldn't be able to sleep anyway even if he tried.

"That's because you made a spectacle of it," the adult Felix hisses at Rodrigue, who of course can't hear or see him.

"Felix..." Rodrigue reaches over to place his hand atop yours on the arm of the chair. "There will be quite a bit for you to do, as well, in the coming days. I know you can be strong, but even the strongest of us needs his rest." His eyes stray from yours, into the fire. Adult Felix has no commentary on this.

Once again, Grant finds himself hesitating, searching for... any words to respond with, not even just ones Felix would use. Shit, this is hard. How does he talk to... a dad.

"Um... maybe the funeral could be a little simpler...?"

"What do you mean?" Rodrigue looks surprised; it's unclear whether he's replying directly to what you're saying or to whatever it was Felix originally said, but either way the memory seems to decide it's close enough. "This funeral is not just for us, but for all who looked up to Glenn, who loved and respected him. He died like a true knight. We owe everyone the chance to pay tribute to his devotion to duty, his undying loyalty to his liege and his young prince. His heroic sacrifice."

Rodrigue's gaze falls upon the charred, ruined armor on its stand and smiles, sadly but with dignity. "I truly could not be prouder."

The real Felix grits his teeth and turns away from both Rodrigue and you.

Grant could... almost understand the idea of giving more people than just themselves the chance for some kind of closure. Even if the idea of a funeral being a public event still strikes him as kinda weird.

But the rest... the rest, he can't even try to bring himself to understand. It feels too much like every she's in a better place, every everything happens for a reason that got slung at him after his mother's death, and he doesn't even have to stop and think about who he is right now for his brows to crease and his grip on the arm of the chair to tighten.

"Your son is dead. Save the heroism talk for the pr-- the public."

He... just barely caught himself there. He's not sure Fodlan has a press.

Rodrigue's eyes open wide in shock as he stares at you...but the memory doesn't reset. "What are you saying? That is no way to speak to your father. But, more importantly, I don't understand what you mean. We should be grateful. Your brother gave his life to ensure His Highness' survival. There is no greater calling for a knight of the crown. You know that."

Felix still isn't looking at either of you, but he's listening.

Weirdly, of all things, it takes him some effort to remember not to shoot back that he wouldn't know what way to speak to his father because he doesn't have one of those. He's pretty sure that... would be a reset.

"What are you saying? Why would--" He almost slips, but catches himself again. It's a little easier now. "--Why would I be grateful for this? I'd be grateful if they both survived, it's-- death isn't something to aspire to!"

"Of course not," says Rodrigue, in a somewhat bewildered tone. "But had Glenn returned from Duscur alive, with...with His Majesty killed at the enemy's hands, he would have brought shame to himself and to us, to the Fraldarius name and the royal family both. He would not have wished for such a thing, Felix. I am immensely proud that he was willing to defend them with his last breath rather than take the coward's way out. What's gotten into you tonight?"

The real Felix's fists clench. The details of this conversation are obviously still etched into his memory, but consciously he had forgotten some of them. Like this claim that Glenn would have agreed that his death was preferable to returning alive without his king. The worst part is, the bastard is right.

"Are you serious? That's the only way you can look at this, if he didn't die a hero he would've survived an embarrassment?"

He's gripping the arm of the chair so tightly now that, if he were himself, he'd probably be doing some damage. He almost stands, stops himself-- and then he remembers. He's not a six-foot-six werewolf who has to worry about being accused of threatening behavior if he looks at someone wrong.

So he stands up.

"Are you telling me, right now, that you would have been-- what, ashamed of your own son if he'd somehow survived? It's not a crime to let yourself and your family actually grieve! There doesn't have to be an upside to it!"

Adult Felix finally glances up to watch the exchange, some mix of surprise and anger in his gaze.

Rodrigue's expression slowly shifts from bewildered to concerned, and then to disappointed. Disappointed, and a bit long-suffering, as though he's well used to you overreacting to things. He stands, too.

"Felix. I understand that you're upset, but I cannot tolerate such behavior. I don't know where all of this is coming from so suddenly. You know that Glenn would never have wanted you to...to fall apart like this. Go to bed, now. I trust that in the morning, you'll have calmed down and seen reason. You need to be ready for the tailor to fit you for your clothes for the funeral by nine bells."

Somehow, that long-suffering look is the worst part for Grant. Maybe because it's so damn familiar. That look, like his feelings are some long-running inconvenience, because of course he's always too much.

"You don't know where it's coming from." His voice goes completely flat on that one. "Maybe you could start with the recent familial death and go from there! And if you think of seeing reason as deciding that that's something to be happy about, I wouldn't hold my breath."

Rodrigue's eyes widen slightly in disbelief as he frowns. "Felix. Go to your room and go to sleep. We'll talk about this again tomorrow."

He turns and walks out. Adult Felix sighs. "I don't think this is the end of it." The memory, he means.

Grant's lip curls as Felix's father leaves, but he addresses Felix first - quietly, though he supposes it may not affect the memory itself either way. "So, am I following him or continuing from here?"

Because like. He will gladly do either. He will yell from the living room if he has to.

"Neither. I sat here for another hour to spite him and then went to bed." Felix moves closer to his 13-year-old self and studies him. The anger in his eyes is familiar, but the sharp and disgusted quality of it isn't quite.

"But I can feel it. We're not finished. And I have a feeling I know where it's taking us next." He shifts his gaze back to the armor on its stand. "I didn't expect you to be almost as angry as I was."

"Great." So Grant stays put, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Guess I'll just... wait for that, then."

He tilts his head slightly, watching Felix. "...Why not? This is awful."

"It was. But everyone else has always told me I overreacted. That I blew this out of proportion. That I was holding some petty grudge." He shrugs, a little self-conscious about all of this. At the same time, this experience - having someone else live through this moment with him - isn't as bad as he expected it would be, and he wonders whether it isn't because what he expected was the usual reaction.

Soon, your surroundings blur and shift; there's a feeling of movement and the passage of time. Impressions of experiences in the meantime flicker in and out - days spent shouting at your father as he refuses to understand, crying alone in your room, refusing to come downstairs for meals or meet your tutors for lessons - except your arms instructor for sword training. That, you never fail to turn up for. It's the only time you don't feel like the body you're in is on the verge of tears.

There's a funeral; you get faint impressions of dozens of people piling empty platitudes at your feet, most of them either obviously insincere or gushing about what a wonderful knightly death Glenn's was. The impression that your expression throughout the whole affair is a furious scowl, and that some of the adults chide you for this, including Rodrigue. Some people ask you questions you don't have answers for, about your new inheritance and what this means for House Fraldarius' status; others are obviously trying to curry your favor now that you're the heir, or telling you what big shoes you have to fill.

Finally, the passage of time slows until you're sitting at a dinner table much too large for just the two of you, you and Rodrigue. From the look of your plate and the feeling in your stomach, you've been inhaling your food as quickly as you can, and the silence between you is thick enough to cut with a blade.

After a moment, Rodrigue puts down his fork, dabs at his lips with a napkin, and looks up from his plate to you. He says, "Felix, I'll be leaving for Fhirdiad in the morning."

"Christ. Yeah, I'm, uh... going to have to completely disagree there - I can kind of see how this would be a literally life-changing level of bullshit, especially if he kept it up." Which, he gathers, he absolutely did.

And then the dream is shifting again, moving forward, and it is... exhausting. Days of shouting and crying and training and grieving in seconds, piled high with expectations and awkwardness.

When it slows again, Grant mentally scrambles to catch up... though maybe being more up-to-date on what was happening wouldn't have helped him with that announcement. "Th-the capital?"

Felix's eyes widen a little as he stares at his young self, and at Grant through him. He's still trying to figure out how to feel or what to say about that when the memory progresses, sparing him from making the decision.

Rodrigue nods, expression neutral. "That's right. His Highness needs a guardian, and I once promised the late king that I would look after him, should anything happen to the royal family. Goodness knows, the regent isn't up to the task."

Adult Felix watches Rodrigue like a hawk, searching for some sign. Some hint of what he said that day in Johto about why he left his only remaining son behind.

...Grant knows well enough, from talking to Felix and from that phrasing (I will be leaving), where this is going. He knows what he's about to have to ask, because... well, it would be the obvious question, in Felix's position. The obvious assumption.

He also knows that that assumption is going to be wrong.

His fingers curl up, tense with frustration that he can't show yet for fear of throwing off the memory. "...Should I get ready to go?"

Rodrigue takes his time with his response, taking a sip from his wine goblet and setting it down, then sitting back in his chair. "No, I'm afraid not. You'll stay here and continue your studies. You have quite a bit to catch up on, now that you must prepare to inherit the title of duke someday. Your uncle will look after you while I'm gone."

Felix scoffs quietly, derisively, from somewhere behind you.

I want to Beheeyemlieve

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