Recon

[sweetless]

[He feels like something akin to a stray dog as he follows silently leads Claude through lands that he knows like the back of his scarred hand. A tree etched with children's initials, cloisters of thick trees that hide perfect ambush spots, divots in the ground that caused plenty of stumbles.

He gave up this land, before he even realized what he was doing, really. And everything that went along with it. His title. His name. His expected obligations. He chose to become a sword rather than a shield, even if the family relic still hung off of his back like the last stubborn piece of his old life that he couldn't bring himself to shed. But it wasn't all sentimental. It was simply logical. It was strength. It was power. It was aid in a battle, and what soldier would throw that away just because of some silly sentiment.

Still, it was hard to ignore every emotion that being back here set in him. He didn't regret it. His gaze shifts briefly back towards Claude, the leader he's chosen to follow over the one he was expected to. No. He doesn't regret it he decides as he watches Claude trudge through thick snowfall with that same easy expression that Felix can't read for the life of him. He may not always understand all of Claude's plans, honestly, he may not even know the man very well for all the layers of costumes he wears, but he can appreciate his goal, what he's trying to do, the world he's trying to make.

Though, really, Felix's agenda isn't that noble. As long as the world is in chaos, he has a place in it. He has no idea what he'll do once there's peace. Petty squabbles that aren't worth his skill. He'll grow dull without a challenge. He'll rust and become useless. A fate he'll deal with another day. For now he's got a place at Claude's side. Even if it didn't start that way. Even if it doesn't end that way.

He pauses in his steps a few hundred feet away from where he knows the clearing is and once again turns his attention towards the archer.]

What exactly are we looking for again? You don't really think my-the Fraldarius army is going to fall here, do you?

Comments

[failnot]

[ felix looks cold, almost as cold as claude feels. he's long-since resigned himself to the stiffness that the cold lends his fingers, flexing them into a fist before trying to have them relax into shapes that claude could put to use. his gloves feel even colder against his skin, and it doesn't take him long before they're coming off so that he can cradle his tea into the circle of his hands. the blanket around felix draws his eye, and claude finds himself dismissing the idea even before it finishes forming.

sharing body warmth was likely a last resort for the both of them. claude was open to it when it eventually became a necessity, but only then. flirting was one thing, but (sort of) cuddling? nah. ]

As an independent nation? Sure. [ the alliance troops weren't nearly as well-trained, but in terms of resources like food, weapons, and the like? sure. ] If it becomes the Empire's newest state, that's a little trickier.

[ short answer: no, they didn't. long answer: there were always ways around in war, whether it by terrain advantage, excellent leadership, better trained troops, divine intervention, and the like. but that was built around chance and probabilities, things like fate and luck and all the things that claude had no control over. none of that appealed to him. honesty, logic, and strength though? those were doable. to a certain degree. (honesty, huh. way to twist him arm.)

hence: this trip. this cold and miserable trip into faerghus, dragging along a man that he'd somehow convinced onto his side. felix is a strength that claude appreciates, and in current matters? for more than just that. for a guy that didn't seem to enjoy machinations and manipulations, he had some pretty interesting insights with a rather refreshing way of stating them too. there wasn't nearly as much guesswork around him, and claude... well. he knows how to appreciate an unusual (but good) thing. ]

And what are you fighting for by allying yourself with the Alliance?

[ he doesn't say with me. because this isn't personal. war never really is, unless one's name was edelgard von hresvelg. ]

[sweetless]

[There's a subtle pout to his lips as he considers Claude's answer, the confidence in which he states it. He had doubted it, really, that Claude would have the necessary requirements to bribe them when they have their own war raging. But he'd hardly be surprised if Claude had some sort of card up his sleeve.

He could spend the entire evening trying to figure out what that was, but unless Claude felt the sudden urge to be forthright with him, it'd be a futile effort. So he lets the idea go, instead watching the gloves come off of Claude's hands, stealing the warmth of the mug. It would only be a temporary solution.

And Felix knows very well what he should be doing. But doing it now when Claude seems to be taking this opportunity to suddenly get much more personal, well that'd just be awkward.

His mouth opens, but he stops at the last second. There's a very simple answer, which considering what he's been given in return, is what Claude deserves. And then there's the rather complex one.]

I wanted to follow my own path. Not my father's. Not my brother's. I want to fight, its all I know, but I can't fight for the ideals that dying is noble. I don't want to raise my sword for the sake of the already dead. How pointless. So caught up in what the dead would think that they don't consider the effect on the living.

[There it is, words he's said countless times, to his father, to Ingrid, to Dimitri, to other members of the Blue Lions. But none of them really listen, all eager to play the role of the heroic knight they all grew up reading about. He shouts, and they still don't listen. He doesn't expect Claude to be any different.]

Why did you claim the burden of your inheritance?

[failnot]

[ those are old words. not to claude, but to felix, spoken as if on rote. practiced words, if only by the nature of repetition, words that must've found felix's lips numerous times for how exhausted they sound. or irritated. in felix, those two states might very well be the same thing.

it leaves more questions than answers though, that's for certain. to whom did felix speak them to? (claude could hazard a guess, but that's all it'd be: a guess.) for what reason? what kind of situation and circumstance had lead felix to hearing that dying was noble? (death was death, after all, with all of its nuances painted on after the fact by the still-living.) that a sword should be raised for the already dead? or that the dead somehow mattered more than the living?

claude straightens, leans forward, his gaze made bright with curiosity. the questions linger at the tip of his tongue, and while he knows there were ways that he could speak them, maybe pry out more than his share of answers... he carefully refrains. felix was no politician, but he could be as tight-lipped as the best of them if he caught onto what claude was doing. too bad, and it was getting so interesting too. ]

... I suppose it's because people would listen to Claude von Riegan more than they might lend an ear to just Claude. [ a nobody in this political environment wouldn't even be allowed to edit a book, much less change the mindset of an entire nation. ] I have some useful blood running through me, so I'm putting it to use. Though I do find it rather interesting that you'd call it a burden when I'd call it an... advantage. Of a sort.

[ it's another careful answer, one that carves out what's safe to give back, something that'd do little in the way of surprising anyone that knew anything about him. even still, he keeps it truthful, loaded with the possibility for further questions, implications of a larger ambition afoot -- he gives as much as he's given, really. ]

And interesting as your answer was, I'd say most of us [ in the alliance, at least, ] fight for the living than for those that've left us. So here's what I can't figure out: what kind of future will this path find you?

[sweetless]

[Felix is caught by that bright look in Claude's eyes. It seems particularly unguarded, but he knows that's rarely the case with Claude. He's not sure why he's ever bothered to note that fact, and the realization that he watches Claude too closely too frequently hits him suddenly, like a ton of bricks, and he blinks at his self-realization.

And a moment later it's shoved away. He's always been observant. Even if it's usually more focused on technique, skills used in a fight. But then...Claude uses all of those nuances to his benefit, in war and out.

He finds it's hard suddenly to maintain eye contact, so with a huff, he turns his gaze away, stares angrily at his mug as he listens. And he can't argue. He does absolutely consider titles to be a burden, but he understands they grant freedoms and chances that not having one does not. Though simply claiming a role of leadership doesn't exactly seem like Claude's goal.

And Claude's words confirm as much. He's already got another question on the tip of his tongue, but it's not his turn as Claude's question reminds him.

He scoffs.]

Do I look like a fortune-teller?

[He doesn't offer to answer immediately, instead moving the mug into his hand as he scoots himself closer to Claude until they're nearly shoulder to shoulder, a conscious sliver of a gap set between them before he tugs the blanket off one shoulder to toss over Claude's.

It's easier not to meet those eyes when they're both staring in the same direction now.]

I've no idea what I've to gain in the end fighting for you. I don't even know ultimately what your objective is. I can't imagine when you announced yourself as an heir you thought you'd have to fight against the Kingdom and the Empire. But it doesn't matter. I'm a sword, all I need is a fight. But I'd also like to survive. Siding with you gives me a chance at both.

[Simple versions of deeper truths, that's the game they're playing here, after all isn't it? But it's true enough. He was raised to fight. He embraced that upbringing. He wanted to be strong. And maybe here with Claude and his Golden Deers they could use their strength to end the war before the casualties reached...

Reached people he'd like to protect.]

It's probably the proper chance to ask you what your goal is. [But instead he takes a sip of his tea.] But then I also said it doesn't matter. At the end of war is peace, what good is a sword then?