Lance and Shield: From Childhood to Rain
"One day, you will wield this lance, Sylvain, and protect all of Gautier with it."
Sylvain gazed up at the tall weapon before him, towering almost twice his height. He traced its sharp edges with warm, brown eyes, looking at the ridges and curvature of the dragon bone. He paused to admire the beautiful stone at its centre, how the late morning sunlight fell through the windows against it as his father held it before him.
"It's a bit… rough," Sylvain commented. He scratched the back of his head, shaggy red hair falling slightly in his eyes. Shaking his head to clear his view, Sylvain turned his gaze upward to match his father's. "Will I be strong enough?"
"Of course you will be," Margrave Gautier's smile was tight, the assurance coming not from a desire to comfort his son, but one to challenge, to push him. Without exception.
A smaller, younger voice chirped up from beside Sylvain. "If Sylvain isn't strong enough, can I have the Lance of Ruin? I could protect my house and yours, Margrave!"
Glenn Fraldarius laughed and placed his hands on his younger brother's shoulders. "Felix, that's the Gautier Heroes' Relic! You have your own, remember?" Glenn paused for dramatic effect, flashing a smile at Sylvain before turning it to his brother. "The Aegis Shield!"
Little Felix pouted, crossing his arms. "But shields are lame. I want a cool weapon, like the lance! Or like a sword that can fling around or something!"
"Aw, come on Fe!" Sylvain jumped to Glenn's aid. "Shields are super cool! You can deflect arrows and basically nothing can touch you! You'll be unstoppable!"
Felix only pouted harder, dark hair falling to obscure his big, bright copper eyes. "You're just saying that 'cause you got the Lance."
"I can let you play with – I mean, use the lance sometime when we're both old enough, how does that sound, Fe?" Sylvain ruffled the seven-year-old's hair, trying to cheer him up. A clear of the throat caused the boy to look up sharply. Margrave Gautier's lips were pressed in a hard line, and he shook his head subtly. Sylvain felt his stomach drop and nodded obediently in response, watching his father put the Lance of Ruin back in the large case where it was kept locked up.
For safety, he always said. And that piercing stare would go right through Sylvain, right through to his beating, Crest-bearing heart.
Sylvain watched his father leave the room, now left alone with Glenn and Felix. The rushing in his ears faded, and he tuned back in to what Glenn was saying to his now unsatisfied, jealous little brother.
"Right, but Lances are so much more dangerous!" Glenn protested against Felix's denial. Tiny Felix only shook his head, stubborn as always. "Sylvain won't get to use his until he's much, much older, but you'll get to practice with the shield as soon as you want to! Well, when I'm not using it…"
"But you're always using it!" Felix complained, frustrated tears pricking at his shiny, innocent eyes. "Sylvain doesn't have to wait for someone to be done with it!"
Sylvain interjected, his voice pleading to skip this conversation. "Hey, he's right though, Felix! Knowing me, I'd probably do something stupid and drop it on my foot! I'll be all bruised and bandaged up after every go! I'll look super dumb." He grinned at Felix's convinced expression, excitement glowing on his younger features. "At least with the Shield, you'll always look cool!"
"Yeah!" The younger boy finally agreed, his little voice brimming with childlike arrogance. "I'm gonna be so much cooler than you, Sylvain!"
Glenn once again chuckled, ruffling Felix's hair unflatteringly and beaming thankfully at Sylvain. "Well, you look like a dork now, Fe." Felix glared and spat bangs out of his mouth, hurrying to fix his silky black hair. Glenn finally stood up straight, easily much taller than both of them. He put his hands on his hips and grinned down at the two. "You guys want to go for a horse ride? We've still got a few hours before Fe and I need to go."
"Sure!" Sylvain smiled, cheeks as bright as his hair with energy. "Let's go! Come on, Felix!" He reached down and took Felix's hand, following after Glenn. The little Fraldarius jogged to keep up with the older boys' long strides.
"I still wish it was a lance…" Felix mumbled under his breath, and his brother and best friend burst into laughter, the charming sounds echoing through the vast hallways of Gautier Manor.
"Damnit!" Felix threw his training sword to the ground, angry and annoyed when Sylvain managed to land an easy, painful blow to his side. He ripped the Aegis Shield from his arm, tossing it down heavily on the ground beside him as he sat. Both of them were drenched in sweat, the heat of the day beating down through the open ceiling in rays of pale gold.
Sylvain leaned against his training lance, panting and taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "You don't usually… give up after crap like that. I'm surprised you haven't beaten me to a pulp for that last move."
"It was stupid, that's why." Felix groaned loudly, exasperated, and reclined back on the stone floor. One arm came to rest over his eyes as his chest rose and fell with deeper breaths. "The damn Shield is so difficult to use! It just gets in the way…" Felix flung his arm back, allowing it to thud quietly against the ground at his side. His piercing, focused copper eyes stared at the sky above, careful to look away from the sun. "All of the strikes I need it for, I could have dodged just as easily without the damn thing!"
Sylvain stayed a safe distance away to regain his energy, watching Felix mope. He knew that he would rise at any moment to challenge him again, to vent this anger into something more channelled. Sylvain was smart enough to take his rest when he could get it.
He stalled. "But when you do get hit, the cuts and bruises aren't as bad, right? That's good… It basically halves the damage."
"Yes, but they're still hits, they're still cuts, Sylvain. One wrong move is all it takes."
"Well, do you still wish your Relic was a lance?" Sylvain held Felix's gaze when he sat up to glare, penetrating, riled up, a mere countdown to the next beating. "That shield buys you time, Fe. You still kick my ass in every round, 'cause I can't hit you until you're right there. And being a lancer, by the time you're right there, I'm toast."
Felix sighed, long and drawn out, as he got to his feet. He scooped up the training sword first, then picked up the Shield roughly, jamming it back onto his arm. "It wouldn't have to buy me time if it was a weapon. My enemy would be down by then. Plus," He raised his sword, causing Sylvain to sigh tiredly and get in sparring stance. "I only beat you every time because you're awful. You never train. Against a real opponent, I may not be as lucky."
"Ouch, Felix," Sylvain grinned, laughing as bright as the sun above them. Fire glinted in his eyes, but it was joyous, accepting the challenge with the mentality of losing against his much stronger junior. "Spare my feelings a little, I'm practicing against you! Isn't practicing with the best the most effective way to get better?"
"I'm not the best," Felix lunged at him. "You're just the worst." Wooden sword met wooden lance, and Felix jumped back to avoid a broad swing and a short jab. "I guess I'll have to figure out the Shield. The Professor won't let me give it away…"
"How can you," Sylvain cursed when his perfectly-timed strike collided against the Aegis Shield, "Talk and do this at the same time?"
A smirk pulled at Felix's lips as he nodded briefly to the Shield. "It's buying me time."
Rain fell heavily, the sky as dark as night and lightning flashing in threatening webs. The cries of men rose from all around, the roars of war echoing with the roars of thunder.
Felix's breath came deeply, quickly, adrenaline burning his veins like fire. His clothes were splattered with blood, the ugly, sleek red morbidly contrasting with the lovely blue of his coat. The smell reeked in his nose, causing him to taste copper in his mouth; in turn, narrowed copper eyes warily scanned the darkness ahead of him, his surroundings faintly illuminated by the Aegis Shield, secure on his arm.
Felix fell back as a black stallion reared its hooves mere feet from his face, its whinny splintering the brief lull of the battle around him. Regaining his footing swiftly, Felix raised the silver sword grasped in his aching hands, readying himself for the next foe.
The horse stamped and snorted towards Felix, causing him to jump aside, deftly avoiding his opponent's advances. It was only as he dodged another kick from the front hooves of the beast that his eye caught the brilliant, luminescent glow of a Heroes' Relic. The flaming light of the Lance was only challenged by the fiery hair of the rider, and the sickly splashes of blood that covered him. The disgusting sight was a sure match to Felix's desperate, frighteningly determined appearance.
The rider spoke, his voice hoarse and raised over the volume of battle around them. The words were laced with a hollow regret, sorrowful only in tone but not in feeling.
Felix would not allow to consider feelings. Not at a time like this. Not when the enemy before him was…
"Damn, I didn't want this to be our reunion, Fe." Sylvain's eyes burned, reflecting the fierce glow of the Lance of Ruin. "I was hoping you'd come back to me on friendlier terms. But I guess breakups never go well, do they?" He spun his lance, tugging the reins to steady his steed.
"Reunion or not, shut your mouth," Felix gritted out. "You're in my way… I'll cut you down!" Felix's foot pushed off from the cracked stones beneath him, narrowly missing slippery mud. The Aegis Shield flared, golden light piercing through the darkness and shining off the sharp pellets of rain as the swordsman struck, blow after blow clashing off the armour of the stallion.
The Lance of Ruin rose high above him, as if on cue with the stretch of lightning expanding across the sky. In synchronisation with the hellish clap of thunder that followed, the Lance came down, locking with the silver sword as the Gautier Crest flared before them. Freezing blue light captured the range of their battle, contrasting and contorting from the glow of the Relics.
Felix saw the underbelly of the steed, exposed from the light of the Shield, muscles heaving with its breaths and its snorts. A leather strap was clasped under the armour. With a breath, Felix ducked and cut. The Lance of Ruin struck his shoulder, tearing the delicate tendons at the top. He let out a cry, but the pain was ignored in favour of the target. The sword sliced the leather, cutting the stallion below it, and the saddle fell sideways along with its mount. The horse stamped its hooves, rearing backwards and throwing the rider off before darting into the fray of battle.
Sylvain grunted with the impact on the ground, his head knocking on a water-blackened stone. Stars flashed before his eyes, or maybe it was another tremendous bolt of lightning, as thunder surrounded him once again. He rose to his feet faster than Felix expected, his desire to survive pushing him through every motion.
Felix glared down at Sylvain, hesitating only a moment, the brevity of regret in his eyes replaced by seething, tumultuous agony and rage. Blood poured from the wound on his shoulder, soaking his clothes so that they were as red as the banners of the army he fought for.
Sylvain defended himself with a newfound strength he had acquired through years of war. The fire of desperation coursed through his muscles, guiding his movements and heightening his reactions. A parry to the right, a swift series of jabs following. An upward cut, forward step, knock of the spear and final twist. The motions were repeated again and again, each blow and hit more violent, frantic, forceful than the hundreds of times the two had fought together before.
From childhood, to the Academy… it was all a ruse. Every training session, sparring match, every duel and petty confrontation were in pathetic jest to this. Nothing could prepare the men for the harsh curses, the screams, the tears flying from their stinging eyes as they battered each other with every strike meant to kill.
The rain fell harder, and the ground grew slick. On a definitive strike, the silver sword, glinting in the light of the Relics and the rain, made an arc as elegant as cathedral halls as it came down towards the exposed, vulnerable flesh of Sylvain's neck. In one last act of instinct, of sheer will to live, Sylvain threw up his lance and blocked the strike, his fiery hair plastered by sweat and water to his forehead and obscuring parts of his vision. The force of the contact shook down his arms and made every muscle ache.
Felix slipped.
Sylvain saw his opening, taking it without hesitation, and drove the Lance of Ruin down on his enemy.
It collided with the Aegis shield, piercing through the metal as the Crests of Gautier and Fraldarius erupted before them. Once again, the iciest blue stung their vision with the severity of its light, reflecting in the surrounding sheets of rain.
Sylvain was sobbing, wretched, choking cries ripping from his throat as he pushed Felix down, catching his breath and using all of his strength to drive the Lance further. The man below him, helpless on the ground, was trembling in defeat, from anger and exhaustion and pain. Sylvain hated himself, cursed himself and the world and the war that led their lives here. He never wanted to see again, never wanted to think again if the image of the man he loved, his best friend dying at his hands would be there, desecrating his memory.
Yet, there they were.
Sylvain gasped for air, the words wrenching forward from his chest, his soul, his aching, Crest-bearing heart. "Still wish it was a Lance, Felix?"
Sylvain never heard a response. Never blinked, never closed his eyes.
Never spoke again.
The Lance of Ruin was ripped from his grasp, spun and tore through his own chest in a moment too fast, too soon, too much. The Lance of Ruin, the Heroes' Relic of Gautier, tore through the very Crest it belonged to. It hurt like hellfire and felt like nothing at all. In one frozen moment, he gasped, shocked, and his eyes met Felix's. Those blazing, burning, beautiful copper eyes.
They were full of tears. Felix pushed the Lance further, the blades bursting out the other side of Sylvain's back. He let Sylvain slump forward into his arms, letting go of the weapon to envelope his childhood friend, his enemy, in one last embrace.
Felix's voice was a whisper, the last sound Sylvain would ever hear. It came as a breath against his ear, a breeze in his hair as everything faded to a dream of warm summer days, of peace. Of happier times when they held each other close.
"No, Sylvain. I never wanted a weapon… The Shield bought me time with you."
Sylvain was still.
Felix did not know if he heard.
He buried his nose in Sylvain's hair, laying him down on the ground beneath them. He touched their foreheads together, matted red locks slick with blood and sweat and rain meeting his own mess of midnight black bangs, covering his eyes. Kneeling beside him, he buried his face against Sylvain's motionless shoulder, hiding from the war. Felix Fraldarius hid from the world.
The swordsman released a cry, from his gut and his chest and his aching, aching heart. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to feel. The cry like a wounded animal echoed throughout the battlefield, shaking men to their core and lamenting the anger of a thousand warriors. The loss, the sorrow, and the furious, excruciating pain of the man was swept through the fight, heard above the clashes of iron, steel, silver and hisses and sparks of magic.
It was the scream of a man who had killed another, and in doing so, killed what was last of himself.