Azure Moon: Cerulean Tears

by skywolf666

Ancient conspiraces and enemies, clashing ideology and allegiances, and the burning embers of a war long stoked by shadows was not the world they knew, but it was the world they had been drawn into, and forced to live in against their will. They stood shoulder to shoulder with the future king of Faerghus now, and would see it through to the end... The total end. (AM, B!Sibling AU)

12. Words to Be Spoken

Genres/Ratings: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Romance, Angst. (M)

Characters: Ingrid, Sylvain, Ashe, Petra, Felix, Dimitri.

Summary: It had been only a week since their return from Grondor, but much had changed already in those seven days. Ingrid had seen it all, eagle-eyed and tense, and so many conflicting feelings ran through both her heart and mind as she wondered at it all. To see her future king returning to reason should have been a joy, but it brought her nothing but a harsh feeling of emptiness and anger. And to look around at her comrades, and see their expressions mirroring her own... It was a harsh vindication. Loss had come too close for them, far too close, and now all of them were dealing with it the only way they knew how. They all could be dead tomorrow, and that was a lesson they had thought had already been drilled tightly into them... but apparently it was not. Nobody had expected their dear professor to brush again with death. What did it mean for the rest of them...? What did it mean for the things they still were not saying, in hopes of an "after" the end of a war they may not survive?

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Harpstring Moon

Garreg Mach Infirmary

Noon

"It's been so hectic, Professor... I doubt you'd be approving, if you could see us all right now, but... I think, for the first time in many moons, everyone is finally being honest with themselves..." Ingrid's voice was quiet as she sat on the single chair that had been placed beside her professor's bed, and she watched with soft, worried eyes as her professor slept on beside her, completely numb to the outside world due to the sheer amount of magic that had been poured into her flagging body to keep her asleep. She hadn't agreed at first with the decision that Professor Manuela, Mercedes and Dorothea had come to when they had chosen this route in healing the beloved woman, but as she sat close to her and examined her closely now... Ingrid had to admit that they had been right in choosing to keep Raine unconscious until her body was well and truly on its way to a proper recovery.

Her professor had lost weight, and become quite thin. She had hidden it well with her cloak and clothes in the past several moons, making herself seem as healthy as ever, but now without most of her usual wear, it was quite obvious to see. Her body, also, was a mess of scars. When she had first been disrobed off of the battlefield, there hadn't been a single soul who hadn't recoiled in alarm to see just how many wounds she had been hiding underneath tight layers of bandaging and fabric. It was as if she had been purposefully avoiding the healers ever since she had returned to them during the Millennium Festival and was treating her own wounds by herself, and for the life of her, Ingrid couldn't understand why she would have been doing such a foolish thing. Her professor was a wise woman, and one who knew her strengths and weaknesses, and yet she had not been taking even an iota of care of herself to the point where nobody had even noticed until her condition had been dragged out into the open without her consent.

Though the dagger wound in her back at been the chief concern during her healing, the rest of her body was likewise a mess of wounds and insufficient care, and only time and magic would be of any help to her now. With the combined efforts of the monastery's best healers, and a good amount of time, they promised that once Raine woke, she would be near her best condition if she were to be left alone during the process. That, of course, had been the only thing that not a single one of the Blue Lions could agree to, and ever since she had been committed to the infirmary, there had been an unofficial rotation of visitors streaming constantly from her new quarters to ensure her rest was being uninterrupted, as well as to ease their selfish worries.

Ingrid had taken her turn now, though she admitted she wasn't entirely sure why. She felt impatient, restless, and for the life of her, she did not quite understand what it was that was making her feel this way. She had thought she had given voice to all of her opinions earlier that week, when her king had finally come out of hiding to approach his former classmates, and had been met with a response no one had likely ever expected when he had offered his apologies, as well as a change in plans that had been the hopes of most there from the very start.

"I wish to apologize. To all of you. I have dragged you all down this dark path with me, and have caused untold suffering all along the way... I cannot tell you how sorry I am for my behaviour. For my actions. There is no apology I could offer that would ever be sufficient... but these words are all I have. These words, and a promise that I will no longer chase down the path of vengeance. I intend to turn our course to Fhirdiad... To take back the Kingdom, as I should have done from the very beginning. I ask of you to join me one last time to do so... Though I know, to ask anything of you now, is not within my right to do. Not until I have apologized a thousand times over, and proven myself capable, and trustworthy again to you all."

"No."

All turned in surprise at the voice who had spoken first, and Ingrid wasn't sure whether she was more alarmed, or confused, to see that it was Sylvain and not Felix who had been the one to break the silence after Dimitri had given his apologies, and professed his change of heart and mind. Had they been waiting for someone to reject him, because no one else was brave enough to do so? It wasn't as if any of them had managed to speak more than a handful of sentences to the man since his return several moons prior without being met with derision, dismissal, or outright threats. Now, a new, unnerving silence fell at Sylvain's rejection, and all eyes turned to him in quiet, uneasy confusion, including those of their lord, as they waited. He was not the type to simply say one word and leave, all of them knew this of him by now, but for the life of them all, no one could guess what was in his mind as they looked to him to continue.

The crimson-haired knight didn't move from where he was standing, leaning on a nearby pillar with his arms crossed, but his usual calm and carefree expression had changed to something darker, and far more serious. His eyes were narrowed and his brow deeply furrowed, and though his posture remained lax, his voice was as sharp as a dagger when he continued after a full minute of uneasy, shaken silence, "That's nice and all, Your Majesty... but no. I'm not following you another step forward, regardless of where you've decided it's time to go. Even if it is back to Fhirdiad. I, for one, am finished with this, as well as with you. An apology isn't enough to make up for everything you've done. And not just to us, but to the professor, too. We're your knights and noblemen, and we're expected by code and by blood to obey and follow you wherever you go, and put up with whatever you say and however you act... and so far, I've been willing to do it, because it meant an end to the Empire, and hopefully restoration of the Kingdom. But you know who wasn't tied down to you by bloodlines and oaths and fealty? The professor. And look at where she is now. I'm not taking one more step forward under your command."

"Sylvain-"

"No. He's right. I'm through with this, too." Felix spoke now, cutting off Annette sharply as he, too, turned the weight of his glare onto Dimitri. That righteous indignance that he had been sitting on for far too long at both his father's and Raine insistence now had been given word to by someone else, and that was more than enough permission for him to add his voice to Sylvain's complete dismissal of the boar. He felt it, too, that harsh, cold anger and blame for what his professor had suffered for this mad prince's sake, and though he knew it would earn him the ire of his father, and very likely his friends and Mercedes, he did not care. It needed to be said, and so he spoke too, his voice cold and venomous as he continued, "Take a good look around you, boar, and tell me what you see. You're sorry you've dragged us down with you, and expect that to be enough to make up for all you've been doing these past few moons? All your threats, all your derision, all your madness, as if it's easily brushed aside by something as simple as an apology? I don't care if you've come to your senses. Frankly, I'll believe you're sane when you're cold and dead, if you want the simple truth of it. I won't follow you a step further either. I'd prefer to be run through. You've caused enough collateral damage. I won't be another corpse left rotting on the battlefield because you couldn't sate your bloodlust."

"She didn't trust you to listen to reason, and she fell back on us because of it. What does that speak to your leadership, Your Highness? Or the leadership of anyone here? She's been the only sane one here from the very start, and look at what she had to resort to in order to keep us alive." Sylvain picked up immediately from where Felix left, and he dropped his arms as he stepped up to his full height, and his eyes were blazing with quiet wrath as he turned on his king. He hadn't truly believed it at first, when his professor, who valued Dimitri above all else, had spoken of going behind his back for a chance of a truce with the Alliance, but her pleading, and her honesty, had swayed him into promising to aid her in her schemes. She, after all, had been the only one from the very beginning to look out for all of them as a whole, rather than see them as an army of warm bodies to throw at the enemy until one or the other fell. He had overheard the exchanges between the two of them. Who amongst them hadn't at one point or another? And he knew, just as well as Felix did, that it had shaken their trust in their lord to the very core.

"Keeping secrets from everyone she should have been able to trust, simply because no one but her was willing to openly risk your wrath, even if it meant getting people killed... That's what she had to do in order to keep us alive. We never asked for that, but that's what it came down to in the end, because you were too blind. Comrades? Friends? We weren't even cattle to you." Sylvain's words were lances, cutting in deep and piercing through the words that he knew were honest enough, but simply did not cut it for him. It didn't matter if his lord meant every word he said, and he did not doubt that he did... It just simply was not enough to make up for the last several moons of war, of tension, and of ugliness that they had been forced through since his return. "You told her outright that you'd use us all, down to the dust of our bones, to get what you wanted. Felix is right. No apology is going to cut it. You want to prove yourself a real leader? You want us to follow you without question as we did with her? Act like she did, and put us first. Otherwise, my axe is better served elsewhere. I'll return home myself to fight for Fhirdiad. I won't do it here. Not any longer."

Ingrid looked away, unable to bear that look of seething anger burning on Sylvain's face, but some wild, mad part of her was glad to hear him speak those words. She did not have the courage to do the same, even if she agreed with him, and she knew it. Her childhood dreams had twisted her about too much, had made her too eager and willing to serve even if she knew in the darkest depths of her soul that any sacrifice she made would mean absolutely nothing to the lord she was pledged to. And while she knew her lord was honest, that he meant every word he was saying and was making no attempt to justify his behaviour, or urge for their forgiveness... She shook her head as she finally spoke, too, "I'm sorry, Your Highness... but I agree with Sylvain and Felix. I can't give you my lance, even if you offer a thousand apologies for what has happened. I can't... continue to fight alongside you when I cannot trust you to care if any of us, if even just one of us, were to fall in battle. My heart won't allow it. If I'm to fight... I will do so alongside my friends and family, back in the Kingdom. I will not do it here."

Dimitri was quiet as their words struck like arrows, but he took it all without complaint, as he knew he must. It hurt, hurt beyond words to hear the voices of his three closest friends striking him down and turning their backs to him, but it did not make them wrong. They were all perfectly right in their words and their choices. He had given them no reason to trust him, and even less to forgive him. He was well aware of his sins, and had fully expected this reaction... yet... It made his chest ache all the same when he forced out the words he knew he had to speak, "If that is your choice... Then you are free of me. I will not hold a single one of you to this campaign, or to my rule or command. I am as you say. Unfit to trust, or to lead... and it is only through action that I be able to prove myself either of those things. But to ask you to stay until that time comes, if it is to ever come, is not something I will do. If your hearts and minds are set... Then go, and defend the Kingdom as your will commands it. I will not stop you. I will only wish you well."

"You're all just going to leave?!" Ashe's voice came as an explosion, startling everyone in the room, including Dimitri, and the young archer looked to his friends with raw fury burning alongside grief in his bright green eyes. He was glaring not at Dimitri however, but rather at Ingrid, Sylvain and Felix, and his voice was both sharp with accusation and with betrayal as he slammed his fist down to the table in an uncharacteristic show of indignant rage, "How dare you?! I won't just simply forgive His Majesty just as any of you won't, but you'd leave this rebellion entirely behind you?! You'd leave the professor behind you?! What did we even come here for in the first place if this is how it's going to end?! If you abandon the rebellion, you are abandoning the professor! Can you do that, Sylvain? Felix? Ingrid? Can you abandon her after all she's done for us? Are you all truly that selfish?"

Sylvain twitched, his hands tightening at his sides at the unexpected tirade, but it hit him as keenly as any arrow that Ashe could shoot all the same, which he knew had been the sniper's intent. He hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't considered what the implications would mean if he chose to return to the Kingdom, but clearly someone else had not allowed for their anger to cloud their judgement wholly. He turned his face to the ground, both ashamed and cowed, and he wondered at how Ashe could manage to hold onto his heart, even when he, too, was sharing their anger and mistrust of their lord and liege. It was something he had to respect, and something he did respect, about his friend, even if he didn't understand how he was capable of doing it.

A cursory look at both Ingrid and Felix proved that his words had struck them just as hard, as Felix was now glaring at Dimitri again as if he could place all the blame solely onto his head rather than admit he had spoken without thought. Ingrid had lowered her head entirely, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she bit her lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep her eyes from watering and overflowing. They all had spoken without thinking, and Ashe had called their bluffs with sharp reproach... It was a smart move from their best sniper, and obviously one no one had expected to see, or to hear.

There was a lingering silence, full of both shame and anger, but it was broken when Petra stood up from the chair she had been quietly sitting in ever since the partial council had begun. She stood elegantly, stepping about the table and to Ashe's side, and wordlessly she raised a hand to reach over to cover his still-trembling fist that he had slammed onto the table. Her adust eyes were kind and sympathetic as they traded a look, but it was only for a moment before she cast her quickly sharpening eyes over the rest of them. She spoke in a deceptively quiet tone, her fingers curled gently over Ashe's hand even as she stood tall and proud and apart from them all as a former Black Eagle, and the future queen of Brigid, "I am not of Faerghus... Therefore, perhaps, it is not right of me to speak. My homeland, Brigid, is not of matter to you, or to this war, just as Faerghus, and Fhirdiad, are of no matter to me. But I have come when I was summoned, as all the Blue Lions did. We came for the professor. To leave her now... It will not be done. I will not allow it. This war means more than the Kingdom and Empire. It means more than the Alliance and Brigid. Who do we fight for? Why do we fight? If answers cannot be found to those questions... Decisions should not be made today."

Ingrid let out a long, tired breath, and she glanced down to the woman who was laying face-down at her knees in her cot, having not moved of her own will ever since she had taken that dagger in the back for Dimitri back in the fields of Grondor, and she wondered why she was bothering to regale an unconscious woman with this tale when she couldn't hear it, or respond to it. Perhaps it just made her feel better to speak of it all aloud after a long week of awkward, tense, and shameful silence, and for that, she knew she owed Petra much. The young queen of Brigid had broken through the anger to bring the discussion back to the main point everyone had forgotten, and Ingrid mused with a sad little smile, "I think Petra saved us all from making a hasty decision we all would have regretted that day... She reminded us of what this mess had really come down to. It wasn't about the Kingdom... It really wasn't even about His Highness... It was about you, Professor... If she had kept silent, had just let us fight amongst ourselves... Who knows what could have happened. We're lucky that she was there... We're lucky that you brought her here, to the Blue Lions, to remind us of the world outside of our own."

There was only silence as her answer, and Ingrid felt that surge of restlessness returning as she looked down helplessly at her professor. How many times had the woman "dropped by" under the pretext of having some errand to run, and allowed for her to rant about such inane and useless things during their academy days? She could hardly remember the count, and she doubted she really wanted to. It had become their little secret, dodging their duties to catch up and simply gossip over tea and scones, usually with Dorothea, Mercedes, Annette or Petra serving as a third party for their entertainment. Those had been better days, more wishful days, and Ingrid felt that pang of loss deep in her heart as she watched her professor's still face painfully.

"Oh? Ingrid, my dear, I didn't realize you were here visiting. Usually this is when Ashe would be up and about on guard duty."

Dorothea's voice snapped her abruptly from her reverie, reminding her sharply that despite all her desire and thought to be alone to talk and vent, that she truly had always been at risk of being interrupted. The infirmary doors did not close as a rule, and healers were constantly coming and going, even if the professor's stay there warranted a little more security than was usually permitted. Yet there stood Dorothea all the same, her arms full of new supplies of bandages and salve, her wide, emerald eyes blinking in honest, but friendly surprise at seeing Ingrid there.

Flushing in shame, Ingrid leapt to her feet, but was wholly ignored as Dorothea went about restocking the shelves as she had been ordered to do when the supplies had arrived at Manuela's office. She had grown quite used to the stream of visitors that the professor was constantly receiving, and she had even begun to make a game out of seeing if they were adhering to a schedule on purpose, or had just fallen into one by sheer accident. So far she was leaning more towards the latter, but Ingrid's appearance was making her second-guess. Still, she knew it wasn't entirely her business, and so she continued her work organizing before she spoke apologetically, "I'm sorry to say however, my dear, that you can't stay for much longer... Professor needs her bandages changed, and there are no guests during healing. You're welcome to return in an hour or so, though."

"N-No, I... I think I've... been here long enough..." Ingrid stammered in reply, and she looked back to her unconscious professor with both curiosity and shame. She had come there to talk, had she not? She was sure that she had... and yet she felt nothing in being summarily dismissed. Nothing but that gentle pulse of worry for her professor's well-being, and that she knew was normal. Everything else however continued to be strange, and she bit her lower lip as she shook her head and wondered why she still felt so damned restless and ill at ease. Usually a talk with her professor always made her feel better... but the older woman was no longer capable of giving her advice. Was that the reason she felt so unfulfilled?

"Ingrid? Are you feeling all right?" Dorothea paused in her work, turning to look at the blond knight sharply as she heard that little catch in her voice. Ingrid avoided her gaze like a guilty child, and it made the singer click her tongue with both amusement and exasperation. Her friend had never really been one to talk earnestly about her feelings, but it was clear that she was troubled by something, and it obviously was not the woman she had come to visit. Raine's condition was as stable as it could possibly be now, and it was merely a waiting game for the magic to run its course through her body before she could be allowed to wake. Seeing however that the troubled look Ingrid was wearing was not at all created from concern made her soften, and she left her tasks to sit down on the nearest empty cot before she spoke more gently, "Come on now, Ingrid. Talk to me. What is it that's troubling you?"

"I'm not... troubled, per say, I just... I came here to talk to the professor, as we used to, but... I'm afraid it didn't... make me feel any better." Ingrid admitted with an awkward shake of her head, and she felt absolutely foolish the moment the words left her mouth. Of course it hadn't made her feel any better. Her professor was unconscious, and there was absolutely no talk to be had with a woman in the midst of a healing coma. She wasn't even sure why she was bothering to continue this line of conversation. It was only making her look like worse of a fool than she felt. "I've been... restless these past few days. I thought perhaps a good vent would ease things, but... It hasn't."

"It has been a stressful few weeks, hasn't it...? I can understand that much." Dorothea agreed with a small, sage nod, but she did not rise from where she had sat, and instead only continued to study Ingrid as closely as she could. The young knight looked on edge, as if she was on the verge of bolting for somewhere like a frightened rabbit, or a mouse, and Dorothea was not sure she was comfortable with the change in her attitude. Ingrid had always struck her as a confident, no-nonsense woman, and even the worst of situations had never seemed to make her this uncomfortable. Whatever was troubling her was certainly more than a stressful few weeks, even if those few weeks were stretching the very definition of the word "stressful".

"Dorothea, when you feel restless... When you're frustrated, or unsure of things... What do you do to feel better?"

Dorothea blinked, surprised by the question, and doubly so for the advice that Ingrid had never once asked of her in all of their time of knowing one another. Their ways of life could not have been more different, and Ingrid had always made it clear she had little interest in the things Dorothea enjoyed. She had never taken such things personally, each woman to their own after all, but to have routine suddenly twisted about on its head... It made her take pause, and study the blond in front of her with even more care and curiosity. At the very least, she knew she owed her friend an honest answer, and so she gave her one without much preamble, "When I find myself frustrated, or restless, or unsure of things... I talk to Ferdinand. He has a... very uncanny way of making me feel... balanced again, I suppose."

"You talk to Ferdinand... I see..." Ingrid felt her hope falling flat at the answer that did nothing for her, though it did admittedly give her insight into how Dorothea had proved herself so calm and in control ever since the taking of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Not once since Ferdinand's return had she looked as if she was in over her head, not even when the professor had been brought back to Garreg Mach in such a horrible state, and Ingrid had to wonder just how much Dorothea was relying on the former Imperial noble for balance if this was how his presence in the monastery was effecting her. The words however also made her take pause in remembrance, and for a moment she shoved aside all of her own feelings as she thought of the injuries that had kept him from joining the field in Grondor, "H-How is he, by the way? His arm? Has any progress been made?"

"I'm afraid not... His arm is ruined. He won't be lancing ever again. That spear... It crushed something in his shoulder when he took it, and no amount of healing can seem to fix it. His range of motion has mostly returned, but... He won't be fighting ever again as he once did. It simply causes him too much pain." Dorothea's answer was quiet, and she sighed with sympathy on the man's behalf when she had learned of why he was having so much trouble healing in comparison to the others who had been brought back from the bridge. Whatever had happened to his body had proved to be irreversible, and while he had took it in stride, saying it was a sacrifice well made and one he would have made again for her sake... Dorothea smiled sadly as she mused, "He isn't stewing in the loss, which I suppose is something, but... He feels guilty for not being there in Grondor, for the professor, I think. He won't say it aloud, because he knows his guilt means little in comparison to how you all feel, but I know him. He's angry he couldn't help her, after all she did for him."

"That's a foolish thought. He was hurt protecting you. Professor would never want him hurting himself further just to repay a debt." Ingrid said firmly, and she was glad to see Dorothea nodding in agreement the moment the words left her mouth. She felt for Ferdinand, and she understood exactly where his thoughts had come from and how they had led him to such a conclusion, but she could not support him on such a train of thought. Her professor would never have permitted it had she been awake to hear it. She had been the one to ban him from taking to the field in Grondor due to his injuries, and had told him outright he had fought enough already. He was home now with Dorothea, and that was far more important to her than having another able-bodied man on the battlefield... which unfortunately was not something Ferdinand even was.

"It is, and I think he knows that... but all the same, one can't change how they feel. Ferdinand is a knight, just as you are. His desires to repay debts, and to prove his worth and loyalty are just a bit too strong for his good sense." Dorothea replied with a gentle chuckle, and the warmth in her eyes made Ingrid both draw back respectfully, as well as feel a punch somewhere deep in the chest where pain had no right to be. The young singer leaned back on her hands, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment before she once again turned her eyes to Ingrid thoughtfully. While she did appreciate hearing her ask after Ferdinand, and with genuine concern... She could also tell that it was not exactly what she had wanted to ask for. And it brought a small, knowing smile to her face as she remarked gently, "But, again... When I feel out of sorts, I go speak to Ferdie, and more often than not, I feel much better afterwards. I think you, however... Are in the wrong room, and speaking to the wrong person."

Ingrid said nothing as Dorothea's words hit a bit too close to home, and she bit her lower lip as she wondered how in the world she could reply to such a thing without giving herself entirely away. It was true, she was looking for someone to talk to, but the way that Dorothea was looking at her... It made her cheeks begin to redden despite herself, and she wanted to both curse and flee all at once. Her body however refused to let her do so, it would be undignified, and no doubt Dorothea would hound her for weeks if she did, and the former Black Eagle proved it as she cut straight to the point with a catlike grin, "Oh, Ingrid, don't tell me you haven't made things official with Sylvain yet."

"O-O-Official?! What is there to make official?!" Any semblance there had been of professionalism, or remaining at ease and well above Dorothea's barbs flew out the window at the mention of Sylvain, and Ingrid nearly tripped over herself when she shot back to her feet. Dorothea's snort of amusement was of no help, and Ingrid felt her ears burning a hot shade of crimson despite all of her attempts to control her inner temperature. It, of course, was all to no avail and she knew it, but she couldn't quite help it. No one was this blunt with her. No one but Dorothea, and even now she still was completely incapable of handling it. "There isn't anything between Sylvain and I! We're friends! Old friends, but friends!"

"Oh no, you haven't...! Oh, Ingrid, what are you doing with yourself?" Dorothea sighed as Ingrid vehemently denied her words, and she rested her chin in her hand as she fought her smile as well as her internal disappointment. Part of her could well understand, it just was not in Ingrid's breeding to chase after her heart's desires, but the other did not care a whit for such an excuse. She had seen the way her friend looked at him, and more importantly, how he looked at her. The attraction between the two was obvious, even moreso from his side, and yet they were just dancing about one another, without the intent of locking eyes, or even daring to brush hands. "You do realize that now is the perfect time for it, yes? And that you wouldn't be the first couple to take advantage of the situation? Why, just three days ago, I saw Ashe and Petra necking not five feet down the hall!"

"They were what?!"

"You know exactly what I mean. And it was very cute, even if it wasn't any of my business seeing it. But it was also most importantly understandable." Dorothea ignored Ingrid's flat surprise with a flick of her wrist, and she reminded herself to apologize to Petra sometime later for spilling the beans on something she was rather sure the young queen of Brigid might not be entirely ready to make public regardless of how she felt about the Kingdom sniper. Looking up at her friend, who was still looking at her as if she had just had a bucket of ice water dumped over her head, Dorothea crossed her legs before explaining with surprising seriousness, "Think a little, Ingrid, my dear... With what happened to the professor... All of us are again being reminded of just how short life is... How close death always is when taking to the battlefield becomes the norm. Out of all of us, who expected it would be the professor laying here right now, and not someone, anyone, else? It's a grim reminder of what war is, and what we are constantly at risk of losing. When one looks at life knowing those things... Why bother to wait for the "right time" or the "right place"? Especially when there may never be a right "time" or "place"? We could all be dead tomorrow. No one wishes to miss out on what small happinesses we may have, right now, simply because we were adhering to some foolish societal expectation of how courting is supposed to be done. There's no point in such things. And you of all people should know that even better than I."

Ingrid winced, though she knew she had no right to at Dorothea's assertion, as pointed as it may have been. She did know that life was short, and she had learned that lesson quite cruelly in her youth with Glenn. She still did not know to this day if she had loved him, but she had cared for him and admired him, and his loss had been a swordstroke to the heart. One day, he had been alive and a knight and everything she had ever aspired to be, and the next he had been dead. Death had no mercy for the living, and no care for their schedules, or concerns. If there was something she wanted, it was her own duty to take it with her own hands before it was snatched away. She knew that. She knew that she knew that. And yet... She hesitated as her stomach shrunk painfully in on itself and made her turn away, her lips curled into a frown as she pulled instinctively at her sleeve, "Th-That's... But... It isn't... that simple..."

"Why? Because the two of you are friends?"

"No, it's because..." Ingrid faltered, and felt her stomach clench even more painfully than before as she struggled to find the words. She had tried to talk herself into this so many times that all of Dorothea's arguments were ones she likely could repeat verbatim, and yet when she wished to say it aloud... She never could quite manage to do so. There was too much pain, pain and a mixture of guilt and shame that kept her lips sealed, and she could not help it no matter what she did. Yet, Dorothea was watching her kindly now, without judgement or mirth, just a simply, sisterly sort of kindness, and Ingrid felt the words come loose despite herself, "I lost Glenn when I was so young, and I never knew, I still don't know, what it was I felt for him when he died. I cared for him, but was that love? I don't know. But I do know that when I was grieving, when I was at my worst... Sylvain never left me. He never stopped worrying over me, caring for me, or being his usual self, because he knew it would bring me out of the dark. And I... I know I love Sylvain for that, even if he's... difficult. Extraordinarily difficult. But how do I say that to him and... not make him feel as if he's simply second place to Glenn?"

"You say so. It isn't as difficult as you're making it to be in your head, Ingrid." Dorothea scolded her gently, and she smiled up at her friend despite the way she was looking at her with such helpless fear in her eyes. That alone was enough for her to understand, to understand and sympathize with, and she stood, too, before reaching out to gently take her friend's hand and squeeze it comfortingly. It was always too easy to get caught up in the thoughts and the feelings before saying the words, and she understood that well. She had felt the same, before she had simply allowed herself to be honest with Ferdinand. Everything else had flowed so smoothly afterwards. So naturally. And she knew without a doubt it would be the same for Ingrid if she was willing to take the leap of faith and try. Still... She didn't want to leave her scared, nor did she want to belittle her for being so, and she consoled her kindly as she continued, "And Sylvain may be... special... but he isn't the fool he wishes everyone to see him as. Even if you think he would concern himself with being a second... If you know he isn't, all you need to do is say so, and he would believe you. It's as easy as saying the words, Ingrid. As easy, and as difficult, I guess I should say, actually."

"As easy, and as difficult..." Ingrid echoed, and she felt her body sag underneath the weight and her exhaustion. She felt as if she had been walking along a path of nails in her bare feet, though Dorothea's words did do something to help alleviate her concerns, even if they couldn't solve it. That was a burden for her shoulders and her shoulders alone... and it made her pinch the bridge of her nose as she let out a long, tired breath... She wouldn't be permitted to dally any longer. Not when Dorothea now knew. She would be hounded for moons if she allowed things to remain as they were, and that thought frightened her far more than confronting Sylvain did. And with that smile she was wearing as she watched her expectantly... Ingrid waved a hand as she turned her feet in the direction of the hall, speaking over her shoulder as she allowed the rush of adrenaline and desire to escape dictate her actions, "Fine! You'll get what you want, and then you can stop hounding me, do we agree?!"

"Oh my lovely Ingrid, if you think this was hounding, you have no idea what I'm truly capable of of!"

Dorothea's voice was haunting in Ingrid's ears as she left the infirmary behind, but she allowed the flow of blood in her body to command her movements before better thought, or fear, could stop her in her tracks. She knew the path to his quarters easily, too many moons of tracking him down for a scolding had made it impossible for her to forget, and she took the stairs two at a time for the noble's hall. Unlike in their student days, now all the doors were shut, with several rooms having even been barred off if only because the memory of who had once inhabited those dorms had proven to be too much for the others. She couldn't admit she felt bad for it, though she knew the reminder would one day become too poisonous for even the most stalwart of them.

Still, as she marched herself down to Sylvain's quarters, and saw his shut door... A tiny part of her began to recoil. There was a very real possibility he was not alone in that room, and could she manage herself if that proved to be true? Ever since his return, she had seen his philandering ways almost come to a complete halt, but she had chosen to believe it was merely the seriousness of their circumstances that had put a halt to his worse behaviour... Was it anything else? Could she hinge all of her hopes on Dorothea asserting that their attraction was certainly mutual, and not that his stumbling and fumbling before had been nothing but his way of showing concern for her?

The second thoughts were choking, and she savagely shoved them aside for another time. If she was to be proven wrong, then that would be that... but she would at least unburden her own conscience, if only to save herself those long, restless nights. She rapped hard on the door, both aware simultaneously that she had to sound more urgent than things were, and as strong a likelihood as there could be that he was with company... He also could simply not be there at all. Ingrid bit her lip, trying to control her breathing, and wondering if perhaps she had again let her stubbornness overwhelm her good sense. She really hadn't needed to storm off in such a rush, but Dorothea had been needling so incessantly... Gods. She was about to make a complete and utter fool of herself, wasn't she?

The door swung open almost a moment later, with a dishevelled-looking Sylvain blinking his eyes owlishly as he glanced around furtively before realizing it was only Ingrid who was standing in front of his door. He took a moment to smooth down his hair, his other hand unclenching on the doorknob as he took a breath, and then glanced around a second time. It was clear he had just been woken up from a nap, as his clothes were haphazardly tossed on as if he had been rushing to get up in case of some sort of alarm, but he didn't allow for himself to look entirely relieved as he finally looked back to Ingrid and asked, voice poorly concealing a yawn as he did so, "Ingrid...? Is something the matter? What's with the ramming? If something's on fire, I'm not about to be much help until you let me get my gear."

"Can I come in? I want to talk to you."

The request surprised him and brought him fully awake, as it usually wasn't her way to ask for permission before she went ahead and did whatever it was she had come to do. She never had been one to have much patience for things like personal space, as he knew Bernadetta could attest to, yet there she was, asking for permission, and of something she never had bothered to do before when it concerned him. How many times had she tracked him down to his quarters to give him an earful for one transgression or another she had been forced to clean up for him? His quarters had never been off limits to her before, strict rules about gender separation or no. She simply didn't care enough to adhere to such silly rules if she had a good reason to be tanning his hide.

The thought made him pause, but only for a moment as he opened the door wider to allow her entry without a word. Though he was well aware he had been the reason there was so much tension with the monastery as of late, he was sure that wasn't the reason Ingrid had interrupted his nap. She had been just as at fault for that as he had, and she knew it just as well as he did. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of what else he could have done to warrant one of her many scolding tirades. He had been on his best behaviour lately, or, well, at least what he could confirm as his best behaviour, and he couldn't imagine what he might have been up to to warrant a scolding, and it put him on the defensive almost immediately as he closed the door behind her and began hesitantly, "Hey, Ingrid, before you start, I want to just say I promise I've been up to absolutely nothing disgraceful lately, and-"

"Be quiet, Sylvain." Ingrid turned on him before she could lose her nerve, and she reached to grasp the front of his rumpled tunic before she pulled him close and interrupted any further arguing by pressing her mouth to his. He went stock still the moment her lips touched his own, and she swore she could feel him holding his breath as the seconds ticked by like minutes without even a hint of a response. Never mind a return to her kiss, her old friend wasn't even daring to breathe as she held him tightly in place, and the feeling of rejection came like a harsh stroke of a lance to take her feet out from under her.

All better sense told her to push him away and leave, immediately, but she couldn't quite find the strength in her limbs to do so. Rather, her hands gripped down tighter on his shoulders, keenly aware of how his were hanging useless and without movement at his own sides. It stung, but she accepted it as she knew she had to, but she wouldn't allow herself the easy way out. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms as best she could around him, hiding her face in his shoulder so he wouldn't see the sting of tears in her eyes when she murmured raggedly against his neck, "I love you. I... I wanted to say that I love you, all right? A-After what happened to the professor... After what happened to Glenn, I... I know that life is just too damned short to wait for the things that are truly important to me. That could have been you or I laying in our own blood in Grondor. Or on any other battlefield we've fought on. And I don't want it to be in that moment that I get a chance to say how I feel, or lose that chance entirely. That's... That's what I was doing. You're my best friend, but you're also... just so important to me, Sylvain. I had to do something about it."

A beat of painful, awkward silence followed, making Ingrid wonder if perhaps it would have been better if she had made a quick exit rather than force out an explanation, before she heard him let out a deep, quiet breath against her ear. His arms raised slowly, carefully to wrap about her svelte form, and he squeezed her close as one hand rested gently on her hip and the other came to smoothly caress the top of her head. He was quiet for another moment or two, and this time Ingrid was aware she was the one holding her breath now before he sighed into her hair, "This... is usually the part when I wake up from my favourite dream. Sorry, but you need to give me a second to just... let this sink in that it's real. It... It is real, right? You're not just... playing some really cruel joke on me right now? I wouldn't be angry if you did. I'm pretty sure I've earned a lot of cruelty with how you've been playing nursemaid after me ever since we were kids."

Ingrid wasn't quite sure what hurt worse, the disbelief in his voice, or the shaky way he spoke of deserving any sort of cruelty from her for all of his actions in the past. It only made her tighten her grip all the more fiercely, and she pushed herself as far into his arms as she could manage, relishing both the strength in his, as well as that familiar warmth that enveloped her when he answered in kind without hesitating for even a moment. She could feel a hot tear trickling down her cheek, and she hoped to the gods he wouldn't feel it as she answered in a ragged mutter, "Why would I ever joke about something like this...? I mean it, Sylvain... You're... You're the most important person in my life, and I couldn't handle keeping that to myself anymore. I was so restless and anxious, and... the only thing that ever makes me feel better, that ever reminds me that it's all right to smile, even in these days... is you. How could I not love you?"

"Do you want me to ruin the moment and give you a list of reasons why you really shouldn't? Because I can give you a list of reasons why you really shouldn't." Sylvain's returning jape fell flat, but the arms that were squeezing tightly about her waist refused to slacken, let alone even imagine releasing her. He nuzzled her neck gently, his breath warm and uneven on her skin, and unbidden she felt herself tremble at the foreign, but not particularly uncomfortable sensation. She could feel the ghost of his lips, pulling up into that annoyingly charming smile she hated and loved, but he did not move forward, didn't dare to press as he simply held her close and continued quietly, "Look, you just surprised me there, but... Don't doubt... that I don't feel the same about you, okay...? Because I do. I honestly and truly do."

Despite all her best efforts, Ingrid felt herself sniffle as that tightly coiled ball of hurt and rejection and fear melted away into pleasant and relieved warmth, and she cursed herself as Sylvain momentarily stiffened against her in surprise. He didn't let her go, however, but rather gave her another warm squeeze before he was slowly, carefully, leading her to sit down with him on the edge of his bed. He urged her quietly when she initially hesitated, and that warm grip on her arm didn't help her self-restraint an ounce. After a moment or two, Ingrid found herself curled up neatly against his side, face pressed into his shoulder as he kept one arm wrapped around her waist, while the other of his hands was covering hers as it gripped at the hem of his tunic to keep him firmly in place.

Sylvain reached slowly, hesitantly for her face, and his thumb was careful as it brushed away one of the tears she hadn't managed to wipe away on her sleeve. She held still for him, savouring the feeling of his warm, callused palm cradling her cheek. He was gentle even if he was somewhat hesitant with her, and she appreciated his kindness as she was well aware he was far more experienced than she was when it came to things like physical intimacy. His thumb brushed again across her cheek, and his brow furrowed as he muttered, more to himself than to her, "I hate it when I make you cry..."

"You don't make me cry..." Ingrid shook her head, nudging him gently as she looked up to see him watching her with one sardonically raised eyebrow. The disbelief was written clear across his face, and she let out a tired, irritated breath as she realized this wasn't about to be as "natural" as Dorothea had promised it would be. She tightened her hold on his tunic, eyes narrowing in response before she reiterated firmly, "No, I mean it, Sylvain. You don't make me cry. You've worried me, disappointed me, made me outrageously furious more times than I can count... but not once have you ever made me cry. Not even when we were children, and you were at your worst. You've never once made me cry. And fretting over you doesn't count. That's a habit at this point, and not one I'm inclined to be breaking anytime soon, either."

"You mean that?" Sylvain found himself asking before he could think better of it, and this time she was the one to give him a withering look, and he immediately pulled a face as he understood his error. She was always blunt, and always honest. She would never lie to spare his feelings. Especially not now. He raised his free hand in a sign of supplication, bowing his head as he quickly began to backtrack, "You mean that. Of course you mean that... I'm sorry. It's just... This is... It's... a lot. Not that I'm upset, or that I'm unhappy or anything... I just... figured you didn't... Or you wouldn't, anyway... see me in this kind of way. We've been friends for most of our lives. You know me better than I do. So I guess, I'm just... at a loss about why. Why me? Why me and not someone... leagues better?"

"Isn't it obvious? You just said so yourself why." Ingrid's tone softened at his questioning, at the show of hesitance and self-doubt, and it made her smile sadly at how little he truly thought of himself. She had known he had always felt this way, that he had never really had the confidence that he projected simply because he had a Crest, but that didn't matter to her. He was true to himself and his beliefs, even if some of those beliefs had been abhorrent, but he also had proven he was willing to change his thoughts when he was granted new perspective. She knew him well... but the reverse was also true, and she ran a comforting hand across his cheek as she explained gently, "We've been friends ever since we were children. No one knows you better than I do... and no one knows me better than you. You've seen me at my worst... and you were there for me then. You stood by me, even when I tried everything to push you away... and when I finally started to come out of the dark... I know you acted up only to keep my focus off of my grief, and onto something else. Everything you did when we were younger... You did it for me. You just never said so."

"Like I said a long time ago... It hurt seeing you hurt, and not being able to do anything about it. Raising a ruckus, and making you chase me around... It seemed like it was the only way to keep you from... just slipping back down sometimes." Sylvain didn't argue her points, though he wondered errantly just exactly when she had begun to see through him and allowed for his behaviour to continue. She could have easily nipped it in the bud from the start, he would have never allowed himself to be such a nuisance that he became an honest burden to her, but she never had tried earnestly to stop him. Not until his mischief had grown far out of control, and had turned worrisome and malicious, rather than something as simple as a distraction. That was his own fault and he knew it, and owned it, but it didn't stop him from idly reaching for her hand, curling his fingers errantly about hers as he continued quietly, "Seeing you now, compared to back then... Thinking about it all... I've loved you for a long time. It's downright pathetic that it took you nearly slugging my head off to make me realize it."

"Nearly slugging your...? Oh." Ingrid reddened as the memory came back with little prompting, and she wasn't entirely sure if she felt ashamed, concerned, or maybe even slightly amused to hear that her punching him into a hay bale had been the trigger for his realization. It had not been one of her finest moments, and she still cringed slightly whenever she thought of it, but she had been at such a loss of what to do. He was hurting over Miklan, she had known that he was, but he refused to let anyone see it, let alone even try to give him comfort. Her anger had boiled over at his repeated jokes and dodges, and eventually she had struck him in both frustration and hurt... but he had come chasing after her later that day with an honest apology in his eye, and a soft, quiet admittance of being in pain, too. She rubbed at her nose, embarrassed as she admitted weakly, "I... could have handled that much better... You didn't deserve to be lashed out at like that..."

"No, I did. And you know the worst thing? It... It was the professor who made me see that, too." Sylvain felt a small, wry smile curl at his lips, and he raised Ingrid's hand to his mouth, carefully pressing a kiss to her knuckles as she turned to look at him with surprise. It had been obvious to everyone in the early moons of their schooling that he and their professor had not gotten along whatsoever, and it had even become a point of contention between him and his lord, at the worst of it... Yet, to everyone else, suddenly things between them had changed on a dime. Sylvain had reigned in his lack of respect, and Raine had seemed to be gaining more confidence in both herself and her duties. He doubted anyone knew that the two were correlated, and he had said nothing when asked, if only to keep her secrets in confidence... but he would keep nothing from Ingrid. "No, it's true... After you slugged me, she came over to check on me. I was still so much of a bastard to her, then, too... but she didn't mind it. She let me rant and snarl and hurl all that venom at her until I was spent... and she reminded me that if someone like her was seeing how much pain I was in, I was an idiot for thinking that my friends couldn't see it, either. That was back before she really felt like she was a good teacher, so she was pretty hard on herself while she was trying to make me see sense... It made me realize I wasn't just acting the bastard anymore... I really was one, if this was the way people reacted to me. And nobody deserved to be torn down because of me, especially when all they wanted to do was help."

Ingrid smiled gently as Sylvain kissed tenderly at her hand, nuzzling her fingers and holding them gently in between his own. He didn't seem to be aware he was doing it, but every breath on her skin made her shiver, and she reached to return his favour by running her free hand's fingers through his tousled crimson mane when she replied softly, "She's always been very good at that... Making people see things from other perspectives. She chalked it up to the fact that it was her mercenary upbringing, and that she was so far and away from nobility... She just didn't realize yet that she was more empathetic than she thought. She always cared about us, even if we were foisted on her unwillingly. She just didn't know how to show it properly, that's all... Just like you, I guess. Small wonder you didn't get along well until you grew up a little."

"Until I grew up a little? Come on, that's harsh. I've grown up plenty these last five years!" Sylvain mimicked the look of a hurt puppy despite the glint of humour sparking in his eyes, and the hands that had been gently clasping about her waist suddenly became tickling. His fingers danced along her ribs in playful menace, refusing to let her get a word in edgewise before she fell to laughter in the midst of an attempt of scolding. He laughed with her, feeling the weight of the war, of the past several moons melting away. This was how easy it had been, before they had been handed weapons, when they were young and able to be children, and Sylvain revelled in it as his fingers skittered across her waist and hips, tickling everywhere he could reach as she laughed and squirmed in a desperate, and futile, attempt to get away from him.

It was a mad rush of hands and laughter and pushing and shoving for several moments before either of them realized what position they had gotten themselves into. Sylvain was the first to pause and hesitate as he looked at Ingrid laying sprawled across his cot, her face flushed, eyes glittering with affectionate amusement, and her chest heaving for breath as he leaned over her to keep her trapped for more torture. The fey mood of childhood amusement however was gone, and he was well aware of just what sort of reaction he was having to her now, and almost on instinct he began to raise himself up from the bed, face reddening in tandem with hers when he mumbled awkwardly, "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to go-"

"It's all right." Gentle hands caught his face before he could escape too far, and they wound tenderly about his shoulders to pull him back down and almost completely atop of her. He heard her shaky little breath as his chest flattened against her own, and he twitched as her fingers ran with lazy, errant purpose through his still rumpled crimson hair. She nuzzled his shoulder again, tightening her grip only slightly before she turned her head, her lips brushing against his earlobe when she murmured in a warm, silken voice, "Don't stop."

Sylvain wished he could have said his better sense overrode his instinct, but there was little he could do against the feel of her warm body pressing so intimately against his own. His head turned, lips seeking her own, and she murmured with pleasure the moment they touched. Her hold on him tightened even further as her lips parted for his questing tongue, and he groaned quietly somewhere deep his throat at the foreign but so familiar smell and taste of her. Fresh hay, and marzipan, her favourite sweet for both herself and her horses, and each time she shifted underneath him, he pressed closer and closer, pinning her all the more firmly between the thin mattress of his cot and his own body. She was soft, ridiculously soft, and his hands began to wander across those forbidden curves of hers that he'd been aching to touch and keeping himself far and away from despite every ample opportunity he had been granted both on and off of the field of battle.

"Mmm..." Her soft little purr of satisfaction was more than enough of an acceptance for him to continue, and she deepened his kiss eagerly, her own hands joining in his search as they wandered lazily across the broad expanse of his back and farther below. Her legs stirred, that restlessness returning with that familiar plume of heat deep within, and she was both surprised and secretly pleased when with one expert movement he slid himself between them to push her further down so she could better appreciate his sudden weight. A moan she couldn't quite stifle escaped as her hips arched thoughtlessly upwards, seeking more of him in impatient want, and she was surprised, and a little disappointed when he abruptly pulled away when her hands began to tug instinctively at his tunic.

"Wait a second... I just..." Sylvain sat up abruptly, pushing himself with his hands to get off of her but not entirely pulling himself away or out of her reach. His brow was furrowed, his eyes darkened with trouble and hesitation, and he glanced about the room like he was searching for words before he could look back at her laying down in his bed, clothes and hair rumpled, eyes hungry, and her lips swollen from their hungry trading of deep and deeper kisses. She looked beautiful, and it made every inch of him ache with want of her, but he swallowed down the lump in his throat and cleared it before he spoke again, trying his best to be firm and ignore the sight in front of him that had haunted him dreams for longer than he wanted to admit, "Can you just... answer me one thing? If... If we hadn't gone to war. If we'd graduated, set off, and just lived out our lives like we were supposed to... Would this have happened? Would you still... have chosen me? If the war, if the death, wasn't always hanging over our shoulders... Would things have still worked out this way?"

Ingrid watched him closely, at first unsure why he was again hesitating and pulling back before his words sank in like stones in water. It wasn't his worry that she was rejecting him, nor was it the concern of being second to Glenn... He knew better, just as Dorothea had said he would. Rather, his concern was for her, not for himself, and she could read it his eyes, even if they were doing everything he possibly could to avoid looking at her. It made her smile with fond exasperation, and she reached for his cheek, turning his head back in her direction before she answered him quietly, firmly, "It would have. Maybe it might have taken a little longer, but I know that it would have, Sylvain. I would have always chosen you. You aren't taking advantage of me. It's true I'm afraid, afraid of losing you, of being lost, but... It's also true that I love you. But if you feel like it's too soon, or too quick, that's all right. I can wait until you're more sure of things. I did... come on a little strong."

"Just a little. And that's usually my territory." Sylvain agreed with a wry smile, but he appreciated her kindness, and her patience. She really was a saint... but he knew for himself that he wasn't. Even now, his fingers were itching with the urge to touch her, to pull apart her clothes and get to her skin, to make her moan again, louder and this time with his name on her lips... He shook his head, reaching for her chin as he leaned back down, caressing the curve of her lip when he muttered half-seriously, "But waiting... I don't think I've got the self-restraint for that. You don't come into a man's room uninvited, then start kissing him and expect nothing to happen after. Especially a man like me. If you let me continue... You won't be leaving until tomorrow morning. Are you all right with that?"

His left hand had slid down her side, stroking with the strength of a whisper as he lifted her leg and again slipped so easily in between to lay across her again. She inhaled sharply at the sensation of his weight on her body, of his strong hands caressing and stroking her through her clothes, and she wondered why he'd dare to ask. He had more practise with this than she did, and even if he wasn't doing it consciously, every movement he made was instinctual and seductive, and it drew her in with or without her consent. She was aching, on fire, and she didn't care about the consequences any longer. What was the point of it all, when tomorrow, or the next day, neither of them could be there to experience this again?

Her leg lifted of its own volition, sliding across his waist to pull him down, and his hiss of astonished pleasure as his erect centre came into direct contact with her core only made her burn all the hotter. She raised her hips, grinding against him instinctively, and this time he gasped her name as his right hand tightened thoughtlessly on her thigh. His eyes were shut, teeth grit and face almost as red as his hair... and Ingrid felt a surge of confidence that was both wholly unfamiliar, and completely right. This was what she could do to him as a woman, this was her feminine wiles that Dorothea had always gone on about, and she reminded herself to thank her friend later as she arched even further, craving that delicious friction as her mouth grazed his chin before she whispered raggedly, "I don't want to leave at all, Sylvain... Make me yours, and I'll make you mine in return."

Fire burst behind his eyes, and he smirked at her despite his tightened jaw. He leaned down, nuzzling across her neck as his hands moved with rapid speed and precision to unbutton her blouse before she could think twice about it. His lips and teeth dragged across her skin, eliciting breathless, startled moans, and through it all her hips twitched and jerked against his own, making him burn and ache and want with thoughtless abandon. She had asked for it. She wanted him, and by the Goddess herself, he wanted her, just as badly. He sank his teeth into her neck, delighting in her loud, shameless groan as her fingernails scraped at his scalp, and he pulled her blouse open as one hand slid inside to cup and caress her pert breasts. Her hardened nipple grazed his palm, eliciting another breathless groan from her lips, and he smirked, incapable of helping himself... She was new to this, to carnal wants and the wild pleasures a body was capable of feeling when another touched them... but he had all night to teach her. His tongue laved over the spot where he had bitten her, a reminder of what was to come and a reminder of what they'd done, and he glanced up to her once more, chest heaving even as he began shrugging out of his tunic, "Don't regret this in the morning, Ingrid... You'll break my heart."

"I won't, Sylvain. I promise." Ingrid closed her eyes, allowing her body to sink into the pleasure of his rough, callused hands, his lips, his teeth, and the feeling of his hot skin caressing her own as layers of clothing were shed like snakeskin and thrown carelessly aside to the floor. She could admit, five years ago, she never would have ever dared to entertain the thought of being with her old friend like this... but now? Now every touch, new as it was, was warm and familiar, and more than anything, it felt absolutely right. This was Sylvain, her best friend and her oldest partner, and there was no one she trusted more, or cared more deeply for. This was right. This was how things were meant to be. Her mouth found his again, and she groaned as his tongue slid against hers, caressing and tasting and milking out sounds she didn't know she had been capable of making. Yet he was still gentle, and she smiled as her fingers combed again this his hair... Regret this? Never. If anything... "If I get to wake up to you in the morning... I'll be the happiest woman alive. Love me, Sylvain. Love me and make me forget everything but you."

"I can do that for you, Ingrid..."

"Nnm...!"

AN:

I promised there'd be smuttish stuff for the other Blue Lions, and I held up my promise. Mind, this won't be the only, or the last of little "incidents" between the couples I have going on, but it is just the first instance of it. Provoked, of course, by that "fear of war/fear of death" that is constantly hanging over the heads of the soldiers fighting, but it doesn't make the relationship any less real, or the desire any less honest. Of course, Sylvain being Sylvain, and Ingrid being Ingrid... I wanted to have that gentle hesitancy, the concern, and the friendship be just as important as the romance, and the more "fun" bits. My only apology is that it didn't go all the way, but I was hitting ten pages, and my wrists were starting to hurt. X'D

As for the top half of this chapter... I meant it when I said that I wanted things in AM to be harder, and more realistic, for Dimitri. With it being Raine, and not Rodrigue who "bit the bullet" for him, the reaction is bound to be more violent and angry than it would be if it had just been Felix's father. And even then, Felix had very little to say to Dimitri as it was, which was disheartening, considering he never really hated Rodrigue, but was still in the midst of grieving for his brother, and using his grief as a whip to keep people at bay. With Raine however, acting as a moral compass and one of the only "sane men" about, the reaction should have been explosive.

Now, as for where the story goes from here... Dimitri has a redemption arc to earn, but how I'm going about that will admittedly be a bit... Well, who knows. It's difficult to go from here, considering I have to play the chapter (sometimes multiple times) as I write my fics. That means I've held off on certain paralogues, and haven't done as much grinding as I'd have liked to do in order to get certain things done within a good timeframe. So, the next few chapters may be a little off-kilter, but they are what they are!

As always, thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope you enjoyed what you got. I'll see you again later, with a new chapter and more fun stuff to follow. Have a good one, till we see each other again!

PS: As of writing (or on the day of release, let's be honest), I have finished Cindered Shadows... and, I've made an executive decision that none of it will be included in my canon for plenty of reasons. It's unfortunate, since the lore in the side story was great to find, and the battles were fun (if a bit overly gimmicky), but the characters didn't shine very well in their own story, and it's not really possible for me to insert them into my canon at this point. And, to be honest... I don't want to. I have my own backstory concerning Raine and Warin's mother, and while I am aware that the side-story is "canon"... It simply isn't "my" canon. But that is what fanfiction is for. I only apologize for any fans of the Ashen Wolves, as none of the side-story, and none of the characters there will be making an appearance in my work anytime soon. This note is just to make everyone completely aware that from this point on, the DLC will have no impact whatsoever on Azure Moon: Cerulean Tears, and the story will continue on as if it does not exist.

Mood: Anxious.

Listening To: "World So Cold" - 12 Stones

~ Sky