dreamsofknighthood
I will be a knight, Python. Just you watch!
Closed RP Forsyth | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia | Associated with FERP
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mercantilemercenary:
Gray didn’t know anything about being apart from Tobin for longer than a few weeks and that was before he’d realized… well, anything. But those few weeks had always been lonely, drawn out ordeals without his best friend by his side, book-ended by days where everything was bright and the same as it had always been.
Gray said as much to Forsyth. “The longest I have ever been away from Tobin was for a couple weeks on my first solo merchant’s expedition for my family. I felt like nothing would be the same when I returned but… there was Tobin, waiting for me with his usual smile. I told him about my trip and he updated me on the local Ram gossip… and it was like we had never been apart.” He paused, considering. “I think a meeting now after a longer time might be a bit more full of backslapping and reconnecting over a drink, but overall probably wouldn’t be much different.”
However much his subconscious might want it to be. He shook sudden images of other more familiar reunions out of his head. No need to dwell on something with little chance of happening.
Gray bumped his shoulder up against Forsyth’s in a friendly nudge (he hoped). “You’ve known Python practically your whole life, it can’t be too difficult to fall into familiar patterns.”
Forsyth sighed. Gray was right, there was no use denying it. He had known Python almost all his life - and indeed, this was the longest they had ever been apart. Maybe it would be like old times. Just maybe...
Steady, Forsyth, he told himself. He had let his emotions control himself enough in the past; he knew better now than to let them get the better of him.
Most of the time.
“W-well then,” he said, struggling to contain his stammer. He picked up his lance and gave it a firm slam into the dusty ground. “Let us have one more round. If you defeat me this time, you have my word that I shall ask Sir Clive for a leave of absence. If I win, we shall never speak of this again.”
He said no more, but at that moment, he wasn’t sure whether he wished to win… or to lose.
Combat Advice
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aimless--archer:
It’s so like Forsyth to only take the positive from his answer, but as much as he would never admit it, that’s part of what has always drawn Python to him. He needs that boundless energy and optimism, even if he’s one of the only people to ever see them falter. Sometimes it was all that got him out of bed when they were younger, or kept him going despite his complaining during the war. He’s finally learned to get out of bed on his own, so in a way maybe he doesn’t needit anymore, and he knows Forsyth is proud of that. But he will forever be fond of it nonetheless.
“There will? Didn’t think you’d ever admit that.” His tone is teasing as ever, but it’s true. Not that that’s an outcome he’d ever want- he still dreads a letter from Clive every time a messenger comes- but Forsyth has always seemed determined to do this forever, to pour every bit of himself into battle and duty until it’s hard to imagine anything being left at the end. It’s a relief to hear that maybe that isn’t the case after all.
“I dunno. Guess we’ll find some village and settle down.” Not this one, hopefully. He yawns- when had the night snuck up on them? “Might not mind doing some woodworking then, if my hands still work. You could…I dunno, write a book about the grand adventures of Forsyth the Valiant. Give the next weird kid somethin’ to dream about.” He chuckles. “Or maybe plant a garden. Always thought you might have a green thumb.”
They’ve been soldiers for so long that it’s hard to remember what it was like as simple villagers, or to imagine going back to it. But Forsyth is right, they won’t be able to do this forever. And at least they could be simple villagers together. “Doesn’t sound half bad, really.”
“Oh come now, Python,” Forsyth said, a semblance of a huff in his voice. “Even I must admit that I cannot fight on forever. I shall endeavour to serve at Sir Clive’s side as long as I can, but even a knight must eventually retire.”
He’d read about it in stories, of course; how the gallant, brave knights of old had eventually become scholars, or mentors to the younger soldiers at a castle or village. Lukas would be good at that, he thought to himself.
He listened to Python with a smile on his face. He had kept notes throughout their entire campaign; perhaps there was something in his suggestion of a book, though how competent a writer he was, he didn’t know. Over the years, what he had penned mainly comprised of battle strategies and combat techniques. Would an account of their heroism enthral the common reader? The idea of generation upon generation hearing of their exploits did make his heart sing a little, but even he knew this thought to be foolish. Their story would likely fade into history, their names unknown beside their role at the side of King Alm.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” he laughed in response. “Perhaps I shall become like my father, after all - a stuffy old scholar in a little village. And you - woodworking? Hah! I never thought I should hear you say that.” He nudged Python in the ribs, and leaned over to kiss him.
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▼
▼ - Try to scare or startle a friend/loved one
Forsyth hummed. “I see no reason to do so,” he said. Some of the younger, more frivolous soldiers found it amusing to pose as a Terror, jumping out from around a corner or from behind a box in this rat-infested hideout they called home.
Forsyth found it rather immature - this was not a place for games.
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♛~? uwu
♛ - Hurt someone out of jealousy
Forsyth lets out an audible gasp. He isn’t the jealous type at all - far from it, in fact. If another soldier demonstrated superior skill he will do one of two things: sink into self-pity (especially if they are praised by Sir Clive), or look upon them with awe, determined to match them as best he can.
“Certainly not,” he replies, his brow tightly furrowed. “It is hardly befitting of a knight to display such behaviour.”
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❣ Do something they promised a loved one they would never do
“I’m afraid I have already done so, Python,” Forsyth sighed, pushing aside a hair from his forehead. “I once promised my father I would stay at home, in the village, and become a scholar as he desired.” He looked away. “I knew in my heart that I could never keep that promise. I sometimes wonder why I made it, but the look in his eyes…”
He stopped himself, and continued to bandage the leg wound he’d acquired during the day’s fighting. “It does not do to dwell on this now. We have all of Zofia to think about.”
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mercantilemercenary:
Forsyth’s tone, though forced, startled the impish grin off of Gray’s face. Mila help him the man was serious about that duty thing wasn’t he? Gray sighed and schooled his expression into something he hope resembled seriousness. “Look, I know I have less experience with this knight thing than you do, even just being in proximity… But I think Sir Clive can survive a little while without you. It’s not like he doesn’t have a more robust network now that people aren’t dying left and right.”
Gray pauses for a moment, considering his next words carefully, and then decides fuck it and forges ahead. “Consider this, if Mathilda rode off into the blue and Clive hadn’t seen her for months, would you judge him for taking some time to go catch up?” It’s risky to compare whatever is going on between Python and Forsyth to the resident power couple, but Gray thinks it might bring things into perspective. Maybe.
He decides he should temper that with a more relateable notion. “I dunno, but if Tobin went off gallivanting I don’t think I would make it a month without following close behind.”
“W-well, well I...”
Forsyth could not control his stammer, and he took a sharp breath to steady himself. Slightly. Just what was Gray implying?
“Of course I would not judge Sir Clive! But he and Lady Mathilda are betrothed... and Python and I are...” He turned away and sighed. “I suppose friendship is a bond all its own. I know how close you are to Tobin. But...”
Everything inside him was fighting now - the side that wanted so desperately to see his friend again, see that tilted grin and that sparkle in his eyes, and the side that feared what would happen should he abandon his duty as a knight. He had worked so hard to get here, and yet everything that was coming from Gray’s mouth made sense. Almost too much sense.
“What would you do?” he asked, looking up at Gray. “Uh... if Tobin left, that is, and you saw him again after all that time. It has been so long since I have seen Python. I... I don’t know if it will be the same.”
Combat Advice
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aimless--archer
“More the second, I guess, ” he shrugs. “I suppose it doesn’t have to be me, but it’s gotta be somebody, so it may as well be.” The bug Forsyth had swatted finds a new perch on the tip of his nose, and he scrunches his face in annoyance, attempting to wiggle it away without lifting his sore arms. “Beats bein’ a carpenter or sweepin’ a tavern floor. I ain’t’ got a whole lot of other marketable skills, and food and ale don’t pay for themselves.”
It’s what he’s always said- that he works enough to keep a full belly and a bed under him, and that’s it. It’s not really true anymore- if it was, he probably would be a carpenter, and likely wouldn’t have a still-aching slice out of his arm. It would be an easier life, but monotonous, purposeless. And maybe he doesn’t completely hate that this gives him purpose. He doesn’t respond to Forsyth’s praise, but doesn’t roll his eyes either, just… accepts it, for once.
He lets the final question hang for a moment, finding himself without a ready answer. “I guess so. Not like I have much to compare it to.” And he doesn’t, he realizes- at least not since they were children, and those memories are hazy fragments that at times barely feel real. Has he ever been happy? His final years at home had been miserable, the militia not much better. The Deliverance had been…well, a lot of things, but the constant threat of violent death hadn’t lent itself to feeling especially content. He’s always just carved out bits of happiness where he can find them- in decent food or strong drink, in a warm body for the night, in teaching the village boys a bawdy song or a particularly good prank to play on Clive. In lazing around watching Forsyth train in the early morning, or squishing too close to him around the campfire at night. So much of it came from him.
“Could be happier, but…” He trails off. Forsyth is right- maybe not about “meant to be,” he still doesn’t believe in that- but that things are what they are and will never be perfect. In some ideal world, maybe they would want the same things, but this one isn’t and has never been ideal.
This will have to be enough.
He shakes his head, dislodging both the persistent gnat and his train of thought. The fever is making him maudlin. His lips curl back into their usual smirk. “Be happier if you kissed me.”
Normally, Forsyth would have snapped at that comment - Python, this is serious! - but this time, head heavy with the air in the barn and thoughts half-clouded, he simply smiled. Leaning over, he gave Python a long and lingering kiss, their lips clinging to each other momentarily as he pulled away. He lay his head back on the hay, still clenching Python’s hand and rubbing his thumb across the archer’s roughened palm.
The visions he’d had in his younger days still declined to leave him, haunting his mind like ghosts. They were on horseback, the two of them, clad in the armour of Zofian knights; his horse covered in resplendent green, Python’s a vibrant, sea-coloured blue. In their hands they carried standards graced with the image of the white tree, and they rode out together in search of some evildoers to fight, or a village to save.
It would never happen. But he could still see it, just out of his mind’s eye.
He sighed. “Well, I am glad to hear it, Python. If we had come all this way and you were still unhappy... I admit, I would be somewhat at a loss.”
A bird shrieked noisily outside. Probably a raven, he thought. They had always plagued the village’s crops, even back when they were children. Fitting, he thought, that some things never change.
His mind turned again, and he found himself looking at Python, who was nothing more than a shadow in the near-darkness. “But there will come a time when we can no longer fight,” he continued. “I wonder. What will we do then?”
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Forsyth couldn’t sleep.
This in itself was unusual; a creature of habit, he would retire to his cot early and awaken before sunrise, fresh-faced and ready for the day’s training. But as he lay facing the ceiling of the tent, his hands resting against his chest, he could not get the image out of his mind.
The first boy must have been no more than eighteen. Clad in the armour of Rigel, far too big for his scrawny figure, he was no match for the trained Deliverance soldier who proved his end. Forsyth barely saw it happen – the heat of combat made it impossible – but he heard the anguished gasp, the spluttering, the clash of lance against steel.
It was what came next that echoed in his mind. Another soldier – barely older than the first – wailing and screaming over his corpse, holding him, shaking him, begging for Duma to return him to life. Whether he was a friend, a brother, or something else entirely, Forsyth did not know, but it made the soldiers stop in their tracks. He could still hear it, even as the night fell upon them.
He turned to his right where Python was sleeping, sprawled out and facing away from him. Shifting his weight, he moved closer, and rested his head against the back of his neck. They’d done this when they were children, to shelter from the cold; he didn’t know why, but that familiar warmth made him feel safe.
He smelled of campfire smoke and sweat – the product of a day’s hard work – and he could have sworn he heard a murmur.
He mumbled Python’s name sleepily, but got no response.
Probably just a trick of the night, he thought.
But before he knew it, he had passed into sleep.
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🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love ( :3)
Just how right it felt; the tingling when Python touched him, the sweat that beaded on his back. He’d never felt anything like it, and he didn’t even know it was love at first. It was only when he completed his dreams of becoming a knight that his mind was open enough to focus on anything other than that.
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kumadewarrior:
“Forgive you for what?” Laevatein blinks. “I’m not too good at knowing what’s, uh, sensitive to talk about. If someone asks me something, I’ll answer…” She still hadn’t processed everything with her father, to be honest. Speaking about it helps her sort out her own feelings on the matter – whatever they may be.
She tilts her head as she listens, genuinely curious about this foreign relationship Forsyth describes to her. Of course parents are supposed to care about their children and keep them safe, but Laevatein hadn’t received such treatment herself. Well, in a sense, she supposed her father wanted her safe as long as she could swing her sword and make herself useful. But that seems the opposite of what Forsyth is describing.
“Sometimes it’s not good to follow in your parents’ footsteps,” Laevatein says after a pause as though she’s made a groundbreaking discovery (she hasn’t, but to her the thought is a novelty). “If I had done that, I’d have no… friends.” The word is still so foreign. “Being your parent’s tool… it is easier. But thinking for yourself, I think, is… better.” Her dead father would certainly disown her for saying such things, and gods save her soul, she’d actually be a little proud of it.
She nods. “I don’t really understand the Deliverance. These far away worlds… they confuse me. But you seem so committed… it’s nice. The Heroes here, they all have their own interests. Recently I learned to swim. it was… strange. I have tried so many strange things here, that my father would have called useless.”
Forsyth seems so earnest, yet almost nervous around her. As she speaks, Laevatein still can’t quite grasp why – had she done something threatening? Had she grasped the hilt of her blade by instinct without realizing and appeared as though she would attack him?
“How did you know that the Deliverance is what you wanted?” she asks genuinely. “I – have a hard time with that. Knowing about… wanting things.”
“I would hardly say such experiences are useless,” said Forsyth, looking upon Laevatein’s solemn expression with sadness. “It serves us well to learn something new.” His mind turned toward his old village. The people there, for lack of a better word, would stagnate - they rarely moved far, and were content to repeat the same routine, day after day. This was never a life he had wanted for himself, and it seemed that Laevatein might feel the same.
At the chance to talk about the Deliverance, however, Forsyth’s heart leapt.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, beaming. “Well, you know how my father was a scholar? While we were certainly not well-off enough to be counted among the nobility, he did have his fair share of books. I used to stay up all night reading tales of knights on horseback, setting out to save damsels in distress.” He laughed softly. “In truth, the reality is quite different. But I still hold those ideals to this day. I hope that perhaps one day, I shall be a knight myself.”
He paused. He had spoken an awful lot about himself - especially in the presence of a princess. “A-And you, my lady?” he offered with a smile. “Might you have any dreams of your own?”
Green Recruit | Laevatein & Forsyth
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aimless--archer
Python snorts. “If Mila blessed anybody, it’s my hypothetical kids by makin’ sure they didn’t get stuck with me by existing.”
Even in the dim light, he catches the trademark flush of Forsyth’s cheeks at even the little touch, and his lips curl into a smile. He makes no move to follow him- he hasn’t done anything outrageous enough to make Forsyth walk out on him (this time, anyways). Even with his armor off (and Python’s vision still a bit blurry), he cuts quite a dashing figure silhouetted in the doorway with the moon behind him, and Python tucks away the mental image for later. For now, the closing of the door is promising.
It really is like being teenagers again, he thinks- trying not to get caught. Not that there’d been much to be caught doing when they were young, besides avoiding their work. But now…
Python feels an uncharacteristic bit of color rise on his own face- it’s the fever, he mentally insists- at the touch of Forsyth’s hand. It’s the sort of affection he once would shrink from or gripe about, but now he finds himself leaning into it, craving it after so long apart. For a moment he expects Forsyth to kiss him- though whether he should right now is another matter- but it passes by, and they settle back beside each other.
At the question, he laughs. “You were always soft. You’re just not tryin’ so hard to hide it under all the blustering and yelling now.“ He breathes deeply, the musty scent of the hay making his nose itch. “But nah, not bein’ in a hurry to go back to fightin’ just makes you sane. Can’t say I am either.” He lets his eyes slide closed, senses floating a bit between the fevered haze and the dull throb of his arm. “I ask myself all the damn time why I’m still doin’ it.”
Forsyth lay quietly for a moment, head dizzy with the overpowering smell of the dry straw and dust. A gnat hummed near his ear, and he batted it away.
“There must be a part of you that wants to,” he said eventually. “Even if it’s not all of you.” He looked up at the ceiling - a faint series of beams he could hardly see in the dull light. “Or perhaps... perhaps it’s something you feel you have to do. Either way, I’m proud of you, Python. Valentia would be a much more treacherous place without groups like yours to keep the bandits in check.”
He reached out for Python’s hand, which was surprisingly clammy. As he held it in his own, he thoughts turned to the castle and the knights there. It seemed a world away from this backwater village, and it was. Perhaps, he thought to himself, that was what made this so special; these two lives he had, so different from each other, yet both so wonderful. A soft sigh escaped him.
“But... I think this is how things are meant to be,” he said. “I daresay things will ever be perfect.” He turned to his companion, a curious expression on his face. “Python,” he asked quietly, “are you happy?”
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💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have
Forsyth took a few of his father's books with him when he left to join the Deliverance. He still feels a little guilty for doing so, but he just couldn't stop himself. One of the books he takes with him is a tome on great and renowned knights; he remembers sitting with the book as a child and reading for hours on end.
It's something that helps him remember why he started this journey in the first place.
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More Memories
🌈- A memory about when they first fell in love
🌋- A memory about their first heartbreak
🏠- A memory about their childhood home/where they used to live
📷- A memory that comes with a picture they have
💡- A memory that comes with an object or keepsake they have
🔪- A memory about a dangerous situation
🎈- A memory about a time they were safe and relaxed
📔- A memory from a journal/diary entry
📝- A memory of them getting to know/meeting my muse
🔗- A memory about their proposal/wedding
🐥- A memory about their children (past, present, or future)
👘- A memory associated with an article of clothing they have
⚔️- A memory about war
🌅- A memory associated with a certain location
🏚- A memory about exploration
🛤- A memory about traveling
🌠- A time they wished upon a falling star
🐕-A memory of teamwork
🐺- A memory about being alone
🌟- WILDCARD
❄️Feel Free to add more memory prompts to this!❄️
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pheraescourage:
A chuckle escaped the Lycian lord at the return of Forsyth’s flustered antics, but it was not of malice. In the time they had traveled together, albeit short, Eliwood had learned of Forsyth’s earnest dedication and the endearing lack of grace he demonstrated in response to flattery. He required no further information to determine that the knight was a good man, loyal to his kingdom and one that would hold fast to his word. Individuals such as Forsyth reassured him of his ideals–that mankind was inherently good. Idly, he wondered if the world was closer to a utopia than he had previously believed. He shook himself of his thoughts, returning his attention to Forsyth. It would be rude of him, to miss his words while dreaming of a world most deemed him naive to believe it could come to pass.
The request came to him as a surprise. For a moment, Eliwood’s features flashed with surprise. Did Forsyth truly not long for something he could assist him with? His features softened. Perhaps it is not material possessions that bring him happiness. Eliwood reflected in silence. But what he can do for others…it may give him fulfillment. We are quite the same, Forsyth. He smiled.
“I understand.” He said. His response was simple, but the look in his eyes demonstrated nothing short of wholly understanding. It was the silent communication that held more meaning, at least, that is what Eliwood believed in his heart.
He extended a hand.
He was long-aware of societal expectations that made such a gesture between a nobleman and a commoner shocking; rarely witnessed. But aside from responsibility, Eliwood could not consider himself elevated or superior to those of a lower social class. In the moment, he was speaking to Forsyth not as superior and servant, but from one man to another.
“I accept your request. You have my word,” He stated, “let’s shake on it, though I do have a request of my own. I would like to keep in contact…I would appreciate a letter, from time to time. I would love to hear more of Valentia and your achievements as you support her recovery.”
“O-Oh, thank you, my Lord!”
Forsyth beamed, taking Eliwood’s hand and shaking it with surprising force – so hard, in fact, that Eliwood had to steady his shoulder. Not only had he granted his request, but he had also requested correspondence.
(Correspondence! From him!)
“It would be a great pleasure to exchange letters,” he said eagerly. He had given up trying to hide his enthusiasm – it was written on his face for all to see, his eyes alight and his smile a mile wide. “I too would be keen to know how your land fares.”
A horn blew then across the plains, and in the distance, Forsyth could see the knights of the castle riding out to meet them. “It appears we have our welcoming party,” he said with a laugh. He held out a hand. “After you, Lord Eliwood.”
As they headed forth toward the castle gates, Forsyth’s mind was aglow with thoughts. This latest adventure would feature in his next letter to Python, of course, but there was more to it than that – he’d found out more about the world, more about himself… things he would never have learned from Clive or the other knights.
He turned to Eliwood, who was sitting calmly upon his horse. Perhaps, he hoped, they would meet again someday.
An Alliance in Hard Times [Forsyth & Eliwood]
#thread: an alliance in hard times#pheraescourage#// I'm done from Fors' side!#// thank you so much for this lovely thread!#// maybe they can meet again or exchange correspondence :)
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aimless--archer
Python laughs aloud in return. “With all that muscle? Don’t think anybody could call you a girl.” He doesn’t try to hide the appreciative way that his gaze follows the curve of Forsyth’s shoulder. His memories never quite seem to do it justice- or maybe Forsyth has just upped his training regimen. “Then again, Eren’s arms have gotten kinda scary lately.” He snorts, cupping his hands behind his head. “Let’s hope she never mutinies, she’d probably win. Though at least that’d give me a break.”
“Sounds nice,” he grumbles of Forsyth’s father’s indifference. “Exchangingmight be generous, Ma and I only write every few months, but she sure as hell manages to work the hounding into every letter. I dunno why she cares so much. Even if I made her some grandkids, I wouldn’t bring ’em home.”
Even the idea makes his skin crawl a bit- it just feels wrong. He’s always been careful with women, but he still dreads that some drunken escapade will come back to haunt him with a brood of little blue-haired terrors. He wouldn’t have the first idea how to be a decent father, especially since he’d never had one to learn it from. Forsyth might, but that idea feels just as wrong for different reasons. He finds himself wondering, not for the first time, what might have happened if he wasn’t around. Maybe in some world, Forsyth would have found a girl he couldbring home to his father, and been the doting father that Python knows he could be.
He can only hope that this- that he- is worth losing that chance.
He laughs again at Forsyth’s awkward question, pushing those thoughts aside. “You don’t think I’d make a good wife, huh? I’m hurt.” He bats his eyes theatrically, nudging Forsyth’s leg with his foot. It’s much easier to tease about commitment than think about it seriously. “I’d never do any housework, but I’d be killer to look at.”
“Ha!” Forsyth laughed. “Can you imagine?”
He could not help but laugh at the image of Python bringing home children. He’d always warned him – somewhat seriously, in that very Forsyth way – that he’d spent the night with so many women that it was bound to catch up with him someday. He smiled. “I must say, I’m surprised you’ve been so lucky. Mila’s blessing must have been with you after all.”
Python’s foot touched his leg, and a wave of adrenaline shot through his body. It was startling how much a simple touch could do; it was something he only got from Python, and he’d not realised how much he’d missed it. His mind started to wander, and he grimaced. He was supposed to be looking after him – not fooling around.
But still…
Scolding himself under his breath, he got to his feet and headed to the barn door.
The field outside was silent save for the murmur of crickets, and the distant chatter of Python’s band far away in the village square. Pulling the door gently closed so that it was mostly dark, he felt his way to the bale Python was sitting on and knelt beside him – taking care that his injured shoulder was on his other side.
“You would make a terrible wife,” he said, raising a hand to push aside Python’s unruly hair, which had grown long over his face. He gently traced his thumb over Python’s features, over his temples and across his eyelids, then his nose and cheeks, and finally his mouth. He hesitated for a second, then sighed and sat back.
“Am I getting soft, Python?” he asked. “I am due to head back to the castle in the morning. I should be preparing for the journey. But right now, all I can think about is… this.” He motioned his arms as if to encompass all of it – the barn and its musty smell, the sight of Python resting in the hay.
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pheraescourage:
Just as they reached the peak of the hill they had been traversing, a warm breeze caressed Eliwood’s face, almost as if the castle was welcoming him herself. His expression did not twist with surprise, as he had laid eyes upon several castles throughout his life, but instead, he seemed pleased. The journey to the castle, though largely uneventful, had been tiring. The thought of rest, followed by finally advancing the diplomatic pursuits for which he had come to Valentia in the first place, was exciting for him.
“It is certainly a beautiful sight.” Eliwood replied, noticing the way Forsyth gazed upon it with some adoration. Seeing the knight so committed to his home brought him warmth, and he smiled, making his soft features appear radiant.
“It reminds me much of Castle Ostia, in terms of size. Though Ostia’s castle was built largely with a focus on being fortified and design fell secondary. It is simply just not as architecturally elegant as Zofia castle.” He explained, a soft chuckle escaping him. A memory of Hector and he in a Lycian history class flashed in his mind and fleetingly, he wondered if Hector even remembered such information. He shifted on his feet to face Forsyth.
“Yes. I mustn’t keep him waiting, but…” He paused, his eyes thoughtful. He was silent as he deliberated his words, masking his stumbling moment as one of wisdom and elegance.
“I am deeply appreciative of your assistance, Forsyth. I enjoyed our conversation muchly. Pray, is there anything I can do to express my gratitude?”
They looked out upon the castle a few moments more, the breeze flowing gently over them, nothing to hear but the sound of the birds and the rhythmic swaying of the grass. Forsyth was always glad to be home, but parting ways here seemed regrettable, and he felt within him a strange sadness. It was clear their journey was coming to an end.
Eliwood’s sudden offer startled him, and his cheeks turned beet-red once again.
“M-My Lord, I would not dream of asking for—”
He was cut off not by words, but by the look on Eliwood’s face: kind and smiling, and most of all, genuine. He knew the offer was just that, and he paused for a moment before nodding.
“If your nation ever requires assistance, I would like to offer my service as a representative of Valentia,” he said. He stopped himself, then added frantically, “I-I would have to gain approval from King Alm, of course, b-but…”
He scolded himself. Breathe, Forsyth.
“I-I am sorry. I got a little, ah… carried away. It’s just… it would be a great honour, Lord Eliwood.” He beamed widely – one of those smiles only he had, that made the world seem a little brighter even in dark times.
An Alliance in Hard Times [Forsyth & Eliwood]
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leonofzofia
Leon doesn’t know much about Forsyth, as they didn’t have much time to talk while they were fighting for their lives against a mad god and his cult of overzealous followers. However, he’d seen him gesticulating wildly and heard him boisterously chattering to whoever would listen. He seems quite interesting indeed- and a Deliverance lieutenant, too?
He lets out an interested “Mm” and leans forward a bit. “Nice to meet you, Forsyth. I’m Leon, archer extraordinaire, master of fashion, and…uh…” He trails off, then groans. “I really need to think of a third thing to list.”
“Ha!” Forsyth laughed heartily, relaxing his posture. “I’m afraid I am none of those things, but it is a pleasure to meet you, Leon.”
He turned toward the camp, where the two armies, now journeying as one, were conversing. “I presume you were travelling with the woman Sir Alm is familiar with – Lady Celica, is it?” It took him a couple of seconds to think of the name – the groups had only just met, being thrown into battle together almost right away. In many ways it was a miracle they were so cohesive, but their strengths played off each other surprisingly well. “I hear she is quite formidable. We could not have done this without your help.”
It was true. As much as Forsyth sang the praises of the Deliverance, Duma’s minions were too many, his power too great. “It is fitting that both Zofians and Rigelians should secure this victory,” he said with a nod. “Tell me, from where do you hail?”
Where the (True of) Heart Is| Leon and Forsyth
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