[ Felix snorts in disbelief, and then he chuckles quietly, no humor in it at all. His eyes stay on Sylvain's impromptu map drawn in the ashes, not looking at him. ]
Am I supposed to believe that?
[ It's a rhetorical question. Of course he believes it, at least, in theory. Sylvain has no reason to lie to him about this. It's his heart that struggles to accept that it might be true, even if it wants to, even if it dares to hope that something might have changed for the better.
It's just he's spent so long spitting venom, witnessing Dimitri's anger and hatred and bloodlust, that hope is little more than a candle flickering dangerously in the slightest breeze.
He pulls out the knife at his belt and slices into the meat, cutting a leg from their vaguely rodent-shaped dinner, then pulling it apart until it cracks at the bone and comes free. He offers the rest to Sylvain. It's still not much as far as food goes, but it's a compromise, at least. ]
What kind of king is he, Sylvain? Tell me the truth. Is he one worth following now?
no subject
Am I supposed to believe that?
[ It's a rhetorical question. Of course he believes it, at least, in theory. Sylvain has no reason to lie to him about this. It's his heart that struggles to accept that it might be true, even if it wants to, even if it dares to hope that something might have changed for the better.
It's just he's spent so long spitting venom, witnessing Dimitri's anger and hatred and bloodlust, that hope is little more than a candle flickering dangerously in the slightest breeze.
He pulls out the knife at his belt and slices into the meat, cutting a leg from their vaguely rodent-shaped dinner, then pulling it apart until it cracks at the bone and comes free. He offers the rest to Sylvain. It's still not much as far as food goes, but it's a compromise, at least. ]
What kind of king is he, Sylvain? Tell me the truth. Is he one worth following now?