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Hey, Rodrigue. You got a sec?
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What's the matter? You look troubled.
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Well, we ended up spending most of this winter out on the battlefield.
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So I was thinking, if we put an end to the war before next winter rolls around, maybe we could all go back north and...
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And? Speak plainly.
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I wanna have a snowball fight.
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Dimitri said that's how all the kids in Faerghus play during the winter.
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Figure it would be good to try at least once now that I'm living here in the Kingdom.
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Yes, a fine idea! The sport's rather profound, if I do say so myself.
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Dividing into factions and formulating strategies makes it just as much a battle of minds as it does one of hurled snow.
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Hold on, strategy? This sounds kinda intense for a kid's game.
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It is. When we were still in the throes of our youth, Lambert, Matthias, and I faced off in such a contest.
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With our squires in tow, we traveled to the northern mountains to do battle.
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Hey, that sounds like fun. So what happened?
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I was the first to fall. I hid in the shadows, biding my time and observing the enemy's movements until the moment was right to strike.
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And yet, such an opportunity never came. While his subordinates fought freely in the open, His Majesty launched a surprise attack on my position.
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Unfortunately, my men and I were unable to land even a single blow on him. Our defeat was a matter of course.
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Now I know where Dimitri gets his tendency to rush into battle alone. Like father, like son, huh?
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Indeed. Still, it's difficult to feel wronged when you've been defeated in such a swift and skillful manner.
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My downfall left only Lambert and the margrave. A man notorious for his rotten character, even as a child.
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His strategy was not to attack outright, but to prepare an ambush for His Majesty in one of the more densely wooded groves.
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Seriously? All that for just a snowball fight? No wonder Sylvain is so cunning. Anyway, what happened next?
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And? What happened next?
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We were all familiar with Matthias's ignoble tactics, so His Majesty was careful to avoid the cowardly ambush which had been laid for him.
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At last, just as the opposing generals were staring each other down...
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Gunnar—the current Count Galatea and noble many years our senior—emerged from the wood to put a stop to it!
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In the end, our final showdown that day was between his hands and the scruffs of our necks. All while our ears rang with his dire warnings about the mountains.
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That sounds like Ingrid's dad, all right. Guess that means nobody won, huh?
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You guys must've been pretty disappointed, huh? All that effort and nobody actually won.
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Yes. The story dates back several decades, but I still remember it as if we were trudging through the snow only yesterday.
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Say, if you do end up mustering an army for one of these snowball battles...I would be honored to observe, should you have me.
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You'll be the first person I tell. Oh, but it's gonna have to wait till the war's over.
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Nothing like a little friendly competition to lighten the mood after years of bloodshed.
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Why don't you join us? As one of the combatants, I mean. I'm sure Dimitri and the margrave won't mind.
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You won't be facing the same opponents, but maybe then you'll finally settle the score. For old time's sake.
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Hm, a sound point. Very well. I'd be thrilled to partake when the time comes.
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You know, of late I've been dreading the coming winter...but now I feel I may actually look forward to it.