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The mere concept of missing the way Griss talked never really came to Mauvier as even a possibility. Truth be told, he always found him disturbing, enough to be regularly ignored the moment he opened his mouth. It was rare that Griss would even speak to him directly regardless, more so addressing the entire group, so he wouldn't be missing out on much by doing so.
But being on a battlefield, and seeing a mage recklessly charge at the front lines only to regret it made him feel odd. Like something was missing. Perhaps that unique, shrill tone of Griss's laughter not coming after they were nearly sliced in half and rather a scream of pain. Mauvier would always keep a close eye on Griss, worried that one day he would go too far and die in the process, and he reassured him-
"If I die, I can't feel anything anymore, can I? I don't need that."
So much for that. As far as the divine one's army were aware, Griss's death was quick and near painless. Quicker than Zephia's, even. By the time they saw him he was already gone . A part of him felt bad for it. Like Griss deserved better , somehow. That maybe in his last moments, they should've given him the only thing they knew he wanted; the most painful death imaginable. But nothing would be enough for him, wouldn't it? He'd complain that it was over when he died. He'd say they weren't doing enough . Even his own death would disappoint him, regardless of how it actually carried out. Mauvier was unable to look for long.
And he wasn't quite sure why. Death was numb in his mind. Seeing corpses stacked up on corpses was almost as normal as seeing the sun rise. Griss's body wasn't even mutilated, or anything like that. Just very covered in blood- his own blood. Mauvier had seen him like that before. In fact, everyone had. It was such a common sight that no one should ever have been disturbed by it after they became used to it. But to see Griss lying totally still, dead silent by the side of a slowly dying Zephia, not even twitching as he would those times he almost died on them…
At that moment, Mauvier felt something tug violently at his chest.
Griss never wanted to be doted on. He hated the idea wholly. The real Veyle's praise would be met with groans behind forced smiles, and when he turned his back, he'd mumble to himself about how insufferable she was. The fake Veyle would get worse from him because she wouldn't care nearly as much. Of all the Hounds, there was no one who hated her as much as Griss.
But it didn't seem like Zephia did. Despite everything, before things escalated, Zephia used to treat Veyle as though she was her own daughter. On occasion, other followers of Sombron would point to them and wonder if Zephia was actually Veyle's mother- in a biological sense. Seeing them fly together atop Zephia's wyvern, watching as she led Veyle by the hand when she asked her to, and even the slightest similarities in their appearances blending together when they were near each other… Mauvier couldn't blame anyone for seeing them that way.
Maybe even he did. Zephia had already raised one child that wasn't her own, Marni coming in a close second for being around 9 when Zephia found her- Griss was only 3, or so he'd been told. The concept of her actually being a mother seemed very plausible. But Zephia had no children. No real children, anyway. Only poor, lost souls that clung to her like a mother in placement of their own. Their own that died, or abandoned them. She promised she would love them like a family, raise them like her own, and all they did was cling harder.
Mauvier was one of them, admittedly.
One of the Emblems from the other world- Camilla, he believes her name was- reminded him of Zephia to a frightening degree. It was no secret that many in the army saw her more like a motherly figure than anything else, regardless of her title as the doting sister. She defended the others with such brutal fierceness that would disappear off the battlefield that Mauvier felt this sting of deja vu whenever he watched her. Camilla noticed it once, and asked him what was wrong. He didn't have an answer for her.
Not that he doubted Camilla would understand- in fact, he assumed she might even already know. One day, she sat down with him, and told him a story about her own parents and siblings out of nowhere. Her parents were never the best. They didn't even try to be. But when she saw happy children with their parents, she felt awful on the inside, wondering why she wasn't allowed that experience. She never wanted anyone to feel the way she did ever again- to go without the love of a parent, or even an older sibling. To live your life knowing there is not a single person in this entire world that cares if you live or die. That's why she became who she is. It made watching her a lot easier. Even teaming up with her.
There was another story she told him once about her youngest sister, Elise. Short and blonde with these big, sparkly eyes that were impossible to say no to. Even back when their lives were hectic to horrific degrees, it was rare that anyone would try to lay a hand on her. Though one of the weakest of her siblings, she ended up being one of the only survivors, if not solely for the protection she got from the others.
Kind of like Marni, actually. When they met her, she was only 9, and was surprisingly strong for her age- but about nothing else. Up against an actual soldier in what was supposed to be a friendly training match, she swore she almost died . But she continued to survive awful battle after awful battle because Zephia and Griss would refuse to let anyone near her. Even when Mauvier couldn't get to her quick enough, Griss would exhaust his own magic to warp himself without a staff to take the hit for her. And he didn't do it just because he liked the pain, he never did it for anyone else. He even stopped once Marni had grown strong enough to hold her own.
Her armor was a gift from Zephia. A birthday gift, even. And by birthday, they meant the day they met. Marni didn't know when her birthday was, actually. It was never celebrated by her family. The very first birthday gift she got, she sobbed so hard and so constantly she cried herself to sleep three times over. And she continued to cry every single birthday, even when she got the armor. Infused with Zephia's own magic, she told Griss after that making it definitely took off a couple of hundred years of her life, but should protect Marni for much more.
In the end, it was Zephia that cut her life short in that very same armor.
He couldn't bear to be told about Elise anymore.
Mauvier wondered what must've happened after Zephia and Griss died. There's no doubt none of them were seeing the pearly gates, not even Mauvier, but he feared they would walk Elyos forever as spirits. Doomed to watch as the world moved on in silence, like they had never been there to begin with. A new era of peace they would never get to see. He had been told that people who die without finishing what they believed was their purpose when alive will never be able to move on.
Maybe Marni would run at them, sobbing and near screaming her apologies to Zephia when she didn't deserve them. Would they all forgive each other, now they were all they had left? Even in Marni's dying moments, even when she stabbed her, she didn't hate Zephia. Not Griss, either. No matter what happened, she never hated them. She couldn't bring herself to. It was the first time- the only time- she had ever been loved. She would never let go.
Or maybe she would've already forgiven them. Maybe she saw things that Mauvier couldn't, from beyond the grave. And she'd wave at them, complaining that it took them so long to meet up with her. Griss would probably shrug, saying they had things to do, and she shouldn't whine because they showed up anyway. But Zephia would laugh and apologize to her, instead. Patting her head, smiling and saying they'd never have to be apart now.
Maybe they'd wonder when Mauvier was showing up. Even though he wasn't going to. But they'd wait for him anyway, wouldn't they? Zephia wouldn't leave one of her children behind again , after all.
But Mauvier always had this odd feeling that he was being watched, now. From somewhere, there was a familiar set of eyes on him. Though he didn't detect any malice, it was disturbing nonetheless. He once saw Roy wave at a blank space, Celica silently smile at someone no one could see, and Sigurd bow his head to a shadow in the corner. Somehow he felt these events were linked. Not that he'd tell anyone that, he'd sound insane . More insane than they already thought he was for being a worshiper of Sombron despite everything that had happened.
Deep down in his heart, he thought it was them.
"D'you think he sees us?"
"Obviously not, idiot. He'd have done something by now."
"Play nice, you two…"