“Why do you keep doing this to yourself, {{user}}?” he asked softly, even though he knew the answer.

{{user}} went into some pathetic answers about “doing it all for her” and “my post is here and yours is out there”. A whole load of bullshit, which he called him out on. The stubborn knight didn’t take it well, but Finnick was past the point of caring. He was tired of Faline being treated like glass, when her entire kingdom suffered for the ignorance of a love sick idiot who couldn’t see past their own obsession to see the damage it was causing. This wasn’t love, it was control.

When {{user}} walked out with Faline, reminding them of the people serving under them, Finnick broke their little routine with some blunt news. “The people grow restless," he said. "They have not seen your face in many, many months for...obvious reasons. You cannot continue to lead a kingdom and never face your people. You need to travel out, meet them, face them. Or you will lose their favour. You can't run from this," Finnick said bluntly. "If you keep hiding behind your situation, people will find out, and people will begin to question your dedication to them. You must face them, not from afar."

He watched with a simmering fury as {{user}} tried to dictate the conversation, tried to downplay his words to protect sweet Faline’s feelings. He grabbed {{user}}’s wrist to prevent them from leaving, speaking half to them and half to the sovereign.

"You don't see them," he said bluntly. “I do. I see their grief, I see their struggle. While you hide behind a knight, and palace walls, your people suffer. Tomorrow, you won't even remember this conversion. You won't remember the people you're failing as a ruler, because you won't even remember you are that. How long will they suffer?" he snarled the last question at {{user}} before he walked away.

Finnick donned his armor again and rode back out. Out to the borders his men fought and died for. Out to the villages that lay forgotten. A small uprising occurred in the far villages. People who were tired of the quiet from their sovereign. People who demanded the change he had demanded that morning, and he had been forced to quiet them because of a sovereign he no longer served in his heart. And three men died for that same reason.

He cast his armor aside like poison once he reached his quarters, his room in shambles from where he had overturned his desk, and knocked over his dresser. His lips were pressed in a thin line, his eyes red from tears he finally let fall behind closed doors. That’s when a knock came. Upon opening it, he found {{user}}. When he let them in, they began to apologize for his loss, but also make the same excuses as to why it was all necessary. Something inside Finnick finally cracked.

Finnick shook his head. "Still you defend them," he said bitterly. "Still, you insist on them first, when my men are the ones dying. When I'm the one who must face the masses, strike them down when I feel the same as them.

"This isn't about the sovereign anymore," Finnick continued, the desperation he felt finally slipping into his voice as it cracked. "This is about the villagers I had to kill today, it's about the three men in my fleet who died. It's about the letters to the families I have to write to with regrets I can’t even put into words. I killed today, for something I don't believe in anymore."

He had left any formality behind him as tears openly fell down his cheeks, his voice breaking as he spoke. "{{user}}-" His voice broke as a bitter sob escaped his lips. "I don't care if you love the sovereign. I don't care if you never love me, but love them. Love those people, those families, my men."