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No one could have predicted it would go this wrong.
The church had bid the professor and her class to put down a nasty group of thieves led by his brother, Miklan. Sylvain knows that his brother is a piece of trash hellbent on gaining power and recognition for himself, but he hadn’t guessed at just how strong his group was. Before they know it, they are surrounded by the thieves, suddenly fighting for their lives.
At the head of it all was Miklan, waving around the stolen relic from House Gautier. Sylvain feels a burning sense of regret and hatred mixed into one. His brother has always despised him, but for good reason. His own birth had ruined his life. But to do this…
He slashes his lance at another thief, feeling no satisfaction as blood splatters against his face and the man falls with one last, pained cry. Sylvain is fighting for survival, now; he has to make it back home with the rest of them. He has to go defeat Miklan if he wants this ceaseless carnage to end.
He can’t see any of his classmates, the waves of enemies too confusing in the darkened hall of the abandoned tower. He can barely hear the professor’s shouts, commands to each of them, placements best suited for their fighting styles. He’s vaguely impressed by the way she is keeping such a cool head in this clusterfuck of a battle, but there’s no time to dwell on it.
He stabs at another thief, the hairs on the back of his neck raising as he realises there is someone right behind him. He braces himself, no time to turn and raise his lance in defense, when a strong gust of wind blows by, slicing through the enemy behind him. He opens his eyes to see Annette, giving him a determined nod.
“Thanks,” he breathes, returning the gesture. And then they both dive back into the fray.
It is utter chaos. Unnecessary slaughter. And that is why no one could have stopped what was about to happen.
Sylvain forces his way through the throng to find Miklan, but ends up running into Felix first. The swordsman’s hair is sticking to his neck with sweat, and he’s panting hard. But his eyes are bright with life, and it’s clear that his true skills are being brought out on the field of battle.
“How are you doing?” Sylvain asks breathlessly, standing back-to-back with Felix for a moment to fend off the sudden shift of enemies.
“Fine,” he replies, his sword weaving through the air in some sort of dance only he could understand. Blood flies all around them, somehow mingling with the screams of pain of allies and enemies alike to create a cacophony of bitter hatred.
“Stay safe out there, alright?” Sylvain says, finding a moment to flash him his signature grin. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” There are many words he’s leaving unsaid, but Felix has always been able to read between the lines of whatever he says.
Felix snorts, but doesn’t quite frown. “Like anything could happen to me. I’d be more worried about you. You never train; it’s a wonder you’re still alive.”
Sylvain interprets this to mean that Felix is concerned over his safety, which he finds sweet. He isn’t always sure of how his friend feels about him, but little reassurances like this are what keeps him strong in times like this. “Don’t worry,” he promises. “We’ll both make it out.” It’s all he can say. He can’t believe anything different, or fighting like this would be too difficult to bear.
And with that, they lose each other again as reinforcements rush in through the cracked and broken walls. How many thieves were there!? Sylvain, although part of him wants to find Felix again, to make sure he is safe, knows what he has to do. He rushes up the stairs to where his brother is roaring commands to his band of men. When the older man spots him, his eyes grow even darker. “Little brother,” he sneers. “How kind of you to join me.”
They clash with a loud sound of weapon against weapon, the lance in his brother’s hand angrily humming with ancient energy. Instantly, Sylvain can feel something deep within him, something he recognises as his Crest energy. The lance isn’t meant to be held by Miklan. It doesn’t accept his hand on its steel. It belongs to the Crest-bearer of House Gautier only.
Instantly, he feels an overwhelming rush of pity and loathing all at once. This was Miklan’s one last desperate attempt. And now Sylvain had to kill him, or things would never be okay.
However, when he crosses lances with him again, the Hero’s Relic suddenly explodes with power. Generating from the Crest Stone embedded in the weapon, inky tendrils shoot up the handle, enveloping Miklan in their grasp. Sylvain, petrified, can do nothing as his brother screeches in fear and disgust as the malevolent magic wraps him up from head to toe. It covers his face, silencing his screams for a moment before the cocooned mass erupts into something much more horrifying.
A giant, grotesque beast, eyes flaming red in the darkness, now hunches there, roaring and slavering, where Miklan once was. Bile rises in Sylvain’s throat and he stumbles back, staring at the beast that his brother has become, or perhaps always was on the inside.
Byleth shouts at her students to fall back, and Sylvain doesn’t know if everyone is there, is alive; he’s gazing up at the beast in horror, his legs buckling as he tries to stumble backwards.
Suddenly, Felix is there, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. “Get it together!” he shouts, right into Sylvain’s ear.
Still feeling slow, Sylvain finds himself obeying without question, letting Felix drag him away from the beast. They rejoin the ranks of their companions, Byleth quickly checks on them, handing them a vulnerary before going to stand in front of her class, tilting her head as if she’s listening to a voice only she can hear. In the far reaches of the tower, Miklan’s own men are running away, fleeing the disgusting being their leader has turned into.
Sylvain tries to offer the vulnerary to Felix, who has the customary cuts and scrapes all down his face and arms, but he shakes his head impatiently. “You need it more. Your arm is obviously broken.”
For the first time, Sylvain realises his left arm is hanging from his body at a weird angle. He must have come away from the fight with his brother less unscathed than he had noticed.
Felix twists the cap off the flask and hands it to Sylvain, who downs half of it in one gulp. The potion works its way through his system, dulling the pain. It’s no substitute for a healer, of course, but it works in a pinch. This time, he insists that Felix drink at least the other half, unwilling to take no for an answer.
Felix sighs and takes it from him, drinking the rest of it. He’s scowling, probably because of him. Sylvain can’t read him, he’s too distracted; all he can think about right now is the raging beast in front of them, all that remains of his brother.
The professor, suddenly snapping back to the here and now, begins to give orders. They’re to line up in formation again, ready to take on the monster. Sylvain gives Felix one last small smile before he’s separated from him as per starting battle positions. They can make it through this, he thinks. They’ve made it through everything else, and this battle would be no different.
The next few minutes are all a blur to Sylvain. He sees flashes of magic and hears the scraping of blades against hardened scales as all his classmates shout their battle cries and attack the Black Beast best they can. One moment, Dedue is in front of him swinging his mighty axe; then Mercedes darts into the fray to heal the deep gash carved into Dimitri’s arm. Through it all, he’s mindlessly striking his lance at Miklan - no, the beast - as sluggishly as if he’s cursed with a Slow spell. The brief moment of clarity he’d experienced with Felix has faded, now replaced with a buzz of uncertainty ringing in his ears.
Ingrid strikes a particularly good blow against the beast, but then everything goes terribly wrong. The beast bellows at the top of its lungs and rears up on its hind feet, its front claws extending, cruel and sharp. It slams down on the ground with all its might, and rubble goes flying, students being knocked back in all directions as the crumbling remains of the tower’s ceiling finally falls. It’s raining hard, and the water quickly begins to soak everyone and everything inside.
Sylvain is stunned, having fallen particularly hard on his already broken arm. But he’s the closest to the beast, aside from the professor, who’s brandishing her now-broken sword against it. Where everyone else is, he doesn’t know, but he knows that it’s his duty to vanquish Miklan and end his vicious cycle of hatred once and for all. He struggles to his feet and takes hold of his lance, which is lying just a few inches away.
“Professor!” he calls, jogging over to her, each step jarring, contributing to the pain running up and down his body in waves.
“Sylvain,” she says, voice strained. This clearly isn’t going as she planned. “You need to deliver the killing blow. My weapon is broken.”
He nods, lifting his lance. “I know.”
The beast huffs and snorts, shaking off the last of the rubble that had fallen onto its back. Cracked rock crashes down around them, and Sylvain flinches. But he lifts his weapon. This is his duty.
With a scream containing the pent-up animosity that had fostered between the brothers since his birth, he charges, stabbing his lance with all his might down into one of the holes in the monster’s face’s skull. As soon as the weapon connects, the beast gives a mighty howl of pain, and Sylvain thinks that he can hear his brother’s voice within.
It falls, shaking the whole tower once again. The inky tendrils reappear, withdrawing the beastish form until all that remains is the broken corpse of the man he once known as family. The Lance clatters down next to him, looking too innocent for something that had caused such a tragedy.
Sylvain advances forward, sparing his brother nary a glance before picking up the Hero’s Relic. He’ll have to give this back to his father.
“Watch out!”
He doesn’t register the shout in time, still rattled with the death of his brother and everything that had transpired beforehand. Before he can react, he’s being pushed aside, his body yielding easily to the strong shove.
A terrible crash resounds as a piece of the collapsing ceiling lands exactly where he was standing prior. To his horror, Felix’s body is pinned there underneath. When did Felix even get here?
A dawning realisation tells him that Felix was the one who had pushed him aside to save him from the falling rubble. A dull noise is ringing in his ears as, in a daze, he stumbles over to Felix. He can’t even shout, or cry, or anything, because Felix can’t be dead.
As the dust clears, he sees that it’s only Felix’s legs pinned under the rubble. With a strength he didn’t even know possible, he lifts the heaviest piece off, freeing Felix from it. Despair rises in his chest as he tries to assess Felix’s breathing and has a hard time detecting it.
The shock is beginning to wear off, replaced by anger and panic and grief all mixed into a turbulent cluster of emotions inside him. How could Felix do this? Tears finally beginning to fall, he lets out a sob, bending down to clutch Felix’s body to his chest.
“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” he manages. The dam cracks, and he’s fully breaking down, tears pouring down his face with the rain from above. “Why did you save me? Y-You- You shouldn’t have-”
He chokes on his words, looking down at Felix’s face. It’s almost...peaceful, as if he knew exactly what he was doing and was happy for it. As if it had been his intention all along to die protecting Sylvain.
Felix’s navy hair is slicked with blood, and, almost as if in a trance, Sylvain wipes it clean best he can. “I wanted to be the one keeping you safe,” he murmured. “Ever since we were kids, I...I always protected you. Why…” His voice cracks, and he lets out another dry choked sob. “Why did you do it? Now you’re gone, and I…and I…” He lowers his head, his wet hair falling into his eyes. “I never got to tell you how every time I see you, my heart skips a beat. Every time we talk, or train, or...or anything, all I can think about is how much I want to be by your side for the rest of our lives.”
Does Felix stir, or is it just his imagination? His voice getting stronger, he continues. “We made a promise, Felix. We said we’d stick together until we die together. I wanted to keep that promise, all that and more. I wanted to keep you alive, keep you safe, keep you happy… To be next to you, always.” He brushes a lock of hair off of Felix’s forehead tenderly. He lowers his head and places a soft kiss on his skin. “I’ve loved you for forever, Felix. Please...don’t leave me.”
That rasping sound...it’s not his imagination! Felix is breathing, coughing! A fresh wave of tears coming forth, Sylvain hugs him close. “Felix!” he cries. “Felix!”
Felix’s voice, thick with blood, sounds from under him. “S...Sylvain?”
Sylvain backs away, raising an arm to scrub his eyes. “You’re awake!” He can’t believe it - he’s not dead. The promise isn’t broken. Realising something, his eyes widen. “Wait, did...did you hear all that?”
Felix huffs out a pained breath, putting a hand to his blood-streaked head. “If you mean the whole part with you crying and talking, then yes, mostly.”
Sylvain pales. “U-Um…”
But Felix doesn’t look annoyed. If anything, he looks...at peace, the same as when he was unconscious. He coughs again, wincing. Sylvain guesses that pain must be coursing through his legs, and he looks around for Mercedes, for anyone - Felix needs healing.
“Listen,” Felix murmurs. “Since we were kids, you’ve always been the one swooping in at the last second and helping when we really need you. For once, I wanted to do the same thing for you. And...I’m glad I heard you say that. Because…”
“Felix? Sylvain?” Voices echo over the patter of rain from behind the rubble, growing closer. They won’t be alone for much longer.
Felix grimaces and reaches a hand up, grabbing Sylvain’s collar and pulling him closer. “Because I’ve always felt the same way, you dolt.” And then before Sylvain knows what’s happening, Felix is kissing him, weakly, but still with the same fire that is always burning inside him.
When they separate, Felix manages a feeble smirk. “You should see how stupid you look right now.”
Sylvain knows he’s wearing a stunned expression, but he doesn’t care. Felix returns his feelings.
A piece of rubble is heaved aside, and Ingrid appears, relief plain on her face as she sees them. “Professor!” she calls. “Here they are!”
The other Blue Lions swarm in, lifting Felix carefully out of the broken rock. Ingrid offers Sylvain her shoulder to support himself on, which he gladly accepts. He’s only now feeling the ache of his injuries, though Felix’s words to him just prior are making his feet weightless. He likes him back.
Mercedes heals Felix best she can with what she has available, and then the professor gathers everyone together to make the journey back to the monastery. Sylvain is still holding the Lance of Ruin, which he knows he must send back to his father in the morning. Everything tonight was supposed to be about - the Hero’s Relic, his jealous brother - it all seems distant. Everything else dulls to the rapid mood changes of thinking Felix was dead, confessing to him, realising he’s alive, and then being told he liked him back.
He follows Mercedes to the infirmary with Felix, bringing him to Manuela for healing. The older woman tries to request he leave the room once his arm is bandaged up, but he refuses. He needs to be here when Felix wakes.
A few hours later, Felix finally does regain consciousness. He doesn’t complain about his legs, although they look pretty badly hurt, and instead he looks over to blink at Sylvain, looking almost surprised to see him sitting there.
Sylvain can feel nothing but relief, and he reaches out to take Felix’s hand. “How are you feeling?” he whispers.
“Like death,” Felix says bluntly. But a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, one reserved for only Sylvain. Sylvain loves how he lets his guard down around him, lets him see deeper into what makes Felix Felix. “I see you’re still here.”
Sylvain nods. “I couldn’t leave you alone, not after…” He hesitates a moment, then swallows. “You meant what you said before, right..? About…” He knows he shouldn’t be doubting him at this juncture, but something inside him refuses to believe that Felix, amazing as he is, would ever want anything to do with a good-for-nothing like himself.
Felix sighs exasperatedly, sounding like his usual self. But when he speaks, his voice is unusually soft. “Sylvain. I want to be by your side for the rest of my life, too. I’ve always felt that way, alright? I don’t intend on breaking our promise anytime soon, and you better not, either.”
Sylvain can feel tears rising to his eyes again, but he keeps them back. “I won’t,” he says fervently. He balls his fist, the one that’s not connected to his injured arm. “Felix, we’re going to be together forever, until we die. And when we do die, it’ll be together.”
Felix smiles, he actually smiles, and Sylvain thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Even though he’s lying incapacitated in bed, his wounds fresh, he looks content. There’s a slight flush on his face. “I know,” he says. “I know.”