Chapter Text
u r cordially invited to
blue lions friendsgiving!!
thnaks for bein our pals!!! come give thanks!!!
FEATURING albinean pheasant, pumpkin pie, various fishy things, whatever we manage to cook and bake
brought to u by sylvain and pals (felix is the pal! he's helping!!!)
...
...
"Sylvain. What did you slide under my door."
"What do you mean, 'what did I slide under your door.'"
A wordless thrust of parchment.
"That? Wh -- Felix, it's exactly what it says on the scroll." A pause. "Hold up, hold up. Does Felix Fraldarius not know what a Friendsgiving is?"
"..."
"It's like Thanksgiving but for friends. Dude."
"..."
"Shit, you don't know what Thanksgiving is either, do you?"
Sylvain knew about these things, it turned out, because he was online, and people "tweeted" about it, whatever that meant. And also because he talked to Claude, and it was "kind of a big thing in the Alliance, or some parts of it, anyway." He had to admit the idea sounded... fine. It sounded fine. It had its benefits: food and people he could stand.
"What I don't understand," said Felix flatly, "is why we're doing this when neither of us knows anything about it."
"Look, I don't really know what it is either, okay? It just seemed fun. I mean, friends and food are great, and we've got time to kill, and you're not exactly itching to go home for break, right? I'm not either! And neither is Ingrid! And Dimitri -- well --"
"I don't cook," Felix interrupted. "Why am I helping you with this when I don't cook." Can't was the operative word, unspoken.
"No time for it in your busy schedule of sword swallowing?"
"Hmph."
A sigh. "Okay, look. I got the recipes from Claude and Hilda, alright? And I know they don't seem like it, but they're amazing cooks. All we gotta do is follow their instructions and we can't fuck this up."
"Why do Claude and Hilda want to help you?"
"They're invited! Hilda thinks she's getting the better end of the bargain. She doesn’t know that I love cooking." There was that gleam in Sylvain's eyes that he always got when he was excited about something. Bright and infectious. "Have for, like, a week."
Vile.
"I think she's right," said Felix.
"You," said Sylvain, "are no fun. You know that? Help me cut these leeks."
"How much food are we making?"
"Is there a problem?"
"Of course there's a problem, you fucking moron," Felix snapped. "Look at this." A gesture towards a table full of potatoes and onions and assorted vegetables heaped unceremoniously, rolling every which way. Somewhere under that mess was an Albinean pheasant in a bag, though he had only Sylvain's word for that. “This? This could feed a village.”
"It'd have to be a pretty small village," Sylvain said dubiously.
"You think the two of us, Dimitri, and Ingrid can eat this much?"
"Dimitri’s eaten bigger meals. Definitely. And have you seen Ingrid eat? When she's hungry, oh man --"
"I'm telling her you said that."
"No! Felix, please, absolutely not. Okay, look. I... may have invited some more people."
Instant suspicion. "Who did you invite?"
"No one you hate. I think?"
"I suppose you invited Dedue."
"Yeah, because he's sick. And we both know he'd insist on poison-tasting for His Highness, anyway."
“Hmph.” Beat. "What about... Annette."
"Hey, was that pause supposed to make me think you, like, don't care if I invite her?"
"Wh --"
"Because I didn't. I totally didn't invite her."
A glare, fierce. "It's... not like that."
"Like what, exactly?"
"..."
"Keep glaring. I love it when you glare at me like that."
"..."
"So what, it's not like you like her? Is that it? You're not in love with Annette?"
" Yes ," Felix hissed. "That's exactly what it's not like. She's just --"
"You're just friends. I know, Felix. I know you have friends." A theatrical sigh. "But keep glaring. I think it was helping me prep these carrots."
"You're insufferable."
"She was like, the first person I invited. And she's bringing dessert."
"Who is not coming to this," Felix said finally, and this was the first question that genuinely made Sylvain shut up and let him enjoy the silence for a couple of blessed fucking moments, before Sylvain turned to him, very seriously, and offered: "Edelgard?"
A grumble of displeasure.
"These are Claude and Hilda's recipes?"
"Yeah, what about it?”
"Their measurements," Felix muttered, "are... lacking."
"Um, yeah. I was gonna roast you for being a terrible cook, but I actually totally agree with you here."
"This recipe," Felix said, "might as well not exist."
"Yeah? Let me see it."
poached teutates loach w locket herbs!
1) ~~ poach the loach ~~
2) mash up some anemone and chervil and throw it on top!
3) think of ur favorite goneril while making it!! thats the secret ingredient!! xoxo
"Holy shit. You're so right." Sylvain breathed in deeply. Exhaled. "What do you even poach it in?"
"No idea.” A glance at the paper in Sylvain’s fist. “Is yours better?"
"Uh," said Sylvain. "Kinda?"
Almyran Pumpkin Pie
1) Roast your finest Almyran pumpkin.
2) Mix it with eggs and honey.
3) Add some nutmeg. Add your filling to the crust. Bake and eat ;) Can't go wrong!
"Can't go wrong," repeated Felix, incredulously.
"Yeah, I don't know what Claude thinks of me, but this can definitely go wrong. Like, how much nutmeg is 'some'?”
A pause.
“Hey, when do I make the crust?"
"We might have bitten off more than we could chew," said Sylvain thoughtfully, "with these dishes."
Somehow the dishes came out fine. If Felix was being honest, they had come out pretty damn well for their relative lack of skill and preparation. But he sure wasn't going to tell Sylvain that, not when he was visibly thrilled with the results.
Felix had given up and sautéed the loach in lieu of poaching. He'd used butter just because it wasn't clear to him what else one could cook fish in. The resulting fish had been flaky and fragrant beyond expectation, and the herbs Hilda had specified, ground into a thick paste, actually contributed to the flavor of the dish; Sylvain had whistled appreciatively when he'd tasted it.
The pie, too, looked better than expected. Sylvain had thrown together some kind of nutty shortbread and patted down the pan, and thirty-odd minutes later they'd been rewarded by the smells of pumpkin and spice mingled with hazelnut in a way Felix would grudgingly describe as... palatable?
The spatchcock Albinean pheasant was a beautiful golden-brown color, sitting pretty on its platter with a small container of Noa currant reduction tucked on its side. To its right rested a couple of side dishes: braised potatoes and leeks, palm-sized meat pies, gratin topped with fistfuls of cheese.
It smelled amazing. All this was sitting on the beat-up wooden desk in Sylvain's room, incredibly precariously.
"Why," Felix asked, "did we move all this back to your room?"
"I feel like you haven't stopped asking me questions that aren't really questions all day," said Sylvain thoughtfully.
"Because you keep doing dumb shit."
"Felix! I'm hurt. Is it dumb now to throw a party in your room?"
" Yes , when you invite the whole monastery."
"Like I said! I did not invite Edelgard. Or her guard dog."
"And everyone else?"
"I may have invited everyone else. Look -- if the party goes late it can just, uh, spill into the hall."
(It would. It did.)
Annette was the first to arrive. She tossed hastily-wrapped gingerbread at Sylvain, then flung an arm around Felix, who didn’t fling it off. “You guys! This is incredible! I might have overdone the cake, I’m not sure, I didn’t hear the timer go off -- “
“Because you were singing?” Felix said. Annette kicked him in the shin.
Mercedes was next, then Ashe and Ingrid, Dimitri and Dedue; they filed in haphazardly, bringing dish after dish into the little room until until by common consensus the rickety desk was abandoned and all dishes moved to the floor. Mercedes had brought saghert and cream, her favorite dish, one that sandwiched clouds of whipped cream and jam between delicate sponge; Ashe fried fish balls, packed with spice and exploding with flavor; Dedue a rabbit stew, mild and nostalgic, that evoked longing for times long gone and lands unseen…
Dimitri had snapped his oven door off its hinges, which was as good a contribution as any. Ingrid had helped him pick up the pieces.
Hilda had brought wine. She’d told anyone who listened that she’d taken them from the dining hall when no one was watching, that she really hadn’t planned to bring anything at all. This was belied by the actual taste of the wine, which was very good, and probably, if Felix had to guess, from House Goneril’s personal cellars. It was obvious she’d put in effort.
She didn’t want anyone knowing that? Whatever. No skin off his back.
What was bothersome, though, was this… event. Or one specific aspect of it. There were quite a few people here. Not just the Lions. Ferdinand. Leonie. Even Bernadetta had swung by, of all people. He didn’t know any of them, and somehow Sylvain did.
He knew at least the Lions. But even then -- did he know them all that well?
Sylvain hardly trained. Maybe that was why -- that was when he’d found the time to talk to all these people. While Felix had trained, and grown stronger. Then why did it feel like he was the one missing out?
Tch.
It seemed like a disservice, somehow, to leave early. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because he had some strange investment in it after helping Sylvain prepare dishes for the better part of the day. Or perhaps because of how Sylvain was watching him, his eyes following, lingering in a way he wasn’t sure was real or imagined.
So Felix did what Sylvain would have done: he drank.
"Okay, guys. One last toast. Apparently people in the Alliance do this to celebrate, uh, multiculturalism. And having friends, and giving thanks. None of which we're too familiar with in Faerghus. Obviously the Empire doesn't do it cause they're a bunch of twats -- is Ferdinand gone? -- okay, yeah, he’s gone. So let’s just go around. To Felix, for being himself. Alright, who’s next? Annette?”
“I’d like to thank Mercie for helping me bake these! And for being the bestest friend ever!”
“Oh, Annie! I was going to thank you for the very same!”
“Cute. Very cute. Alright, Dedue next.”
Silence. Then: “I thank His Highness.”
“Short. We’ll take it. Dimitri?”
“I… I don’t know where to begin. I am truly indebted to each and every one of you for your friendship. My friends -- thank you for everything.”
A flurry of awws; a lone “shut up, boar.”
“How about you, Felix?”
“Annette, for her songs.”
“ Felix, you’re the worst!”
A squeak. “U-um, would it be alright for me to…? Even though I’m not a Blue Lion...”
“Huh? Of course, Bern. You’re one of us now, haven’t you heard?”
“Um, then I’d like to… t-thank Sylvain for inviting me… and hosting this event.” A pause. “It’s… really nice.”
"I -- what? Seriously, no need to thank me. This was a totally last-minute idea --"
“Yeah! Bernadetta’s totally right!”
“I could not agree more. Thank you very much for holding this ‘Friendsgiving,’ Sylvain. This has been a most enjoyable evening.”
“I concur.”
“Hmph.”
“Heh, you guys…”
Another pause.
"..."
“...Thank you.”