Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was cold, but then again it was always cold in Gautier lands. That was kind of expected when one was so far north. Since Sylvain had been here his whole life, he was used to it. True, the coldest days sometimes tended to dig up ill memories, but that became a rarer occurrence over time.

Plus, they usually would stay away when Felix was around. Maybe because it was because it was easier to focus on Felix--talk to him, tease him, train alongside him--and ignore the thoughts that liked to surround him when he was alone.

Of course, he had already teased Felix about being bundled up as if he were walking across icebergs. He had probably a half dozen layers on, at least two of them lined with fur. And still he was grabbing at his coat, pulling it closer as they walked the manor grounds. Bitterly mumbling and cursing Sylvain and the snow and the North.

And yet, despite his complaints, he still came more frequently than he didn't.

A part of him wanted to tease Felix about his hair. It hadn't been particularly long in their youth--it was always shorter than Dimitri's, mostly due to the fact that Felix would never sit still long enough for it to be tied up.

But it was long now, tied into a very poor excuse for a bun. Sylvain had noticed it growing after Glenn's death. At the time, he had dismissed it as neglect due to mourning. But years had passed since then, and it didn't seem like Felix had bothered to cut it. Which meant that the two things were connected, somehow. And thus it was a bad topic to even attempt to broach.

But he had to talk about something. Otherwise, the quiet would surely kill him.

He stretched, letting his hands rest behind his head. "Didn't see you at the regent's ball last month."

Felix glanced over, pulling his coat even closer as if that could emphasize his answer. "Not interested."

What a surprise. Sylvain chuckled. "Well, there were a lot of cute girls and really good food. I know you're awful at dancing, but even then--"

"Not. Interested." Felix snapped. His pace increased, if only slightly.

Sylvain let a little distance grow between them. Just so Felix couldn't see his smile falter, even if it was only by a fraction.

It was troubling, to say the least. True, Felix had been rather prickly since Glenn died. He hardly ever smiled, certainly never laughed. He always seemed irritated now, even if the subject of his ire had done nothing wrong. But that was okay. That was just . . . part of growing up in a way. And Sylvain could see well enough what Felix meant that he knew better than to take offense to what he said.

But this was different.Felix's anger now had venom to it. Not all the time, certainly, but more and more frequently. And it didn't take a genius to figure out when his fangs did and did not come out.

Just like it didn't take one to notice that Felix really only ever visited Gautier when it was time for Dimitri to visit Fraldarius lands.

Felix's steps paused, and he looked over his shoulder with a glare. Sylvain hadn't quite realized how much distance had grown between them, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that Felix noticed. "Are you coming?" He grumbled.

"Sorry." Sylvain flashed a grin. "I was just thinking."

Felix huffed a bare imitation of a laugh, expression flattening into something bland. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I was trying to figure out when to tell you that his Highness missed you."

It took a second for Felix to actually respond, the scowl returning. "I don't care what he thinks." He turned away, continuing his walk.

Sylvain's smile shifted into more of a grimace, but he picked up his pace to catch up. At least it didn't seem like Felix was trying to run away more. Good. His short stature meant that Sylvain's longer legs could get him to catch up with little effort, anyway. "You know, you won't be able to avoid him when we go to the Officer's Academy."

"I don't have to avoid him." Felix glared. "If he has any sense, he will leave me be."

Sylvain sighed. "I doubt he'll stay away, knowing you're there." He could just see it now, Dimitri chasing after Felix like a little puppy, trying to do whatever he could to make his friend happy. To remedy whatever it was he had done wrong. It would be such a weird reversal of their childhoods. Probably adorable to watch.

Sylvain glanced over in just enough time to see something bizarre pass over Felix's face. His eyebrows knitted together, but it didn't seem something wholly of frustration. His cheeks darkened, though they were already fairly pink from the cold winds. Lips pressed into a firm line.

And then it vanished in an instant. Back to the anger and irritation. He scoffed. "I want nothing to do with that boar."

Sylvain blinked. Felix's distaste had been blatantly obvious from the moment Sylvain saw it. But outright name calling seemed a little juvenile for Felix. When not justified, it seemed little more than childish petulance (it was different when he called Sylvain an 'idiot', as that was just a fact). And Felix was the kind of guy who seemed to have enough self respect to find better ways to show annoyance.

"Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but," Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, "but you two used to share a bed when you had nightmares. And now he's a boar?"

Felix sneered, looking as if he might strike Sylvain at any moment. "We all did stupid things when we were young." His glare intensified. "Like how I used to confide in you."

You only confided in me when you were mad at Dimitri. The bitterness of his thoughts left a sour taste upon his tongue, and Sylvain bit it hard. He glanced away. "Well, anyone with half a brain would know better than to confide in me."

"Grow up, Sylvain." Felix grumbled. At least there was no bite to this one. "The Officer's Academy won't put up with you playing a fool."

Sylvain hummed. Somehow, he doubted that. He was a Gautier. People put up with anything, just in the hope they could enchant the boy with Crest blood in his veins. He doubted the Academy would be any different.

Sylvain groaned. He didn't want to train, and yet his feet were still carrying him there. They knew what was best for him, at least in theory. If he skipped again, Felix would probably make good on his threats and drag him there. And it would probably be when he was in the middle of wooing a girl. Probably would punch him in the gut, haul him over his shoulder, and ignore any complaints she might have.

Yeah, he didn't really want to deal with that embarrassment.

The issue wasn't even really that he didn't like training. He was decent enough with a spear, and felt confident that he wouldn't die out in the battlefield.

Training all the time like Felix was just extremely unnecessary.

And when he was banking more on natural strength than any built endurance, training with Felix was a nightmare. He'd wind up battered and bruised and tired and sore . . . which meant he'd have no energy for going out. For the first time since he'd come to the Academy, he wouldn't be able to go out in the middle of the night.

What a letdown.

Frankly, he wasn't even sure if Felix wanted him to train for Sylvain's own good, or to improve his skill against someone with longer range, or to just have something other than a training dummy to deal with. With the way Felix had been acting, it seemed all he wanted was someone he could vent his frustrations on. A living punching bag. Though, to be fair, Sylvain had always been very good at that.

Though, when he entered the training ground, it seemed Felix already had a potential target. He stood in the center, speaking with Dimitri. Both so entranced in whatever it was they spoke of that they didn't notice him. On instinct, Sylvain found himself hiding behind the nearest pillar. He pressed firmly against it, as if it might let him listen in better.

What am I doing? He chided himself. He had never shied away from interrupting their conversations before. Why was it so different now that they were at the Academy?

Dimitri's voice broke into his thoughts. "I cannot fathom why you seem to hate me so."

The venom was clear in Felix's tone. "Because I know what you really are—a beast, craving blood."

"A beast craving blood, am I?" Why did Dimitri seem so unfazed by that accusation? "I assume you're speaking of the events two years ago. Last time we met outside the academy?"

Oh. That would . . . that would line up with when Felix's attitude started to shift. They had gone on a mission together--a task meant to bring Dimitri back into the responsibilities of his position, and to try and encourage Felix to retake his. Their relationship had certainly been strained back then, but it hadn't been virulent. Sylvain swallowed.

"I am. The way you suppressed that rebellion... It was ruthless slaughter and you loved every second. I remember the way you killed your victims. How you watched them suffer." Felix's voice cracked, barely enough to be noticeable. But Sylvain could tell."And your face...that expression. All the world's evil packed into it. That was our first battle. I remember it vividly."

Dimitri said nothing.

"Oh, something wrong?" Why did it seem like Felix was so satisfied by that? And yet . . . not . . . at the same time."Go ahead and deny it, you wild boar."

Deny it. Sylvain pressed his lips together. He was their prince, after all. The guy who seemed the same as when they had been kids. Overly direct, extremely formal and polite. Kind of sickeningly princely, but at least predictable. He was maybe the only predictable one among them.

"I deny nothing, Felix."

Felix snorted. "Well then. I suppose the Dimitri I once knew died during that slaughter in Duscur, along with my brother."

"Perhaps you're right." Dimitri said, just a touch of misery in his tone. Sylvain pressed himself flat as he heard Dimitri's steps. When he passed Sylvain's hiding spot, Sylvain could see that Dimitri's shoulders were slumped a little. By the time he passed through the Training Ground doors, however, he was back to the proper princely posture and with a smile on his face.

Sylvain let out a breath, not realizing he'd been holding it. Recomposing himself, he glanced past the pillar to his friend. He expected Felix to slide back into his training, perhaps with more fervent strikes.

But he still stood there. His face was red, eyebrows practically meeting in the middle. His jaw was clenched, just as his fists were. If Sylvain didn't know better, he would think that Felix was going to cry. But Felix hadn't cried since they were children. Which meant that this was probably rage.

A rage-cry, maybe?

Whatever it was, Sylvain doubted that Felix wanted him to see it.

He sighed. He had to angle himself right so Felix couldn't see--but he was always good at sneaking around. He turned so he could keep his eyes on Felix, backing until he was just by the Training Ground doors. With that, he straightened himself, linked his fingers behind his head, closed his eyes, and clicked the door shut with his foot. With an exaggerated yawn, he sauntered into the middle of the grounds.

When his eyes opened again, Felix was back to his normal, controlled self. A scowl plastered on his face. "You're late."

"Hey, in my defense, there was this really cute blonde on my way here. I just had to--"

A wooden sword was flung at his face, and he barely dodged in time. It clattered just behind him. He glanced back at it with a grimace. Ah, so he was still mad.

When he looked back to Felix, the other was already in a fighting stance. "Ready yourself."

"Can I at least finish my excuse?"

"No."

The sword was barely in Sylvain's hands before Felix began his attacks.

In hindsight, it was a very good thing that Sylvain hadn't set up any dates for that night. He was rather pathetic as he lowered himself into his bed, every angle a misery. There were definitely some bruises forming on his ribs, forearms, hands, fingertips. There was one odd one already forming on his knee where he had landed far too hard and too awkwardly.

Usually Felix held back a little. Today was not one of those days.

But . . . at least it seemed to have improved his mood. Felix even deigned to eat with him afterward. And he didn't bother criticizing Sylvain's form the entire time. He actually even passed Sylvain one of the sweets that came with the meal, which Sylvain happily took. It was actually an almost pleasant experience.

The bruises were the problem, though.

Would you do this for anyone else? Sylvain sighed, glaring at the roof.

Maybe his Highness. Maybe. If he didn't try to lecture Sylvain about his bad habits every three minutes, at least. Of course, sparring with Dimitri was asking for disaster.

True, it was kind of his job as a knight of Faerghus to make life easier for his king. But as Dimitri was not yet his king, then he did not yet have to do this sort of thing for him. Yet. Perfect logic.

Really, though, it hardly made sense for Dimitri to lecture him. He didn't skip classes, at least not the important ones. And, sure, he avoided training every chance he got, but that was really only the logical thing to do considering the company. And it wasn't fair that he would always call Sylvain out on his nighttime habits. There was no way he knew how often Sylvain was out. Sylvain was always quiet in his escape, and--as he avoided his room--it wasn't as if he brought any girls there. Dimitri was probably asleep by the time Sylvain escaped anyway.

Which was, admittedly, all the time. But a night out having fun was better than lying awake alone, sleepless. Or purposely avoiding sleep. It was better to exhaust himself out in town, where sleep would come hard, fast, and dreamless.

With a sigh, he rolled onto his side (bad decision, really). It wasn't quite as bad as lying on his back, at least. He had to give up entirely on pulling the blankets up--it wasn't like they hurt resting over his skin, but it was that weird sort of tingling that would definitely prevent sleep.

An odd murmur broke him from his self-pity. It was so brief, so quiet, that he couldn't quite place whether it was a human voice, or the creak of old wood. To be fair, Sylvain had never really lingered in here at night. Any noise would be foreign and overly noticeable.

Still, a mystery was more appealing than sleep. So he stilled, lips pressed together as he listened. And waited.

His patience was rewarded within minutes.

What was once a muted noise escalated rapidly into thumping. As the thumps increased in frequency, so too was it accompanied by grunts and gasping. Noises perhaps too familiar to Sylvain.

He sat up abruptly. Sure, there was nothing wrong with having fun. But why were they doing it in a school--where there was little more than wood paneling between their rooms? Where noises were already loud in the silence--and yet they couldn't even try to hide it. He scowled, sitting up abruptly. It was no fair that they could have fun and he couldn't.

Still, degenerate as he was, he leaned closer to the wall. He pressed his ear against it. Perhaps he could figure out who it was, or who they were with. If he remembered correctly, his neighbor was . . .

A loud shout practically thudded into Sylvain's chest from his neighbor's room. And then silence.

Sylvain swallowed, still stuck in his eavesdropping pose. He hardly wanted to breathe, still too curious in the dalliance of his neighbor. His prince neighbor. Just imagining the stick in the mud being romantic was positively delightful, and doing the more . . . carnal part of romance was even more so. Not that he'd ever hold it over his head, but he was sure the implication could fluster Dimitri just enough to distract him from a few scoldings.

But then the silence lingered. And lingered. And lingered. Which meant Sylvain could say--with absolute certainty--that it hadn't been an intimate arrangement at all. Those would include whispered words, hollow promises, perhaps the shuffle of blankets and clothing. Perhaps the click of a door and muffled steps as they tried to hide evidence. But there was nothing of that sort.

And then there was noise once more, but it was something entirely different. Just on the other side of the wall, pacing began. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. It showed no sign of stopping, no change in the pace or pattern. Sylvain tried to count the minutes in the hope it would end quickly, at least for Dimitri's sake.

But it didn't. The pace remained the same, even though the steps were a little louder. Soon, it was accompanied by mumbling.

Ah, that was how he knew Sylvain was never in his room. Certainly, it would stand to reason that Dimitri could come to his senses from his (probable) sleepwalking, and worry about the disturbance to his neighbor. Very likely, he had come once or twice to Sylvain's room to explain. Or, perhaps, he had expected Sylvain to barge in, fretting and worrying over the noise.

Sylvain pulled away from the wall. He could go in, help his friend. But he very much imagined that Dimitri didn't want anyone to see him like this. He was probably embarrassed. Besides, the only person who was ever really able to help him currently still loathed him. Sylvain would always be a lackluster replacement for Felix.

He sighed, gently lowering himself back into his bed. Quite possibly, Dimitri would tire himself out. He'd fall asleep, and possibly the whole curious situation would help Sylvain sleep, too.

But that didn't happen. The mumbling was louder, now. Perhaps not loud enough to wake Felix, but enough for Sylvain to understand the sentiment behind them. Even if he couldn't make out the words, he knew not one word was positive.

But, then again, everyone had a bout of insomnia sometimes. It was natural, especially at their age. Unease and restlessness was normal. It was probably just something that happened when the burden of being a prince was too much.

Not everyone dealt with the same issues Sylvain did.

He glanced outside. The very edges of the sky were beginning to show the purplish hue of morning. Sunrise was probably a couple hours away. The guard's would be changing shifts soon. Most would be less critical of students beginning to move now--some came from more rural families, so they would begin to move in the early hours anyway to do their chores. Sylvain was always able to blend in and hide among that group.

He sat up. Slowly, carefully, he began to put on his clothes for the day. Perhaps the library would be empty, and he could look into those magic books the professor had suggested.

Remire was . . . more eye-opening than Sylvain had expected. True, he had expected something completely bizarre. What sort of "dark magic taking over a whole village" didn't scream weird? And, fair enough, it was completely strange and unexpected and--honestly--a little screwed up.

But that wasn't really what he was dwelling on. Frankly, his mind was stuck on two other revelations.

First: Dimitri might be suffering from more than a taste of casual insomnia. Sylvain had come to that conclusion in the library after the first night, and hadn't bothered rethinking his position. He thought nothing of the fact that Dimitri seemed to have that habit every time Sylvain stayed in his room. He thought it was normal, though--Sylvain only stayed in his room when he had a brutal training session with Felix, and Felix only was so relentless when he was mad at Dimitri, and Dimitri only really tried to converse with Felix on the rare occasion when he wanted to try and mend what was between them. So, really, it had made sense at the time.

But in Remire he had realized that was entirely a willful delusion. Dimitri reacted far too intensely to the villains, his brutality far out of his normal character. He obsessed over them, even after they were long gone. Even after several days had passed since they had been there. Well . . . Felix's moniker for him seemed to make sense now--only a boar would be so impossibly strong, so single-minded, and so positively obsessed.

Second: Felix was harder to read than Sylvain had always understood him to be. He was probably the only person in the Blue Lions completely unfazed by Dimitri's . . . lapse. He fought like this had been expected, like there was nothing surprising at all with how brutally Dimitri cut others down. But perhaps it hadn't really been surprising at all to Felix, instead exactly what he expected.

But, in that case, Felix should have reacted differently. He didn't argue when the Professor had him fight alongside the prince. He was vigilant, practically more dutiful than any knight when it came to keeping Dimitri unharmed. It was very likely that Felix was the only reason why Dimitri didn't seem to have a single scratch on him when the fight was through.

When Dimitri's sense returned to him, no more than a week later, he had even mentioned Felix's diligence. Thanked him. But all Felix did was look away and scoff. No denial, no sharp angry comment, no punch or swing of his sword. He just stormed away, leaving Sylvain in absolute bewilderment.

He was supposed to understand Felix best, so why didn't he?

He sighed, idly stirring the contents of his stew. It was probably good, at one time. But he had lingered so long that it had cooled to an almost inedible point. A common consequence of being too lost in one's head.

Really, he knew he didn't need to dwell. It wasn't unusual for someone with so many burdens to snap upon seeing injustice and cruelty. It wasn't unusual for a child of Faerghus to defend their prince. What was unusual, though, was how unbothered Felix seemed by the situation in general. Had he been annoyed--as he should have been when the 'boar' came out--he would have forced Sylvain to train with him. And yet that hadn't happened.

"I always thought noble boys were taught not to play with their food." Dorothea said, chin resting delicately on the back of her hand as she sat across from him at the table. How hadn't he noticed her entrance?

"You know how it is." He said, smiling. "Food tastes like ash when the most beautiful woman in all of Fodlan graces you with her presence."

She smiled, but it was about as shallow as his. "Oh? And what other effects do my beauty have?"

He chuckled. It was hard to flatter someone who played the same game he did."The air feels stagnant, music has no hold, and the world seems to still when all I can think of is you."

Dorothea laughed, taking a bite of her food. She had foregone the dinner and went straight to the dessert with a peach sorbet. He had to admire her indignance toward convention. "Oh, and let me guess, the world brightens whenever I smile."

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Sylvain chuckled, taking another bite. Usually this game was fun, but it seemed to sour his stomach as much as the food did. "Brilliant as you are beautiful."

He had always prided himself on being the one person who knew his friends the best. Now only Ingrid was the predictable one. But, considering his track record, he was probably wrong about everything he knew about her, too.

But did it really matter if he knew them, or if they really cared to know him?

He needed a distraction.

He pushed his bowl away, flashing the most charming smile he could muster. "Hey Dorothea, how about you and I go on a date? I could take you into town."

Dorothea laughed. "You're not my type."

Cold, but fair enough. He'd just have to roam the dating scene, then.

Suddenly, understanding crashed upon him like a wave. And it did so when it always does--when it was far too late to matter.

He'd barely received the letter stating that Dimitri was dead before Felix practically broke through his bedroom door, red-faced and furious. It looked as if he had run here from Fraldarius the very moment a similarnotice had fallen into Felix's hands (of course, that was ridiculous, but there was hardly any other explanation).

"He's not dead." Felix snarled, tearing the letter from Sylvain's hands. He turned to throw it into the fire, just barely foiled when Sylvain snatched it back.

"Why would they lie?" Sylvain argued, waving the letter. Oh, he could think of plenty of reasons. With things as they were, and the war just starting, the reasons were more than enough. But there was no way he was going to try to untangle that nuance with Felix.

"He isn't dead, Sylvain." Felix closed the distance between them. He curled a fist into his collar, pulling Sylvain down and close. He was panting, eyes shining as he if was certainly about to cry. Sylvain wasn't sure if he was going to get punched or hugged.

"Felix . . . I don't . . ."

"You're smart. You pretend to be an idiot but I know better." Felix's voice was hoarse. He definitely had been crying. It would probably be no more than a few minutes before he would start again. "Tell me how he survived. Tell me where he would have gone."

Pressing his lips together, Sylvain glanced away. They had been in the Capital more times than he could count. Running through every hall, every avenue. Sylvain knew it almost as well as he knew Gautier manor. Which meant that he knew where the weaknesses in the castle were, and where the guard's numbers made up for it.

Whoever had manipulated this situation had been smart. True, Dimitri had been slightly unhinged when they had parted ways. But there was no way he had lost enough sanity to actually kill the regent. There was no possible reason for it, not at least to anyone who knew him. But that was the thing. Most people didn't know him personally. They could very well believe that a boy who wanted Edelgard to pay for her crimes would attack a regent who was not acting quickly enough.

Which meant that the guards would know better than to let Dimitri escape. They would know that he would take the most direct route--perhaps they would even double the guard where escape would otherwise be reasonable. And, as they knew Dimitri was powerful, they would bolster their numbers in a way that would make it impossible to survive.

But the letter didn't indicate any escape attempt. No, it was clear that the execution had been straightforward.

But then why had it been done so quickly--without even pausing to consider the gravity of the situation? The whole thing smelled wrong.

"Sylvain," Felix's voice was very nearly pleading, "say something."

But the thing was, while he could pick out the questionable areas, he still didn't have an answer. The simplest explanation was usually the right one. And the simplest one was that Dimitri was executed. "I'm . . . sorry." He muttered.

It was as if he had sucked all life from Felix with just his words. Felix's expression drained completely--no anger, no sorrow, just pure emptiness. He looked away. "I should . . . return to Fraldarius."

Sylvain put a hand upon his shoulder. Felix didn't deserve to be pitied--even like this, there was no kindness in underestimating him. But he did need to stay grounded, safe.

"Stay the night." Sylvain offered, voice soft. "A blizzard is on the horizon. You won't make it back before it hits."

"I don't need your protection." Felix said, but his words were as hollow as his expression. Not even the barest trace of a bite. His hands dropped from Sylvain's collar.

Sylvain frowned. "You have a responsibility to not die." He reminded. "The Kingdom is already going to be in trouble with the loss of one Crest-bearing prince. If we lose you, too, it'll collapse."

Felix's gaze slid over to him, at least recognizing the irony in Sylvain's words. But hardly considering it. He nodded, slowly. "I suppose."

It was disturbing, seeing this on Felix. Yes, Sylvain had seen this level of sullenness on others before. Usually it was in the girls who saw his attachments to him as more than they could ever be. Right when he rejected them, their expressions would grow glassy, though cracks often showed quickly right before the fracture. He had never seen it on Felix. Like this, it feltfar more bitter as he saw the cracks forming on the surface.

Well, Sylvain had always been the one Felix had gone to when Dimitri screwed up. In some twisted way, he supposed this still counted. So, of course, that made it his job to keep Felix from shattering completely.

While the blizzard had them pinned in the manor, Sylvain went out of his way to make sure his duty was fulfilled appropriately.

He made sure the cooks made meals spicy and filling. True, Felix didn't eat it at all the first day. But the smell (and probably the travel and cold) had enticed him on the second. He had at east eaten half of it that day.By day three, he still didn't seem to enjoy it much, but at least he was eating it all. So that was a minor victory.

Sylvain also went out of his way to sneak meats from the kitchen. These weren't for Felix, at least not directly. Instead, he used them to entice the feral cats that had taken refuge in the basement to avoid the snow. Of those, he focused on the friendliest ones--at least the ones that didn't strike out at people on sight. Those he lured to Felix's room with the food, particularly when Felix was training or trying to otherwise distract himself. That was most certainly deemed a success when--later in the fourth night--Sylvain passed by Felix's room to see one of the cats still curled at the end of Felix's bed while he slept.

On day five, Felix was both eating full meals and letting the cat rest in his lap whenever he lingered too long. That was, of course, whenever he wasn't trying to grind Sylvain into the dirt via training.

On day seven, the weather had improved enough for Felix to return home. Sylvain had enough certainty in the fact that Felix had come somewhat to his senses. At the very least, he wouldn't charge to the Capital and try to demand Dimitri's release (or his body's, at least).

But healing from heartbreak was never so quick. Which meant that Sylvain's duty was not yet done. He became determined to write frequent letters--so at the very least Felix knew he wasn't alone.

He knew he should have been comforted by the report in his hands. Hope should have swelled in his chest, the cheer of a knight whose prince could still be living. The delight of someone whose friend could still be there.

And yet all he could feel was an almost optimistic dread.

This wasn't quite the first report, but it was the most clear. It spoke of a beast in fur, black metal, and a blue aura. Who could crush battalions with his fingertips. Who roamed across the countryside, almost as if actively seeking the pockets of Empire warriors that had crept within their borders. Brutal to those who wore the Emperor's colors, but unmindful of those bearing otherwise. Never lingering anywhere for long--as if hounds were constantly biting at his heels.

In a way, parts of it sounded distinctly of Dimitri. It would be absolutely terrifying if it was someone else, someone they didn't know. But, considering some of the rumors, it was probably equally terrifying if it was him.

But how could that even be possible? It had been three years since his execution. If it was their lost prince, there was no way that it would remain quiet. People would talk, rumors would spread. At the very least, they would have spread much faster than just popping up on a Gautier scout's notice.

But what would be the harm in finding out? The report placed the man as entering Fraldarius territory. Considering his pace, it was possible that he would still be there in the next week or two.

If Felix found out, he would certainly go. Probably not even hesitate or ask for help. If it was Dimitri, then that would probably be fine. But if it wasn't, if it was a powerful foe that they hadn't anticipated, then that could be deadly.

Sylvain would have to go, then. He would have to bring Felix--because he would never be forgiven if it was the prince and Felix had never even been told.

And yet he hesitated. Couldn't even bring himself to reach for the pen beside him. Why? Shouldn't he be glad that his prince was alive? And shouldn't he have plenty of comfort in his own survival, especially if he knew Felix would have his back?

But it really had nothing to do with those things, and Sylvain knew it. He knew that, if it was Dimitri, Felix would follow. Sure, he would complain. He would probably curse the boar every chance he had. But he would still follow, acting as the most put-upon shield on the planet.

His letters to Sylvain would stop. He would no longer be there as he had been in their most recent ventures to handle issues within their lands. Gautier would slip from his mind entirely, too devoted in following the man who had his affection.

Felix would probably confess to Dimitri the moment he saw him--afraid that death might separate them again. Dimitri, if he had any sense, would accept. And so Sylvain would become unnecessary--no more than a perfunctory tool of the past that had provided Felix enough comfort to survive until his true desires returned. Sylvain would probably never see Felix again--and that thought twisted in his gut like a knife.

But that was selfish. Sylvain could pretend all he wanted that he was helping, but that would only be true if he closed his eyes entirely to the fact that Felix was still hurting. It was muffled, sure, but still so present and so obvious. Sorrow would sink into Felix's eyes whenever he thought no one was looking.Sometimes he would look off into the distance as if he expected someone to appear there at any moment. It had been three years, and Felix was hiding more than healing.

Sylvain loved Felix more than he loved himself. That was reason enough to act.

His father didn't object when he said he was going to pursue this mystery man. Nor when he said he was going to get aid from Fraldarius. He didn't encourage it, either, but Sylvain was never really one to ask for his father's permission.

When he made it to Felix's door with the report, he was barely allowed a breath before he was dragged into their inevitable journey.

It was both the most amazing and devastating thing, watching that spark glow in Felix's eyes every time they found a new lead. It was a blaze he refused to let die, one he only would kindle. It didn't matter that they didn't find him at any one place--but that there were still signs, and that there was a chance he would be at the next location.

The blinding light of Felix's faith made it impossible for Sylvain to hide his depravity from himself. He didn't particularly care if they found Dimitri or not--either way, Sylvain's fate would probably be the same (he could see it now, bleeding to death in a battlefield far from home, armor useless against immeasurable numbers). The only reason he came was to see Felix--to watch hope actually sink into his expression, to see that excitement beneath sharp words. For a brief moment, Sylvain could pretend that such eagerness was directed toward him.

He didn't really even mind how much it hurt whenever the only name that came from Felix's mouth was Dimitri.

The moments between them were infrequent, only claimed as if it relied on him being successful at grasping straw--but with his hands cut off at the wrist and the straw thin as hair. They were so brief, so insignificant to Felix, and Sylvain knew it. But it was fine, even if he was the only one who would treasure them.

He reveled in the way they had to huddle together when the winter winds had proven too harsh for their camp, when they were too close to the Adrestian border for the villages to be any safe refuge. It was more frequent as their search lengthened, but only when Felix was truly desperate for warmth. In those moments, Felix would huddle close, wrapping himself in his cloak and pressing as close as he could to leech Sylvain's warmth. The way Felix whispered soft words between them, as if it was a secret meant for no one else, warmed Sylvain like nothing else. It was admittedly dangerous, that Sylvain removed his armor so he could provide such comfort, but it was well worth the risk.

Sylvain delighted in the way that he knew he had nothing to fear when circumstance forced them to fight. He knew Felix looked out for him, and he took his duty of protection with such a diligence that he never afforded to anything else. But Felix also fought like he knew he didn't need to watch his own back, like he trusted Sylvain to look out for him. And that faith--while perhaps not as potent as Felix's faith in Dimitri--was satisfying.

Of course, their travel had taken on the most effective combination of jubilation and despair when they had decided to better their travel gear. Sylvain chose a more effective armor. Felix chose an excessive number of layers . . . and thigh-high boots.

The others spoke of the delight they had upon returning to Gareg Mach. It was a mixture of the sheer nostalgia of their student days, and the fact that most of them had survived those turbulent five years. Frankly, Sylvain knew he should be glad that most of them did make it.

But he couldn't be happy for even that. For, despite the warming air around them, no one could deny the chill in the monastery. It seeped into everything, surrounded everyone. It took the warmth from every conversation, from every smile, and corrupted it.

The man they had all hoped for, had searched for, acted as little more than a beast. A beast with only one thing on his mind--Edelgard's head upon his spear. He hardly paid anyone any mind, unless their words could bring him nearer his goal. And, even then, it seemed he looked right past them. It was sickening.

And yet they all still followed. All of them chose to. All of them had the faith from their academy years: that the Professor would guide them right, and that eventually Dimitri would see enough sense to save his people. If it didn't happen, it was certain that the Empire would claim everything. They would probably kill everyone associated with the old ways of the Kingdom, raze everything belonging to those who showed the slightest resistance.

Loathe as he was to admit it, the Professor really was their only hope.

Walking the grounds, he was a little surprised at himself when he hesitated as he passed the bridge to the Cathedral. He had been avoiding it as of late, taking any excuse he possibly could. Because he knew what he would see if he went in there--and he knew he probably wouldn't be able to stand it with a straight face.

Dorothea had told him that Dimitri was in there more than he wasn't. It was easy to prowl there, and with the structure at the edge of the monastery, people could easily avoid him. However, the surprising thing was that Felix was also there more than he was in even the Training Grounds.

Dorothea had only told him because she was worried Felix might pick a fight with the man he once loathed. Sylvain shrugged it off, knowing far better.

Even Felix tried to convince him that he was only there to "make sure the Boar doesn't hurt any fool dumb enough to approach him", but that was a load of bull, too. Dimitri snapped at his visitors often, but there was no indication that he actually struck out at them.

So Sylvain knew the why of why Felix was there, but didn't entirely know what he expected to see. True, he probably expected--more than anyone else--that the Professor would bring him back. He probably went every day just so he could see if there was any possibility of the old Dimitri in there. Perhaps some fragment pulled out by the Professor's determination.

A part of Sylvain wanted to know if it was actually in there. If there was that sliver of hope breaking in through the insanity. If there was, then it meant there was hope for the Kingdom, for Felix's happiness. If there wasn't . . . then perhaps there would be hope for Sylvain yet.

Such a selfish thought.

His feet moved before his mind finished deciding. He stepped across the stone bridge, slid between the doors to the Cathedral. He didn't try to muffle his steps--knowing that startling Dimitri in the middle of the night would be a sure death sentence.

Sure, stealth would be preferable. But who knew what those ghosts in his mind had accomplished, or how easily they might get Sylvain impaled?

He was nosy, not stupid.

The Cathedral was mostly empty. The few monks who had returned here had already retired to their chambers. The soldiers had finished their nighttime prayers, and had likely retired to prepare for early mornings. Even Felix was nowhere to be seen--he probably had the decent sense to sleep.

But not Dimitri. The man paced before the altar, muttering to himself. As Sylvain stepped nearer, it was clear that those words were not prayers, but promises. Dark promises that served as little more than threats to an enemy hundreds of miles away. Promises to those who had been dead for years. His words stuttered along as if they were punctuated with each heavy step, as if the hulking figure was a machine only held together by sheer willpower.

It was funny, in a sick way. This was nothing like the pacing Sylvain had imagined so many years ago, on the other size of his bedroom wall. This was dark and twisted--restless in a way so different than simple teen-aged angst and energy. But . . . watching it now . . . it didn't seem hard to attribute a similar form to the Dimitri of five years prior.

With a sigh, Sylvain sat in one of the pews. He rested his chin in his palm, watching as Dimitri paced back and forth. His cape dragged behind him like a corpse--heavy and awkward. Footsteps were uneven, staggered. Armor clicked in a way that screamed of misuse and disrepair.

"You really do look awful." He said, another sigh passing his lips.

The steps stopped immediately. Slowly, the hulking form twisted just barely toward him. Fur obscured half his face, but Sylvain could see a single--practically glowing--eye slide in his direction. Armor clicked as a hand gripped tighter around a damaged lance.

In truth, it was a terrifying sight. Sylvain could feel a chill rip up his spine, and aggressively resisted the urge to shudder. Many--even those in this army--fled at such a sight.

But Sylvain was a master actor. He leaned back and smiled.

"What do you want?" The growl from their former prince was just on the border between man and beast.

Sylvain pressed his lips together, considering. Honestly, there really was no clear indication that Dimitri actually saw him. If he replied, would he even be heard?

Others had mentioned his hollow gaze, from time to time. His expression really hadn't shifted from the time they had found him--this was the sort of expression for those who were not enemies, but certainly not friends, either. It was worse for those who had once been close to him. Sometimes Dimitri would look at them, but it was clear he couldn't see.

But it really didn't matter whether Dimitri saw him or not. True, they had been friends. To an extent, Dimitri had listened to him. And Dimitri had once had faith in him, even when he didn't approve of Sylvain's habits. But this wasn't about their friendship.

This was for Felix. If Dimitri was still in there, then it meant that Felix's attention wasn't misplaced. That the last five years hadn't been for nothing. Even if he was somewhere deep in there, almost imperceptible, he was there. And that meant he could be brought back.

"Felix asked me to watch over you tonight." He lied. "He has to sleep sometime."

Dimitri's eye narrowed before he looked away. "Go away." It was a growl, still, but there was something less edged about it. Something much less violent.

Well, that meant that he at least recognized Felix.

Sylvain swallowed. He clasped his hands in front of him, bending almost as if he were in prayer. If there was anything that might pull him out . . . "Did you know that Felix still loves you? Even when you're like this, he thinks . . ." He chuckled weakly, "well, let's just say I wanted to see if it's still you in there."

Before Sylvain could even realize, Dimitri had closed the difference between them, curling his claws into Sylvain's collar. He couldn't even resist as he was dragged up to his feet with that inhuman strength. Freezing cold armor brushed against his neck, the tips scratching the skin as his collar was twisted more and more into the armor fists.

Goddess, Dimitri was obviously a mess from afar, but it was far worse up close.

"What does it matter to you?" Dimitri practically snarled.

Ah, so he could soften for Felix, but certainly not for Sylvain.

Without warning, Sylvain was dragged up more by his collar, more forcefully this time. He winced as he could barely keep himself balanced on his toes, and even then it wasn't enough to ease the pressure around his neck.

It was hard to keep his expression level as he internally cursed his choice of armor, the weight normally comforting. He grasped at Dimitri's greaves, trying to pull himself up a bit. It was an exercise in futility--he couldn't get Dimitri to let go, and he didn't have enough strength to hold himself up by his arms.

A shaky exhale passed his lips. This was his only chance. That knowledge was the only thing that kept his gaze firm on Dimitri's, even if his voice and expression could not completely be controlled. "I'll only tell you this because, once, you were my friend." His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling just slightly. "I love him. And he loves you. So . . . if you're still in there . . ."

Gradually, Sylvain found more weight on his toes, then was able to stand flat on his feet. Dimitri's expression hadn't changed--still a near-snarl that made Sylvain wonder if he was sto get struck down at any moment. And that fist was still clenched around his collar.

"Your friend is dead." Dimitri grumbled. "You should know that. And so should he."

A demanding voice echoed in the Cathedral, making both men twitch. "What is going on in here?"

Their gazes mirrored each others, sliding toward the large doors at the entrance. There stood Felix, fists clenched and shoulders hunched much like a cat about to pounce. His expression wasn't quite fury, but it was certainly leaning on that line between that and irritation.

Dimitri's hand immediately pulled away, giving Sylvain space to breathe once more. As he rubbed his neck (oh, it was already hurting--lovely), he watched as the larger man's hulking body returned to the altar. Within moments, the muttering had begun again.

He glanced back to Felix, who still looked annoyed at his unanswered question. "Friendly chat." He replied with a shrug (okay, ow).

Felix scowled, storming up to Sylvain with every step a heavy stomp. His fist curled into the back of Sylvain's breastplate, the firm hand practically dragging him out of the room. Not that Sylvain would resist.

The very second they were out of the Cathedral, Felix turned on him with a growl. Sylvain raised his hands in defense, but it did nothing against the bite of his words. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I missed my friend. And, well, nothing else really seemed to work. I thought maybe I could try the old fashioned way." His expression was sliding back into his control. Soon, everything else would fall back into place.

Felix hardly seemed to notice the difference, eyebrows knitting together. "He's barely in the right mind to walk on two legs, and you wanted him to flirt with girls?!"

Sylvain forced a laugh. "Hey, a really pretty one could bring him back."

The rage dissipated the moment Felix rolled his eyes.

Well, Sylvain was only partially wrong. Something could bring Dimitri back, though not a girl. "A really, really pretty one."

Felix huffed, shaking his head. He shoved at Sylvain's shoulder, almost fraternally. "If you have time for nonsense, you have time to train."

Sylvain smiled. "Oh, fine. I suppose my adoring audience in town will have to wait till tomorrow for my presence."

Felix rolled his eyes once more, stomping off to the Training Grounds with a huff.

Sylvain didn't miss his glance--however brief--toward the Cathedral.

It wasn't quite morning when their training session had ended, but it was late enough that there wasn't enough point in sleeping. Not that he would be able to sleep with the bruises from the incredible number of hits that Felix had landed.

Well, it gave him enough time to reorganize his thoughts. By the time he managed, his breakfast had cooled and the sun was just visibly peeking in over the horizon.

He smiled as Dorothea stepped in, taking the seat across from him. A small bowl of fruit sat before her, though she didn't seem particularly inclined to touch it. "And what have you been up to, slinking in so early in the morning?" She asked, voice light and playful.

"I could ask you the same." He chuckled.

Dorothea had that smile she always did when she was about to lie. They played the game enough now that he could read her tells. Just like he imagined that she could read his.

But then it faltered, and her gaze slid away. She looked . . . sad. Like a sadness deep in the soul. "I've been having a difficult time sleeping."

Ah, he could empathize. He had always had a hard time sleeping, so his insomnia now was nothing new. But for her this was different. She had been relatively carefree during her school days, able to do what she needed to do to better herself. But times had changed. She had followed the Kingdom, every day fighting against those who had once been her countrymen. She had even had a hand in killing those who had once been her friends. It would have been startling if she could sleep in peace.

"You know," he said, resting his chin on his fist, "I have a good trick for that."

Her expression soured. "I think I'll eat elsewhere." She muttered.

"Not that!" Sylvain immediately reached across, putting a hand on hers. He let go the second it looked like she might incinerate him. "That's . . . not what I meant."

She raised a single, elegant eyebrow.

"You were a songstress, right?"

Dorothea slowly relaxed, nibbling at an apple slice. "Obviously."

"Well, did you like those stories?"

She laughed softly. "Of course I did. How else could I embody my characters?"

He smiled. "Well, when I can't sleep, I go to the Knight's Hall. Grab a book. Students had hidden some real treasures in there, back in the day. When they didn't want Seteth to toss them out."

"I mean no offense," she said, tone implying full offense, "but you don't strike me as a reader."

"It's a secret only the most privileged can know." He chuckled. "Look, I'll lend you one of my favorites. After a chapter, I guarantee you'll be able to sleep."

She shook her head. "That sounds absolutely absurd."

"Well, my velvety voice could put you right to sleep, too." He flashed his most charming smile. "I could always read to you."

Another roll of her eyes. "And why would you waste a night with me--where I guarantee I will not give you what you want--when you could spend the whole night getting . . ." she gestured toward his throat.

His hand immediately went where she pointed. The skin was more sensitive now, and his fingertips immediately found the spots where bruises had most certainly formed. He just hadn't expected it to develop so quickly.

"Oh, I won't get more of these any time soon." He mused. Not a lie. "She got mad I was having meals with other girls. So, my nights are open."

"Lucky me, I suppose." Dorothea muttered blandly.

"So? What do you say?"

She sighed dramatically. "Oh, very well. I'll at least give it a shot."

He smiled. Good. That would at least discourage him from antagonizing Dimitri. Knowing himself, there was little chance that he wouldn't get himself killed otherwise. He doubted he knew how stop, just like he knew for a fact that Dimitri didn't.

When Rodrigue died, Sylvain said nothing. He didn't have to. He didn't need to ask if anyone had seen Felix, if anyone had tried to help him. He knew that the others thought that Felix was so forcefully independent that he would reject any attempts at comfort. None of them even thought to ask him what he thought needed to be done--they probably thought he was of a like mind as them.

He knew that they were wrong.

He knew Felix would be hiding in his room. Not from any irate isolation, not to avoid sympathies and concerns. He was there because he was afraid others might see him at his most vulnerable--that they might see something other than the appearance he had been curating for years. That they might see the person Sylvain always knew was there--who he had always seen past the thorny disposition. The person Sylvain had always cared for.

When the bustle had relaxed, Sylvain removed his armor and made his way to Felix's room. If he was lucky, the lack of physical armor might get Felix to discard the mental one he forced around him. A

nd, if that happened, he wanted this moment to be solely between the two of them. Because just because Sylvain knew, didn't mean that others could.

The door was unlocked, so he stepped right in. There Felix was, sitting on his bed. His gaze was distant, detached. His fists were clenched hard in his lap, knuckles white. Barely, almost imperceptibly, they trembled.

Sylvain was slow and careful as he shut the door behind him. It was a different sort of care than the one he had afforded to Dimitri. Not for fear for himself, but that Felix might startle and harden--never letting himself grieve.

He stepped to the bed, overly cautious as he sat there next to Felix. Like when they were children, just learning of Glenn's demise, he gingerly placed an arm around Felix's shoulders. He didn't speak--Felix didn't want placating words or false optimism.

He needed someone there--it was just a question of whether or not he would accept it.

Felix was stiff at first, shoulders poised as if they might throw Sylvain off. But then, like a switch, he relaxed on a sigh. His shoulders gradually slumped, his body gently turning closer to Sylvain's. He hid his face against Sylvain's shoulder, pressed harder than was probably safe. His fingers curled hard into Sylvain's shirt, as if he could pull him closer.

With a soft exhale, Sylvain wrapped his other arm around Felix. As if he could protect him, as if he could be the only thing on the planet keeping his friend grounded.

If Felix cried, it was a secret kept solely between the two of them.

Things changed faster than even Sylvain could suspect. It was as if Rodrigue's ghost had chased away all of those that had burdened Dimitri's thoughts--making his mind clearer and his path proper. As if he was there guiding instead of cursing, helping direct Dimitri in the path they needed to go, not the one they wanted to.

Faerghus had its king again. And its king was acting in the defense of its people when he targeted Edelgard, instead of for revenge. Really, it was even possible that he wouldn't even kill her, if the goddess was on their side.

In truth, though, it wasn't really Dimitri's change that surprised Sylvain. It was Felix's.

Sylvain had expected Felix to be furious. Furious that he had to lose his father so that the king could get his life back. That he had to lose his father just like he had lost his brother. It was of course an unfair trade, and Felix was smart enough that there was no way he could miss it. Why did Felix always have to lose for Dimitri?

But it was nothing like that. Certainly, Felix was muted in his response. But he was clearly pleased with the way things had progressed. He was happy that Dimitri was taking his place as king. And he seemed delighted that he could so easily fall into his role as the duke and shield.

Sylvain sighed, sinking more into the sofa in the Knight's Hall. A book was still in his lap, and he flipped through it. But he was more staring at the shape of the words than actually reading. He had lost interest hours ago. But going out there was . . . agonizing.

If Dimitri was taking his place, and Felix was taking his, then where did that put Sylvain? After the war's end, would he be hiding out in Gautier forever? Acting as its armor at the border, protecting it from an enemy that the country would certainly let slip from their minds? In the snow of the north, forever forgotten?

Well, at least he could mope alone there.

A heavy weight sat beside him, but he didn't raise his eyes from the pages. Considering the time of day, it could be Dedue to lecture him about his recent reputation and burden. Maybe Gilbert to try and suggest a different approach on the battlefield. Could be Seteth, here to accuse him of flirting with Flayn (well . . . maybe not Seteth--he wasn't quite that big).

"May I speak with you?" The voice made Sylvain startle, a page slipping from his fingers.

His gaze slid over, looking at the one person he most certainly didn't want to be alone with. There was Dimitri, eyeing him thoughtfully with a single--perfectly cognizant--eye.

Internally, Sylvain grimaced. He had been rather successful in avoiding one-on-one conversation with Dimitri. Up till now. His mind couldn't grasp quickly enough at any possible reason to say no.

Externally, he smiled, shutting his book. "I've got nothing going on. Go ahead, Your Majesty."

Unexpectedly, Dimitri glanced away. He sheepishly brought his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it idly.

Sylvain just sat and waited.

Dimitri exhaled a shaky breath. "I recall . . . vaguely . . . you speaking with me."

Sylvain blinked. He had maybe spoken to Dimitri a handful of times. "Oh? In the last battle?" He smiled slightly. "No need to thank me. I'm really good at telling people not to get hit."

A trace of a blush graced Dimitri's cheeks. It was funny--under the scraggly appearance, he was a little more than conventionally attractive. Not to Sylvain's taste, of course, but he could almost see the appeal that some of the soldiers fawned over. That Felix secretly admired.

"No." Dimitri coughed. "That . . . one time . . . in the Cathedral. The . . . only time you came in, if I recall correctly."

Sylvain could feel his stomach drop. It felt like all blood rushed from his face, curling into his chest with the sincere desire to make him throw up. His smile was difficult to keep on his face. "Oh? Did I? You know, I'm out so often that I tend to--"

"Did you mean it?"

"You'll . . . need to be more specific."

Dimitri's mouth opened and closed. He very slowly looked back at Sylvain, his hesitation clear in his expression. "You told me that you loved Felix. And that he--"

"Okay. Okay. I recall."

Dimitri's eye was wide, expectant.

Sylvain understood the clear expectation to elaborate, even if he really didn't want to. He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. "He's loved you for as long as I can remember. You can't be that oblivious."

Dimitri blinked.

"Oh for--you two used to share a bed!"

That flush brightened immediately. "We were children!"

If it were any other conversation, Sylvain would have smiled at the fact of the flustered king. "Even after that. After . . . Duscur. He was upset at you, sure. But you know . . ." he sighed, closing his eyes. He could even see Felix now, even though it had been more than five years. "His eyes always followed you. He's always watched over you. He probably wouldn't have been so angry, really, if . . . if . . ."

Dimitri was still quiet. It was a little annoying that he couldn't take the hint.

Sylvain frowned. "Did you know that he dragged me across the continent, back when he thought we could find you? For two years he dragged me practically everywhere and anywhere that there was even a chance you'd be there. And . . . when you did come back and you were . . . well, he still watched over you. Even when he didn't understand you, he still did. Almost every night."

Sylvain slumped further in his seat, looking at his king. He was bright red, mind clearly flitting over any alternative, any possible mistake. But it didn't look as if he wanted that just so he could avoid something he didn't want. No, it was as if he wanted to make sure he wasn't mistaken.

Of course. Sylvain had enough sense to know that--once Dimitri knew and accepted it--he would never reject Felix. While Sylvain knew painfully clearly that Felix loved Dimitri, it was just as clear that Dimitri loved Felix. It was just always more obvious. More blatant. It hardly even needed consideration.

Sure, a part of him pretended that it wasn't. The same small part that still hoped he had a chance. The same, stupid, small part.

Dimitri cleared his throat, as if it might scare away the blush. "I meant . . . that you love him."

Immediately, Sylvain felt a flush crawl up his cheeks. He couldn't contain it, couldn't stifle it back into control. He winced at the fact that he couldn't even look Dimitri in the eye.

Dimitri exhaled softly. "I know I have no right to it, but I hope . . . I hope that there was enough of our friendship left that . . . you could be honest with me."

Sylvain rubbed his face. "Do we have to talk about this?"

Dimitri nodded.

He looked away. Still the fluster would not leave. "Yes, I do. I have for a long time."

"I see."

"Why do you want to know?" His tone was more hostile than intended.

A heavy sigh passed Dimitri's lips. "I care for him. I imagine you know that. But I know that . . . that you would be better for him. You have always been there for him, always when I couldn't be. So if I--"

Sylvain acted before his mind could consider the weight of his actions. He bolted from his seat, grabbing Dimitri harshly by the fur collar. "Don't. You. Dare."

Dimitri blinked, unthreatened.

Sylvain growled, low and cold. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Yes, but . . ."

"He doesn't love me. He never will." Sylvain brought there faces closer, so that there would be no space for even a touch of doubt. "He loves you. And you love him."

Dimitri nodded as much as the space between them would allow.

Sylvain's grip tightened. Technically, this was probably treason. But he didn't really seem to care. "It's as simple as that. You love him. That's all he wants." Sylvain couldn't help but notice the way his voice cracked. "And all I want is for him to be happy."

There was something in Dimitri's expression that Sylvain didn't recognize. He almost looked . . . sad.

"What?" He didn't mean to snap, but he did anyway.

"You always," Dimitri's voice was a soft hum, "as long as I've known you, you've never done anything for yourself first. Not with us."

Sylvain blinked. Wasn't that was the way it was supposed to be? Slowly, he released his hands from Dimitri's collar and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a generous guy."

"Sylvain . . ."

"Look, I care for him, but it won't make him care for me." He looked across the Knight's Hall, his exhale painful. "And, even if you did reject him, I'd never be his second choice. I'm just the womanizer he can sometimes rely on in battle. And I'm okay with that."

"You . . . you're the best friend he could have ever had. I hope he knows that."

Sylvain chuckled. "He's Felix. He doesn't."

"I'm . . . sorry. About . . ."

"Don't pity me, your Majesty. Please don't." Sylvain winced at how pathetic he sounded. "I don't think my ego can take it."

Dimitri fell silent.

Sylvain cleared his throat. "Now . . . if you'll excuse me, I have a date tonight."

He left immediately, not allowing Dimitri the chance to say another word. If the conversation went on much longer, he knew he would break. Everything he was, and everything he had ever done to be Sylvain would simply shatter. He could never do that in front of anyone, and especially not in front of Dimitri.

He was not going to be the reason that two of his dearest friends weren't happy. He had always been unhappy, and he would be okay with bearing it for the rest of his life.

Or, at least, that was what he told himself.

With the way he was now, he wasn't sure he could get his heart to follow the logic of his mind. He walked too fast, not even sure where he was going. Where could he even go? Where was safe--when his face was still flushed and his eyes burned as if he might cry at any moment? His mind was buzzing a million different directions--if he ran into someone, he wasn't even sure if he could keep himself consistent.

It wasn't the worst he'd ever felt, but it was pretty damn close.

His room. His room was safe. If he maneuvered right, he could avoid the bulk of the wanderers, keep out of the range of the guards. Most of the guys on the second floor would be out--Ashe was likely still studying tactics with Annette, Mercedes was probably in the infirmary, and Felix was probably in the Training Ground. Very likely, Dimitri was still in the Knight's Hall, staring at the empty doorway in confusion. Which meant, for the most part, his room would be a safe place to get his head straight.

A hand grabbed his arm and pulled back sharply. It very nearly had him tumbling back, so he had to be glad that he hadn't yet taken the first step up the stairs. And yet he was barely even allowed a chance to balance himself before he started to be dragged backwards (wow, that was quite the grip), dragged down the hall.

Still stumbling, he glanced over his shoulder. He was being dragged by someone with long, curly brown hair. Someone with a form-fitting red dress. It was obvious, and yet his mind was so slow to process. Oh, it was Dorothea.

And he was equally slow to process that she had shoved him into her room. Senses really only seemed to return when her door clicked shut. His gaze slid over the features of her room--he had been in here enough, though not for the usual reasons that he went into girls' rooms. A few of his books were still on her desk.

He was sure he looked like quite a fool when he turned to look at her.

But her expression was entirely unexpected. Her eyebrows were knitted together in frustration, practically glaring at him. It was the same kind of look he got when he insulted any girl he had been dating. But he had really neither insulted nor dated Dorothea. Still, when she stepped forward, he instinctively stepped back.

Her expression softened, but only slightly. With more gentleness, she stepped forward again--and this time he refrained from retreating. He couldn't, however, resist the twitch when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Her breath made the hairs on his neck shift, warm against his shoulder. "You don't want to go up there right now." She whispered.

"Why's that?"

"Felix and Ashe are talking. And . . . I know you don't want Felix to see you like this."

He laughed, but it was weak and pathetic. "Like what? Exceptionally handsome?"

"You don't have to play that with me." She sighed. Her voice was so soft--not musical, just comforting. Caring. "You've always been so good to me, even at my weakest. After my worst breakups, after I . . . after I couldn't sleep from killing my countrymen. You don't have to pretend with me. You can trust me."

Slowly, Sylvain found control over his own hands. He brought them to her waist, hesitant still as he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her closer, nesting his nose against her collarbone. She was warm, welcome, like a blanket curled around a shuddering child.

"You smell nice." He muttered.

Her fingers carded through his hair. "Sylvain."

He sighed, but it was more a shaky exhale than anything. And, with it, hot tears unexpectedly followed. And they kept coming and coming and wouldn't stop.

He was grateful that she said nothing during this time. That she was quiet as he sobbed and trembled and struggled to get himself back under control.

After a while--he didn't know how long--he pulled away slightly, smiling down at her. Or, at the very least, trying to smile. "You know, you should marry me, Dorothea."

She laughed, patting his face with a hand. She wiped away a tear with a thumb. "I'm not marrying you when you're heartbroken over your best friend."

She shifted her sleeve so that she might wipe his face better. He allowed the contact, closing his eyes and enjoying her soft ministrations. It felt nice, to be cared for.

"You look like such a mess." Dorothea sighed. "You should stay here tonight."

He chuckled weakly. "I'm not really up for--"

She swatted his shoulder, the scolding expression back on her face. "Not like that."

Honestly, he couldn't really find a way to argue. So, eventually, he found himself with his head in her lap, listening to her hum softly as she combed her fingers through his hair. And she did so until he fell asleep.

Sylvain couldn't say that he went into the fight with Edelgard expecting to be killed, but it wasn't as if it would surprise him if he did. And, in this case, he had very nearly managed.

Edelgard was striking out at Dimitri with those long, vicious claws. His Majesty was already in a poor shape, having taken too much of the brunt of the attacks during their whole fight here. This strike, undoubtedly, could kill him.

So Sylvain took the hit for him, shoving Dimitri out of the way. It only made sense. He was in better shape. He was better at taking hits. Besides, Felix would morn far less if he died instead of Dimitri.

The strike hit harder than expected.

The next time he was conscious, he found himself in a makeshift hospital, covered in bandages. He groaned as he sat up, trying to place himself. He didn't know these walls, didn't know these beds. He didn't know the way the sun shone over the landscape out the window.

The rest of the room was empty. Either the other inhabitants had healed quicker than he did, or they just didn't heal at all. Or maybe there were no others who needed to be healed.

Maybe the Kingdom had lost. Maybe he was being kept here, to be used by the Adrestians in some manner. With a tremble, he realized that he didn't really want to consider how they might use him.

Trying to muffle his own whimpers, he pulled his legs over the edge of the bed. His whole body throbbed, the injuries at his torso radiating pain. It was miserable to get himself standing. Agonizing with each step. He stumbled and faltered, but slowly made his way to the door.

The door opened before he could even touch the handle. He stared at the handle's former location, mind slow as it tried to process what happened.

Before he could bring his mind together, he found himself lifted up into wide arms. His stomach rolled and brain buzzed as he was rapidly carried back into his bed. The way he was set back into it was very nearly gentle.

On instinct, he tried to jolt back up, at the very least into an upright position, but a firm hand pressed him down at the shoulder.

When he looked up, there was that familiar blond hair, and single blue eye. Slowly, his nerves eased, his breathing returning to normal. He rested back into the bed, no longer struggling against that hand.

"And where do you think you were going?" Dimitri's voice was soft, fond even.

Sylvain's expression was somewhere between a grimace and a smile. "Honestly, I wasn't sure if we won. Didn't want to linger long in case we didn't."

"We won." Dimitri's laugh was soft. So much more carefree, though not entirely unburdened. His gaze was gentle and warm. It was . . . a little unsettling, though not in an unwelcome way. "Thanks to you."

Sylvan shrugged (mistake). "You know me. Always glad to take one for the team."

Dimitri's hand was still resting upon Sylvain's shoulder. He squeezed it gently, taking care to not cause harm. "That wasn't why you did it."

Sylvain gaped. "I am insulted, Your Majesty."

Dimitri glanced away, sighing. "You did it for him."

Sylvain couldn't resist the pout. He tried to mitigate it by forcing a scowl, wishing he could bury himself in the pillow and blankets of his bed. "Can't we just accept I single-handedly saved the Kingdom, and just leave it at that?"

A tiny smile played on Dimitrit's lips, almost wry. Well, at least his humor was returning. "No."

Now if only he could return to his business and leave Sylvain to his pain and misery. He sighed in exasperation, running fingers through his hair. Wow, did no one think to wash his hair while he was out? Ugh, and by the way it felt, he had been out for at least a week.

"You know," he muttered, figuring he could afford to glare at Dimitri due to the fact that he almost died for him, "I liked you better when you were focused on being princely, and let me be."

"You're my friend." Dimitri said, removing the hand at Sylvain's shoulder and bringing it to his hand. He patted it softly. "I should have been paying more attention to you before."

Sylvain shrugged (again, ow). "I didn't mind it."

Dimitri frowned. "I never had considered how dishonest you were. With good intentions, but . . ."

"Fine. Fine. Don't guilt me." Sylvain sighed roughly, pulling his hand from Dimitri's and crossing his arms. "I didn't do it for the Kingdom. I didn't even really do it for you. I just figured . . . he'd miss you more than he'd miss me. Seemed the right thing to do."

"I thought so." Despite the fact that he'd pressured the truth out, Dimitri didn't look particularly satisfied by the answer. Instead, he pulled away, moving to the seat by Sylvain's bed.

Damn, that meant he'd linger. And Sylvain really had no way to escape this time.

"You know," Dimitri's tone was soft, uncertain, "he was furious when he thought you would die. And . . . for a few days, that seemed really likely."

Sylvain blinked, lips pressed together. Sure, that was kind of expected. Of course Felix would be mad--mad that Sylvain had been careless, mad that he hadn't trained enough to be safe. Slowly, his gaze slid over to Dimitri. The king looked distant, mournful.

"Your Majesty," Sylvain tried a smile, "you know I wouldn't haunt you, right? I wouldn't mind you missing me, but I wouldn't have blamed you."

A cold eye looked up at him, almost reminiscent of the beast of their recent past. "It would have haunted me. I know it."

Sylvain winced. He couldn't really argue that. He didn't understand Dimitri's illness--whether it was real ghosts or not. He knew deaths caused the problems, of course, but that was about it. He didn't actually know if Dimitri would have been tormented by a vision of him. Even if he didn't intend for it. Even if it wasn't him.

He swallowed, voice small. "Well, then I guess I wouldn't have haunted Felix, at least."

A hum. "I'm not so sure."

"Is that so?"

"He's not emotionless. You know that better than I do. And you're his best friend--his closest friend." Dimitri hunched a bit, hands clasped in front of him. "I think your death would have pained him until his own."

A small part of his mind flickered back to their promise. A part of him that was at least a little afraid that Felix might take a drastic move to fulfill their promise. A larger, wiser part of him knew that he had forgotten. Many things had happened since then. It would be no surprise that Felix would have forgotten a silly childhood promise.

"That's . . . good to know." Sylvain muttered.

"No, it's not." Dimitri rumbled.

"No, it's not." It was a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't want to be the cause of Felix's pain. But he knew that Dimitri's would be worse. And so, if it was one of them, he was sure to do the same thing again. But if that were the case . . . "It'd be better if I . . . just vanished, in that case."

"What?"

"Instead of dying, I mean. If I vanished. I'd never have loved him, and he wouldn't miss my absence."

"Sylvain . . ."

Ah, there was a way to get him to leave him be. "I used to want to vanish, a lot. When you told me you loved him. Thought if I went away entirely, things would be how they were meant to be. Guess I was just a bit too selfish for that."

The hospital door flung open, slamming hard against the wall. Sylvain flinched, glad at least Dimitri looked as startled as Sylvain felt. Both of their gazes snapped to the entryway.

There was Felix, practically coiled like a spring. His fists were clenched hard, shoulders hunched and face red with fury.

Sylvain shrunk back a bit. "Oh hiiiii Felix. Dimitri mentioned you were bringing food, but--"

"Shut up." Felix snarled.

He stormed across the room, and Sylvain couldn't resist the way his body tensed. He was going to be hit for being an idiot. Of course he was going to be hit. Felix was mad and Sylvain had ignored his lessons and--

--and Felix was hugging him. His arms wrapped firmly around Sylvain's shoulders, squeezing hard. It was a pleasant contrast--how soft and plush his layers of clothing were, compared to how firm his muscles were beneath. He smelled of a mixture of leather and spices, the skin of his cheek so soft against Sylvain's jaw.

It was a million times better than Sylvain had imagined, back when Felix threatened and deprived him of a hug.

Sylvain gently patted Felix's back. "H-hey, you don't need to look so worried. I won't die on you . . . I promised."

Felix gripped even firmer. "I know." There was a slight tremble in his hands.

A tremble Sylvain didn't fail to notice. "Hey, I'm sure the sight looked way worse than it actually was. I'm fine--really."

Felix nodded against Sylvain's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Sylvain chuckled. "For being worried? Don't be. Even if I did die, it wouldn't be your fault that I'm an idiot."

"That's not--" Felix stopped himself. Sylvain could feel his lips move against his skin, but he couldn't quite make out the words.

It was a long time until Felix pulled away. He was flushed, looking rather disheveled. Well, his hair was really the only mess (which was a good look); the rest looked pretty normal. He looked away. "Dimitri told me."

"How amazing I looked, charging into the battlefield? Surprises me too, that he has decent taste."

Felix's glare shifted over, cold but not harsh. Gradually, it returned to his normal, bland expression. He bit the inside of his cheek. "We'll . . . talk later. You should focus on healing."

"You're leaving?"

"I have things to do." Felix turned on his heel, pausing just before he began to walk away. "I'm . . . glad you're safe."

Both men watched as Felix left. Sylvain could see how Dimitri's gaze continued to linger, even after he was long out of sight.

Sylvain wasn't an idiot. He knew what Felix meant. But he didn't want that conversation--ever--and he especially didn't want it when his body still ached and his wits had not completely returned. It was better if he avoided it entirely, and Felix forgot that it was ever really a possibility.

"You didn't need to tell him." He said, looking coldly at his king.

Dimitri looked sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I told him I . . . wanted to spend the rest of my days with him. That I loved him. But I also told him . . . that he needed to know that you loved him, too. It felt unfair to try and take him when you weren't even conscious."

"I told you that he'd never choose me." Sylvain shrugged.

"I know you did. But I wanted him to know. And I wanted him to know that I wouldn't blame him if he chose you."

"And he chose you." Sylvain's voice was more emotionless than he even thought himself capable of.

Dimitri nodded.

Sylvain smiled. "Make him happy, then. Or I will absolutely haunt you."

Dimitri nodded again.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Ashe, Ingrid, and Dorothea peeked past the crack in the doorway. Well, it wasn't so much peek as it was somehow managing to only stick their heads in.

"We . . . we heard that Sylvain was awake." Ashe said, clearly working hard to contain his eagerness.

Dimitri smiled, standing from his seat. "He is. I think I shall leave you all to it."

Sylvain couldn't even protest before his guests clamored in. He could barely catch his bearings before there was a pile of books on his bed, and a group of eager friends reading knight's tales to him, and speaking of other silly things.

Years later, and things kind of went in the same way Sylvain expected that they would. Dimitri took his rightful place as king. Felix was always by his king's side, a proud and potent shield. Sylvain was relegated to his region, protecting the Kingdom from Gautier's borders.

It was a blessing, more than anything.

There, it was easy to focus on his duty and role. He could devote himself entirely to his work--matters of the land, protecting the border, most of the things he had always been told to be ready for. There was only one thing he really couldn't take on--no matter how many women were thrown in his direction--but the rest was done with as much diligence as possible.

It was a lot easier to think when most of his interactions with Felix were managed via letter.

Sometimes, however, he had to go to Fhirdiad. He had to speak to the king and his shield. Had to report on Gautier's status, present the current state and make requests for whatever resources he needed. Though he tried to keep it business, the other two were firmly against it. They wanted to know his well-being, not Gautier's.

They probably hoped he had a wife, at least to ease their consciences. He had enough skill to distract them, when that problem did come up.

It was . . . impossibly difficult the first year. After that, however, the pain was still there, but the distance had dulled it. Their smiles, their happiness with each other (even though Felix tried his best to hide it), it served as a sort of remedy to his injury. In truth, he was happy for his friends. And, while the sting in his chest was still present, it was at least livable. It could be ignored.

But it was harder to ignore if he lingered too long. So, somehow, he always found his way to the opera house. It was always his best fortune when the Mittelfrank Opera Company traveled there to perform. When they were there, he was sure to attend every showing for as long as he was staying in the capital.

When he listened, it was as if Dorothea's songs wrapped around his heart. Not as a vice, but as a gentle embrace. As if they could whisper that they understood. That he was safe there.

On those days, Dorothea went out of her way to bypass her suitors and greet him. She ignored their whispers and suspicions, saving her sweetest smile for him. And, reveling in the uncommon partiality, couldn't resist a candid grin. So he just had to treat her to dinners, to bring her to places she wanted to go and serve as her chaperon for things she wished to do. She seemed to equally enjoy his generosity.

This time, they had already gone through their usual dance before they were halfway through dinner. Nothing had really changed in the opera, as nothing had really changed in Gautier. So they had other things to speak on. More personal things.

"How are Dimitri and Felix?" She asked, glancing up at him through long lashes.

"Same as they always are." Sylvain responded with a shrug. It wasn't quite as cold here, so the shift in the temperature made old wounds ache. It was easier to focus on than that little needle that pricked at him every time he saw them smile at each other.

"And . . . you're doing better?" It was more a hopeful question than a leading one.

He took a bite of his stew, chewing on it thoughtfully. "A little more each time."

She smiled, warm and sweet. "I'm happy to hear that."

A silence settled between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She had shifted her attention to dessert, nibbling at it as if each bite was a precious one. He still lingered far too long with his own meal. If he finished, then their date would end.

"I've been thinking." He mused.

"Should I be worried?"

"No." He chuckled. "Your songs . . . they just get me. I feel like they do, anyway. How do you manage that?"

She looked at him, head tilting slightly. The smile shifted in tone, but was still there. "Experience."

The last opera had been a tragedy. A love that could never be returned. Two hearts too different for their fates to ever combine. "Yours? Or someone else's?"

"A true artist never reveals her secrets." She looked a little too proud of that one.

"They also never reveal their love life, and I'm still going to ask you about that."

"I was afraid you might. But I won't stop you."

"Any luck, then? I know you've got some . . . preferences." He tapped his lip with his spoon.

She had mentioned them several times. Now and then, Sylvain even kept an eye out for someone who fit what she wanted. She wasn't keen on nobles, at least not the usual brand, but she did want someone who could take care of her. Someone who could also love her when her beauty and voice faded. Which meant wealthy, kind, and probably not a fool. Frankly, even he was having difficulty finding anyone who fit that description.

"Not yet." Her expression fell and she shook her head. "There's this girl . . . I've been training her for a while now. She's skilled, so I imagine they won't need me for much longer. And yet . . . I just . . ." Her hands clasped in front of her.

"You could marry me." Sylvain offered.

Her frown turned into a scowl. "I'm not marrying you. You're still--"

"You don't need to say it." He was not keen on being verbally reminded of his foolishness. He inhaled and tried again. "You've always been there for me. Let me repay you. Let me take care of you, and do for you as you deserve. You don't have to marry me, it's just . . . you know, easier to make sure you're taken care of if you do."

"I don't want your pity, Sylvain."

"I'm not pitying you." Sylvain scowled, frustrated. "I love you, I do. Maybe not--you know--but--look, I want to take care of you. It's probably the only reasonable thing I actually want. Can you just let me do that for you?"

Her expression softened. Slowly, her hand reached out to cover his. "We're a pair of sorry fools, aren't we?"

"I figure that's why we got along so well."

She laughed. "When I retire, I'll let you take care of me. In part. Besides, I suppose you need an actually competent mage to protect you, anyway."

"I always do."

"And," her fingers clasped around his, "someday, when I love you, and you love me, and our wounds aren't . . . what they are . . . I will marry you."

"Is that a promise?" He asked, turning his hand so he could hold hers.

She nodded. "Until then, we'll look out for each other. Like we always have."