Archive of Our Own

The first time Sylvain meets the other children of the Kingdom, he's eight years old.

Sure, he knows who they are. But he's never actually met them. It's more like he knows them in theory, merely from his parents' unique approaches to his introduction.

His father has had their names and titles drilled into his head a thousand times. He knows their bloodlines at least four generations back. He knows their Crests and the benefits those Crests provide. He knows the specialties of each house, and where their weaknesses are most significant. He knows the means to most efficiently ally with and benefit from them.

His mother has allowed for a somewhat more personal connection, but only so much as she can hide his letters with hers when she writes to Galatea and Fraldarius and the King. She looks over his scrawling penmanship before she slides it into the envelope, nodding imperiously at the fact that it's acceptably legible for a child his age. His isn't as nice as the letters she occasionally provides to him--clearly a servant's scrawl desperately trying to capture babbling orations. But he doesn't linger on that too much. He much prefers the part at the bottom--scrawling letters straight from the orators themselves, pretty much entirely illegible. Sometimes, when the day is hard, he pulls each letter out from under his mattress, just to smile at those words.

By the time he's eight, he knows a few more specific things about his future allies.

Dimitri is often overly apologetic--to the point where Sylvian can't tell whether he's apologizing to Sylvain or to his scribe. He also has a habit of breaking things, which he laments more frequently than he doesn't. But he's always curious about what Sylvain is up to and what things are like where he is, which makes him a pleasant correspondent.

Felix is probably the most enthusiastic person Sylvain has ever known, and probably will ever know. He writes about everything, no matter how trivial or silly. The new coat he got for the winter, the upgrade into a new training blade, the way the snow melts around his windowsill. Everything is fascinating and worth his attention, and he's always eager for Sylvain to share in his excitement.

Ingrid is passionate, and probably the oldest-sounding out of the three. She used to fill her letters with matters of her family first, then elaborate on what was on her mind. She used to used him as a sounding board, as if unsure that her thoughts were the right ones to have. Now, though, she fills her letters with things about Glenn. And it's so overly sweet that he's pretty sure he's learning absolutely nothing about her or Glenn.

It's not to say that he doesn't want to meet them. He desperately does, and has wanted to for years. But something always got in the way before he had the chance. A broken arm, a concussion, a fever . . . things not entirely conducive to travel. Conditions where something as trivial as a meeting was not worth the potential cost of a Crest-bearing heir.

But the situation has made it no longer optional. His father is expected to the borders of Gautier soon, to stave off an incoming Sreng assault. His mother has been struggling through a set of persistent fevers. While true that the servants can handle the majority of his care, it's clear that his presence would only be a burden upon her.

By his mother's arrangement, it has been decided that he will stay in Fraldarius. His father is still clearly displeased by the matter, judging by how he scowls as he walks Sylvain to the stables to retrieve their horses.

Sylvain has enough practice now to know how to prepare his horse. It's while he's fastening the saddle that he can hear familiar footsteps behind him. A hand clamps on his shoulder, purposefully bruising as nails dig in.

"Word is you get to play while we do all the work." His brother hisses, lips startlingly close to Sylvain's ear. Sylvain reflexively trembles at the chuckle rumbling through his brother's chest. "Try not to be a disappointment, princess."

As he rides to Fraldarius, his father right beside him, it's hard not to think about just how easily he can disappoint. It's even more likely the more his father reminds him of his manners and responsibilities. How to hold himself, how to speak, how to walk. How to do everything that makes a proper Gautier. It's an endless list that Sylvain tries desperately to print into memory.

"While here, you represent Gautier." His father rumbles, gaze sharp as he looks to his youngest son. He nods toward the door to the Fraldarius estate. "I expect nothing but the best from you."

"Yes, father." Sylvain says, letting out a slow breath as he straightens his back and keeps his chin level.

He follows his father inside with his gaze downcast. To look around would make him look like a fool, his father had said, to look straight ahead would imply a challenge. He tries to keep his footsteps light--to stomp would make him overly childish, but tiptoeing would make him weak. His hands have to move just enough at his sides, but not too much lest he look ridiculous.

His mind spins as he tries to toe the line between the conflicting instructions.

"He really has grown fast, Gautier." The Duke says, voice lighthearted and amiable. "The last I saw him, he was still an infant!"

"It's been seven years, Fraldarius," his father drawls, "it would be disturbing if he did not grow."

"My point was that he's growing well." Still all kindness from the Duke. "I am glad we got to finally see him."

Sylvain tries to keep his smile level as he bows and straightens himself, feeling all eyes upon him. "It's a pleasure to meet you." A smile will disarm more enemies than a blade, his mother had told him, never let them see your weakness, lest they feast upon you as wolves on blood.

It's hard to keep his chin up, his shoulders straight, and his smile pleasant, though, when he can feel Glenn Fraldarius' gaze upon him. He's certain now that Ingrid's letters were not entirely fluff. The man is tall, intimidating. Not broad like his father, but certainly a man of imposing stature and strength. He could probably snap Sylvain in two if he wanted.

"You're very polite, Sylvain," the Duke praises, making heat rise to Sylvain's cheeks, "I'm sure your father is very proud."

Sylvain glances over at his father. He isn't scowling, so that means he's doing well.

"He still has a long way to go." His father says with a shrug.

"Come now, Gautier, surely you can allow the boy to enjoy his age a little."

He can hear the scowl in his father's voice, though his expression hasn't really changed the whole time they've been here. "I did not come here to debate parenting strategies." A scoff. "If you wish to waste time, there is an issue I wish to address with you."

A hum and pleasant smile. "Of course."

"I have noticed bandits skirting the line between your territory and mine. I imagine they think we will not act if there is the potential for conflict between us. Foolish. I will allow . . ."

Sylvain blinks, trying to force himself to look interested. But this is boring. Some of it is made up of words that Sylvain doesn't understand, other parts just don't make sense strung together. It sounds somewhat familiar to his father's bitter muttering on the ride. But Sylvain hadn't grasped it much then--and it didn't seem like his father wanted his input on the matter anyway. So standing here like a decoration is agonizing.

"Tch." Glenn sighs heavily, and Sylvain's gaze snaps to him. The man closes the gap between them too easily, giving Sylvain no time to react (should he even react? Would that be rude? Disrespectful?). His hand rests between Sylvain's shoulders. "Come on Sunshine, standing around here is stupid."

"Glenn." The Duke's voice is the firmest Sylvain has ever heard it. "Manners."

"Listening to you two talk is boring." Glenn grumbles. "I'd rather show him around. You'd like that too, wouldn't you, Freckles?" The push is gentle, but insistent.

Sylvain looks up to his father, who is pinning him with a scowl. No, definitely not. "I--"

"Gautier, let them go. Sylvain will be here for a while, let him get used to the place." The Duke places a hand on his father's shoulder, smile pleasant. "You know Glenn will take care of him."

"It's settled then." Glenn says, taking hold of Sylvain's hand and pulling him out of the room with more purpose. Even if Sylvain resisted, there's no resisting that much strength. So, instead, he avoids his father's glare. It's not like he doesn't already know what that looks like, anyway.

When he glances up, he realizes that Glenn has been talking the whole time.

"--and I definitely don't want to sit while they prattle on about borders. Just handle the bandits and work it out later--what's the big deal? Old men, so annoying." Glenn glances down at him as he walks. "I can't imagine how you didn't just crawl out of your skin."

Sylvain looks down, not really sure how to answer. Isn't behaving what he's supposed to do?

He walks right into Glenn's back, not realizing that he had stopped walking. And it's a hard hit--his nose is throbbing. Oh, so there was armor under that cloak. Rubbing his nose, he can see it better as Glenn turns and kneels in front of him.

"You know, your mother told me that you're very smart." Glenn says, tipping Sylvain's chin up.

Sylvain keeps his gaze down. Manners dictated that he be gracious, but not overly proud of compliments. But he never really felt all that smart. So how does one reply to that?

Glenn hums. "She also told me that you're a charming little brat. All big grins when your father isn't around."

Sylvain's eyes flick up, catching the blue of Glenn's. The way his eyes are makes his expression seem cold and mean. But the way his voice sounds is anything but. He nods.

"She also said that you're the worse flirt to grace Fodlan. Flattering anyone who walks by, maids and guests alike." His eyes narrow. "Not sure I see it."

Of course he flirts. When he smiles and calls maids pretty, they'll smile at him and giggle. Sometimes they'll scoop him up in their arms, gushing about how much of a heartbreaker he'll be. Even his mother smiles when he calls her the loveliest woman in all of Fodlan. He loves it.

But he knows it irritates his father and brother to no end. He knows better than to flirt even in the vaguest vicinity of them. It's possible that Glenn's the same. Maybe noble men think it's rude and improper, to make a woman smile with sweet words. Maybe he's wrong for doing it.

So Sylvain nods again, but it's a little more unsure this time.

"Well, your father isn't around, and he won't be for a month, so you can be as 'you' as you want to be." Glenn rises, continuing to pull Sylvain along. "This shi---er, this act is bothersome."

Sylvain's bottom lip pouts out a bit. So they don't want him to behave?

"My brother is the biggest crybaby. And annoyingly shy." Glenn continues, not looking back to Sylvain. "Having someone like the kid in your mother's letters would be good for him. A big bright ray of sunshine."

Sylvain blinks. Oh. The smile on his face crawls into something more natural.

Glenn glances back at him. The smile on his face is mild, but a smile nonetheless. "Think you can manage that?"

Sylvain nods, perhaps too enthusiastically.

"Good."

Glenn pauses at a doorway. The door is cracked open, loud voices practically streaming out of it like a torrent. They're small, like his, not deep like his father's or Glenn's. And they just get louder as Glenn pushes open the door, revealing the overburdened library inside.

What gets Sylvain's attention isn't the amazing array of books (though it's certainly bigger than the one he's allowed in), or the large fireplace that is just pouring out warmth (though that would be nice back home), or the large plush sofas that occupy the room (though they look like a good place for a nap). What gets his attention is the large rug in front of the fire. Its edges are entirely obscured by a mess of books, some tomes stacked and leaning precariously while others are half-opened and strewn about. In the middle of this mess are two children, fussing at each other while each point at a different side of the book in their laps.

Sylvain doesn't have to be introduced to know who they are. There is Ingrid, blonde hair fluffy and wild around her face. She wears a cloak of Galatea green, no doubt their Crest somewhere on the item. And then there is Felix, bundled up in a fur coat of Fraldarius blue. His hair is a bit darker than Glenn's, though it's tied up while Glenn lets his be free. And they're currently arguing loudly in each other's faces, thinking that volume might make them more right.

Glenn nudges Sylvain forward, pushing him inside the doorway.

Sylvain opens his mouth to speak, but he can't. He can't get a word in between their bickering, and they haven't stopped because they haven't noticed him. And he certainly has no desire to try and out-yell them.

"Shut up!" Glenn growls, practically a snarl. "Goddess, you two make my head hurt."

Sylvain watches as their mouths snap shut. Immediately their attention falls upon Glenn, but quickly snaps to the new person in the room. If they know who he is, at all, they haven't shown it yet.

Glenn sighs. "This is Sylvain. He'll be staying here for a while."

"Um . . . hi." Sylvain tries as he rubs the back of his neck, perhaps a little too meekly. But it's hard not to when they keep staring at him. Like the name still doesn't register. Like he's not anyone worthwhile for--

Ingrid jolts up and storms toward him, footsteps practically a stomp. Her expression is fierce, moreso as she comes nearer and nearer. Her green eyes glint like he's looking at the sun through an emerald. He can't help but flinch as her fingers curl into his coat.

"Come." She demands, pulling him by his clothing.

Ingrid is forceful as she pulls him deeper into the room, over the piles of books. She tugs down hard to make him sit. It takes some serious maneuvering to avoid falling directly on top of Felix. When he tries to adjust, he finds her hands pressing down on his head. So, he realizes, he has no alternative but to accept this fate.

A book is dropped into his lap. Specifically, the one they were fighting over.

"Read this to us." Ingrid says, taking her place beside him. She leans close, taking the edge of his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Felix needs to know he's wrong."

"I'm not!" Felix protests, pouting the most magnificent pout Sylvain has ever seen. His eyes are already glassy, like he's on the verge of tears. Cheeks red as he struggles to push them back.

Sylvain swallows and laughs weakly. "Which . . . um . . . story?"

Felix leans over, flipping the pages. It's like he's gone through this book a thousand times. His amber eyes glimmer with sheer determination (or perhaps it's the fire's reflection, but still), scowl making his plump cheeks all the more prominent. He huffs, the air making his flyaway hairs shift and tickle at his nose. From the looks of it, the way he has it tied back is of sheer necessity, the straight strands otherwise likely to become an impossible annoyance. It practically shimmers, making Sylvain wonder just how soft it is.

"You passed it!" Ingrid complains, leaning forward and pushing Felix's hand out of the way. Her hands are freckled like Sylvain's, though they're of such a soft color it's easy to miss from afar. Up close, he can also tell that it isn't that her hair is fluffy or wild--but it's been tamed into a broad and loose braid. And, while her face isn't as round as Felix's, it's still just enough to be cute. Especially with the few freckles on her nose, too. He wonders if she'll grow out of them like his mother says he will.

"This one." She says, looking back up at him. Her expression--which as first he thought fierce--makes more sense now. She's not mad; though her lips are down-turned, her eyes are wide, hopeful. Determined, not angry.

He smiles, and looks down at the page. He actually doesn't recognize the text at all. The words are in large print, and he can tell that every other page has some elegant image upon it. It's actually fanciful--nothing about politics or strategy or anything like that. His fingers brush over the illustration, entranced. It's lovely.

"You can read, can't you Sylvain?" Ingrid asks. Her voice just borders on a whimper.

"Oh! Yes. Sorry." He clears his throat. "This is the story of Loog and Kyphon and the Monster of the Plains."

He begins to read this tale to them, more enthralled every moment. He finds they like it when he takes long pauses, or raises his voice dramatically with each scene. They like it when he swings an imaginary sword with his hand. They like it when he gives them voices, and they like his monster voice best.

The more he reads, the more they lean against him, curling in his cloak and pressing their knees against his thighs. They're like little fireballs, making it a little too hot by the fireplace, but he quickly finds that he doesn't mind.

When the story is done, it seems their argument is forgotten.

But Ingrid and Felix are anything but focused. Instead, they look about at anything but their stomachs, which are growling so loudly that it would be impossible not to tell. Ingrid tries to turn to the next story in the book. Like a tale could drown out that sound.

Sylvain shuts the tome with a sigh. "I'm starving." He complains, stretching out and wrapping his arms around their shoulders. "Let's get something to eat."

"I'm fine." Ingrids huffs, pushing his hand off. He doesn't try to replace it.

Felix looks up at him, eyes bright. "Me too!" He grins, and it's practically blinding. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

Felix jumps up without absolutely no hesitation, nearly ripping Sylvain's arm off in the process. But Sylvain doesn't complain, and instead pulls himself to his feet. He finds himself wrapping his arm around Felix's shoulder again, which just makes that smile all the brighter.

"You sure you don't want to come, Ingrid?" Sylvain asks, offering her his hand.

Her glare says no. Her pout and stomach say yes. With a loud whine, she gives in, grabbing onto Sylvain's sleeve.

"Lead the way, Felix." Sylvain hums.

And Felix does, like a kid on a mission. The path is straightforward, so different from that at Gautier. Felix easily leads them through the halls, short legs working as fast as they can. It's easy for Sylvain to keep up, his legs longer, but Ingrid struggles.

To placate them both, he winds up carrying Ingrid piggyback. She giggles as she wraps her arms around his neck. He's somehow earned the title of her new favorite horse, and he's not entirely sure if he likes it or not. Though he doesn't mind carrying her, so that's probably enough.

The kitchen doors aren't as big and elaborate as the others. One is left open for the heat to vent out of the room and into the halls. And the smell it brings is amazing. Warm and savory and everything a child's stomach could possibly want.

Felix brings his hands to his lips and steps across the doorway in the least stealthy way Sylvain has ever seen. A moose would make it across with less noise.

Rolling his eyes, Sylvain rests his hand against the door frame, sticking his head in. Across the way, on the counter, is a platter stacking high with meat skewers, its neighboring platter similarly stacked with buns. Filled ones, by the look of it. Large and full and smelling amazing. His mouth waters.

"Ah, no." A maid steps before them, scowl firm on her face as she blocks the doorway. "Not yet. You must be patient."

Sylvain puts on the best puppy-dog expression in his arsenal. "Not even one?"

Her lips curl more. Well that didn't work. "No. You must wait an hour until dinner."

The door slams in front of them.

Felix begins to bawl. Not just cry, but big, heaving heavy sobs. And right there Sylvain's heart shatters. He would do anything to make it stop. He shifts Ingrid, trying to support her with one arm while his other hand reaches out for Felix.

"It's okay." Sylvain whispers, voice a soft and sweet coo. He brushes the tears away with his thumb, then gently pushes Felix's hair back out of his face. "I'll get us something. I promise."

Felix says something, but it's absolutely incoherent against his blubbering.

Ingrid wraps her arms around Sylvain a little tighter. "They said we have to wait." The petulance is palatable.

"Yeah, well, you're hungry, he's hungry, and I'm hungry. I don't see why we have to."

He can feel her scowl against his hair. "They'll just kick you out."

Sylvain grins. "They'd have to catch me first. Trust me." She doesn't protest further, so he takes that as assent. Gently he lets her down, and his work begins.

The door looks just like one of the ones back home. He's quiet as he turns open the doorknob, moving slowly and pulling just at the right angle where it doesn't click. Pulling downward on the door just enough makes it so the door doesn't creak as he pushes it open. It's pressed just enough for him to squeeze through. Just enough for his cloak to slide in without the buttons snagging on the wood.

The kitchen is full of crates and preparation tables, just spread out enough for a little boy to sneak in. Most of the staff is busy at the stoves, so they don't pay him any mind. The few other maids are scattering around, looking for the right tableware and fabrics for the evening. The one who stopped them earlier isn't there.

Well, this will be easier than he thought.

He slides in, taking the opportunity to duck under tables, to hide between the crates. Quickly enough, he's at his prize. It's a shame it's too heavy for him to take the whole thing, so he'll have to make do. And, since he can't wrap them in his clothes without staining them, he'll have to just deal with whatever he can carry. So he manages two skewers and a bun, the bun practically the size of his hand all on its own.

With the precious cargo in his hands, he sneaks out back the way he came.

"I told you." He smiles, offering them the food.

"Wow." Felix gapes. "You must be really good at hide and seek."

"I'm . . . decent."

Ingrid's eyes haven't left the meat. "Can we?"

"Of course. Take what you'd like."

Ingrid is quick, snatching up the two skewers. But Felix doesn't seem to mind, taking the bun in between his small hands. Both make the smallest contented noises as they eat, practically grinning from ear to ear. It makes Sylvain's chest feel warm. Happy.

It also makes his stomach growl. With a sigh, he turns to head back in. Get something for himself, perhaps another skewer for Ingrid for good measure.

He returns to the path he took. Weaving under tables, hiding by the crates. He's cautious, careful. The same method doesn't always work twice. The same spots doesn't always mean safety. When it seems clear again, he lets out a breath and reaches for his portion.

But his wrist is caught. The grip is firm, but not painful. Still, he can feel the pricks of nails against his skin. His eyes dart upward. And there is the maid. Damn, she is good.

"I know what to do with kids who don't listen." She scowls, pulling at his arm. With a wince, he has no choice but to follow.

He finds himself standing before Glenn, who is busying himself maintaining his sword. Each stroke of the whetstone makes Sylvain flinch. That, and Glenn's sharp glare, which shifts between the maid and him.

He practically sinks in on himself as the maid begins to explain absolutely everything wrong with Sylvain. That he tried to charm his way inside, and when that didn't work, he decided to sneak about like a thief. No respect for the staff, and clearly no respect for the hosts. Clearly he could be a bad influence for Felix.

Sylvain presses his lips together. Well, she's probably not that wrong.

Glenn raises his hand and she silences herself. "Thank you. I'll handle this."

She gives a curtsy and leaves, shooting Sylvain a glare before departing.

"Anything to say for yourself?" Glenn asks, leaning against his desk.

"No." Sylvain mutters. What does he have to say? He did something bad, and worse, got caught. Which meant that either Glenn would punish him, or he'd inform his father and then his father would.

Glenn sets his sword behind him, resting his chin in his palm. "You know, I asked you to be charming."

"Yes."

"And you decided to steal instead."

"Yes."

"So . . .which one of them put you up to it?"

Sylvain blinks. Slowly, he brings his gaze up to Glenn and offers a lopsided smile. His fingers lace behind him. "I was just hungry."

Glenn raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Sylvain nods.

With a heavy sigh, Glenn returns to his work. "Wait for dinner. If you're caught again, I'll make you clean the whole kitchen by yourself."

Well, the others were fed, so that's easy enough to manage. Sylvain nods again.

"Get out."

Sylvain leaves without question. Frankly, a threat is probably the best punishment he's ever gotten. Really, even cleaning the whole kitchen wouldn't be so bad.

Of course, that isn't the impression his new friends have. The second Glenn's door is shut, he finds himself tackled by two small children, very nearly knocking him over. Felix is bawling loudly, and he can even hear Ingrid sniffle.

"I thought he was going to give you time out forever!" Felix whines, rubbing his tears against Sylvain's shirt.

"W-whatever you have to do, we'll do too!" Ingrid insists, that fierce look in her eyes again.

"H-he just told me not to do it again. It's no big deal." Sylvain lets his hands rest on their shoulders, that lopsided smile still there. Nearly, very nearly, he almost wants to cry, too. "I told you I'd be fine." He says instead.

A few days later, and Sylvain is already finding himself fantasizing about living here forever. He's allowed to sleep in as long as he likes. When he wakes, the hearth in his room is already warm, and breakfast sits on his desk. He's allowed to take as long as he wants to get ready, and allowed to wander as he pleases. It's a paradise.

His steps carry him around the manor, absorbing everything he can. The staff is friendly--all of them, really. When they smile at him, it seems sincere. When they ask him a question, it's as if they want to know the answer. When he looks lost, they guide him with care and kindness.

Eventually, he pauses when he directions lead him to the training grounds. It's more of a room, really, far different from the outside arrangements at Gautier. But he can tell what it is for the weapon racks outside the door, and the soldiers nearby removing training armor. If he had to guess, it seems their session just ended.

Which is why it surprises him when he sees Ingrid peeking into the grounds. She looks nervous, uneasy. Occasionally, her head ducks behind the wall, as if she's afraid she'll be seen. It's actually super fun to watch.

But it can't be fun for her, whatever it is. So Sylvain steps up, looking just past her.

In the middle of the grounds are Felix and Glenn. Felix is in a fighting stance, but it's awkward and ill-balanced. Glenn just laughs as he easily knocks Felix over. Before Felix can start to pout, though, he helps him stand properly. Feet square, shoulders firm. Both go through a practice swing together. Felix catches on quickly, and soon he's rounding on his brother and trying to land a hit. And failing miserably.

It's cute, but not particularly fun to watch. He'd rather be in the middle of it, learning the same things. Getting a chance to prove himself as a decent use of space.

He glances down at Ingrid, wondering if--perhaps--she is different. But she's just as wide eyed as he likely is. Her fingers clench around the wall, as if that might alleviate the desperation. Her eyes are stuck on Glenn, positively amazed at him.

"Why don't you ask to join?" Sylvain asks. "It looks like fun."

Ingrid scowls at him, but it fades quickly. It's like icy water was poured over whatever fire the amazement had sparked. "There's no way a knight like him would ever--"

Sylvain doesn't even let her finish her thought. He grabs her by her arm, dragging her into the training hall with a laugh. "Glenn! Let us learn too!"

Glenn doesn't even question it.

Sylvain doesn't know how long they've been training. At least a few hours. Glenn is patient with them, letting them do their best efforts against him. He doesn't immediately knock them to the ground, or purposely go for their weaknesses. He doesn't try to grind them into the dirt, but just defends. Deflects. Tells them where they're weak, what they need to do to improve.

Where was this when Sylvain was first learning?

"Not bad, Sunshine." Glenn muses, chuckling as he watches Sylvain gasping and exhausted on the floor. "You'll make one hell of a paladin one of these days."

Sylvain just beams.

"Sir Fraldarius." A soldier comes in, bowing slightly. "Duke Fraldarius wishes to see you."

Glenn frowns. "Ugh, so demanding. What a pain." He turns, putting away the training weapon. "I'll be right there."

As he leaves, he ruffles his hand through Felix's hair. Felix just giggles. "Try not to cause too much trouble."

Sylvain's eyes follow as Glenn leaves. That warmth in his chest twists, and immediately he's ashamed of it.

How long had he wanted Miklan to give him just an ounce of that? To smile at him, to praise him. To ruffle his hair. He had always thought that all brothers were like Miklan. But here . . . here it was clear that he was the exception. Perhaps it was he that was the problem.

He nearly tumbles as Felix tackles him from behind, pushing those thoughts away. "I'm tired," Felix complains, "take me to lunch." He's practically hanging from Sylvain like a monkey.

Sylvain, muscles sore and tired, just laughs. "Okay."

That night is the first night Sylvain has a nightmare in the Fraldarius house.

The air is cold, frigid. It makes his fingers hurt and everything sluggish. The world around him is dark. Trees feel like they're curling in around him, like they're ready to swallow him whole. But in the distance is a glimmer of sunlight. So Sylvain instinctively chases after it. Chases after the only thing that could possibly be warm. Chases after the only thing that could possibly save him from this.

But it keeps getting further away. And the harder he runs, the more the snow around him seems to get deeper. Like it's trying to suck him in. Bury him.

The ice feels like hands, pulling him down. Gripping at his ankles. Crawling up his chest. Around his neck. Ready to suffocate him.

When he wakes, there's a hand on his wrist. Immediately, Sylvain's heart stops and he pulls away, jolting to the other side of the bed. But the hand doesn't stay on, it doesn't grip in. It let him pull away.

Because it's not Miklan there. Instead, it's Felix.

His eyes are wider than Sylvain has ever seen them. He looks somewhere on the border of tears. Barely, just barely, Sylvain can see him tremble.

Tentatively, Felix reaches out for Sylvain again. "You were," Felix pauses as he takes Sylvain's hand, "making a lot of noise."

Sylvain winces. "Oh, sorry about that."

Felix's expression hardens a little. "You were crying."

Sylvain blinks, free hand immediately reaching up to his face. His cheeks are wet, but so is his hair. He was probably running in his sleep. And definitely, totally, not crying. So he flashes a grin. "Oh, no, I was just sweating. There was this big monster--and he was chasing me! It was gigantic!"

Felix's frown deepens. He glances away. "Well I had a nightmare." He mutters. "Can I . . . stay in here tonight?"

Sylvain blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. And blinks again. "You don't want to stay in your brother's room?" He can hardly even get his heartbeat to slow down--how can he expect to calm anyone else?

Even in the darkness, he can tell Felix is blushing. "He'll make fun of me. You won't."

Well, it's hard to beat that logic. With a hum, Sylvain raises his blanket. "More than enough space." He says, trying to keep his voice cheery.

Felix hardly even lets him finish his sentence before he's scrambling into Sylvain's bed. He hardly even lets Sylvain adjust, almost immediately curling against Sylvain's chest like he's a kitten desperate for warmth. His fingers curl into Sylvain's nightshirt, breaths evening out and slowing with sleep.

Slowly, gently, Sylvain wraps an arm around him. He lets himself bury his face in Felix's hair. It's soft, and smells nice--like the woods and flowers. Beneath his fingers, he can feel Felix's heartbeat, slow and even. It's like a lullaby, a soft bed made of heaven. He almost never wants to leave it.

It takes a while, but Sylvain does manage to fall back asleep. And with Felix there, the nightmares don't dare disturb him again that night.

It takes about a week for Sylvain to fully grasp the reality of what he could only guess at in letters. It's a completely different thing, reading and seeing.

He's determined that Ingrid is really bossy, at least in comparison to Felix and him. Where she wills it, Felix and Sylvain go, for the most part. If there's something she wants to do, they're more likely to follow it than they aren't. But there is a kindness in her. Sylvain can see it and he admires it. He just sometimes has to use his leftover dessert to bribe it to come out.

Felix is much easier to read. He's clingy, and overly prone to tears. In some cases, he's a bit whiny, but not unreasonably so. It's not even like he's like that to get his way. He's just expressive, moreso than Sylvain could ever manage. Most notably, Felix is loyal. Whenever Glenn isn't around, he follows Sylvain like a shadow.

And Sylvain utterly adores it.

And then everything shifts. It's like his whole world is picks up and just turned to its side.

Because Prince Dimitri has arrived in Fraldarius.

Sylvain isn't jealous. He doesn't envy Dimitri. He completely understands why Duke Fraldarius goes out of his way to greet and train with Dimitri, why Glenn just grins and laughs at everything Dimitri says and does, and why Ingrid and Felix dance around him like moths around a flame.

Dimitri had introduced himself with all the poise and sincerity of a fairy tale prince. And it all just seems to roll off him easily. Clear amiability--no faking it, no playing pretend--just real kindness. And, even when shy and insecure, he's so in a way that's absolutely endearing. Even Sylvain can't help but admire him and like him. Can't help but smile to make Dimitri happy.

But he misses the attention. He misses the way Felix and Ingrid clung to him. The way they wanted his opinion in everything. The way Glenn would seem to see right through him and know how to draw out a sincere smile. The way Felix would sometimes sneak into his bed, whether it was nightmare-induced or not.

And it makes sense. He knows it does. Dimitri has likely been around their whole lives. He's probably been able to come every few months, maybe even stay for a few months at a time. He's been with them for as long as they can remember.

Sylvain is new, so he hasn't earned his place among them. And watching the three of them together just makes that difference all the more obvious.

And so he finds himself in the library, curled up on one of the sofas. He's given up on the fairy tales--they're all about the same sort of amazing prince that Dimitri will grow up to be, and Sylvain doesn't need the reminder. So he resorts to the sorts of books he's familiar with at home. This one is a book on Reason-based magic. Most of it is too complicated, but the basic parts he understands. Someday, he'll actually give them a shot.

He startles when his chair begins to creak, the weight of another person upon it. He looks up, seeing Glenn's face above his. The older is leaning on the back of the chair, tilting it a little as he does so.

"I was wondering where the hell you ran off to." Glenn mutters. His eyes narrow, but in a way that Sylvain has learned means he's bored.

Sylvain can feel a bit of heat on his cheeks. "I . . . my head hurt. So I didn't want to go outside."

"So you were reading a book? What kind of idiot are you?"

Sylvain just shrugs.

Glenn exhales sharply through his nose, shifting off the back of the chair. Sylvain expects him to leave, but instead he's circled around, squatting in front of Sylvain. Before Sylvain can even properly process, Glenn has snatched the book from his hands.

"Reason? Really? You are the shittiest liar." Glenn shakes his head, placing the book well out of Sylvain's reach. "You should be reading fairy tales. Knights in shining armor. Wooing princesses. Stuff like that. You have plenty of time for the world to shove this down your throat."

Sylvain shrinks a bit, wishing he could just disappear into the chair. And yet Glenn's gaze is unrelenting. He rubs his arms, just in the vain hope that he can get the discomfort settling in his stomach to go away.

And then Glenn raises his hand and Sylvain unintentionally flinches. He knows Glenn won't hurt him, he knows that, but still.

Glenn pauses, some trace of an emotion flashing behind his eyes, making his eyebrow twitch. But whatever it is, he stifles it. And instead he continues to move his hand, but slowly and easily, until it rests in the mess of Sylvain's hair. His fingers card through the locks, so very, very gentle.

It feels amazing.

"Felix has been sobbing for the last hour because he thought you went home without saying goodbye." Glenn says, his voice entirely without bite. "How about we go tell him you fell asleep in the library, hm?"

The scolding he gets from Ingrid makes him feel like he's being yelled at by his mom. He apologizes, but she only relents when he promises he'll be more careful.

Felix just keeps crying and clinging, and it takes a dozen apologies just to get him to settle down.

Dimitri only laughs. "I fell asleep in there too, once. It's really comfortable, isn't it?"

Sylvain glances over at Glenn, who smiles. "Yeah, it is."

When Sylvain wakes, the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon. The servants haven't come in yet; the air is still frigid, and his desk is lacking in breakfast. Which means it's remarkably early.

But it's cold, which means that if he goes back to sleep he'll have a nightmare. And he can't exactly go to Felix's room to find peace. He had tried before, only to find Felix and Dimitri a mess of tangled limbs, soundly asleep. And he has no desire to disturb that.

So he does what he can to pass the time. He makes his bed, organizes the books that had been scattered in the room, reorganizes his clothing in his drawers, and wipes the dust that has been gathering on his windowsill. When he looks outside, the sun has risen, but not by much. He very much doubts the others are even starting to stir.

With a sigh, he changes his clothes and leaves his room. If he's lucky, maybe he can get the staff to make him breakfast. Or he can make it for himself, if they're not up yet. Either really works.

When he gets to the more central of the halls, though, it looks like the staff is up and has been up for hours. They're running about, panic on their faces and exhaustion clear in every word. He just stands there, watching as they run back and forth, whispering hurried words to each other, frantic.

And then one of them notices him. One of the younger maids, who he found very easy to make smile. She hurries over to him, the smile that she wears cracking.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, "but can you please wait for breakfast? A very important guest came in last night, so we're behind a little."

Sylvain just smiles brightly. "I don't mind. I don't want to make things any harder for a beautiful woman like you."

She tries to hide a giggle behind her hand, ruffling his hair. "Oh you're just the cutest! Thank you for being so patient!"

He watches as she hurries off, the bustle shifting further and further down the hall. Well then. If they're busy here, he can only imagine that the kitchen staff is bustling to get their tasks done. And it means that everywhere else will be too quiet to be comfortable.

His feet lead him to where the interesting things are, just outside the dining room. He doesn't approach until the staff is far away, where they cannot scold him. The door is just slightly ajar, left open by the last group who ran in and out to deliver tea and breakfast pastries. Just open enough for him to peek inside.

A large group is seated around the table. There's the Duke, and Glenn, and a woman with very light hair (she's too far away for him to get much more than that), and a man with green hair. And they're talking. He presses his ear against the door, hoping to hear more. It doesn't seem heated, but it's certainly not an idle conversation. The most he can pluck out is a few words.

His father's name is dropped a few times. And mention of Sreng. Glenn curses once or twice, only to be scolded by his father. Then there's something about forces. And balance. And relationships. Words get quicker and more harsh, and his father's name is dropped again.

It's really nothing new, he realizes. He can practically piece the argument together now. It's something his father rants about frequently, and argues vehemently about whenever some other noble decides to question him. Often, he winds up raving about it to his sons later. So even if Sylvain can't understand the bulk of it, or any fraction of the nuance, he knows it enough. He knows their duty, and knows it's foolish to try and argue against it.

"What are you doing?" The words behind him make him flinch, Ingrid's whisper quiet but very harsh.

"Oh, I uh," Sylvain clears his throat, and has the smile plastered on his face by the time he turns to a very tired-looking Ingrid, "there's a really pretty woman in there. I had to get a look."

Ingrid's scowl shifts, if only slightly, to moderate confusion. She nudges him with her shoulder as she peeks in. "Where?"

"The one with the pretty gold hair like yours."

Ingrid shoots back like the door bit her and immediately retches. "That's my grandma!"

Sylvain can feel the blood rush from his face. It's not the first time he's made that mistake, and it certainly won't be the last. "Well, um--"

"Don't talk!" Ingrid hisses, face flushed bright red and already starting to pull at his hair like that will get him to shut up. Her other hand clasps tightly on his mouth. Which works for him because he can't come up with an excuse anyway.

"Um . . . did we miss something?" The voice makes Sylvain and Ingrid freeze mid-tussle.

As if this couldn't get any more hectic, there stand Dimitri and Felix. Neither have bothered to get out of their sleepwear, and both look at the two of them like they've lost their minds. Felix hardly bothers to stifle his yawn.

"You see--it's--ah" Ingrid stumbles for the right words, face getting redder by the second.

Sylvain tries to offer something helpful, but his words are entirely muffled by her hand. He shrugs instead.

Dimitri's brow furrows. "Yeah, but why--" He freezes mid-sentence, looking up and behind the others.

Sylvain is almost afraid to look behind him. It's not like looking away will make it go away. Swallowing, he turns his head, struggling against Ingrid's grasp.

And there is Glenn. He's opened the door a little wider, looking down at them. His eyebrows are knitted together like he's supposed to be mad, but the way the edge of his lips quirk says otherwise. Casually, he looks over his shoulder to the other adults. "It's just the brats being nosy."

The Duke sighs heavily. "I sincerely apologize, Seteth. I expected them to behave better."

Seteth chuckles. "The best way to improve is to increase their exposure and instruct them in the proper methods. I recommend they join us."

Two hours later, and Sylvain begins to contemplate the long line of failures that have led him to this point. He could probably swear to the Goddess that he'd never be nosy again, that he'd give up anything to be able to get out of this stupid chair, but there's a good chance he'd get struck down for lying while one of the goddess' church leaders is in the same room.

He curls his toes, trying to force some feeling into them. He's been sitting too long. Sitting too still, back too straight, chin too level. It makes his whole body ache. He curls his nails into his palms to try to remember to look attentive. It hurts, but pain is a good focus. Much better than his numbing toes, anyway.

But the children beside him are suffering worse. They don't have the benefit of his parents' ingrained lessons.

Felix, clearly woken much earlier than he wanted, starts slouching at regular intervals. He remembers himself every time Sylvain taps his thigh, only for the habit to start again every few minutes. Once, he nearly nods off--and Sylvain had to thwart that one with a pinch. He pretended to sneeze to cover Felix's yelp.

Dimitri is more subtle with his boredom, but it's no less noticeable. Sylvain has to tug at his shirt every time he begins to pick at his nails, or swing his legs. Minor enough to ignore at first, but they can only be covered up so much. But at least Dimitri is faster to pick up the hint than Felix is.

Sylvain can't save Ingrid. She's been placed beside her grandmother, who tugs at her earlobe every time she starts to squirm. At least she's not as easily distracted as her cohorts.

Eventually, though, the meeting ends. All of the adults rise from their seats, shaking hands. Unsure if they're allowed to move yet, the children all remain seated. It would be a misery if they thought this was permission to leave, and be forced to stay another hour for recklessness.

Ingrid's grandmother leaves first, patting Ingrid on the head. Then Glenn. Before Seteth departs, he shakes the Duke's hand.

"Please inform Margrave Gautier that he should be proud." Seteth muses, glancing over at Sylvain. Sylvain tries to keep himself in the proper position. "He is exceedingly well-behaved for one his age. I imagine he would be a good influence on the others."

The Duke glances at Sylvain and smiles. "I will be sure to tell him." He motions to the door. "Shall we?"

Seteth nods, and with that the last of the adults are out of the room.

As there is no one else to say otherwise, the children treat that as their permission to leave. After all, they certainly couldn't be expected to stay for a few more hours just to wait to be told to leave.

Felix groans loudly, far longer than necessary, as he stretches. He nearly tumbles out of the chair as he pushes it away from the table, but neither Dimitri nor Ingrid appear to notice as they perform similarly.

Sylvain doesn't dare move. He can feel the pinpricks up his thighs, meaning his knees will be absolute jelly the second he tries to put any weight on them. And he's not entirely keen to fall on his face in front of the others.Maybe he'll wait until they leave. That way, he can just take the time he needs to get the blood back to his legs. Or at the very least, he can more reliably use the table to steady himself, instead of being tackled straight to the ground by Felix or Ingrid.

"Sylvain," Dimitri comes into view, leaning far too much against Sylvain's armrest, "are you okay?"

"Yeah totally." Sylvain grins as he can feel all eyes fall upon him. "You know, I was just thinking that I should get more practice. So I'll stay here for a bit."

Dimitri's face scrunches in confusion. "But you were good."

"Yeah, well, no time like now to get better."

Dimitri stares at him for a long time. His pout is good, but not nearly as potent as Felix's. Sylvain can at least withstand Dimitri's.

And then Sylvain's world spins. It takes him a moment to realize he's being carried. It takes him a moment longer to realize that he's staring at the back of Dimitri's cloak. He's being carried. By Dimitri. Like a bag of flour over one's shoulder.

"H-H-How are you so strong?!" He stammers, starting to squirm. "Put me down!"

Dimitri's grip only tightens. "I want to train. You're the only one who knows how to use a lance. So I'd really like it if you train with me."

All he can do is accept his fate as Ingrid and Felix giggle and follow.

Well, at least he can feel his toes by the time he has to spar with Dimitri.

Near the end of the month, it's decided that Glenn has to take them on his errand into town. Well, 'decided' isn't exactly accurate.

What happened: Glenn announced over breakfast that he needed to go to the blacksmith to pick up a sword and a few supplies. Felix begged to go. His father encouraged it. When Glenn refused, Felix began to cry. So Glenn--apparently not immune to the tears--relented and agreed that he would take Felix. And then Felix began to cry again. So he had to take all of them.

It's an understatement to say that Sylvain is pleased going through town. The surroundings are lively--people walking around and trading and selling and just smiles everywhere. The day is pleasant, sun shining down upon them. The streets are beautiful--flowers beginning to poke up with the start of spring. Other kids are running around and playing, bright and happy. It's so much different than Gautier--where it's always cold and icy regardless of the season. Where people only deal with each other so much as necessary. Where the sun maybe comes up a month or two a year.

"Keep close." Glenn says, pushing his little brother along. "I'm not going to look for you if you're stupid enough to get lost."

Sylvain keeps to the back. Not because of the distraction of the town--though he is filing it away to remember later--but because he's taken it upon himself to pay attention when Glenn isn't. The others are kids, after all. They could get distracted, or stumble, or just lose track. Things like that happen. If he's there, though, then he can keep them in line.

Fortunately, he only has to nudge Felix once, and that's as simple as wrapping an arm around his shoulders and asking him about what the armory is like here. Ingrid is entranced the second Dimitri so much as mentions a bakery that they pass by. The two fall into debate as they walk, stuck between savory meat fillings, or savory cheese ones.

Sylvain is easily able to fall back into his role as watcher once they arrive as the blacksmith. They have to wait, one of the weapons still being finished. No one really seems to mind. Ingrid is with Glenn, listening intently as he answers every single one of her questions--how best to care for a blade, what to look for, how to know you're not being cheated. Glenn doesn't appear annoyed; instead, he answers each and every question with a gentle sweetness, lacking entirely in the edge he had earlier in the morning. Just to the side, Felix and Dimitri are fawning over the blades the blacksmith has on display. They prattle on about a million different things--knowing far more about blades than Sylvain knows about nearly anything else.

Sylvain takes the opportunity to take in more of the town, idly rocking on his heels. There's a fountain here, the water flowing around goddesses and saints and a variety of animals. The stone beneath their feet is solid and pretty, far unlike the dirt paths of Gautier towns. All of the shops are clean, the stalls looking fresh as if new--meant to advertise as well as please. People travel and walk about in groups; he gets a smile out of a group of ladies as they pass by.

Still, he does take his responsibility seriously, and looks back to the group. But not really much has changed, aside from Dimitri and Felix admiring a different blade. Well, it's better to be aware and unneeded than to not be careful enough. He shrugs to himself.

When he looks back to the scenery of the town, his heart jumps to his throat. His stomach churns, and if he was any less accustomed to the sensation, he would certainly hurl. Instead, his body just fully tenses.

Because it's familiar hair, on the other side of the market square. A familiar shape, that maneuvers through the crowds. A familiar face, looking at the armory only a few shops down. His gaze follows his brother as he moves, vanishing into the shop.

But that doesn't mean much. If he's here, then that means he's done with the action on the border. And if he's here for armor, then that means he's here for a weapon, too. And if he sees Sylvain, then he'll--

"Sylvain." Glenn's voice is firm, but not unkind. "Come here for a moment."

Sylvain doesn't argue--it's not like he can see and track his brother's movements now, anyway. And it's not like it will make a big difference, wherever he is.

As he nears, Glenn reaches out for him, ruffling through his mess of hair before motioning to the displayed sword nearest him. "Ask Dimitri to tell you the history of this one." He says, nudging Sylvain a bit. "I think you'll like it. You might as well, Ingrid."

Sylvain looks up at him, frown tugging at his lips. He doesn't particularly care for swords. Why would he care about its history? How could he care, when his brother is so nearby, and it requires all of his attention to just keep from falling apart?

But Glenn's expression isn't allowing for argument. Ingrid seems to notice this as well, and looks at the blade with a curious expression, moving closer to it to get a better look.

"Dim--" Sylvain hates the tremble in his voice, the way he can't get it above a whisper. He hates that he can't stop his hands from shaking.

Dimitri hasn't even noticed. Of course he hasn't. Sylvian has to speak up.

But this time he can't even get himself to make a sound.

A warm hand slides into his. Sylvain looks down, following the path from hand to wrist to arm. Felix isn't looking at him, but the small smile on his face says enough. He gives Sylvain's hand a small squeeze.

Sylvain exhales shakily, and inhales again. "Hey Dimitri." He says, forcing a small smile. "What's this one?"

Dimitri brightens immediately. "Oh!" He pushes closer to the sword, crowding Sylvain between Felix and Glenn. "This one is from the hero Maximus! He was renowned for being an amazing warrior and for wooing all the ladies in the land. I don't know what wooing means, but apparently he was really popular and--"

The world seems to fade away at the sound of his brother's voice. "Fraldarius." Miklan's voice is a rough grumble, entirely unamiable. But not as harsh as his worst.

Sylvain can see Dimitri's mouth move, but the only voices he can focus on are Miklan's and Glenn's.

"Gautier." Glenn crosses his arms. "I assume the invasion went well."

A scoff. "Hardly. Might as well have been fighting bandits. Waste of my time."

"Come now, this isn't the first time you've wasted time and effort on something stupid."

"And what the hell would a spoiled brat like you know?"

"Well, I'd know that I appropriately spent my energy and became a knight. And you are . . ." Glenn hums, "a disappointment."

"Are you looking for a fight?"

"Please. I don't waste my time fighting weaklings."

"No, you just waste your time housing them." And then Miklan's voice turns into the tone that Sylvain is familiar with. "How is that princess doing, anyway?"

"Ah, speaking of abusing those weaker." Glenn's tone is flat, sharp. "Sylvain is the very model of a proper Gautier."

"Oh, I'm sure he is. Try to keep an eye on him. He tends to get . . . lost. I would hate for something to happen to him. He's so prone to getting himself hurt. And father would be furious if something happened to that Crest."

"I'm sure he would be devastated if he learned anything happened to his son."

"His son? No. All Sylvain is good for is that Crest in his blood. If father gets a replacement, I'm sure he'll sell him to the best bidder. He's useful for little else."

"He didn't sell you. And I've never met any one more useless."

"One of these days, Fraldarius, you'll agree to fight me." His brother's tone is venomous. "And I can't wait to grind your smug face into the dirt."

With that, his brother stomps off. The footsteps are unmistakable. Sylvain will probably pay for that later. Miklan hardly ever forgets.

And it's nothing new. Nothing he hasn't heard before a thousand times. Nothing Sylvain couldn't guess from the cruel nicknames and the harsh words and--

A warm hand patting his hair breaks him from his thoughts. Brings him back to reality. To Glenn paying the blacksmith for the goods, passing part of it to Ingrid for her to delightedly help him carry. To Dimitri still rambling on about a romantic knight. To Felix listening in fascination, occasionally squeezing Sylvain's hand.

"I'm feeling a treat." Glenn mutters, his free hand still in Sylvain's hair. "Should be a shop nearby."

Glenn treats them in the nearest sweets shop right after for behaving. Sylvain finds some enjoyment in munching on his peach sorbet, listening to Felix and Dimitri blather further on.

On the last day before Sylvain's departure, it rains. And rains. And doesn't stop raining. The drops are cold and brutal and unpleasant. Too heavy for playing outside. Making the training ground too cold to even attempt to practice. They try to resort to playing inside, but shattered plates result in that being taken away, too.

Well, the adults had tried to scold the children, but it fell on deaf ears. It took a whole lost set of dishes to force them to be still. Glenn's punishment of choice was their noses against the wall in the library. Somewhere where they can't inflict too much damage. Somewhere where the walls won't freeze their noses to the point where they might fall off.

Behind him, Sylvain can hear a heavy sigh. Then movement. Rustling. Maybe a different punishment strategy. But what could one possibly do in the library that was worse than having a nose pressed against the wall? Maybe he'd make them study--which was really more a punishment to the others but still. It could be something.

"All right." All of them twitch at Glenn's voice. "Get over here."

Sylvain turns, and what he sees is definitely not a punishment. It's Glenn, sitting in the middle of a large fur blanket. A couple other blankets are vaguely wrapped around his hips.

Most prominently, he has the large book of knights in his lap, looking at all of them expectantly. "Well?"

They all rush over before he changes his mind.

Glenn spends the day reading to them. Having them take turns reading to him. Guiding them and talking them through what they got wrong, and how best to improve. Doing his best to describe all the words they can't understand. He's soft and gentle, not unlike the blankets that he has them all wrap themselves in.

Sylvain reads for far longer than intended. By the time he finishes one of the stories, the others have all formed into a big pile around him and Glenn and the sun has set. Somehow, Felix's head has wound up in Sylvain's lap, Dimitri's on Felix's stomach, and Ingrid is sprawled out on top of everyone involved.

"Can't even stay awake through a story." Glenn chuckles, taking the book from Sylvain's hands. "Lot of good they are."

Sylvain blinks, looking down at the others. They're cute all the time, but they're really cute when they're asleep. Peaceful. Happy.

"Hey, Sunshine," Glenn says with a hum, "want to help me get them to bed?"

Sylvain nods. They both maneuver carefully, trying not to wake the others. It's a challenge, with the way they've all piled on. But it works. They hardly even stir.

Glenn's method is efficient. He carries the larger ones--Dimitri and Ingrid--and entrusts Felix to Sylvain's care. Sylvain carries him like he's the most precious thing on the planet. It makes his steps slow and lumbering, but it's worth it. Felix hardly even stirs. All he does it grumble a little when Glenn puts him on Sylvain's bed.

"Let's just . . . have you all sleep in here." Glenn muses. "I'm not in the mood to try and wrangle all of you."

Sylvain nods slowly. Well, his bed is the biggest. It only makes sense that--if they weren't going to move all of them--that Ingrid, Dimitri, and Felix get to sleep there together. He can maybe go back to the library, sleep on the couch there. Or, since Felix isn't using it, he could probably use his bed. Maybe.

"And where are you going?" Glenn asks, when Sylvain turns to go find his place for the night.

When Sylvain doesn't answer, Glenn shakes his head and goes through his drawers. "Clearly an idiot when tired. Come on, let's get you in your sleep-clothes and into bed."

Sylvain doesn't think he's being dumb. But he is tired. The journey from library to room has taken more than he expected. He's sluggish as he goes up to Glenn, reaching for his clothing.

But Glenn pulls it away, just out of his reach. "Let me help. You'll wind up with your head in an armhole at this rate."

"I can do it." Sylvain huffs.

"Oh yeah? Let's see it then."

Getting his outerwear off is easy. He tosses it to the side, knowing he'll have to fold it and properly handle it come morning. But the floor isn't too bad for a night, so he doesn't care quite as much. And his sleep-pants are fine. On with no issues.

It's the shirt that vexes him. His fingers are clumsy, unable to get a button into the hole. And when he does, it's the wrong one. He huffs and tries again. And again.

"Sure you don't want help?" Glenn says. His voice is softer than Sylvain expects. He expected teasing, a laugh at his failure. Not . . . whatever this is.

So Sylvain nods, though reluctant.

Glenn kneels before him, starting at the lowest button and working his way up. It's slow and methodical. Careful, like he thinks Sylvain might break.

And then his hands freeze. His shirt is only buttoned up to half of Sylvain's torso. He's certainly not done. Sylvain glances up, only to find that Glenn's gaze is focused, cool.

A scowl curls on Glenn's lips. "Where'd you get this?"

Sylvain looks down, his gaze following Glenn's. It's a set of bruises, really, old ones speckling across his chest and a darker one on his shoulder. When Glenn's fingers brush over it to adjust his collar, he winces.

"I dunno." Sylvain lies, it falling smoothly off his lips. "I must've fallen."

Glenn's gaze flicks up to Sylvain's, the look steady. His jaw shifts as if he's chewing on his words. He sighs. "Alright." He finishes the rest of the buttons quickly and efficiently. "You can talk to me, you know."

Sylvain blinks. "I thought I was?"

The smile Glenn gives him is sweet and genuine. "Yeah, you're right. Just . . . wanted you to know that you always can." He leans forward, giving a gentle kiss to Sylvain's hair. "Sleep well, Sunshine."

The separation is ugly. Not from a fight, or anything of that nature. But it's still ugly. Felix is bawling and inconsolable, Ingrid is just barely holding back tears, and Dimitri has already broken his lance in two as he struggles not to cry. Though it pains him, Sylvain has to act unaffected. Has to put on that placating smile. Has to pretend that everything is okay. It's not helping the situation.

"Even Seteth spoke well of him." The Duke says, smiling. The chain of compliments have been unending. "He even insisted I inform you so."

"Charming." His father says, placing a hand on Sylvain's shoulder. A reminder to not get too cocky.

"I would be very happy to have him again. I believe they all enjoyed themselves."

His father's grip tightens. The old bruise throbs. "We shall see."

And then the dam bursts. Felix full-on charges at Sylvain, gripping him into the tightest hug he can muster. "I don't want you to go!" He bawls into Sylvain's shoulder. "I can't wait another six years to see you again!"

"I-it's alright Felix." Sylvain stammers, his voice cracking. He wants to promise that he won't be away long. He wants to promise that they'll be together soon, and they'll get to play and do everything they want to. But he can't. And he can't get Felix's tears to stop.

And then Felix is pulled away. Glenn hauls him over his shoulder, sighing heavily as Felix punches and kicks. "Please pardon my brother." He says. "He's gotten overly attached to Sylvain."

"I see." His father shrugs. "I suppose that will do as a farewell, won't it, Sylvain?"

His father's grip is bruising, and Sylvain nods.

"Though, Margrave," Glenn's gaze shifts into something sharper, "I insist Sylvain visit more frequently. I'd hate to have to bring my brother all the way to Gautier just to get him to shut up."

"Could we come too?!" Dimitri immediately beams, excitement practically pouring out of him.

Glenn smiles. "I very much doubt the Margrave would refuse his prince."

The nails dig in, but Sylvain can see his father's expression shift. "Of course not."

It wasn't six years until they got to meet again. It wasn't even six months. And their enthusiasm, every time, served as a light brighter than any star, warmer than any sun, in Sylvain's heart.