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It’s an adjustment to Sylvain, being quiet about a relationship. Not in a bad way, in fact; his previous entanglements had been obvious for reasons, ones he’s not proud of, but part of the role he assumed he was trapped in, could not at the time bring himself to escape from.
He and Dimitri are not secret in their newness; they have nothing to hide. But it’s not the time to announce it from the rooftops, parade themselves in front of teachers and students alike in their budding romance. Especially as they are finding their way with each step and it's so much better, learning to do so with just each other.
There are some practical issues, he supposes, that in some ways do mean it is hidden. He is dating the future King; not precisely a scandal, it’s not the first time something of this nature has occurred, but it’s equally not commonplace. Sylvain also can imagine how his father will feel, and he doesn’t think he can cope with another layer of expectation or disapproval, depending on how it’s received.
He thinks, at times, he is going to split in two with the ways he’s been cut and pierced to fit the shape of Heir to house Gautier. That if he receives one additional tear to his frail armour, this rip will just unravel him and he’ll lie there, in pieces, unable to reform.
But today is not that day. Today he is not the one to be concerned about as his classmates silently clean their weapon in a grotesque bonding activity, all silent and shaking as their minds try to process yet another outing of slaughter. This one though, has disturbed them in a way Sylvain hasn’t seen since their class first killed. Not that he hadn’t before, his father had ensured he was in battle to protect the border at fifteen, but half of them had not, and it never gets easier.
Remire village though, has struck at scabs they all have, as well opening fresh wounds they didn’t know were there. Seeing what occurred casts a shadow over all of them; wonderings of the past and the future, the apparent ease of which an enemy had infiltrated their home, and the innocent people who died for their apparent tests.
And of course, the reaction of their King.
“The Boar has shown his true colours,” Felix mutters and Sylvain has to breathe through his nose for a second.
“Not the time,” he manages through clenched teeth, and Felix glares at him before stomping off to the otherside of the room.
Sylvain drops his head in his hands for a second. Great. He has a best friend pissed off with him, and a vanished boyfriend whose personality switched to something so angry and bitter on the battlefield, Sylvain hardly recognised him.
He feels an arm around his waist, but doesn’t move for a moment as Dorothea rests her head on his shoulder.
“He’s talking to the professor. And Felix is looking like you took away his favourite sword, he’ll apologise later,” she says.
Sylvain tips his head back and rests it on hers for a second before they pull away. She looks exhausted, more than just from the efforts of the day, a deeper level of tiredness pulling at her from inside.
“How are you doing?” he asks as she puts away her own sword.
“Badly. But so are we all,” she says.
Their attention is caught as Mercie suddenly announces she’ll be making something sweet as a snack before the professor arrives for their debriefing. Annette chimes in immediately suggesting tea types, and before long all of the group are chipping in, a perfect distraction and a coming together. Sylvain volunteers to collect crockery, Felix huffs and says he can’t do it alone, and they end up back in the kitchen collecting plates together.
It’s a quiet shuffling around one another, and Sylvain knows by the way Felix huffs he wants to say something. He’s known him for so long that he’s aware this is a time he wants to speak first.
“You saw it too, right?”
Sylvain turns and leans against a table. “Yes,” he says, unsure where this is going.
He wasn’t part of whatever occured in that battle years ago. Neither Felix nor Dimitri have ever spoken about it either, something he and Ingrid have learned to deal with. But it tore the severed pieces of their relationship to shreds, and he finds himself caught in between right now.
Felix looks at him in the eye. “That’s what he is, Sylvain. That’s what he was like. He’ll turn into that someday,” Felix says with the full conviction of someone who has seen the worst side of their fears and knows it will come back to haunt them.
Sylvain doesn’t have the words to allay them either. He was there, he did see, and he too is scared. Scared for the person he loves, and for the horrors of his past he’s not revealing. He’s also afraid for all of them now, in seeing what they have today. The world has always been vast and full of strange things, but it appears Sylvain was naive in his belief they could get through it as they are.
“He’s also the person who we see everyday, helping out with cleaning and presenting on strategy. We all have dark sides, Felix,” he says, his own voice becoming bitter.
“It’s not the same. You know it,” Felix says, having stopped working too.
Sylvain can’t deny that. But there’s no use in trading hope and despair between them when at the crux of it, neither of them are Dimitri and can only do so much. Sylvain would take on all this pain if he could, but that’s impossible. Doesn’t mean he won’t try for both of them though.
“I think we all reacted badly today. Let’s give him the chance to cool off,” Sylvain says and Felix pauses.
“You haven’t seen him?” he says, and Sylvain shakes his head but doesn’t say anything further.
It aches a little, in a way. They are together but obviously not enough for Dimitri to come to him when he’s hurting. Perhaps it’s just as they haven’t been together long, that level of trust is still building. Sylvain wants it though, wants to be the person Dimitri runs to when days like this wear him down.
Too soon, perhaps.
Felix senses the change in tone, and sighs. “I bet he’s there when we get back, don’t pine for your boyfriend,” he says, clapping Sylvain on the shoulder and going back to collecting the exact cups Annette wanted, seeing as she’d been frighteningly specific in her asks.
It’s close as he’ll get to comfort for now, so he retreats into the only solace he can bring himself; which is to pretend everything is absolutely fine. He’s adept at this, elbowing Felix when he’s trying to balance the crockery correctly, dodging away with a laugh at the snarl and threats he receives in return.
They make it back with Felix still complaining at his recklessness to see the rest of the class in a similar state of false cheer, but Sylvain’s smile falls a little when he notices their leader is still not back. However, Mercedes drags him into helping, which may or may not be on purpose. The classroom is soon turned into a makeshift tea room, all of them moving books and papers, joking about accidentally spilling tea on tests.
“Here you all are.”
They turn, Felix almost dropping his cup as the Professor walks in. Sylvain just about fights the urge to crane his neck and stand as he sees the person next to her. Dimitri looks a tad nervous, a tell Sylvain thinks he wouldn’t have been able to see before, but is clear in the slight faltering of his steps, the Professor taking the lead.
Sylvain isn’t sure how to handle the situation, so he averts his gaze and watches as the others take charge of the moment. Dedue stands and walks to his highness, while Annette makes room for both of them on the bench.
The Professor thanks her, and looks around at what they’ve done, managing a small smile for each of them. She’s been doing that more lately; smiling, holding them together, a part of that cold edge thawing. It’s nice to see, he thinks, as her eyes sweep to him and she nods.
“Thank you, for doing this. And for what you did today. You saved people. Without all of your actions, that wouldn’t have happened,” she says, voice quiet, but still to Sylvain it feels like it echoes. So much that he doesn’t realise when the others around him have started sharing out the tea and snacks.
They saved people. It doesn’t feel like it, but he supposes it’s true. Perhaps it’s those words, perhaps it's a cup of his favourite tea, but he does feel warmer as the time goes by, all of their spirits lifting as they drain the teapots.
Still, he doesn’t look towards the other end of the table where his boyfriend sits, even though he badly wants to. But of course, eventually they have to leave, for chores or other classes, to do homework or to train. Sylvain has homework and probably should be training but the thought of picking up a lance right now makes him nauseous.
Plus, as he stands, Dimitri catches his eye. So he offers him a smile, one that seems gratefully received, and they walk in tandem to the door. As they do, Dimitri brushes his hand carefully against Sylvain’s. Sylvain smiles to himself, lacing his hand for a moment around Dimitri’s, a ghost of a hand held before they part, but do not leave each other's side. The fact that Dimitri doesn't fully pull away helps ease Sylvain’s mind as they walk away from the classroom and towards the dorms.
“I have an hour before stable duty,” Dimitri says quietly, and Sylvain nods.
The trip back is taken in a silence that sits between comfortable and not, but at least the walk is short. Their rooms are next door to one another, but Dimitri bypasses his own; Sylvain doesn’t mind, a surge of giddiness radiating at the knowledge Dimitri likes being in his space.
He unlocks the door, room as carefully made as when he left. He likes order, likes to know where all his possessions are. It helps a part of him that needs soothing.
Dimitri closes the door behind him and instantly Sylvain is embraced from behind. His breath expels in a huff at the strength of the grip, Dimitri’s arms shaking slightly where they hold onto him. He feels him exhale against the back of Sylvain’s neck, the flow of air stuttering, and Sylvain moves his hands to cover Dimitri’s own.
“Hey, I’m here. Wanna turn around?” he says quietly, but Dimitri shakes his head, leaning into Sylvain’s neck as he does.
Sylvain’s eyes close for a second; hurting on behalf of someone is not new, but it has an extra edge now it’s for someone he loves, a brand new variety. Dimitri sighs into him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled against Sylvain’s neck.
“You don’t have to be,” he says, but Dimitri’s grip tightens.
“I do, my anger was too much, it wasn’t fair on any of you,” he says, and Sylvain’s had enough of this conversation happening to the back of his neck, so shifts in an attempt to turn.
Dimitri allows it, thankfully, Sylvain spinning around, Dimitir’s arms falling; he catches them before they get too far though, grasping his hands. He moves forward to rest his forehead against Dimitri’s, a now practiced gesture as it’s one of connection and comfort, something he didn’t know could be gained in such a manner.
It’s also a cowardly formation, as he doesn’t have to keep eye contact. Some aspects of this are still a learning curve.
“We all get angry, you know. By this point it’s obvious, so you-”
But Dimitri breaks away, pulling out of his grasp and Sylvain knows from the abruptness he cannot, should not catch him. When Sylvain does catch his eyes, his gaze is cold but also fearful; not an expression Sylvain relishes on him, but it still gives a window to the person he knows. Dimitri isn’t often afraid nowadays, but when they were younger, that same widening in glance would occur at something just that little out of his experience. The coldness is a defense that he’s seen more recently, but always wavers, always fades.
Unlike that person on the battlefield. That expression, Sylvain does not know.
He’ll turn into that someday.
He shakes away the echo of Felix’s words as Dimitri speaks again.
“Anger yes, but that was not what happened,” he says and Sylvain sighs.
“Well what did happen? Do you want to talk about it?” he asks instead of pushing the topic further.
But Dimitri shakes his head and Sylvain fights for a neutral expression.
He doesn’t trust you. He doesn’t want you to know, doesn’t think he can talk to you. And he’s right, you don’t deserve that.
He isn’t expecting that voice in his mind to wake up unbidden, but it’s been so blissfully quiet recently that really, he should have been ready. It takes him a moment to steady himself, so he’s caught when Dimitri suddenly steps forward and kisses him. It’s a short burst of a kiss, sending sparks along Sylvain’s arms where they loosely loop around Dimitri’s back. But he breaks away swiftly.
“I have to go, I wanted to make sure I spoke to you first, but are you okay? Do you need anything?” he says, and Sylvain knows it’s not an afterthought, not really, but it feels like one.
He shakes his head, and puts on a smile, like he’s so used to for everyone and everything that goes wrong in his life.
“I’m fine, you go do your thing,” he says, waving him off.
Dimitri however, stays still. “I don’t think you are,” he says, carefully, and Sylvain cannot voice how he feels at the realisation; a strike inside, where a part both aches and heals, understanding Dimitri is starting to see through him. For he is correct; Sylvain is still reeling from the aftermath of the battle, from seeing all the people he cares about suffer, and to know that there’s nothing he can do about any of it.
But that seems like a burden too much to give to Dimitri right now, so he shakes his head.
“I just need a rest. So go on, I’ll see you at dinner,” he says.
Dimitri hesitates, but then nods. “I’ll wait for you,” he promises, for now they always go to dinner together. Even if it’s the shortest of walks, it is a time they can spend in each other's company. It’s a tiny routine that Sylvain privately treasures, and agrees readily.
With Dimitri gone though, the heaviness sets in. The walls seem closer, the room filled with threats of his own mind, and he opens a window in an attempt to ease the feelings. It’s a nice day, that a mockery in itself. He tries studying, but the words in his books are just lines and curves with no rhythm, his hand not able to turn ink into thoughts on his magical theory essay.
Time though, skips by, and an hour is gone in three pages read and a scribbled sentence. Once he realises that, he gives up; this has happened before many times, his body and mind numbing and slowing him to practically a standstill. It will pass, at least it always has done. But there is always the fear it may not, and he’ll be stuck in a half existence forever.
Instead, he tries to sleep. And while his body lets exhaustion overtake, his mind does not allow the rest he desires. It conjures the past and the present out of order wrapped up in fiction, sending him into fragments of visions which do not make sense. Of being attacked by a familiarial demonic beast while being lost in the snow; of Remire Village but it’s Gautier lands, his home and people. Of Ingrid falling from her Pegsus, too far away for him to catch. Of Felix, eyes lifeless in their staring, run through with an axe he didn’t dodge today.
Of Dimitri, lance dripping scarlet, smiling at Sylvain with a bloody mouth before he too falls away.
Then it ends like his nightmares always do, with a sensation of falling, light decreasing to a circular opening as he braces himself for the cold and the damp of the crash-
Except he wakes up, a shout in his mouth by the rawness of this throat. His hands shake and sweat beads at his temple, breath expelling harshly as his body stays in flight mode. He grips the sheets between his fingers hard, pulling at them as a stabiliser as he brings his knees to his chest and leans forward.
“Sylvain? Sylvain?”
He looks up, inhaling steadily still a problem, and he really doesn’t want to move right now, doesn’t think he can. He needs a few minutes, but Dimitri is outside, and judging by the way the sunlight has moved across the room, he’s late for their meeting.
“G-give me a second,” he manages, throat dry and voice half it’s usual volume.
“Are you alright? I heard...Sylvain, may I come in?”
Sylvain’s breathing escalates for a second. They haven’t been together long enough for Dimitri to be privy to these weaknesses of his, these occasional displays of parts he’d rather keep locked in chains and buried deep.
In the past it never mattered. But this is what comes with love; a splitting open of the self, trusting your ugly and broken pieces into another’s hands. He has never wanted this, never thought anyone would want to be part of all he keeps underwraps, but Dimitri is asking and Sylvain really does yearn to have someone here to chase the greyness of the lingering nightmares away.
“Okay,” he calls, and for a second thinks it’s too quiet to hear, but then carefully, the door is opened.
Dimitri’s head appears first which may have been funny in another situation, but Sylvain is not currently capable of levity. His boyfriend takes in the scene rapidly, then eases through the door in a somewhat clumsy motion, seeing as he’s clearly trying to do so without revealing the scene to the outside world, which is appreciated but obviously not easy when Dimitri is hardly dexterous.
He closes the door with a quietness which is unusual, and strides to the bed to kneel down beside Sylvain. His hands immediately close around Sylvain’s, for once free of his usual gloves. The skin or skin contact makes him flinch initially; it’s hard coming back down after these. Dimitri’s face twists unpleasantly, and Sylvain instantly feels guilty as he removes them.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks, which Sylvian knows is somewhat redundant, so it must be a method to allow him to lead this.
“Yeah. Lots of things. Not a good day,” he says, throat dry, and Dimitri nods.
“No it’s not,” he says, eyes a little unfocused for a second before they look back to Sylvain.
“I’ll be fine in a minute, it doesn’t take long to calm down,” he says, suddenly needing to be less feeble than he feels.
But Dimitri’s frown deepens. “This happens a lot? I thought it was due to Remire Village?” he says, not tripping on the words, which Sylvain feels might be a good sign.
Sylvain shrugs. His friends don’t know about his childhood; at least if they do it’s not by his will. About the near death experiences at his brother’s hands, tolerated by his father. He doesn’t feel up for explaining them, for telling Dimitri the source of his nightmares began from being tormented as a child, exasperated by his own battles and that choking sensation in his mind that formed alongside. Not when Dimitri’s own past is far more filled with actual pain than Sylvain’s is. In the scale of things, his friends and boyfriend have suffered more, yet they can sleep perfectly well.
He doesn’t need to show his weaknesses so clearly.
Dimitri sighs and kneels, hand tentatively reaching out. Sylvain this time lifts his own first starting with his fingers, assessing how he’s feeling, then intertwining their hand as a whole. Dimitri takes that as a sign, then slowly gets up, and before Sylvain really knows what's happening, he’s climbed into bed beside him, Sylvain is cuddled up against him.
They don’t really fit, so Sylvain is practically laying entirely across Dimitri, but the strength of the hold he finds himself in makes him not care at all. He honestly can’t remember the last time, or any time, he’s ever been held like this before, and it stirs up something deep and wide, a torrent he’s just trying to keep at bay.
“I’m here,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain cannot help but lean up and kiss him, a little too hard and too rash for the moment, but he responds similarly, a messy rush of lips and mouths that clash more than they meet. He thinks he feels longing, or maybe he’s the one longing, for someone to hold onto and be held back, to drown in this blend of love and heat that is so much warmer than anything he’s ever felt.
But Dimitri pulls away, and he looks both beautiful and haunted. His eyes soften when he looks at Sylvain though, flush high on his cheeks in a way that makes Sylvain feel proud, even though there is a shadow causing a gap between them, written in Dimitri’s expression, the same haunting that’s been there all day.
Sylvain buries it though. Although he is calmer, he cannot bring himself to explain the nightmare, nor ask about the meaning of their conversation earlier. He will though. In time, he will take small steps to make this work because he wants more moments like this, more time with the person he loves. So he’ll work on this relationship. They have time, and they will face this together.
“Rest, we can eat later,” Dimitri says, kissing his hair softly.
And Sylvain does, lulled down into something not quite peaceful, but empty. And that is progress he will snatch and keep for now.
When things fall apart, they do not fall quietly. Sylvain went from bruises to almost dying three times at his brothers’ hands, and now many years later a similar pattern is forming.
Captain Jeralt dies. The Blue Lions rally around their professor, who mourns in a quiet but clear way through her absence in their lives. They all stare each day at the door, visibly deflating when Hanneman or Manuela either leads their class or sets work for the next hour.
They cluster in groups; Dimitri sits by Sylvain each lesson, Felix on his other side. Ingrid and Dorothea study as a pair despite no pair work being set. Annette and Mercie take turns trying to keep up the positive atmosphere while Dedue and Ashe make sure no one neglects themselves.
She appears though, while Felix and he are having a conversation in their classroom, startling both of them although they try to hide it. The Professor asks them something mundane then leaves without a word, both of them left without an idea of how to go back to their conversation.
“I’ve already pledged to her my assistance should she wish to exact revenge,” Dimitri mentions, Sylvain’s hand pausing, ink dripping over the letter he’s grudgingly writing to his father.
He turns slowly. Dimitri is laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, body rigid and eyes unblinking. The words are so casual, as if swearing vengeance is what they always do on a Tuesday.
Sylvain puts his quill down and waits. Dimitri is not doing well, and Sylvain knows it’s been years in the making. He’s not an idiot, but there’s an unspoken rule which has existed between the four of them since time immemorial: do not talk about Duscur. Do not mention Glenn. Don’t talk about how Ingrid needs to lock herself away, don’t talk about Felix’s cutting comments, don’t talk about Dimitri’s rage, don’t talk about Sylvain’s insomnia.
It has never worked, he knows this, but asking for one to open up means opening up himself, and he’s never been ready for that. Yet as he sits here, he knows it’s time. Having Dimitri by his side after a nightmare so recently has shown him the value of allowing someone he loves to see that side of him, to share in his fears and worst moments.
It’s comforting to be seen. But it will be difficult unravelling it all, not to mention the way he’s been taught to hide and brush away such weaknesses. He hopes then that he too can be here for what it is that’s circling Dimitri’s mind.
So he gets up, and sits down beside him on the bed. Dimitri doesn’t stir, which causes worry to flare in Sylvain’s gut. Gently, he reaches out and touches the tips of his fingers to Dimitri’s hand, wanting to slowly guide him into awareness, but he jerks away with the lightest touch.
It’s so quick Sylvain jumps, and Dimitir’s gaze snaps to him. He swallows, looking at Sylvain but not seeing him, then physically shakes his head before sitting up.
“Apologies, Sylvain, did you say something?” he asks.
The worry grows; it’s as if he’s not even here, no concept of what’s happening. And this scatters all of Sylvain’s plans; he isn’t sure with Dimitri so distracted there is hope of having any type of conversation. Being at a loss though, leaves him aching to do something, so he bends down and kisses him.
Dimitri responds to that instantly, familiarly; with a sigh like he’s coming home, the rigidity of his body succumbing to softness as Sylvain leads them into a deeper kiss, far quicker than he normally would. But now he wants to feel the heat of Dimitri’s mouth, hear the sounds turn from sighs into half moans, feel the need as he grips Sylvain’s shirt.
Dimitri spins them, catching Sylvain off guard so he’s next to him on the bed. It’s a moment of dizzying confusion before Dimitri is pulling him close, right back into where the kiss stopped. Except it’s almost...frantic in its momentum, as if it’s gained a life of it’s own and they are just along for the ride.
It’s good, in a way. Sylvain groans as slides his leg between Dimitri’s heartbeat frantic with the need to be closer, touch and taste evermore. It’s loud between them as he traces the inside of Dimitri's mouth, gasps away, and is pulled right back in as fingers grip at his hair.
But it’s also somewhat frightening; like chasing after someone in the dark, not knowing where it leads and sure you’ll trip and get hurt. There’s an edge, a desperation in each kiss, a hint of teeth and too much strength, that Sylvain knows the undercurrent of this moment is not out of care but from the haunting place Dimitri’s been of late.
The realisation makes him break free, panting hard. He’s conflicted, not sure he wants to be swept up in whatever is spurring Dimitri on, but when he looks up it’s the eyes of the man he loves, that face of the person he cares so much for.
Perhaps then, what’s needed is a distraction.
“Let’s go out,” he says, voice low and breathless.
“Now?” Dimitir murmurs in response, still so close to him.
“It’s not that late. Hey, we could go dancing!” he says, suddenly excited by the idea.
Dimitri also smiles, a blush appearing. Dancing, of course, is the entire reason they are together, and Sylvain is glad that a remembrance of this causes delight.
They sit up and Sylvain brushes out his hair in the mirror as Dimitri straightens his clothes.
“Is this really safe? We aren’t meant to just be wandering around,” he says, and Sylvain turns.
“Curfew isn’t for a while, and town isn’t off limits. I promise I’ll keep you safe, my Prince,” he says with a bow, holding a hand out to Dimitri.
Dimitri splutters, and this all feels so right that Sylvain is giddy like it’s a cliche first date. So he clings to that feeling as they go into town, receiving a lecture from the knights to be back on time and not stray too far. Sylvain has a feeling if it were not Dimitri, he’d have trouble going at all.
Sylvain has taken a few girls here, but it’s entirely different bringing his boyfriend. Dimitri has changed from his usual gear to something more subtle, leaving the cloak behind and changing into the same boots Sylvain wears.
“My usual shoes are uncomfortable to dance in,” he states as they enter.
There are many students here, seeming that they are not the only ones in need of a distraction, as well as many of the villagers. The hall is not overly crowded but busy enough to get lost in, and as the dance is already in full swing, Dimitri immediately leads Sylvain to the floor.
It’s a nostalgic, incredible feeling as they step in time; although it’s been a while since they danced together, they still remember how. Sylvain feels that same jolt and consuming thrum of lightness and spark as he’s spun, the smile on his face true and wide with every step.
Dimitri starts out cautious, but as the time wears on, he gains confidence. No one seems to notice or care who they are as the music swells and slows, the more sombre dances bringing them forehead to forehead, Sylvain managing to bestow a kiss as one particularly sweet tune ends.
Dimtri exhales against him as they part. “We should go back,” he says, and Sylvain begrudgingly agrees seeing as time has marched on without them.
It’s as they move to the exit that Dimitir grabs his hand, and Sylvain is yanked down a corridor near the cloakrooms, spun towards the wall and kissed.
This is the sort of kiss they write poetry about. It’s slow, nothing of the wary urgency of before, but a pure expression of everything Sylvain’s been feeling tonight, of the wonder and joy of being with Dimitri. He throws his arms around Dimitri’s neck, who holds him steady by his waist. It doesn’t deepen, in many ways it’s a fairly chase kiss, but each movement is languid and thorough, a searching and relishing movement that sweeps Sylvain off his feet.
He’d never thought this would be possible; never thought he’d have someone who would hold him, stay with him, be there through the nightmares and interested in the thoughts which cycle through his head, uncurtailed and thoroughly his. Never thought he would fall in love.
Should I tell you? He thinks as they part, Dimitir curling him close and pressing a kiss to his forehead once before taking him by the hand and leading him out. He decides not to though, as the night air hits him. It’s not a confession meant for the delirious haze of a kiss, even on an evening as good as this.
Except, as they approach the monastery, Dimitri’s grip on his hand weakens. Sylvain looks over and his eyes are clouded once more, the sense of earlier in the evening crawling back over him.
“Dimitri? Are you with me?” Sylvain asks, and much like before he seems to snap into reality.
“Oh, sorry, Sylvain. I just kept thinking of something I discussed with the Professor earlier,” he says, before dropping his hand as they walk into the monastery grounds.
Sylvain nods but says nothing, hoping Dimitri will expand on this statement. But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t take up his hand again either.
Edelgard is the Flame Emperor, and the Imperial army marches towards the monastery. This is beyond anyone’s expectations, plans or wildest dreams. Sylvain prepares like the rest of them, sends missives to his father which will not reach before the imminent attack, and he cannot help but feel genuinely scared.
The troops marching are a large force, and they come with an aim. Sylvain has confidence in his own ability and those of his peers, but not every student is as adept at combat. Should it come to all out conflict, and Sylvain hopes it truly doesn't, it will be a bloody mess.
He hasn’t seen Dimitri in days. He’s searched but he can never find him, only sees glimpses of him from afar. Ingrid is having the same issue and Felix is avoiding him.
“He’s the boar now, I have no interest,” Felix says as he sharpens yet another sword, Sylvain doing the same with a javelin.
There’s nothing he can say to that. Especially as for all his best friend’s bravado, Felix has that note of dread in his voice. He didn’t want to be right, didn't want to see Dimitri like this. Their priorities though are not in calming him but facing an enemy, so he does not reply, only continues preparing his weapons.
“Stop worrying about him so much,” Felix snaps after a moment of silence.
“I can’t help it,” Sylvain replies, tired and not in the mood to argue.
“It won’t do any good though. Worry about yourself, about this fight,” Felix says.
Sylvain looks up, and exhales. “I won’t do anything stupid for him, Felix. I promise,” he says slowly.
Felix’s throat bobs as he swallows, nods once and looks away. He lost a brother protecting Dimitri, Sylvain can understand not wanting another person to fall on behalf of him. It’s all he can do to reassure him though when there is little else they can offer one another for comfort.
Especially, once the attack comes. At first, it appears the force Edelgard brings is minimal, but their victory is short-lived once the reinforcements arrive. Then, it’s pandemonium. The Professor commands them to different areas, focusing on defence and protection, but it becomes clear those who can will need to attack.
Professor Byleth suggests positioning before running back inside to find Lady Rhea. The Blue Lions brace themselves before they each fly forward, either continuing to aid in the evacuation or heading for the advancing soldiers. Felix nods to Sylvain, then runs ahead, sword brandished. Sylvain braces himself when there’s a tug on his elbow.
He spins, heart rate high, coming face to face with Dimitri. Sylvain has no idea what to do; he hasn’t seen him in days and now up close, he looks exhausted but incensed fueled with this need for revenge he’s been ranting about since Edelgard first revealed her true colours. His lance is in one hand, the cries of the battle rising higher with every second, and yet he doesn’t move, just stares unblinking at Sylvain.
Then with a sudden snap of energy, he surges up and kisses him. It’s teeth and clashing skin, it hurts and bruises, but Sylvain clings . He can barely even call it a kiss with how it’s charged with pain and fear, but Sylvain pours all the care and affection he can into it, pushing down his own concerns.
For it feels like too much of a last kiss for comfort.
They part, Sylvain clinging onto Dimitri’s jacket for dear life, to keep him close, to pull him out of whatever is slowly drowning him, even though he knows it’s too late. It’s too late for so many things, but not for one, and although it is so cliche and possibly inappropriate, the words bubble up regardless.
“I love you,” he chokes, his voice not feeling like his own.
Dimitri’s eyes widen, his hands shake where they grip Sylvain’s back and his mouth moves without sound. Then, there is the roar of battle beneath them and those eyes flare strangely silver, and Dimitri tears free.
Sylvain watches for half a second as he careens down the hill, joining Claude who stands as the last centre defence. His hands shake on his lance as he watches the person he loves fight with a fierce enjoyment, before he too breaks himself free and spins to the left, charging as fast as he can to his own position, spearing a soldier heading straight for Felix as he does.
The battle begins in earnest as the Imperial forces hit in wave after wave. Sylvain is back to back with Felix, the two almost surrounded by enemies as they attempt to stop the flow of soldiers storming Garreg Mach.
There’s screaming all round, crimson banners in the air, and far too little aid from their own men and the Knights. He can’t see any of his other classmates and he’s so very thankful he and Felix are side by side, a fighting style he can work with.
That is, until the dragon arrives.
An actual, real dragon destroys wave after wave on Imperial forces right before his eyes. The soldiers around him and Felix flee, but even with the additional mythical being, the Imperial forces remain overwhelming. The demonic beasts charge it, and as Sylvain looks up, a flash of a familiar sword swipes them down.
But then, the bridge falls.
“No!” Felix yells, and Sylvain has to literally grab him to prevent him from running to futile aid. They see her body fall, the Sword of the Creator with her, the cascade of bricks thundering down as more of the ancient building collapses.
Felix screams and chaos rains around them. Sylvain turns, left to right and grips onto his friend as he struggles.
“Felix, Felix we need to run. The monastery is lost. If we want to fight another day we need to retreat,” he hisses, but Felix slumps, then pushes him off.
“We retreat,” he says, wiping his face swiftly, and together they make an escape.
Perhaps it’s cowardly, but they are not the only ones. They meet with Ashe and Ingrid, none of them prepared to flee an invasion, but all of them making do as they travel towards their homelands. Some places are more dangerous than others, nights spent in wood or caves, others in inns or ally shelters.
They do not talk about what is lost. They can’t bear to.
He’s worried about Felix, mainly as he’s that reckless air which causes havoc for the few foolish enough to attack them on their trek north, but away from sustainable supplies and unreliable rest stops he fears injury. Yet he has no ability to address the pain, fear and uncertainty his friend is experiencing.
The further they go, the worse it gets. The lower temperature takes root inside and flows outward. He becomes as numb as his extremities as he heads towards Gautier lands, this part of the world still somehow strong in it’s loyalties to the Kingdom, making the trip easier yet worse at the same time.
His parting with Felix lacks in words, but both seem to share concerned looks with one another. Sylvain watches him part with a guard of Fraldarius soldiers while he takes off on his own path. It’s not long before he’s met by his own escort, and finishes the journey in a haze of worrying disengagements.
His father does not give him a welcome as such, but a nod of approval to see him with the Lance of Ruin, returned and ready to fight.
“There are rebellions brewing at the borders. Rest, but make yourself ready in the morning,” his father states, and that is all before he is dismissed.
Sylvain returns to his old room, stares up at the ceiling and cannot sleep. After so long on the road he should be glad for the security of home, but this place has never been one of solace. He misses his room at Garreg Mach, wonders if it even still stands. He’s heard news on his travels but unreliable at best. He isn’t sure how the land has fared since his escape.
He hopes his friends are well. Safe, alive and to stay so for as long as possible. And there is one person in particular he longs for news of, hopes with all of his being that kiss with Dimitri will be replaced by something soft and comforting when they next meet.
Why he bothered hoping, he doesn't know. Why Sylvain thought the world would give them a reprise from pain for once is beyond him.
The news of the death of the Prince seems unbelievable at first. But one as one of his father’s men confirms it, a silence descends on the room. Even Margave Gautier seems, for the first time since he disowned his firstborn, rocked and aggrieved.
“Raise the banners high. We fight on,” he commands, those present almost emboldened by the statement, and Sylvain would be half tempted to ride out on the front lines in the name of his dead boyfriend if he could feel...anything.
Grief. Loss. Pain. Anything. He’d take anything other than the ice of nothing which consumed him from the moment the words are uttered. He leaves the war council, walks to his room and stares out of the window.
The man he loves is dead.
It should shake him, course through him like fire and flood, eat at every segment of him until there’s nothing left. He should cry, scream, swear revenge or deny this could possibly be.
He doesn’t though. He just stares, frozen, mind flying backwards to the night at the dance-hall when it seemed like perhaps things would get better. When Dimitri smiled and laughed, seemed free and bright; a moment of theirs and theirs alone.
But that world is gone, just another memory stored away. He will never again dance with Dimitri, never feel his arms around him, never be kissed in dark corridors with the rush of music and spiralling steps in his veins.
Outside the snow falls, and Sylvain watches it until each snowflake blurs into another, and the world fades into a nothingness which matches his mind and his heart: blank, cold and buried.