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The sky was clear, and the sun was shining. The weather promised it would be a pleasant day at Garreg Mach, home of the brightest of Fódlan’s future leaders. A desperate flirt’s panicked cry said otherwise.
“I’d love to take you out to tea sometime. I think you’d really fancy a chamomile blend--!”
The door slammed ungraciously in Sylvain’s face. “I’ll see you on Tuesday?”
Two Golden Deer walking nearby exchanged bemused smiles. Lorenz leaned towards Claude. “If there’s one thing we must agree on, let it be that that man is a shame to all nobles.”
“No one’s slimy as Sylvain.”
“No one’s grimy as Sylvain.”
“No one’s so desperate for a stroke as Sylvain.”
“You can improve your rhyme scheme.”
Claude laughed. “Never mind that, I think this is the first time we’ve ever agreed on anything. Congrats to us!”
“I’d rather it be over Alliance matters than the ill manners of a classmate.”
“Thank the almighty Seiros he’s not a member of the Golden Deer. I don’t want to see him in the classroom.” A pink-haired girl popped out of her dorm room as they passed by. “Hilda, hey. We’re heading out for the skirmish soon. And as I was saying, I think you and him would be quarreling day and night.”
“I assure you, I would put him in his place.”
She fell in line with them. “You’re talking about Sylvain, right? I heard he hasn’t stopped pestering the professor since she took over our class. Keeps saying he wants to learn from her, but we know what he’s really after.”
Claude nodded vaguely, only partially listening. “Who else do we have to grab? Marianne.”
“She’s at the stables helping dress the horses.”
“It’s only Annette then,” Lorenz muttered as he peered at Claude’s list, “and you speak to her most. I do wonder if she’ll join the class as the Professor is wanting…”
“Ah, she’s probably in the library. I’ll fetch her, tell Teach I’m coming.”
“Don’t be late, Claude!”
“That’s your job.”
Claude hated washing dishes by no small amount. He was awkward, clumsy, and had already been mocked by Leonie by how soaked he often was.
Annette volunteering to do it with him softened the blow.
“I haven’t seen you in a little, Claude. It’s nice. Oh!” She leaned into a pile of soap bubbles to catch a plate.
“By the time these dishes are clean, we’re going to look like we swam to Brigid. How have you been, Annette? It’s a shame you declined Teach’s offer to join the class.”
“It’s been so busy around the monastery lately. I haven’t had any time to study.”
He quirked an eyebrow as he cleaned. “Why don’t you get someone to help you?”
“Well, Lysithea’s also always busy, Dorothea’s really intimidating, and I’ve tried talking to Hubert, but our conversation lasted one minute. Mercie’s better with white magic, and… Oh.” She rerolled a drooping sleeve. “And Sylvain.”
“He knows magic?”
“A little. But…”
“He’s a notorious flirt and awful study partner?” She huffed. “What do you think of Sylvain? As the sunflower of the Blue Lions.”
Annette folded an arm across her chest, one elbow tucked into the other, conjuring a miniature tornado with her index finger. “Well, he’s smart. I asked him to help me once, on the off chance he’d know what to do, and he caught on fast.” She flicked out a gust of wind. “But he doesn’t come off that way, right?”
“Not in the slightest. All I’ve seen him do is flirt with women. Or, compete with Lorenz about flirting with women.”
“He does it on purpose, I think.” Claude’s eye twitched. “Not flirting, but… you know what? Think about it.” She wrung her hands together. “I’m not going to spill all his secrets, even to our resident secret keeper.” She returned her hands to the soapy water.
“Is this your revenge for making you figure out the lyrics I wrote?”
“Maybe.”
A little way off, there was a loud crash, followed by a bang. “Where did a tornado come from?!”
Annette continued washing her dishes, unaware that she had planted an itch at the back of his mind. What kind of person was Sylvain, really?
Byleth wandered through the monastery’s merchant stalls. In her hand was a small notebook that she occasionally wrote in as she shopped.
“Let’s see… Two steel bows… More vulneraries… I wonder if they’re selling shields today.”
“Professor!” Sylvain ran up to her with the widest smile she had ever seen. “I’m glad I caught you early.”
“It’s nearly evening, though.”
“It’s only the 10th of Verdant Rain Moon. I’ll cut to the chase-- I want to join your class.”
“Sylvain,” there was a disappointed pity in her voice, “I’ve said already that I don’t want you. Please stop asking.”
“Harsh!! But hear me out. You’re going to Conand Tower this month, aren’t you?”
“Yes, some thieves are hiding out there.”
“That thief is my brother.” He kept smiling, but his eyes were cold. “I hope you can understand that I want to help take him down for dishonoring the Gautier name.”
She eyed her notebook. “Fine. This month only.”
The next weekday, Byleth was wrapping up a fairly average lesson about using terrain to strategize, when she dropped the news on the class. “By the way, Sylvain will be accompanying us on this month’s mission. Class is dismissed.”
Leonie yelled “What?!” She reeled back in her seat. “Professor, even you agree he doesn’t belong in this class. He’s so irritating.”
“Full of himself,” added Hilda.
“Airheaded,” supplied Lysithea.
“Two cavaliers seem unnecessary.” Lorenz puffed out his chest. “I for one think I am more than skilled enough to not require him.”
“Miklan is his brother.” Claude’s voice cut through the dismissive chatter. “What would you think, Lorenz, if your sibling disgraced Duke Gloucester?”
Byleth nodded. “Because he has a personal connection to this month’s mission, I’ve made an exception.” A slight smile crossed her face. “I assure you, as long as it is my discretion, Sylvain will not be joining our class. You kids are distracted enough as is.”
…
Ascending the tower was a grueling task. The bandits were powerful and more seemed to lurk in every corner. To the students’ fortune, their professor seemed to know exactly where every new wave of bandits would arrive.
A purple light flickered over Byleth’s eyes, one that her students had come to know as a sign that eerily accurate orders were coming. “Sylvain, I need you to ride south and cover Claude as he fights the reinforcements. Watch his back.”
“Got it.”
Claude was already in the heat of the action when he arrived. He was firing arrows and ducking behind the wall as he traded shots with an enemy archer.
An arrow pinged off of Sylvain’s armor as he charged forward and thrust his lance at the offending bowman. He pulled back to where Claude was standing and grimacing with a half-notched arrow.
“Doing alright?”
“Could be better.” Claude scoffed. “Let me take care of this archer. He’s got poison arrows.” He peeped over the wall and fired a curved shot. The archer toppled, but not before another poisonous arrow came flying in Claude’s direction.
“Nice work.”
“You’re great moral support.” Claude wiped his hand on his pants. “Take care of the armor knights, will you? I can’t get a shot in on the mages behind them.”
With a hammer firmly in his hands, he trotted ahead of Claude and smashed through the knights’ armor like it was paper. Claude quickly silenced the defenseless mages.
“Thanks.” He licked his palm, where a line of blood trickled down his wrist. “That damn archer, aiming for the hands. We should get back with the rest of the class; I think that’s the rest of them.”
“Right.” Sylvain stared at Claude. Claude stared at Sylvain. “Are you coming?”
“What?”
He trotted forward. “Hop on. It’s faster.”
Claude pulled himself onto the horse with Sylvain’s help. “I’ve never ridden a horse, so you’ll have to excuse my misunderstanding.”
“Aren’t you a noble? Everyone’s taught to ride.”
“I ride wyverns. They only seat one.”
“Ah. Hold on.” The horse jumped over a pile of rubble, and his face bonked into Sylvain’s back. “God, Miklan really made a mess of this place.”
“You can say that again.” He grabbed Sylvain’s arm as the horse jumped again. “How far did Teach get while we were fighting those reinforcements?!”
Sylvain rounded another corner, and Lysithea’s white hair came into view. She had her hands over her mouth, and her eyebrows were high under her bangs.
He slowed to a trot. The walls of the tower shook under the weight of a man turned beast. Sylvain caught a glimpse of a fist gripping the Lance of Ruin before it too was absorbed into the black mass. Several bandits shoved past as they hurried away from the emerging blight.
Before the students was a hulking monster on a scale never before seen. It roared, and the tower rumbled once more. Several glowing red eyes glared at them, blinking individually.
“We must defeat it quickly,” Byleth shouted over the tremors, “or it will bring us down with this tower!” She turned to her students and waved Sylvain over. “I’m glad you two are okay. Sylvain, I want you to charge forward with Lorenz. Try to break the shield.”
“Understood.”
“Claude, be on standby.” He unmounted and Sylvain galloped ahead.
“Teach, is that Miklan?”
“Yes. We were fighting when the lance turned against him.”
“Because he has no Crest, right.”
Lorenz grunted as his lance pierced through the beast’s hide. It yelled in pain. Dust clouded the air as the walls trembled.
Byleth hollered “Now!” Lysithea and Ignatz moved forward for their ranged assault. Claude ran to the front and notched an arrow. “Before the armor regenerates, attack!”
He aimed and fired. The first arrow sailed smoothly into the exposed flesh. Taking the opportunity, he quickly drew another arrow. As he did, a searing pain pulsed through his left hand. His arrow nearly missed the broken hide.
Byleth was suddenly in front of him and leveled a heavy glare. “I’ll deal with you. Take this, you brute!” The Sword of the Creator whipped out in a mad flurry, striking the beast several times. “The armor is regenerating. Fall back!”
The more frail students retreated. Sylvain, Lorenz, and Leonie held the front, all with spears held high and at the ready.
“You flinched while firing that second arrow. Why?”
Claude’s face twitched. It was always Teach who would notice. He held up his left hand. A small, tooth-like chunk was buried in his palm, and a line of dark blood ran down to his elbow. “I got shot. It’s nothing untreatable.”
“As your teacher, your safety is important—!”
“And so is the mission. I can shrug this off. What will you do if one of us dies because you wasted time caring for a single cut? Teach, you need to learn to prioritize!”
Byleth grimaced. “Don’t try and lecture to your teacher. Stay in the back for the rest of this battle.”
“You need my bow. I’ll be fine.”
“I need your steady bow. Help Marianne pass around vulneraries.”
She jogged up to a battered Lorenz and took his place as the creature whipped its tail.
Claude did as he was told. Away from the thick of the fighting, he helped rub salve and distribute concoctions for anyone injured. His hand occasionally spasmed with a sharp pain that he attempted to ignore.
The Crest beast was strong, but the Golden Deer were stronger. It was whittled down until it finally gave out one last desperate shriek. The creature collapsed, and its skin began to fizzle away. Left behind was a sadder creature along with the Lance of Ruin.
Leonie collapsed against a wall, and Marianne rushed to heal everyone.
Byleth sighed heavily between deep breaths. “We’re all tired, but we need to get back to the monastery. This tower is still unsteady. Rest up before we go.”
Marianne bit her lip as her healing magic pulsed against Claude’s hand. “You should have let me heal this sooner.” With delicate fingers, she pulled the arrow shard out. Black barbs lined the sides.
“I knew it would require delicacy. The barbs are pointed that way so they’re easy to get in, hard to get out.” He took it from her and inspected it as she wiped the blood off of his arm.
“Most of the poison’s been drained out of the arrow. So far I’ve only had some minor muscle spasms, so I’ll be okay. You can help others.”
“A-are you sure?”
“Go ahead.”
Sylvain clunked down next to him. “It’s not good if you die, you know.”
“Since when did you care about me?”
“I care about all my classmates! Even,” he gave a haughty chuckle, “if we’re not in the same class.” With calloused fingers, he unclasped the pieces of his armor. “I have a special antitoxin.” He walked away, and from the bag on his horse, he withdrew a tiny vial. Claude’s wrist was skinny in his hand, and a clear liquid dripped into the cut.
“I didn’t know you were a medicine man,” he remarked as Sylvain sat again, “but thank you.”
“I’m not. I happen to know a few of Miklan’s tricks, that’s all. He used to try and slip poison into my meals.”
“… You’ve got to be joking.” Claude knew the answer before he finished his sentence.
“Nah. I figured he’d use the same kind. He had enough to be regularly attempting to kill me and all, why not use it on the students trying to kill him?” Sylvain shifted and pulled up his tunic to dab at the cut. The antitoxin had turned a deep red and left a dark stain. “After I realized what he was doing, I did some experimenting. It draws the poison from the body and into itself. Single-use, but very effective.”
The wound had indeed stopped giving Claude flashes of pain. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t ask me anything else about toxicology, though. Only things Miklan’s tried to use on me.”
He used a light, lofty tone through the conversation in stark contrast to the dark subject matter, which both creeped out and intrigued Claude. Annette’s words fluttered through his mind.
“I can show you sometime. I’m more the poisoner than the poisonee, but if you’re interested…”
“I’m fine. Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather spend my time out in the town than cooped up in my room, devising the next scheme.”
“You’re too cruel!”
The march back to the monastery was with little fanfare. Everyone was exhausted, and few people conversed beyond Byleth’s occasional directions.
Claude was stewing in his mind. He was dying to scratch the Sylvain-shaped itch on his brain.
Two Blue Lions stood in front of the mess hall bulletin board.
“A chess tournament?” Felix huffed. “They really replaced the monthly tournament with this?”
“Professor insisted on mentally challenging the students.” Sylvain shrugged next to him. “You wanted that combat manual, didn’t you?”
“I did, but I’m not waging money on a game I can’t play.”
“You-- what? Felix, you don’t know how to play chess!? I thought your dad hammered it into you with all that other knightly stuff.”
“He did, I’m simply- I’m not good at it.”
“Aww--!”
“If you say anything else I’ll stab you.”
“Not on school grounds! Say, let’s do this. Bet on me.”
“When was the last time you played chess?”
“Not for a while, but,” he set his hands on Felix’s shoulders as a vote of confidence, “you know me. I’ll win you that manual, or at least, your money back. Guaranteed.”
…
Sylvain was, maybe, slightly, just a bit, shaking in his boots. The first and second rounds were a breeze. Semifinals put him against Hubert, who was less a difficult opponent and more an intimidating oddity. Edelgard was similarly more stiff than fearsome. (There was a reason, after all, that he never tried to flirt with her).
Now, however, there was a creeping shadow of doubt for Sylvain’s chance of victory. It was less like a shadow, actually more reminiscent of a blustering wind.
Claude juggled his pieces as he spoke to the tournament administrator. He kicked his chair back against the table with easy movements.
He was the one person in front of whom Sylvain’s confidence withered. He was the one person who made the Casanova falter.
“This is the last round. Don’t mess up now.” Felix said as he eyed the competition.
“I’ll be fine. Everything so far’s been a walk in the park.” Sylvain counted off his fingers. “Besides, even if I lose, you’re making money off of this. There are no stakes.”
“I need that scroll.”
“Whoa, whoa. I knew you were after some scroll, but a scroll ? Since when did Mr. ‘I only care about sparring with my beautiful swords I spend half my life sharpening’ care about magic ?”
Felix turned. “It’s for…” His voice dropped to a mumble.
“Eh, eh? Felix, are you being shy? Shy Felix?”
“I said it’s for Annette, alright? She saw it in a window the other day and when I realized it was the tournament reward I…”
“I am agog, I am aghast. Is this Felix I hear--”
“Be quiet and win.”
“Gotcha. We can go out on the town later.” Felix nodded and walked away.
“Hello, hello.” Claude’s chair fell back onto the floor, and he shook his hand. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“That’s what they all say, huh?”
Sylvain sat on the black side, Claude on the white.
The tournament administrator stepped forward. “Begin.”
A white pawn slid forward, met by a black pawn. White knight jumped, black pawn clicked.
With careful fingers, Claude took his knight and knocked a pawn on its side.
“That’s not polite.”
“It’s how I was taught.” The white pawn sat sadly next to the board.
Sylvain set aside the knight for his king in a swift movement, only a flick of the wrist in-between. “What a bold opening, Mr. Piece Pusher.”
“I’ll take what I can get.” The pieces slid again. One rook here, a bishop hopped over there, throw a pawn in between.
It began to feel like a mindless game of dancing on one’s toes. Make one wrong move and the world would end, or Felix would be mad. Synonyms.
Claude took a pawn from aside the board and rolled it between his fingers. “I’ve been waiting for your turn, lover boy.”
“And I’ve been thinking. Here.”
The pieces danced again. Claude was no typical player. His moves were random, set up turns and turns ahead in a way Sylvain rarely saw. He would never say it, but he almost admired his opponent.
“You’re too ostentatious.” He plucked a black pawn from the board. “I’m here for a game, not a stage show.”
“Let a man enjoy his opening act.”
Claude’s eyes widened. He drummed his fingers on the hat of a bishop. “You know, Sylvain? You’re not who I expected you to be.”
“Don’t go saying I’m like you.”
“But you are. You remind me of myself-- the me that no one seems to like. The women around you don’t notice.”
“I never thought I’d be complimented by a male noble for once. And as for the women, well,” Sylvain nudged his king, “they’re daft anyway. As long as I fit the mold, they can’t notice.”
“Can I take this as the womanizer announcing his hatred of women?”
“Nothing of the sort. Just some friendly banter between players.” Sylvain leaned his elbow against the table with a grin. “I’m never less serious than during a chess match.”
Claude mirrored his pose. “I see. Is that why you’re in check?”
He looked down at the board to find his king checked by two pearly white bishops.
The tournament administrator blew her whistle.
“Can I sue for unlawfully distracting the opposing player?”
“I’ll countersue for showboating.”
“That’s the same thing!”
“ Excuse me ,” the administrator snapped, “but we have a winner. You can continue your discussion elsewhere. Here’s the manual.” She handed a heavy-looking scroll to Claude.
“Well, good match.” Sylvain smiled and extended his hand.
“You’re a gracious loser.” Claude shook his hand.
Another clever comeback was coming, but the administrator shooed them out of the hall. Sylvain gestured to the stairs leading to the sauna, and they sat down together.
“I can’t say I’m not mad,” he admitted, “since I was after that scroll. I made enough to pay Felix back at least.”
“Eh? What’s he want to do with a scroll about…” he passed it between his hands to open it, “‘Magical Maladies and You: 101 Ways to Use Your Faith.’ Huh.”
“I dunno, why’d you want it?”
“Teach wanted it. Said something like, ‘you look bored, so enter this competition for me.’”
“Haha. She’s a character.”
Above them, Annette and Mercedes stepped freshly out of the sauna. Annette stretched her arms above her head. “That was so refreshing!”
Mercedes nodded and looked across the monastery. “Oh my, Claude and Sylvain. That’s not a common sight.” She pointed below with a laugh, and Annette joined her to look down at the odd duo.
“The chess match must’ve just wrapped up. Hey, Sylvain! Claude! How’d it go?”
Claude looked up and called out. “I swept the ladies’ man off his feet.”
“Alas! I put up a good fight.”
Annette and Mercedes walked down the stairs together. Annette turned for a moment and turned to the two boys.
“You know, you two could be really scary together.” She held up her hands like a frame in front of her face. “Yep. You’re both too cunning.”
They waved and walked away.
“Cunning, huh?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas.” Sylvain stood and touched his toes with a grunt. “I’m not some strategist.”
“Hmm.”
There was a single knock on the door followed by Byleth’s voice. “Sylvain.”
“Door’s open.”
She had her usual blank expression. “Join the Golden Deer.”
“Eh, really!?” His eyes lit up like fireworks. There was always a smile on his face, but this one seemed more genuine than ever. “I’ll gladly join your house, Professor.”
“Good. I’ll see you in class.”
“Can I ask one question? Why are you letting me join now, when I’ve been asking for months?”
She pursed her lips. “Someone requested you change houses.”
“I don’t get to know who?”
“That’s three questions, now. Teacher secret.”
The next weekday, Sylvain found his way to the Golden Deer classroom. The welcome awaiting him was… less than warm.
Ignatz was the first to notice him, and he gave a small wave. Friendly enough. Raphael said hello in his usual loud voice and got the attention of the rest of the room.
Lorenz turned up his lip. Lysithea didn’t turn her head, but she scowled as she wrote her notes knowing who was behind her. Leonie waved half-heartedly after rolling her eyes.
Claude, at the front of the room, gestured to the seat next to him, which Sylvain eagerly took.
“Teach finally gave in, eh?”
Sylvain nodded. “Guess so. Where is she?”
With perfect timing, Byleth’s heels clicked into the room. Hilda, still half asleep, plopped into her seat. “Now that everyone is here,” the professor glared hard at her offending student, “the lesson can begin. I’d like to start by welcoming Sylvain to our class, however, your expressions say all I need to know, so let’s begin with the lesson.”
The lecture was slightly different than what Hanneman was teaching the Blue Lions, but Sylvain caught on easily. The biggest issue wasn’t the subject matter but his seatmate, constantly fiddling with his pen and tapping an irritatingly catchy melody.
“Class is dismissed. Make sure you have your work ready for tomorrow.”
“Say,” Claude said quickly, “why don’t we have another game of chess?”
Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “I’m good. I’m not that big on it, actually.”
“Another game?”
“... I think I have a pack of cards in my room. How about poker?”
“See you in your room.”
“And you call me the flirt!” He waved Claude away, and he began to put his papers into his bag. He had an itching suspicion it was less the game that Claude was after and more the player.
It was their first poker game, but it was far from the last. They ended up raiding the library for any board games they could find. Chess was the favorite, although the strange black and white version from far off in the East came in a close second.
Claude pushed a bishop forward. “I see you have the Lance of Ruin.” The Relic was twitching on the wall. “Teach gave it to you, right?”
“What of it?” Sylvain made his move.
“Isn’t it unseemly, to have your family’s holy Relic first be stolen and then passed around like a toy?”
“My father trusted it to the professor. I simply… facilitated the transaction, although Lady Rhea didn’t approve.”
“Haha.” A knight slid forward. “After countless board games, I have to disagree with your thought that you aren’t a strategist.”
“Eh.” Sylvain leaned down to board level, eyeing Claude through the pawns. “I hope I strategize during a strategy game.”
“And in your courtship woes.”
“I want a warm bed every once and awhile,” Sylvain growled and shoved his bishop against a white pawn. “That is satisfying,” he said with a bemused face as he plucked the defeated pawn off the board. “You read too much into things. I’ve said it time and time again.”
“You circumvent every woman who’s genuinely after you, and then you pursue those who have no interest. I can’t help but feel fascinated by a self-made game of cat and mouse.”
“Like what you’re doing with that rook?”
“... Maybe. I only wish you dedicated your mind to things other than skirts. Where I’m from, you’d be drilled to strategize in battle before in love.”
“You sound like Ingrid. I get lectured enough, thank you.”
“Hey, she lectures me too!” They locked eyes in painful understanding.
“I told her to smile more, and she yelled at me.”
“She keeps bringing up that I hit on her grandmother once. It was one time!”
…
“Check.”
Claude growled. “That’s 16:7. I’ll get you next time.”
“I know,” Sylvain replied flatly. “You always do; I haven’t had a single consecutive win. There’s still time to kill,” he added, looking out the window, “you want another round?”
“No, actually.” Claude was already standing and moving towards the wall. “I wanted to see this. May I?” Sylvain nodded, and he gently took the Lance of Ruin from the wall and sat down on the bed with it spread across his lap.
“This thing is massive.” He set the end of the spear on the floor, and the writhing blades reached above his head. “And I hate how it moves!” Scooting to the edge of the bed, he held the twitching end in his hands.
“It's almost like it’s alive.”
“Yeah.” His fingers ran over the spear. “The texture is so bony, and these smaller pieces really do look like a spine.” Gently, he tapped the glassy red gem set in the blade. “That’s the Crest of Gautier.”
“It’s so life-like, isn’t it?” Sylvain leaned over Claude’s shoulder. “You would almost think that gem is its heart.” He rested a hand on it, and the entire spearpoint began to glow and jitter. “I already hated it, but the fact that it reacts when I touch it--”
“Hold on. Is the Crest stone… pulsing ?” Claude pulled the lance down towards the bed. Indeed, the gem set in the lance was glowing with a flickering light, akin to a heartbeat.
“What the hell?”
“Hang on. Keep holding it.” He turned and placed two fingers slightly below Sylvain’s jawline. The Crest stone flickered faster. “It’s matching your pulse.”
“Eugh.” The glow of the lance faded without the Crest of Gautier giving it questionable life. “Really don’t like the zombie lance.”
Claude had his hand over his mouth, clearly in deep thought. “… I knew it. When we went to Lord Lonato’s territory to subdue the rebellion, I was able to see Catherine in action. I could have sworn Thunderbrand was flashing through the fog.”
“Does that mean all the Relics are zombies? Does the church have a collection of zombie weapons?”
For a harrowing moment, they locked eyes.
Sylvain chuckled nervously. “That’s silly, right?”
“Yeah. No way the Relics are alive . It’s probably just your Crest syncing up with the stone or something. They were specifically fashioned for each house, after all, and they’re called Crest stones.”
“Of course.”
A beat.
Claude slid his hands over his face. “I feel like we’ve discovered something very, very bad.” Like a confused puppy, he tilted his head back and forth in his search for the right metaphor. “It’s as though we’re an inch away from being stabbed at every angle.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” The Lance of Ruin returned to its place on Sylvain’s wall. “Gonna be awkward to use it in the next battle.”
“I wonder why the Sword of the Creator doesn’t have a stone, though.”
“Ah, you’re right. It glows when she touches it just like the Lance, though, so I guess it means Relics know their wielder even without a ‘heart.’”
“Maybe. Ahh,” he stretched and stood, “I better head out. I’ve got schemes to make, after all.”
“Sure.” Sylvain rubbed his jaw. The vestige of Claude’s fingers lingered long after they parted.
The Garreg Mach ball was in full swing. The doom and gloom brought by the events of Remire Village were whisked away by jubilant music. The houses intermingled freely, and a bemused Claude even saw Dimitri and Edelgard dancing together.
He, for one, was enjoying his time standing next to the snack table and commentating with Lysithea. “I see a Blue Lion in fur! That’s number eight.”
“I’ve counted nine.”
“Who?!”
“Over there.” She stood on her toes. “I don’t know his name.”
“Crap. For someone so short, you have good eyes.”
“You’re not tall either!” She harrumphed. “I think that’s Professor’s ninth dance partner,” she said as she pointed to a bored-looking Byleth being twirled by Dorothea. “She’s winning.”
“Yeah, but Dimitri’s been on his seventh for a while. Unless Byleth speed dances, I think he’s going to win.”
“You just want to believe that. You know the professor is going to be asked to another dance as soon as Dorothea lets go.”
“Ah ah ah,” Claude waggled his finger, “I may have bet on Dimitri only because you took Teach, but! But she’s been going through partners a lot faster than him, so there’s a chance she’ll become exhausted and leave the ball entirely.”
Hilda trotted up to them with a flushed face, holding a pile of pink skirts. “Why aren’t you two dancing? Oh,” her smile drooped, “are you still at that stupid bet?”
“It’s not stupid,” they said in unison.
“Come on, you guys! Enjoy the ball, live a little. You especially Lysithea, or I’ll have done your makeup for nothing!” Before she could protest, she was dragged away at the wrist by Hilda.
Claude stared in awe at their backs. When Hilda put in any effort, she was terrifying.
Yet another student approached from behind, and he felt himself brace for the dreaded request. “Would you like to dance?” He turned to see Sylvain wearing a suave smile. For some reason, he felt that he had narrowly escaped the pan only to be dumped into the fire.
“I thought you only flirted with women.” Claude twirled a hand.
“I have exceptions.” It landed in Sylvain’s palm.
“How are you faring? As the class flirt, you must be busy.”
“And you’re the house leader. Surely there are ladies after your lo-ovely face.”
“After you.”
Sylvain took the lead, stepping forward with a flourish. Maybe it was the warm light of the ballroom, or the red of his hair reflected, but Claude could have sworn his dance partner was blushing.
“So, this dance.” Claude’s voice was low enough to be hidden by the crowd.
“Hm?”
“It’s not one I know how to do,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Oh. Be the lady, then. Girls have it easy, all they have to do is get twirled around.”
“That’s what you think, but have you seen the size of those dresses? Even walking looks hard for some of them.”
“Thankfully, I’m strong enough to catch even the heaviest girl if she falls.”
Claude nodded, though his eyes were staring through his partner. His mind was partially on keeping his feet firmly out of stepping-on-Sylvain range, but the rest of him wandered elsewhere. Silence fell between them, though the music played on and filled the air with joyous notes.
The next words came out like molasses, sticky and resistant. “I want to solve you.”
“Huh?” The flirt flushed at the syrupy sweetness. “What are you implying?”
“You intrigue me, like Teach, in a sense. For her, there’s nothing to read. For you… there’s too much. You’re quite the schemer, you know.”
Any hope Sylvain had for an interesting conversation was completely dashed. “This again? All I’d like is a lovely lady by my side once and while. How many times will I say it before you believe me?”
“It’s a wish you’ve dedicated your entire personality around. I’m amazed by how unanimously you’ve gotten the school to agree that you’re a loose-tongued flirt.”
His words smarted. “As if you haven’t done the same?” Sylvain moved their hands together and pointed at Claude’s sleeve. “Loose sleeves, long sash, ‘in my homeland’ this and ‘where I’m from’ that? Who are you to judge when we’re book-matched?”
Claude’s voice caught for a moment. Only a moment. “Maybe we both have caricatures built up for ourselves. I’ve never seen you accept the many women foisting their advances on you.”
“I’ve never seen you rebuttal the countless students mocking your skin. Shouldn’t you live up to the stereotypes?”
“I refuse to give them the satisfaction of my acknowledgment. And that aside, it’s the church that’s misinformed them.”
“And they only care about my Crest, a system propagated by the blessed Church of Seiros. I think we’re on even ground.”
For the first time in months, the itch was scratched. “I’ve said already, but… You’re more observant than you let on.”
“And you’re less of a schemer than you pretend. Always so forward with your ‘clever planning,’ I’m half-convinced it’s only your enemies calling you untrustworthy in a sweeter tone.”
Claude found himself smiling back to the flirt. “Every conversation… It’s like dancing with the Devil.”
“And who is the Devil here-- you, or me?”
“It depends on the occasion.”
Sylvain flourished the fur on his coat. “Well, excuse you. I’m a charmer by day.”
“You’re a lousy one.”
He pressed his hands to his chest in mock offense. “And you’re a strategist by night.”
“By every hour, if Teach would allow me. So we swap turns on the ‘Devil’ card?”
“Let me give you a metaphor.” He spun Claude in a pirouette. “We all know who God is here. If I am the Professor’s right, and you are her left…”
“Then you’re trying to imply that our monastic teacher is the Devil, which I’m certain isn’t allowed on school grounds.”
“Since when have we, the archbishop’s least favorites, cared for school rules?”
“I’m offended you’d label us that when the princeliness and her highness are so nearby.”
“Well,” he shrugged, “it’s not as though Dimitri is some god-hater. Besides, I can’t be impartial to either of them. It’s no secret she wants to dismantle the church, or that he’s known me for years.”
“And why could I not do the same?”
“Be the catalyst for major religious reforms, or get to know me?” He raised his eyebrows, and Sylvain laughed loud enough for students to stare. “I didn’t consider it. Are you leading me on?”
“I’m offering a proposal. Your entire life’s been founded on lies and distrust. I can’t say I differ.”
“From what I understand, the song goes like this: I’m an insider trying to get out. You’re an outsider dying to be let in.”
Claude swayed to the music, peacefully ignoring his partner. “We both play up aspects of ourselves.” He leaned in close, his breath hot on Sylvain’s ear. “Dream with me, and maybe we can be true.”
“Please.” Sylvain pushed him gently with a soft laugh. His reddish face betrayed his cool tone. “How long did it take for you to come up with that line?”
Claude wrinkled his nose. “Not long. Unlike you, I don’t plan my script.”
“That’s a shame. My dream is to become a thespian. A professional ,” he added.
“Sure, sure, I’ll be your manager. Really, though. You’ll keep your promise about the reunion, right?”
“You had an entire dramatic speech about it.”
“I like to be thorough. As I said, I want to solve you.” Same honey-sweet words, same pink dusting on Sylvain’s cheeks. “I can’t solve such a puzzle in only one year.”
“Pick up the pace, then!”
Never before had Byleth’s students seen her so somber. The events of the previous months weighed heavily on her shoulders, and the sadness seemed to infect the entire school. Even the dining hall was quieter than usual.
“I kind of wish,” Claude twirled his braid around his index finger, “you were wrong about the whole ‘Teach is the Devil’ thing.” He fidgeted on the bench, hoping no one would sit with them.
Sylvain took a sip of his soup. “Yeah, me too.” He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s that bad. I mean, it’s the same as Flayn’s, and I trust her.”
“Even though she runs at the sight of you?”
“Yeah. You don’t need to bring that up…”
“But,” he continued despite Sylvain’s imaginary tears, “it’s also the same color as Rhea’s.”
“Indeed! Indeed. There’s a mystery afoot, I’m sure of it. Flayn, Rhea, and now Professor are all shady. I suspect collusion. Add Seteth too, for security. Don’t forget about Rhea’s zombie weapons, either.”
“Teach’s seemed depressed lately. I mean,” he raised his hands in surrender, “I understand her father recently passed, but it’s almost like she’s mourning for the goddess who was in her. Does that make any sense? It’s like she’s mourning for both of them.”
“Yeah. So much of this year has been unbelievable.” Sylvain slurped his soup loudly as a stewing Dimitri walked by. “Liiike how it’s unbelievable this soup is this good!”
“It’s alright.”
“What!? Fish and bean soup is a Faerghus favorite. It warms you up in a jiffy after a long day in the cold.”
“I won’t deny that, but fish and beans , man. There’s barely any seasoning.”
“You don’t need seasoning for something with an already rich flavor.”
“Whatever. You shouldn’t be eating fish and beans together in the first place.”
“... I hope that this month passes without incident, at least.”
Claude laughed. “With Teach? No way. She’s going to sit on the Throne of the Goddess and get a prophecy that the world’s coming down.”
“You’ve jinxed it. … I am suspicious, though,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. “If she’s fused with the goddess, then why does she need to get a prophecy? Isn’t that like talking to herself?
“Yeah, I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. Oh! Speaking of the Relics.” From his shirt folds, he procured a small leather notebook. “Jeralt’s diary. I’m borrowing it from Teach.”
“Eh, I don’t know if I’m privy to what’s—“
“There’s a section about her birth. Do you remember the zombie lance?”
“Hard to forget, considering I use it every battle.”
“Teach was born without a heartbeat. The Sword of the Creator is missing its Crest stone, which we surmised is like its heart.”
Sylvain knit his eyebrows as the pieces came together. “The Relics glow and the stones pulse when touched by a corresponding Crest bearer; the Sword of the Creator doesn’t have a stone, but it still glows when the Professor touches it. Meaning—“ Only with a considerable effort was he able to keep his jaw off the floor. “Meaning the Professor is the heart. Wait!” The gears of his mind were going at (Garreg) Mach speed. “Is the stone itself the Professor’s heart? And that’s why—.”
Claude slapped his forehead. “All those times she said she didn’t have a pulse, I thought she was joking! Her delivery is always so dry that I can never tell.”
“What else is in the diary?”
“Apparently, Jeralt left the monastery to get away from Rhea. I had a gut instinct before, but now I really don’t trust her.”
“... I remember after we fought Miklan. I walked in on Rhea trying to reclaim the Lance of Ruin from the Professor. I stepped in as I’ve said, but she was very persistent about getting it back in the church’s hands.”
“There has to be a connection. Maybe we’ll find it during the mission this month.”
“Maybe.” They returned to eating their lunch in silence as Byleth walked nearby. “I never thought I’d find myself in such a Crest-based mystery. Given that, you know,” he leaned forward, “I hate Crests and all.”
“I’m sorry for dragging you into it, but you’ll have to pardon me for the fascination.” Claude leaned forward as well; to any passing observers, they looked like they were making a very shady and threatening deal.
A flicker of anger passed over Sylvain’s face. “No, don’t apologize. I don’t dislike,” he gestured, “ this , I’m merely at a place I wouldn’t have expected.”
“Ah, well. … There is one thing we can agree on.”
“Don’t trust God.”
“I was going to say R—“ Claude snickered. “ Oh, you really liked that metaphor, huh? Alright then; don’t trust God. And hey, watch your neck. It’s not good if you die, you know.”
“Right. Same to you. Who knows who’ll want to kill us now that this knowledge is in our hands?”
“Hopefully nobody. Don’t know what I’d do without your pretty face.” Claude froze. He quickly began to slurp his soup. “Wow!” For someone who was previously complaining about the blandness, he was suddenly enthusiastically praising the wonderfully complex flavors of fish and beans.
Sylvain agreed halfheartedly.
A few months had passed since the Battle of Garreg Mach. Although Duke Oswald was technically alive, his illness had become overpowering; Claude was effectively the one in charge, acting almost like a regent.
Claude was poring over his paperwork when there was a knock at the door. A servant’s voice quietly declared that there was a visitor for the duke.
“Come in.”
An unexpected face walked through his doorway. Fluffed up red hair, a dark wool coat, and the iconic furs of Faerghus.
“ Sylvain? ”
“The one and only. Hello to you too, Duke Riegan.”
“Not yet.” Sylvain strode over to the desk and sat on the papers facing Claude, forcing all attention onto him. He seemed to tower over Claude, still sitting down. Never before was he so fully aware of the handful of inches separating their heights. “Er, why are you here?”
“My father thinks the Empire is going to invade our territory soon. I want to say hello while I still can.”
“It’s not good if you die, you know.”
Sylvain’s features softened at the familiar words. “I don’t plan to, but travel’s going to get difficult as the war spreads.”
“Ah. That’s alright, then. How have you been…?”
“Fine.”
A heavy, awkward fog filled the room. Sylvain had a nervous, twitching energy about him like he was preparing before his big day and anxiety was starting to get the better of him. Claude thought about whether or not to take down the missing posters he’d posted.
“Been seeing anyone?” The question was innocuous, but it had a twinge of anticipation.
“No. I’ve been busy dealing with my grandfather’s work; I don’t have time.”
“Ah. That’s a shame, you’d surely have a whole host of suitors lining up for you if you asked.”
Claude was beyond amused at such a compliment coming from the philanderer. “Would you be in that line?” He was even more amused when his question failed to garner a reaction beyond a bright blush. “I’m kidding. I’ve been working to realize that new world.”
“Ah, the ‘new dawn’ you always talked about.”
“Yeah. I’m not settling down until after the war, of course, but I also want to create a peaceful world that everyone can be accepted in.”
“I get that. I like it. You’ll dismantle the Crest system for me?”
“Oh, but why not turn to the Emperor?” Claude’s eyes twinkled. “She seems quite determined to destroy the Church of Seiros and everything it stands for, including the Crest system.”
“Not with this much bloodshed. She’s already made a good thrust into Faerghus territory, and I heard about what happened at the Great Bridge of Myrddin.”
He winced. “Yeah, the Alliance could be in a better state before I inherit it. It’s alright, though. I’m sure once… Once Teach is back, we’ll get everything settled.”
Sylvain turned his back to him. “Putting all your eggs in one basket, huh? Well, I’m sure you’ve thought it through. I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”
Claude met his eyes in surprise. “When you and the Professor are reunited. I mean, if your dream works out. I’d like to see the two of us at peace one day; to see a day when we can stop putting on shows and finally stop caring.”
“Yeah… Yeah, that would be nice.” He smiled up at Sylvain. “I’ll do my best for you, too. Can you spare a moment for tea?”
“I can’t say no to a good friend.”
“Pull up a chair.”
He did so, and the two began to whittle away at the hours. Only a few months had passed since their last meeting, yet there was so much to catch up on, and even more questions to be raised. The flight from Garreg Mach was a fiery flurry that gave them little time to think.
A servant called from the hall. “Duke Riegan, you have a meeting.”
“Ah. Sorry, I guess I’ll--”
“I ought to be heading out anyway. I didn’t mean to spend so much time here. Guess your conversations are just that addictive. Ehehe.” He drank the last of his tea and stood.
Claude nodded and gathered their cups onto the tea tray, busying himself to avoid looking straight at his partner.
“Hey. Before I go.”
“Hm?” Sylvain gently pulled him forward by his braid; leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on Claude’s forehead. “H-Huh…?”
His hair tie slipped off, and the braid began to slowly unravel.
“In case I can’t fulfill the promise.”
“Huh?” Claude brushed at his head.
“Wow,” the flirt said drily, “I realize that you’re not a charmer like me, who’s constantly forced to dodge kisses, but are you that speechless?” He was, actually, fidgeting with anxiety as he watched the schemer rapidly blink in confusion.
“I’m- what? Huh?”
“Claude.” He took Claude’s shoulders in his hands. “You’re at Derdriu. It’s… late in the afternoon. I just kissed you.”
“No, yeah, I…” he shook his head, “I’m having a hard time processing this, see, it’s like, why did you just kiss me ?!”
“Like I said: if we don’t meet again. I came here to make sure I kiss my academy crush before I die. You don’t need to… do anything.
“Your what?”
“Crush. The person for whom I have romantic feelings.”
Claude wanted to hit pause, rewind, slow-motion. He needed a good several minutes to process what was happening. “You have a CRUSH on me?!”
“Yeah.”
“Since WHEN?”
“A little after school began.”
“WHAT?”
“It’s why I was so insistent on joining the Golden Deer. Really, after you’ve known me for so long, you think I was trying to change classes for a brassiere?”
“...”
“Ouch. And here I thought I was so obvious.” He sighed, running shaky hands through his hair. “I’ll just go.”
“No, listen, it’s fine. I was distracted during the school year, I wasn’t even thinking about… anything like that. I honestly haven’t thought about it since the war broke out, either.”
“It’s much gentler to give a man an outright ‘no,’ you know? Say I’m repulsive and get it over with.”
“It’s not that. It’s…” He stood. “This.” His lips pressed against Sylvain’s for a fraction of a second. “I… want to create my new dawn. Until then, I don’t even want to think about settling down. Will you be patient? Maybe then…”
It was Sylvain’s turn to be surprised; Claude struggled to tell where his bright red hair ended and his face began. “I-I said I’d dream with you, right? Of course, I’ll be patient. Nothing, um, to lose. After all, there are still so many questions to be answered!”
“Thank you. You can go,” he added, hearing the servant’s knock on the door again. “I’ll see you in five years. Maybe sooner?”
“I’ll try, should the Emperor allow it.”
Claude grinned. “Fingers crossed.”
Sylvain bowed widely, a pure and radiant smile on his face. He walked to the door with a swagger in his step. “By the way…” He paused at the door, his back still turned. “I think you look better with your hair loose. You should grow it out.”
Claude ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.
There were still mysteries, still so many questions surrounding Rhea, Edelgard, and Byleth. Until the professor came back, they couldn't quite be solved, but when she did… Claude knew that his new dawn would come, and perhaps then he would be able to bask in it with Sylvain.