Chapter Text
The Saturday afternoon drags on without lectures or training to distract the students. The Blue Lions don’t stray far from their usual routine. They occupy the courtyard, engaged in friendly combat with one another as the day winds down.
Sylvain hangs back. He leans against one of the large marble pillars, a sigh on his lips as he looks towards the west at the soon setting sun. It takes three more wistful, soulful sighs for someone to ask Sylvain what his problem is.
“Are you doing okay, Sylvain?” Mercedes asks him with worried eyebrows.
“Oh, you know. The usual,” Sylvain replies before exhaling one more loud, depressed regret.
“Aw, honey,” Mercedes is instantly sympathetic towards his unknown plights.
Ingrid on the other hand is not. “Don’t pity him. It’s just a girl.”
“It’s not a girl,” Sylvain corrects her without looking in her direction. He pulls up a handful of grass and lets the small green pieces flutter down before his eyes. Just like him. Adrift in the wind by the whims of fate.
“Dear Goddess,” Ingrid shakes her head and decides she is not getting involved in this.
“He’s in love!” Annette says from Mercedes’ side. She crosses her hands over her heart and looks up to the sky dreamily. “Can’t you see it in his eyes?” she asks.
“Congratulations Sylvain!” Mercedes smiles at him with the softest dimples and kindest eyes. “I hope you and your loved one will have many happy days together.”
“He’s not in love!” Ingrid complains as she takes her frustration out on Felix and tries to stab him in the side with her lance. “It’s just some girl he’ll forget in a week like always.”
“Not a girl,” Sylvain corrects her again. He’s given up on sitting now, and instead lays on his back staring at the clouds drifting above. This one looks almost like a paintbrush, and this one looks like a pair of spectacles if you ignore every aspect of its shape and project hard.
“He’s lying,” Felix says as he narrowly dodges a series of jabs from Ingrid.
Annette frowns and examines him closer. “No, I think he’s in love. Look! He has a glow!”
“There’s no glow!” Ingrid argues.
“There is a ho,” Felix adds on in a rare moment of genuine humor.
“Wait,” Annette is confused by the flow of conversation. “Is Sylvain the ho or is the girl because that’s not very nice, Felix!”
“There isn’t a girl,” Sylvain says for the third time that day. “Look,” he points upwards and directs his classmates attention to a passing cloud. “Doesn’t that look like an easel?”
It does not.
Before anyone can ask for clarification on whatever the fuck he’s talking about, Sylvain sits up with a sudden burst of attention. A look of mild panic colors his eyes as he shakes loose grass from his hair and tries to straighten his school uniform.
Ingrid stares in confusion. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. A wide grin breaks across his face as he waves. “Ignatz! How you doing?”
Collective confusion crosses the Blue Lions class as Ignatz meekly shuffles up to greet Sylvain.
“Hey, Sylvain,” A sketchbook is clutched to his chest, as if offering moral support as he initiates conversation. “Am I interrupting?”
“Of course not,” Sylvain assures him. “What’s up? Did you want to pre-plan our next mission?”
For the first time Dimitri becomes interested in the topic at hand. “Are you doing a cross class mission, Sylvain? You should’ve told me, I could have assisted you in training.”
Sylvain dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Nah, this is for our DND campaign.”
“What is a dee and dee?” Dimitri enunciates each letter with care.
“Dungeons and dragons. It’s a board game.” He’s no longer interested in answering questions, and his attention turns back to Ignatz in full. “Go on,” he encourages him.
Deep red floods Ignatz cheeks at the all encompassing attention. He looks down and scuffs the earth with his shoes as he answers. “No, I didn’t want to plan. Unless you did I mean?”
“I would never say no to more preparation,” Sylvain laughs. “Claude’s boss fights are impossible. He’s insane.”
“Wait,” Ingrid interrupts. “You play board games with Claude and Ignatz? Since when?”
“And Bernie too,” Sylvain tells her, but doesn’t otherwise answer her question. “I was looking at your spell list and I think I have an idea for cracking it, but we can talk later.” He pauses, a shyness taking over as he turns away and chuckles. “If you wanna talk later, I guess.”
“Yes!” Ignatz assures him too quickly. “If you want to…”
“Ha,” Sylvain scratches the back of his neck. “Cool cool cool. Sure. Okay, but what did you want to talk to me about? Got off track there.”
Ignatz hesitates, counting his breaths before finally working up the courage to forcefully shove his sketchbook into Sylvain’s hands. “I drew your oc!” he shouts at him.
“Goddess,” Ashe covers his mouth with his hands in shock. “He drew his oc…”
“You drew my oc?” Sylvain’s voice is waterlogged with emotion as he takes the sketchbook. Ignatz nods sharply, giving him the go ahead to look. With slow, loving care Sylvain opens the parchment to reveal the drawing.
It’s a quick sketch with simple coloring. A person who is clearly inspired by Sylvain beams on the page. He’s dressed in traditional cleric clothing, but there isn’t anything holy about him. His grin is wicked, only emphasized more by the dagger in his hand casually dripping purple poison.
“Why are you a monk?” Ingrid asks. At this point the entirety of the Blue Lions class is crowding around the pair.
“He’s not a monk,” Sylvain’s tone is far away, barely aware of the others surrounding him as he stares with loved filled eyes at the drawing before him. “He’s a rogue con man pretending to be a monk.”
Dedue nods. “The shading is excellent,” he compliments the art.
Neither Ignatz or Sylvain is listening. “Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” Ignatz apologizes.
“No, it’s perfect,” Sylvain assures him. “You have to draw yours too. What is Simeon the Swift Tongued without his trusty bard-barian companion, Idris?”
“Bard-barian?” Ignatz asks about the silly name in amusement.
“Half bard, half barbarian, all handsome,” Sylvain explains with a wink.
Annette pulls on Mercedes sleeve and whispers to her too loud and too urgent. “ The glow! He’s glowing! ”
She’s not wrong.