Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Garreg Mach never truly went quiet, not even at night. Such a large entity always needed something, somewhere, somehow, and her people were always on duty. At any point in the day, you ran the risk of running into someone in the middle of some important task, no matter where you went. It wasn't any different for Sylvain, who had walked the length and width of the entire monastery twice already that evening. He talked to several people during that time, and every conversation seemed to end the same way.

Felix had been first up, outside the training grounds.

"I didn't mean to flake on you, I swear."

"That's three days in a row."

"… I know, I know, it's just that I got caught up in reading at the library, and—"

"— You expect me to believe that? Forget it."

Felix was so pissed that he barely even stopped long enough to tell Sylvain off; at that point, he would sooner fight to the death than listen to anything Sylvain had to say. Not entirely unwarranted after being left waiting a few times.

Ingrid was at the stables, grooming horses. She frowned as soon as she saw him and pushed a brush into his hands. After being stuck helping out for half an hour, she finished up and left for something else. That was a complete bust.

He ran into Dorothea in the reception hall, dressed up for a dinner engagement. She confirmed being busy by denying his invitation. Bad idea, anyway. Dorothea would probably end up taking it the wrong way.

At the cathedral bridge, Mercedes came walking with the first genuine smile directed toward him in hours. She had sky watch duties and still asked him if everything was alright anyway, as a matter of course. There was no way he could ever hope to take up her time without receiving all the blame in the end. So, no, he was fine, instead offering to walk her to the stables. He didn't possess the power needed to keep her from being completely distracted, but the number of side trips required to fetch things she accidentally left behind could be counted on one hand. By the time she saddled up with Annette, the moon was already illuminating the land, full and bright.

But the brighter the moon, the deeper her shadows. Bernadetta appearing out of a darkened classroom startled the both of them. She had a wide-eyed stare and clutched a bag in front of her like a shield. They were not quite on conversation terms yet after the manuscript incident; perhaps they never would be. It was a shame. She was cute under those bangs, of course, but he also genuinely enjoyed her writing. Pushing it wouldn't help, though. He waved to her and kept going. As soon as he passed by, she sprinted off toward the dorms.

Sylvain kept walking. His breath came out in white puffs.

The cold bit his cheeks, penetrating through his uniform and settling deep in his bones. He would catch a serious chill if he stayed out much longer, but clear, cold nights like these were soothing, like applying a cooling balm to the mind. The winter cold was like a small piece of home, although the margravate would have already seen snowfall at this time of year.

Unfortunately, those thoughts didn't bring any long-lasting comfort, and Sylvain eventually went on to start his third loop around the monastery.

Right as praying to the Goddess for some sort of sign started to seem attractive, Dedue exited the Knight's Hall just ahead on the path. He said hello but didn't stop to chat. Following a sudden impulse, Sylvain deviated from his plotted course and walked after him.

The number of people in existence who could easily match Dedue's stride had to be small. The same could probably be said for his considerate nature. As soon as he noticed he was being followed, Dedue adjusted his walking speed so that Sylvain could easily catch up.

The few seconds before they started walking together, Sylvain picked out some lines to start a conversation. Greeting. Comment about cold nights. Reference to previous conversation. Joke. It would've filled the silence, but the words died in his throat. Forcing out the same kind of meaningless script he used on so many people every day lost its appeal as quickly as a pretty cake surrounded by flies. As a result, nothing was said between them until they entered the arcade leading to the Officers Academy.

Dedue looked his way occasionally, probably curious about the silence. Their pace seemed to be gradually slowing as well. The next time Dedue glanced over, Sylvain turned to him with a smile.

"Dedue, are you into girls at all? Not that you have to be or anything. I'm just curious."

"I've dedicated my life to serving His Highness."

Sylvain bit back a chuckle at the matter-of-fact answer.

"Sure, but I meant, do you ever think about anyone else?"

A brief silence followed.

"Sylvain. Are you into girls?"

The counter-question managed to give him pause, if only because of how unexpected it was.

"Sorry to have to break it to you, but yeah, I am."

"It doesn't seem that way to me."

That was a new one. Sylvain missed the opportunity to make a comeback because he was trying to determine exactly what Dedue was getting at. Not that he would have been insulted by implications. The issue was rather that he couldn't tell if Dedue was serious or trying to tease him. Was he even capable of teasing anyone in earnest? It was difficult to imagine. 

The lull in their already short conversation stretched on as they left the garden area, and the dorms spread out before them. Sylvain abandoned his line of thought before it veered off too far in the wrong direction.

"What about… well, marriage? Having kids someday? Is that something you think about?"

Sylvain spoke more quietly, and Dedue seemed to follow the slight shift in tone naturally.

"I wouldn't consider it a priority in my future, but the idea has crossed my mind."

"… Would you still feel the same if you didn't serve His Highness? ..." Sylvain realized the futility of that question as soon as he said it, backtracking before Dedue had a chance to reply. "… No, don't answer that. Stupid question. Forget about it." He paused, then spoke mostly to himself. "Maybe there really are people who can't be replaced."

Dedue turned to face him fully as they stopped a few paces from his door. His eyes had always concealed depths far beyond what his dutiful, thoughtful behavior suggested. A lot of things prevented people from seeing that depth. Most of it came down to ignorance, willful or not, or prejudice. Sylvain was no saint free of those kinds of flaws, but he wasn't one to avert his eyes… usually.

"Are you…" Dedue hesitated, searching for the right words. "Is Miklan’s end still on your mind?"

A particular feeling had started creeping up his spine. It was the feeling of looking into someone's eyes and actually being seen in turn.

Sylvain looked away and laughed.

"What? Where did you get that idea? I was just making conversation, that's all."

Dedue seemed a bit out of his depth, but he was still able to swim well enough. He opened his mouth to say something else. Sylvain quickly interrupted him.

"— Well, it's late, and it's freezing out. Goodnight, Dedue. See you tomorrow."

The thoughtful expression on Dedue’s face smoothed out into something closer to his usual stoic one, and he nodded.

"Goodnight."

Sylvain watched Dedue enter his room, then turned away and headed for the second floor dorm.

This entire evening served as adequate proof of what he had already come to accept: the uglier side of the Gautier family situation was not something other people needed to see, because when they did, everything he did and said developed an unpleasant aftertaste. The strange, pitying looks, the awkward questions, or worse… the implication that he became the person he was because of his awful brother, and that he should keep striving to “rise above” such behavior. No, the only thing Sylvain still felt for his brother was pity. He learned to turn off the anger a long time ago. If he hadn’t, he might have turned out a very different kind of person.

The people around him were better off forgetting about it and moving on, too.

But even as he climbed the stairs to the second-floor dormitory, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that there were people around him able to see a lot more than he was willing to show.

At the first landing, Sylvain peered down the hallway. One or two doors had some faint light seeping out from underneath, indicating that the occupant was still awake. The rest were dark and quiet. Someone was snoring, probably Ferdinand. He removed his boots, quietly padded to his own room at the very end of the hallway, and grasped the door handle to slowly push it down. That turned out to be a mistake. He'd been so pleased about going unnoticed he forgot that the locking mechanism badly needed some oil. It gave off a scraping, creaking noise, and he cringed.

Seconds later, Dimitri peered out of the neighboring room and, upon seeing Sylvain, stepped into the hallway.

The Crown Prince of Faerghus had dressed down for the evening, missing his armor and cloak.

"Sylvain… it’s nearly midnight."

“I know,” Sylvain said with an easy smile. “You’re back from the training grounds so early tonight.”

“Don’t try to turn this back on me.” Dimitri shook his head. "I need to have a word with you."

He pushed the door open a little farther, inviting Sylvain inside. The gesture was firm, and it seemed inevitable. Sylvain shrugged lightly, leaving his boots on the floor.

"As you wish, Your Highness."

Dimitri closed the door behind them, then turned to Sylvain with a questioning look.

"You weren't in your room when I checked earlier."

"Well, I'm here now," Sylvain smiled. Inwardly, he sighed. Time for yet another reassurance that he wasn't wasting his youth away. "What do you need? "

"I had a question about your father's territory, but… let's leave that for later," Dimitri shook his head. "I may well be wasting my time asking what you were doing. Yet, I find myself hoping for a reasonable explanation."

"What was I doing? …"

Keeping the smile and the light tone up quickly became tedious. Of all the times His Highness Dimitri could have chosen to interrogate him about his activities, it had to be the one night he did absolutely nothing wrong at all. Nothing. Not a thing.

"I was reading at the library. You can ask Annette if you don't believe me." He paused. "… If she even noticed I was there in the first place. She had her nose buried in a tome for hours. Isn't she cute when she does that?"

Dimitri, of course, ignored the question.

"Reading? … You were studying?"

"We made a deal, remember? I'm putting more effort in."

He wouldn't need to go over his whole evening because those were the magic words. The effect of the spell was immediate, drawing a slight smile out of Dimitri.

"That is what I wanted to hear." Dimitri's smile stayed but turned slightly rueful. "I've hardly seen you at all outside of class for a week. I was starting to think that you were hiding from the consequences of some unwholesome action. Honestly, hearing nothing at all is more disturbing than half the rumors floating around."

Standing eye to eye, Sylvain could confirm what he'd been observing from a distance for the past few months. The shadows under Dimitri's eyes had been growing darker. Obviously, he had to deal with a lot of pressure, and somehow, it seemed like Sylvain was still a contributing factor to that. One would think that a week's worth of (mostly) good behavior on Sylvain's part would make Dimitri delighted, but he called it disturbing.

"There's a reason, I promise. It's just not that exciting," Sylvain said, half-forcing a smile.

"That's fine. I still want to hear it." Dimitri crossed his arms, waiting.

The final vestiges of Sylvain's smile fell. He didn't feel like keeping it up anymore.

"… I'm not doing anything that's going to make you look bad for knowing me, Your Highness."

Dimitri frowned, no doubt picking up on Sylvain's change of mood.

"That isn't what I—"

Sylvain interrupted him with a pointed sigh.

"Listen, this is really tiring. I know you expect more of me. I get it already, so give me a break. I want to go to bed."

This wasn't really the sort of tone Sylvain liked to take with anyone, least of all his friends, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. Dimitri seemed surprised, perhaps even a little bit flustered, then he frowned again.

"All I want is to see you do better, but… you're right, I have already said everything that needs to be said." He paused. "At the very least, do something about the way you dress."

Sylvain glanced down at himself. No matter how he looked at it, he was wearing an academy uniform.

"Excuse me? What's wrong with my uniform?"

"—I… nothing, that’s not what I meant to say," Dimitri took Sylvain's hands to hold them up in the space between them. His fingertips were bright red. "If you must roam around at night, in winter, at least wear a coat and gloves."

The initial strength of his grip softened almost right away, and while he wasn’t exactly gentle, his hands were warm and not half as rough as they looked. Without the barrier of gauntlets or gloves, fingertips softly pressed into Sylvain’s palms. He was strong, able to summon a truly crushing grip if he wanted to, but he was making an obvious, deliberate effort to not be forceful. It felt intimate in ways Sylvain wasn't used to. The sensation came unbidden, prompting him to draw away and put his hands behind his back. Dimitri awkwardly let his hands fall to his sides, a little surprised by Sylvain’s sudden retreat.

Stupid. What was he so self-conscious for?

Dimitri didn’t have to touch him to make a point, but he seemed to want to impress on Sylvain that his concern was sincere. And that was… somewhat endearing, enough to contend with the annoyance he felt and wasn’t ready to give up on yet.

"… I’ll be more careful, I promise. So," he said, relaxing himself intentionally. "What was that question you had?”

“Ah… yes.” Dimitri retrieved a thin book from his desk and opened up a marked page with topographical information. “This location is marked inconsistently on several maps. Is it a waypoint? A fort?”

Sylvain recognized the area at a glance.

“Oh, that. It’s a fort, but it hasn’t been needed for a while. Since we’ve had a bit of a problem with bandits making claims on places,” Sylvain said, looking back down at the page to avoid Dimitri’s gaze. “I suggested to father that we give it minimal upkeep and use it as a relay point for supplies headed north.”

“I see. That sounds like a good idea.” Dimitri nodded and closed the book.

“We’ll see if it’s a good idea or not. It might be too out of the way to bother with.” Sylvain shrugged, but he smiled. The uncomfortable mood had been disposed of, and it was finally time to shift this conversation to a natural end. “I’ve got a question, now. I don’t have anyone to dance with at the ball in a few weeks, and I don’t think you do either…”

“… Where are you going with this?” Dimitri was wary.

"I could show you some good places to meet girls tomorrow. Considering what happened last time, I shouldn't let you go alone, but…"

"No, thank you. We’ve been over this already. How do you always turn the conversation toward—"

"—Who you are going to dance with? I wouldn't mind, if I get to dance with other people as well."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Sylvain."

Dimitri was exercising patience, but his expression was getting increasingly strained. 

"At least think about it, Your Highness. It'll be a good memory."

"It might be possible to have too many good memories."

Well, that stung a little bit, but the offer was made in jest, and that sort of thing was expressed to him in less tactful ways all the time. He laughed it off and said goodnight, leaving Dimitri to think whatever he wanted to think.

Immediately in the doorway to his room, he stopped. A candle was already lit in its holder on the bedside table. The lone light gave off a sense of foreboding, but he entered and closed the door anyway.

His bed was made. His clothes were folded. The books and papers on his desk and the sideboard were neatly arranged in proper order. He quickly changed into his nightclothes and pulled the covers back but stopped short of getting in bed. His letter opener laid conspicuously in the sheets. Its blade rested on the edge of the pillow, and the handle pointed to the foot of the bed. It was like someone tucked it in.

There was an ominous gleam to the sharp blade in the candlelight. Slowly, Sylvain picked it up and put it away in an empty desk drawer. He blew out the candle and went to bed.

The Blue Lions' classroom was quiet at the moment, excepting the occasional whisper or mumbled comment. Professor Byleth smoothly drew up a diagram on the blackboard. The topic had been the historical battle of Gronder, or more specifically, the movements of troops on both sides.

Sylvain spun his pencil in his hand while staring at some uneven detail in the classroom ceiling.

"Pay attention." Ingrid elbowed him lightly in the side.

The pencil flopped away from his thumb and started rolling over the desk. He caught it before it fell over the edge.

"I was," he muttered, glancing at Ingrid, but she already turned away from him to stare at some fixed point in front of her. She had been like that all morning. He wondered if it was her way of getting back at him for embarrassing her in a completely new way earlier that morning.

Sylvain happened to oversleep a bit, and predictably, Ingrid came to drag him out of bed. Except this time, he was already up and in the middle of getting dressed when she barged in. Even so, she stubbornly stood by in his room — turned the other way, of course, for propriety's sake — and asked him about a scar on his leg. He asked her when she started paying that close attention to his legs but the only response he got was silence. As soon as he was dressed, she bodily dragged him to class. His punishment for not feeling like bringing up that time he was pushed down a well was to receive little jabs in class at regular intervals, whether or not it was needed.

The professor resumed talking, and Sylvain's gaze resumed wandering until they landed on a sheet of notes next to Annette. A formula he recognized was hastily written down next to some other problem she had been working on, but a couple of the numbers were off. Seeing how she was distracted pointing out a passage in her book to Ashe, he discreetly reached over to correct the numbers… and the proper name of the formula as well, for good measure. As soon as he had finished that, and the timing was a little too good to be an accident, Professor Byleth called on him.

"What do you think, Sylvain?"

Most of the class looked his way. Some curious, some clearly more interested in what Byleth had been saying. He glanced to the blackboard. The diagram showed positions of the Academy classes during this year's Battle of the Eagle and Lion, rather than the troops of history. Sylvain cleared his throat.

"Well, being stuck keeping Lorenz from taking the central hill for most of the battle isn't an experience I'd want to repeat."

"Lorenz charged in very early, and you met him at a vantage point with a view overlooking the battlefield. What is your opinion on how the battle developed from that point?"

Professor Byleth wasn't about to let him off easy today, but it wasn't out of malice. Those earnest, blue eyes were so unfair. It was true that he could follow the flow of battle from the central hill, and the professor knew it. He was left with no choice but to actually participate in class.

"We won in the end, but trying to juggle both sides at the same time wasn't a good idea. Pressing the Golden Deer together with the Black Eagles would've made things go a lot more smoothly."

"Working together?" Ingrid finally looked his way, but she didn't seem any more relaxed. "No matter what, it's still a three-way battle. Making an ally only to fight them later doesn't seem right to me."

Across from Anette, Ashe agreed with her.

"I think so, too. We could've hung back and let them engage each other first."

"— That's the same as letting them gang up on us, instead," Sylvain put the pencil down. "It's a pitched battle. Everyone already knows what's going on. I'm no tactician, but… Isn't that the best-case scenario for working together?…"

Dimitri was watching him thoughtfully across the middle aisle of desks. Sylvain really wasn't a tactician, but he did know how to chain an effective follow-up.

"... It's a competition with one winner, sure, but it's not a life-or-death scenario,” he said, while accidentally making brief eye contact with Dimitri. “Isn't it fine for the strategy to reflect the stakes?"

"That’s true," Dimitri said, nodding slowly. "You make a good point. I can tell you’ve thought about this."

A second passed in silence, and then another one. No one seemed to have anything to add after Dimitri supported his point, which he had done with a note of approval in his eyes. Then Mercedes clasped her hands together, drawing the attention to herself with her soft, sweet voice.

"I think that sounds like a very open and honest way to battle, wouldn't you say, Professor?"

Byleth nodded, turned back to the blackboard, and resumed speaking.

"Pitched battle scenarios are distinct from other types of battles in that the time and place are established beforehand in some manner. With that in mind…"

After listening for a little while, Sylvain noticed he was being stared at from across the room, but as soon as he made eye contact, Felix turned away.

The lesson continued, paced with a few more discussions here and there. Sylvain only paid attention about half the time. Words blurred together. Sitting still was a chore. The next time Annette looked away, he took the opportunity to draw a cute little picture of her next to her notes. She didn't notice, but Ashe did, and he didn't say anything. As soon as the lesson ended, Sylvain was out of his seat and leaving. Behind him, Annette gasped.

"Who scribbled on my notes? Ashe!?"

He left without hearing the end of that drama.

As Professor Byleth had summons to attend to, classes were canceled for the rest of the day. Technically it was free study time, but the difference between free study and study-free was paper-thin. Sylvain was looking forward to spending his time on humanities, as it were. He planned to invite Mercedes for lunch. Or Ingrid, if the idea of his flesh had ceased repelling her. Or Dorothea, if she was free and feeling generous with her time… or anyone who would say yes, really.

Five minutes later, he found himself having a quiet meal sitting across from Dedue instead. As a pair of early lunch-havers, they had the whole table to themselves. It was peaceful, not the kind of awkward silence making people scramble to find something to talk about. They acknowledged each other's presence, and then they ate.

Sylvain appreciated having a little bit of time to think. Specifically, he thought about the conversation they had the night before. He pushed the last few bites of his food around on the plate for a bit before putting the fork down with a sigh. Dedue looked up. Sylvain leaned in a bit, and gestured for his table mate to do the same. Catching this, Dedue leaned forward as well. Sylvain spoke quietly as if sharing something in confidence.

"Could you do me a small favor? …"

Glancing over Dedue’s shoulder, he spotted Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe entering the dining hall. They seemed to lock on to Sylvain and Dedue immediately, and he promptly lost his nerve.

"… Last night, I said whatever popped into my head. I really didn't mean anything by it, so just forget about all of it, okay?"

"It wasn't anything that bothered me, but… I won't mention it, then."

"Thanks," Sylvain said, smiling. "… You're a really great guy, Dedue. I've been thinking that for a while."

Did he imagine a crack in Dedue's veneer? … No, the corners of his mouth curved into a small smile of his own. It brightened his features in a way Sylvain had never really seen before. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true; he had seen Dedue smile like that when tending to the plant nursery in the greenhouse. It was enough to make anyone's stomach flutter unless they were a completely heartless person. This was yet a tiny bit different, though. There was some shyness to it, like he was just about to deflect a compliment. They never got that far before their classmates came to join them.

More and more people arrived to eat, filling the dining hall with lively conversation. Sylvain finished up his meal and left. Someone would take his empty seat soon enough.

Marianne and Hilda occupied a spot beside the courtyard path, practically in a huddle. Both girls had dejected, slumped shoulders, but Hilda's expression was tinged with irritation. The tactful, polite thing to do would be to leave them alone. Sylvain wasn't widely known to be deterred by such ideas when clearing that gloom was surely possible.

"Hello, ladies! You're looking lovely as always," he said while slowing to a stop. "No, perhaps even more lovely than usual?"

Hilda perked up immediately and giggled.

"Hello back, handsome!" She clasped her hands behind her back.

"Hello…" Marianne looked up at him briefly. Her voice was barely above a whisper. The faint smile on her lips, a sun peeking through the clouds. It was only a small peek though, as she quickly resumed staring down at her feet.

Both of them smiled, not just Hilda. It reassured him that there probably wasn't anything troubling them too deeply at the moment. Most likely, Hilda simply failed to convince someone else to do her chores for once. And since that was the case…

"If you're free, maybe the three of us could sit down and chat somewhere…?"

"— I'm so sorry, Sylvain. Marianne and I were about to go clean the shelves in the library," Hilda bounced idly on the balls of her feet. The movement made her long, glossy hair gather around her shoulders. "It's going to be tough with just the two of us."

"By yourselves? That's a lot of work. Want me to help? We could go have some tea and snacks together when it's all done."

Sylvain didn't pay too much attention to the people passing by. Still, he noticed Hilda's gaze flickering behind him several times while he spoke. There was a subtle change to her expression, almost like a twitch.

"Thank you! But aren't you busy already?"

"I'm not busy at all today, actually," he said, tempted to turn around and see what she had been seeing. Instead, he put on his best smile. "To be honest, I'm never too busy for you two."

"No, I really think you're too busy today…" Hilda maintained her smile, but she looked moments away from laughter.

The meaning behind Hilda's demeanor clarified as a person walking up behind him took a firm hold of his shoulder. Sylvain looked over, expecting to see Ingrid, Dimitri, or even Seteth happening to pass by, ready to admonish him for daring to bother two innocent girls with conversation.

"She's right," Felix said, starting to push him back onto the path and forward. "You're coming with me right now."

“Uh, hey, Felix,” he chuckled. “Can’t the four of us—?”

He was silenced by another firm push and gave up resisting. Instinct told him that it would be a bad idea to make Felix mad again so soon.

"Good luck!" Hilda called out after them.

Felix was the one who responded.

"Don't need it," he said, and Hilda laughed.

Sylvain looked behind him, feeling like he was missing something. Hilda had already turned away, but Marianne gave him a little wave of goodbye. It was so unexpected he nearly tripped over himself. Felix used that opportunity to grab Sylvain by the wrist and drag him that way instead.

"So… does this mean you forgive me?" Sylvain played up the hopeful tone in his voice.

Felix threw him a brief look, and it was a look he knew well. Most people seemed to interpret it as hostility. Sylvain had a different perspective due to his many years of experience as a childhood friend. It meant Felix decided that whatever argument they had before didn't matter anymore because something else had his attention. And since it was Felix, it wasn't that hard to guess what he was thinking about. They were headed straight for the training grounds with no room for deviation. Once they arrived at the near-empty grounds, Felix beelined to grab them a pair of practice swords from a rack.

He thrust one of the swords into Sylvain's hands but didn't let go right away.

"I heard what you were saying about the Battle of the Eagle and Lion."

"The whole class heard what I said, but it's nice to know you weren't ignoring me."

"I meant I agreed with you. An honest fight would've been better."

"Mercedes was the one calling it honest… but I'll take it. You never agree with me."

"The point is…" Felix let go of the sword. "Don't hold back on me. I want to see what you've been working on."

"Working on? Pretty sure I've been going out most nights for a while now."

"You haven't been going out with any of your girlfriends, though. You've been getting private lessons."

"… I think there's a different term for that kind of lesson. Not that I'd know."

Felix rolled his eyes.

"Very funny, dumbass. I'm talking about swordsmanship."

"Private lessons in swordsmanship? That doesn't sound like me at all. Regular practice is enough for me."

Sylvain balanced his practice sword by the pommel in his palm, gave it a light toss straight up, and caught it with a bit of flourish. As soon as he finished, he realized that casually showing off probably wasn't helping. Felix observed the whole thing very keenly, not in the least bit dissuaded.

"You haven't been getting these from regular practice," he said, grabbing Sylvain's wrist to turn his hand over and reveal the state of it. Contrary to his statement, his hands were becoming noticeably callused. "Practice weapons don't give that kind of grit. Real ones do."

Felix was sharp enough to notice the smallest of changes and terribly persistent in pursuing an explanation if it interested him. Naturally, of all the things he could have decided to act on, of course it had to be the idea of Sylvain possibly improving his sword game. That was, if a bit tiresome, at least in the same general category as cute.

"You owe me this," Felix continued, frowning at him.

The undertone of disappointment in his words came with a sharp and sudden pang of guilt. Sylvain had intended to, essentially, pass the time going along with it. Physical activity was a great way to loosen the mind, after all. It might end up helping him think. Felix wouldn't let him get away with taking it that lightly this time, though. That much became evident with his tone of voice.

And besides, he was right. Sylvain did owe him after avoiding him without any good excuses at the ready.

"Sure, we can spar a bit. I feel bad for making you miss me that much."

Felix's frown deepened. He dropped into a fighting stance, and responding in kind was all Sylvain could do to avoid a sudden sword swipe. Felix's speed made it a near thing, but stepping back felt unusually easy and smooth, like the earth was moving for him.

Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. Felix's immediate follow-up went for Sylvain's unprotected left side. This one he had to parry, locking their swords crossguard to crossguard. Sylvain's position was slightly unbalanced, and he felt immediately that momentum would win out over advantages like height. Felix had a focused expression. His muscles tensed, intending to push Sylvain back and finish him off. Their bout would be almost embarrassingly short if Sylvain didn't think fast. So he did what he always did to regain control of the situation: wielded a smile, which was his most polished weapon.

"Am I in trouble?" Sylvain said, using the same low voice he reserved for third dates. Despite the strain, the words came out steady and even. If that didn't work, nothing would.

Felix's eyes widened, then narrowed. He hesitated visibly in response to the composed reaction. Momentum got shaved off, delaying the push, which gave Sylvain enough time to re-center his balance. He grabbed the sword hilt with both hands and made a half-pivot to the side. Felix was forced to take a step forward, past Sylvain, or lose his balance. An unskilled fighter would have kept stumbling forward and left themselves open. Felix caught himself and spun around expecting to counter, only to face Sylvain's palm mere inches from his face.

With the training sword in his left, non-dominant hand, his right was free to wield magic. Instinctively, Felix flinched back from the Fire spell… but nothing worse than sparks and hot air came his way. Sylvain was never going to launch off a full spell in someone's face like that; the point was that he could have. His recent extracurricular dance lessons, which did occasionally involve swords, did wonders for his footwork. Surprisingly enough, they seemed to be on equal footing… if you didn’t count the fact that Sylvain was already getting winded while Felix was far from even breaking a sweat.

He drew back with a playful wink. He didn't even have to affect it, since he was actually enjoying himself.

And then, for a moment, a mere short moment, he thought he was looking into the face of someone who wasn't Felix. His eyes seemed a different color that reflected his own. They were full of bitterness, sneering at him under the noonday sun. Sylvain froze, but the image was already gone, replaced by Felix making his next swing.

Sylvain's grip on the sword had become too slack and when he tried to block, it flew out of his hands. He stumbled mid-movement and somehow got confused about where his feet were at, blundering right into Felix who wasn't prepared to catch him.

Their duel ended on the ground.

He moved off of Felix, blinking a few times to clear his vision.

"What the hell was that?" Felix said, standing up and giving Sylvain a hand as well.

"Sorry, I… thought I saw someone…?"

Felix turned to look behind him. Predictably, there was no one there.

"You... thought you saw someone."

"I guess I must have imagined it..."

He did his best to sound casual and keep a straight face, but he didn’t need a mirror to know he was blushing furiously. That part was a lot worse than tripping and falling over. Even Felix seemed awkward about it, giving him a quiet stare.

"Let's go again,” Felix said eventually, picking up their swords. “Without the stumbling and the bad excuses.”

“Heh, that hurts, Felix.”

The grace and flow he possessed earlier weren't there anymore. A stitch in his side or mild queasiness from having eaten recently would have been understandable, but this was different. His racing heart wouldn’t settle down. There was a vague, off feeling in his limbs, like everything was a tiny bit closer or farther away than he expected. Still, he kept it up a while longer until eventually, after a short back and forth, he tripped again.

Out of nowhere, Felix asked if he snuck some wine. He denied that ever happening, and there was no reason to lie about it. If he was going to have a drink stronger than tea, he wouldn't do that in the middle of a school day, in a monastery, surrounded by responsible adults. That meant he had no excuses, though. Felix called him useless, and although he seemed frustrated, he wasn't angry. All he said was they would continue when Sylvain wasn't so distracted.

Sylvain was frustrated, too. He had been doing well. He actually wanted to keep going. However, he was already starting to feel worn out. Instead, he ended up sitting to the side half spaced out, watching Felix go through his routine.

What was that he saw before? A mirage? Waking dream? His own eyes playing tricks on him? It had to be one of those, because Felix definitely looked like himself and no one else. Not knowing made him nervous about looking away, afraid that something would change again. Nothing like that happened. He was so busy thinking about it he didn’t notice Mercedes showing up until she tapped his shoulder.

She’d been looking for him, she said, to pay him back for his patience walking with her the previous night. He tried to tell her it was fine, but she insisted. After saying bye to Felix, she took him for a little walk. She had it all planned out. First, to the market for ingredients. Then to the dining hall kitchens, so she could bake him a tray of cookies from start to finish. The reason? They always made people the happiest when they were still warm from the oven, and Sylvain looked like he needed something to perk him up. And her efforts did bear fruit. Despite feeling out of it and having a lacking appetite, his mood improved. 

That good mood lasted until he returned to his room.

Everything was the way he'd left it, except for one thing. There was a vase by the window with some kind of dark purple bell-like flowers he wasn't familiar with. Sylvain stared at the vase from across the room, assailed by an uneasy feeling. Following some instinct he couldn't really trace, he went to open the drawer he put the letter opener in the previous night. There were two objects inside, only one of which he placed there himself. The first was the letter opener. The second was a letter. One passage was carefully circled with green ink. He didn't have to read it to know what it said, but he did so anyway.

"—even considering the circumstances, your mother and I have been exceedingly patient with your behavior. However, I am not trying to punish you. All I wish is for you to give the matter proper, careful consideration. While the decision lies with you, we will discuss this in person, and I will not permit a flippant answer."

The envelope to the letter lay innocently on top of the desk. He dropped the letter into the drawer and slammed it shut. Reality seemed to blur in the edge of his vision, making him dizzy. He pulled out a chair, sat down at the desk, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply for a while. Once the sensation of the floor moving on its own under his feet subsided, he opened his eyes and sighed, looking over at the vase of flowers. They were starting to wilt, since there was no water in the vase. He turned back to his desk and grabbed a blank piece of paper. On it, he wrote:

"V, I know it's you. This is a really roundabout way to let me know you'd like to talk. Make this the last time you sneak into my dorm room. Let's meet up at the usual spot tomorrow night instead. My treat."

Sylvain placed the note in the desk drawer with the other two things, and then it was time to step out again. Sitting around in his room while waiting for the intended recipient would defeat the purpose of leaving a note in the first place. It shouldn't be too hard to keep himself occupied somewhere else for a couple of hours.

Chapter Text

As Sylvain left the dining hall and headed for the stairs, a slowly building woozy sensation started taking hold of him, culminating in intense vertigo as he looked down the steps. Descending stone stairs seemed like a bad idea at the moment. He crouched down and sighed, thinking he could wait it out. A minute passed without him feeling any better. Instead, he was starting to feel nauseous. His body resisted getting up with every fiber of his being, so instead, he sat down on the top step.

The hours of the evening had gone on, and he started gradually feeling worse. It took the short trip to the stairs on his way back to the dorm for him to realize just how bad it had gotten. He'd been so slow and off his game, he didn't even realize he forgot to ask those girls he chatted with for their names, even though they'd been there until the dining hall closed. They even laughed at his jokes. Maybe even genuinely. They had a decent time.

The dining hall was so close behind him. Waiting in there would be a lot more comfortable, but he wasn't desperate enough to crawl. He leaned his cheek against the stone wall and closed his eyes, hoping that the cold would wake him up a bit…

… only to immediately jump back awake when someone said his name.

A large figure hastily climbed the stairs up to him. He quickly realized it was just Dedue.

"Oh, hey," Sylvain said with a smile.

"I saw you from the greenhouse." Dedue looked him up and down quickly. There was a look of concern on his face, and mild puzzlement. "Why are you sitting here?"

"Because…" Sylvain started, but he couldn't think of anything good to say. "It's easier than getting up."

"I thought something was off..."

"— So you came rushing over to see if I'm alright?"

"Yes. You don't look well." 

"Yeah, I… I feel pretty awful, actually… Could you give me a hand?"

Dedue took Sylvain's outstretched hand and helped him up. It was very much needed. The sudden altitude change nearly made his vision white out entirely. He planted one hand on the railing and looked up at Dedue with a smile.

"As I thought, you really are the nicest guy. I wish Felix was as nice as you."

"… I don't think anyone with a conscience would have left you here in the state you're in right now."

"I can think of a few people who would…"

Dedue put his arm around Sylvain's shoulders to support him. It was a warm, comforting gesture.

"Those people are not here. I'll walk you to your room."

Maybe it would be okay to lean on him a bit.

"Actually… um, hold on…" Sylvain started checking his pockets, eventually finding the folded up note he'd been carrying around all day. "Could you, uh… just hold on to this for me, for a few days? It's, well… a letter from home about an arrangement my parents wanted me to… think over, but… I've also been seeing this absolutely amazing girl lately, and if she sees it, she might get upset…"

Glancing up, he could see a note of understanding in Dedue's expression.

"She must be important to you."

"… Y-yeah, very." Sylvain managed to summon a small laugh. Unfortunately, it was so fake an appraiser could have identified it all the way from Fódlan's Locket. "I can't decide on a whim. I want to see how things go."

"Then I'll hold on to it for you, for now," Dedue said, carefully taking the letter from Sylvain to place it in his own jacket pocket, without taking a closer look at it.

Sylvain breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, that means a lot. It really does. I'm kind of useless right now, but just let me know if you ever need anything. I'll definitely pay you back."

"There's no need to repay me. I'm only doing what I was asked."

"Hm?" Sylvain blinked in confusion.

"His Highness wanted me to look out for you when I can. He'd be glad to hear you're giving an important matter proper consideration."

A thorn of irritation pierced through Sylvain's mellowing mood. With a small smile, he suppressed the urge to call Dimitri a busybody (and possibly something even less flattering).

"You can tell him that I, uh…"

Before him, the moonlit view of the pond seemed to ooze and warp. Unfamiliar fuzziness invaded his vision. He rubbed his eyes, hoping to clear them. In a sense, it worked. He realized it was snowing. That must've confused his tired eyes, somehow. The next thing he realized was that the world started tilting ever so slightly. Dedue caught him before he could fully slide out of his grip.

"Sylvain…?" Dedue helped him straighten up. The amount of concern in his voice was increasing.

"… I'll take that walk back to my room," he mumbled. "Can I do stairs right now? … Yeah, probably, no problem."

Walking turned out to be a bit easier when he closed his eyes and let Dedue lead, taking one step at a time. That worked out until they reached the next set of stairs, in the dorm. For some reason, the steps kept moving away from his feet. They barely managed two steps up before Sylvain almost toppled the both of them over while trying to put his feet down correctly.

"I'm fine, it's because the steps keep moving. As soon as they stop, I'll…" He went silent for a good few seconds. "That… doesn't make any sense… right? Everything keeps moving, though. Ugh, I feel sick."

Dedue watched him with trepidation but held on, seeming wary that he would start throwing up any moment. Luckily, he was able to endure the unpleasant feeling. Worse yet, he was so thirsty, his throat so dry, he started slurring his words.

"… I think I'd better carry you," Dedue said, frowning.

"Wait, uh…" Sylvain swallowed, fumbling for words. "What… what would Dimitri say if he saw that?"

"His Highness would have made the same offer," he said firmly. "I don't want to disturb his rest, but if you'd prefer to have him carry you…"

"That's a terrible idea," Sylvain said, throwing a glance to the top of the stairs, half expecting Dedue's words to have somehow summoned Dimitri over there. "... He really would do it, and then I'd never hear the end of it… he already told me to… take better care of… myself… um…"

While it couldn't be said that Dedue picked him up effortlessly, Sylvain wasn't short or light by any means, it still seemed a little too easy. It was also disorienting to his already dizzy mind, but once his head stopped spinning, there were three things he came to realize. The first thing was that a difference in height of about half a foot was a lot more substantial than he thought. The second thing was that he probably had a lot more in common with girls who liked to be swept off their feet than he'd ever assumed. The third thing was that he should probably be quiet about those first two things or it might get awkward.

"There's no need to be embarrassed," Dedue said with a small smile. "No one else is here."

"Um, yeah... thanks, Dedue." He felt oddly small.

A door opened on the first landing, and steps approached from one of the rooms closest to the stairs. Sylvain felt dread mounting. For one short moment, he considered putting his head down on Dedue's shoulder and pretending to be asleep. But then he reconsidered. No one should care if he looked a bit silly, Sylvain least of all. It was a privilege to be helped by Dedue, after all.

"Stop chatting out here," Ingrid appeared around the corner, in slippers, her hair in a pair of braids over her shoulders, and a robe over her nightclothes. "What time do you think it is…"

She stopped at the top of the landing at the sight of Dedue carrying Sylvain bridal-style.

"Oops, looks like you caught us," Sylvain said, smiling while putting his arms around Dedue's neck.

"Sylvain…" Dedue had to adjust his grip on him due to the movement.

She stared down at them, then started descending with determined steps. He couldn't focus his vision well enough to determine if she was actually angry while she came down the stairs.

"Hey, you look great with your hair like that, Ingrid," Sylvain said with all the cheer he could muster. Which wasn't much, at least by his standards.

"Dedue, is he drunk?" Ingrid stopped beside them.

"Drunk?" Sylvain stared at her, confused. "Funny, Felix asked that earlier today, too. I'm not, though…"

"He doesn't smell like alcohol," Dedue shook his head. "I found him like this outside the dining hall."

"—That's right. I had tea with two really cute girls. That's all, I swear."

"You carried him here?" Ingrid looked at Dedue with a frown.

"No, I walked him here, but I couldn't get him up the stairs. I was going to bring him to his room," Dedue added. "He seems feverish."

"Ingrid… you believe me, right?"

"Who were these girls, Sylvain?"

Her frown was smoothing out into a neutral expression, more or less, but her tone was a bit… off. Sylvain decided against making any jokes.

"I think they said they were initiates…?"

"You didn't know them?"

"Not really."

She asked Dedue if he had seen them, and he replied in the negative. She thought for a moment.

"What did you drink?"

"Just tea… Wait," Sylvain smiled, although it came out a bit lopsided. "You're not thinking they slipped me something, are you?"

She seemed to ignore Sylvain's inquiry, reaching up while giving Dedue a meaningful look. He bent awkwardly at the waist so she could put the back of her hand to Sylvain's forehead.

"No… You do have a fever," she concluded with a sigh, then looked up at Dedue with a nod, and he straightened up. To say that those two had their differences would be putting it mildly, but they seemed to be of one mind in this matter. "Let's get him to bed."

Sylvain was in a deep, blissfully dreamless sleep. The sort of sleep that tucks you in lovingly and then keeps you under whether you like it or not. Waking up from that kind of sleep was like emerging from a dark pit. An uneasy feeling buzzed throughout his limbs, all of them heavy as lead. Some kind of noise had roused him, which he couldn't quite identify until it sounded again. It was the sound of his squeaky lock turning, followed by the slow, drawn-out creak of the door handle being pushed down.

Opening his eyes proved to be a struggle. Not that it helped; he was in darkness. But he could hear soft footsteps moving across the floor. Fabric rustled right next to his ear, and he became more awake immediately. They stopped, he heard a soft click, and the candle on his nightstand was lit. He pretended to still be asleep.

The intruder stood still for a few seconds, then moved away. Sylvain opened his eyes and carefully turned his head to look. The person was turned away, standing at his desk, the flickering candlelight suggesting a cloak and shoulder-length dark hair. They opened the desk drawer, seemed about to place something inside, but stopped to regard the contents for a moment. Finally, his sluggish mind processed just who he was looking at.

She read the note he left. And then laughed. A soft, light laugh.

Sylvain propped himself up on his elbows, and even lifting his own body that much was about all he could manage. She noticed, looked up from the note, and turned his way. A pair of steely grey eyes met his.

Chestnut hair framed a face so pale the skin may as well have been translucent. She was somewhere in her thirties, and the fine lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes suggested a mirthful life.

He cleared his throat. It was still so dry, his voice came out raspy.

"Hey, don't laugh. I mean it. It's my treat."

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you," she said, with her husky, almost whispered voice. It was unusual but had a honeyed quality to it. Sylvain would have recognized her anywhere.

"I wasn't expecting to see you on the surface again so soon, Visca," he said, trying to sound casual.

"Life races by so quickly, doesn't it?" Visca pulled up a chair to sit by the bedside, placing the candle on the nightstand. Her lips drew into a smile, a genuine one, making her look almost placid. "Especially for a flighty young man like yourself. I almost thought you'd forgotten all about me."

"Oh, well, you know… it's a bit hard to sneak down into Abyss by myself without being questioned. And I can't neglect school—"

"—Shh," she said, placing a finger to his lips. "It's quite alright, Sylvain. I can see you're not feeling well. You don't have to defend yourself."

"… I'm already feeling so much better with a beautiful lady at my side."

Again, she laughed.

"You always were more charming than your brother. And smarter too, but perhaps that's not saying much." Gently, she touched the side of his face. Her fingers were cold as ice. "Although, I can't say Miklan ever treated me poorly… unlike you, he understood what it means to steal from me."

"Steal...? When did I steal from you?"

Her eyes hardened, and warning bells rang in the back of his head. But she was faster than him. She slapped him across the face, hard enough that his ears were ringing. While he still reeled from that, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him to the edge of the bed. He yelped from the sudden pain. But she didn't stop there. She pulled him a little further, holding the side of his face over the candle.

"Sylvain," she said, her tone patient and almost motherly. "I'll only ask you once."

The candle flame flickered close to the cheek she slapped moments ago. He tried pulling away from it, but she held him in place by grabbing his throat with her other hand. She wasn't putting any pressure on his throat, but he stopped moving immediately.

"Where did you hide the letter? You know which one I'm talking about. You took it out of my pocket. There's no one else who could have taken it. No one else with any reason to."

He had training in weapons, magic, defense. He had actual combat experience. He wasn't afraid to get hurt, or of people's grudges; he had Miklan to thank for that. Not to mention, he was taller and stronger than her. None of that mattered because despite all of his experience or capability, Visca still calmly threatened to burn him, and he was too weak to fight back. The vapors of melted wax got in his eyes, mouth, and nose, making his head swim. He desperately grasped in his mind for anything he could do.

"— If I call for help… His Highness is in the next room." Sylvain tried to keep his voice from trembling. His eyes darted to his door, then back to Visca.

Her expression softened into a smile.

"You're a lot more coherent than I thought you'd be. I half expected the irony alone to be enough."

"… What are you talking about?"

"I wonder which jar of honey your dear Mercedes used to sweeten those cookies…? Could it be that she had a little plot to hurt you? It wouldn't be strange for a woman to resent you, after all."

The way she was talking sent chills down his spine.

"What… ? No one would believe Mercedes could… not even to me—"

"Oh, you're such a pitiful boy."

With force, she pushed him back down onto the pillow, still tightly gripping his hair. Sylvain reflexively grabbed her wrist. Purple sparks danced around her fingers. The beginnings of her spell gave off a sharp, acidic smell.

"Even the kindest of people are capable of some truly frightening things when they're angered."

"V-Visca, you're not going to try to kill me, are you?" He smiled nervously. "You won't find the letter if you do…"

"That's fine. It will return to me, one way or another. The Goddess vindicates me."

Sylvain's eyes flickered between her magic and her face, and it slowly dawned on him that she meant every deranged word she said. He really would be killed if he didn't do something.

Summoning strength in himself from somewhere, he threw his whole body toward her. She was forced to let go, and sparking miasma shot off uselessly against the wall as she staggered back. Sylvain tumbled over the edge of the bed, knocking the nightstand over. The candle holder fell with it and the light went out.

He tried to at least get up on his hands and knees to scramble away from her, toward the door, but she found him in the dark and grabbed hold of his ankle.

"You won't get away from me, Sylvain."

In a near panic, Sylvain shouted the first thing that came to mind, as loudly as he could.

"FELIX!"

A moment of silence passed. He felt a woosh of air as Visca leaped over him, crossed the darkened room at speed to shove the door open, and took off running down the hallway. Numb and almost disbelieving, he stared outside for a moment. A door opened nearby, and then another, followed by two people running over.

Sylvain exhaled slowly and started dragging himself up off the floor, using the bed frame as support.

"Sylvain?" An alarmed Dimitri entered in a hurry. "What ha—"

"Move!"

Felix rushed inside, pushing past Dimitri. Sylvain's vision was filled by his friend arriving, sheathed sword in hand ready to be drawn, his long hair streaming freely behind him, and serious eyes honing in on Sylvain immediately.

"What happened?"

It was like seeing a knight from one of Ashe's favorite fables jump out of the page and come to life. Village and noble girls alike, and boys too probably, would surely find their hearts beating a little faster if someone like that leaped to their defense. Sylvain's heart was already thumping wildly from adrenaline; no one could possibly blame him for feeling a bit faint, or for the hot tightness in his chest as fright was replaced by something else. Relief drew a small smile on his face.

He slumped down in the chair Visca had occupied a minute ago.

"Uh, well…"

Sylvain glanced over at the wall, and the two turned to look as well. The room was dark, but enough light came in from the hallway for them to see the big, discolored mark on the wood panel above his pillow. The surface layer of wood had putrefied, and drops of viscous liquid seeped down the wall, dripping onto the bedsheets. An unpleasant, sour smell lingered in the air.

Felix's eyes narrowed. He exchanged a quick glance with a still bewildered Dimitri and took off. Dimitri hurried to Sylvain's side, growing more intense by the step.

"Is that… a spell? … Are you hurt?"

Dimitri put his hands on Sylvain's shoulders to have him straighten up, checking for any visible injuries. His eyes were drawn to the side of Sylvain's face, which did still sting a bit.

"I'm fine, I just had a bit of a fright," he said, waving Dimitri away. "It's kind of a funny story, actually… I'll tell you when Felix comes back."

A few minutes later, Felix returned without finding anyone suspicious. Visca was gone, wise enough to disappear when the odds were against her, the marks on Sylvain and his room being the only traces she left behind.

It made sense for them to be disturbed by the situation, especially with the Death Knight incident still fresh in everyone's minds. And that was exactly why Sylvain needed to de-escalate, so he told Felix and Dimitri the truth. Not the whole truth, enough of it that they could form their own conclusions. Basically, he said that a woman came to scare him a bit as revenge for making her angry. And he was really sorry about causing a ruckus; he'd make sure to stay away from her in the future, but there really wasn't any need to worry anymore. Honestly, he felt a little silly about panicking. She startled him real good since he was sick, having caught some kind of bug and not feeling well. He'd take care of the mess in his room the next day, et cetera.

The consequences of the commotion weren't especially dire in the end. Those who woke up soon accepted the cause to have been "Sylvain is Sylvain", even without being told so. Were Dimitri and Felix completely convinced? He wasn't sure, but… they seemed to accept the explanation, if only because it was three in the morning and he wasn't in the best shape to stay up and talk anyway. The fever and weakness got to him quickly once the excitement died down.

Sylvain was left with an internal debate about whether or not he should go get the letter back from Dedue immediately. Felix must have caught on to his indecisiveness and interpreted it as an unwillingness to stay in his own messed up room. Unexpectedly, he offered up his own bed. The sudden, unusual softness was a bit eerie, but in the end, it did come with a caveat: he wanted Sylvain to rest up properly so they could continue where they left off the day before. He would've laughed if he wasn't so exhausted and honestly relieved at being given an easy out.

Thinking about it, Visca didn't seem to know where the letter was. If she was still lurking around, it would be stupid to lead her right to it and possibly drag Dedue into the mess as well. Tomorrow, he decided, he would get the letter back as soon as he could.

So he laid there in bed, left alone while Felix went to get an extra blanket. Moonlight flooded in through slightly parted curtains. He tried to will himself to push everything aside for now and sleep, and he did doze off, but every little noise startled him back awake.

Minutes felt like hours until, finally, familiar footsteps approached, and the lock turned. He sighed in relief and rolled over on his side, facing the wall. The door opened and closed.

"I'm back," Felix said quietly.

Sylvain pretended to sleep.

Felix's actions were easily identifiable in the quiet room as he got ready to sleep once more. Soon enough, he leaned his sword against the bed frame with a soft thunk and sighed. He sounded like he was tired. Sylvain tried to picture him in his head, but that kind of unguarded expression was so rare on Felix these days.

The mattress dipped with his weight as he sat down on the edge.

"At least keep a weapon in your room, idiot," Felix muttered.

It was tempting to respond. What would he say, though? Sorry? Thank you? Yes, Felix, I realize I should plan for the eventuality of the people around me wanting to cause massive damage to my person?

… To be fair, there was plenty of precedent for that, but…

His thoughts scattered when out of nowhere, Felix leaned over and very, very lightly touched his cheek. There was probably a mark, and he was probably very warm. Especially in the face area. Must be the fever.

"… If she tries to hurt you again, I'll take care of her," Felix whispered.

Who was this person sitting next to him, offering up a tender touch, promising protection? Was the fever making him hallucinate? The desire to open his eyes and confirm that it really was Felix nearly overwhelmed his self-control, but he couldn't do it. If he did that, the moment would be gone forever. His face seemed to grow even hotter, if that was even possible. If the Goddess had even the tiniest shred of mercy on Sylvain, the light of the moon was not strong enough to expose just how affected he was by that gesture and those words.

Felix removed his hand and leaned away. By the sound of it, he was drawing the other blanket over himself. Sylvain tried to catch just a small peek, but their eyes met and he felt like his heart stopped. He couldn't deal with the increasing mortification on Felix's face. He turned away and closed his eyes. Felix must have thought Sylvain really was asleep. He didn't move for several seconds, then he sighed and slipped into bed next to Sylvain.

Several minutes passed and neither of them said a word. It was like a silent agreement to simply forget about it formed between them and the moment became ephemeral, almost surreal. The light pressure of Felix's back against Sylvain's was very real, though. Felix willingly compromised his own personal bubble to become a barrier between Sylvain and the door, ready to spring up and act should the mean lady dare to return.

It seemed a little unfair for Felix to always be so strong and self-assured, almost fearless. Him being the younger one seemed to stop mattering years ago.

Sylvain shifted a little since his arm was going numb. As children, they ended up sleeping next to one another on occasion. However, they had a lot more room to work with back then. His elbow bumped against Felix, who moved as well. He couldn't stop a quiet laugh from slipping out.

"… It's cramped in here."

Several seconds passed in silence before Felix gruffed back at him.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

Late the following morning, Sylvain woke up feeling sluggish, heavy, and incredibly thirsty. Some of the dizziness was still there, and he was pretty sure he still had a mild fever as well, but the realization that Felix woke up, got ready, and left without waking him up felt a lot worse than the physical discomfort. The tiny sense of abandonment was childish; he knew that. It was still tempting to stay put in his gloom. But eventually, he pushed those feelings aside and dragged himself out of bed and over to his own room to wash his face and get dressed... he lacked the energy to do anything about his bedhead, though.

The damaged wooden panel didn't look as bad in the daylight. It shouldn't be too hard to restore by himself, without anyone else being the wiser. Over by the window, the flowers wilted even more. He refrained from checking the desk drawer, and he definitely ignored the rest of the mess on the floor before going out.
Although it was cold out, to his disappointment, last night’s snowfall didn’t stick and the ground was bare.

In contrast, the greenhouse was warm and humid inside. He chose the right place to start looking as he quickly spotted Dedue watering a bed of herbs. Ashe was on the opposite side, checking the soil. The atmosphere was so good and pure that interrupting them almost seemed like a crime, even though they weren't even chatting.

Instead, he sat on one of the stone ledges surrounding the plant beds, watching them tend to the plants. Herbs weren't his area of expertise, whether they were medicinal or used for cooking; he was better with flowers… although that wasn’t saying much either, but he did recognize the pretty ones commonly grown there. That was probably why his attention was drawn to a particular corner of the herb bed. One small cluster of plants had been cordoned off from the rest with a couple of thin wooden boards. They were a deep, almost emerald green color with purple, bell-like flowers. He stood up, paused for the dizziness to abate, and walked over to take a closer look. Ashe spotted him first.

"Oh, Sylvain," he said, standing up while wiping off some dirt on his pants. "I heard you were sick. Shouldn't you be resting?"

"It's not that bad," he smiled. "Besides, I can't just sleep all day."

"But Dedue told me you couldn't even walk on your own."

Sylvain glanced over at Dedue, who was refilling his watering can. He seemed to try his hardest to pretend like nothing and instead came off looking like someone caught gossiping.

"I'm walking now, aren't I? Seriously, don't worry about me."

He walked over to Ashe, who was looking up at him.

"Are you sure? Your face is a bit flushed."

The two seemed a bit concerned for him, but that was it. He didn't sense any deeper worry. Hopefully, Dimitri and Felix had kept the part about an intruder to themselves. That would save everyone a lot of unnecessary apprehension.

"That's because it’s warm in here. By the way, those look interesting. What kind of flower is that?—"

He leaned forward just the tiniest bit to point at the plant in question, and was immediately assailed by the now-familiar sensation of the floor swaying underneath his feet. But he didn’t fall. Almost as if acting on a cue, a pair of strong hands steadied him before he found himself face-first in the herb bed.

"That's deadly nightshade," Dedue said from behind him. Gently but firmly, he guided Sylvain one step back. "It's highly toxic. You shouldn't touch it."

Ashe sighed in relief and stepped back, having also moved to try and catch Sylvain.

"Oh! Thanks for the warning," he smiled despite feeling like he'd just swallowed an icicle. "Not that I was going to, but… it's dangerous just to touch them?"

"I don't know that much about toxic plants, but it might be unwise to take that risk."

Ashe nodded in agreement.

"We're not sure who planted it, but as long as it's here, there are medicinal uses for it as well. It'll be fine as long as everyone's careful," he said, with some extra emphasis at the end.

The flowers in his room. His sudden illness. What did Visca say? Something about Mercedes and cookies? The memory was fuzzy, but the lingering dregs of fear and anxiety suddenly made way for anger. Anger he quickly swallowed by forcing it down like bitter medicine to keep the negative emotions off his face.

"Okay, I get it, I'm sorry. I’ll go back to my room and rest.” Sylvain raised his hands in surrender. “… I just need to pick something up first."

He peeked over his shoulder. Dedue nodded, having taken the hint.

They made a short trip to Dedue’s room, which was close enough that it wasn’t a problem. Sylvain’s intention of staying outside, however, became a problem once he casually said he wouldn’t be out too long and brushed off needing a coat.

“Then, please, wear this,” Dedue said, and draped his own jacket over Sylvain’s shoulders.

“Oh… thanks.”

He couldn’t well turn down a generous and warm gesture like that without looking like an ass, even though it was kind of embarrassing. Despite being a respectable six-foot-one, he was still a few uniform sizes smaller than Dedue. Once more, he felt kind of small, but also comforted and warm in more than just a physical sense.

In general, it wasn’t productive categorizing something as being a “man thing” or “woman thing”, but… his dates never did considerate stuff like that for him. It was nice not having to play the gentleman, even though he was the one at fault. Going down the stairs was one thing, but he was nervous about attempting the ascent back to his room because of the previous night’s events. And he didn’t want to bother Dedue with fetching anything for him. Especially since that would lead to him seeing the mess and worrying more than he needed to. He already received enough.

“I think I get why my jacket is in such high demand now…” Sylvain said quietly to himself, pulling the oversized jacket a little tighter around himself. Dedue looked at him curiously, and he smiled. “Um, nevermind that. Let’s see… over there should be alright…”

They headed to the northern edge of the monastery grounds, with the training grounds to their left, the Academy behind them, and the cathedral looming over them from across the ravine.

There were several reasons why Sylvain chose that spot. People passed through there regularly, at a slower pace and in quieter moods than, say, those headed between the dining hall and the market. It wouldn't be strange to stop there and admire the scenery. Now, he couldn't make sure without making it too obvious he was looking around, but… if Visca was keeping tabs on him, she would be able to do that without an issue there. If she wasn't… he would have to burn that bridge when he got to it.

He gestured for Dedue to join him at the battlements.

"And what do you need me to do?"

"… Hold it over the edge… yeah, that's good. Now let go of it."

Dedue waited for a moment to make sure that Sylvain was serious, then he nodded and let go of the letter. It dropped at first, then flipped over in the air, unfolding itself as it started sailing away on an updraft blowing out of the ravine. Sylvain extended his hand, exhaled, and released a Fire spell. It wasn't a perfect hit, but with magical fire, it didn't need to be. The sheet of paper burst into flames immediately, turning into nothing but ashes being carried away by the wind. He watched on, not sure if he was feeling lighter or just lightheaded, then turned back to Dedue with a smile.

"There we go. Sorry for the trouble, and… thanks."

"It's no problem," Dedue paused, eying him thoughtfully. "What kind of arrangement was it? I might be inexperienced in Kingdom traditions, but this seems excessive for rejecting a marriage proposal."

"Yeah, it is," Sylvain leaned against the wall, holding back a laugh, but the smile soon fell from his expression. Off in the direction of the gazebo, someone was staring at them. A woman in a cloak, too far away to make out her facial features. She turned away and approached some people coming the opposite way. They seemed to greet each other familiarly and kept walking toward the bridge.

Sylvain turned back to Dedue, who was watching him quietly, waiting for him to elaborate.

He didn't really think about things like getting married, having kids, having a family of his own. The plan drafted for his future included such things as a matter of course, whether or not he thought about it. All that left him with was the pressure to make it happen. Without him, his line would die out. The north would weaken. The burden would fall on Fraldarius next, because Itha belonged to the royals, and they had Fhirdiad to worry about, and it just kept on going. Nauseating.

His eyes were hot behind their eyelids. The timing was awful. Probably sensing that something was awry, Dedue stepped closer. He had to swallow back a difficult emotion to talk.

"I owe you an explanation after helping me out that much, even if you were doing it on His Highness' orders."

"Sylvain, I am—"

"—No, it's fine. Really, I don't mind." He smiled again, ignoring Dedue's deepening frown, and patted his arm. "You had the right idea before. There is something still bothering me about Miklan. Not him specifically, he got what he deserved… the thing is, I have a nephew."

He shrugged, seeing the surprise on Dedue's face.

"… Yeah, I didn't believe it either at first. Anyway, it's mostly stuffy noble business, so I'll skip the complicated details…" Sylvain paused, breathing in and out slowly. "Well, this way, no one will be able to find him. He can grow up and be whatever he wants."

Dedue, who had been listening carefully, rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"You don't think this child would be safer with your family?"

"If he was brought up the way I was, you mean? It's better this way."

Burning the letter wouldn't make the child disappear into the ether. However, it significantly decreased the potential for anyone else finding him, if they even knew about him in the first place. His parents knew exactly where the kid was, for one thing. That was why they tried pushing Sylvain toward marriage. If he was married, he could adopt his nephew as his own child. Blood would be kept close to blood, cutting past hitches like Miklan. But no matter how loved and cared for the child might be, he would still be a living, breathing commodity, and that was the idea Sylvain couldn't stand.

There was the formal rejection of the offer left to make, and his father would probably chew him out for not thinking about it hard enough, but other than that, it was over.

"I've no grounds to say otherwise…" Dedue cut into his thoughts. "However, there is one point I have to correct you on."

"… Oh? What point?"

"His Highness didn't order me to look out for you. He asked me to. I would have done so regardless, since you are my friend. Sylvain… you continue to approach me without hesitation when others scorn me. If this is your decision, I'll support you."

Sylvain was used to insincere sentiments, both from himself to others and from others to himself. Being confronted with such a straightforward declaration did nothing to alleviate the complicated mess of emotions simmering under the surface, even though he had no reason to think Dedue would lie.

"… Now you're making me look bad," Sylvain smiled. "One last thing. Let's keep all this serious stuff between the two of us. There's enough rumors going around about me as it is."

"I understand. If His Highness asks, however…"

"… I guess that can't be helped." Sylvain hooked his arm with Dedue's, ignoring the stares from a few girls passing by. "Let's go grab a bite to eat. What was that recipe you mentioned the other day…?"

It turned out that even though he started to feel better, a full meal was still a bit much to stomach, and just walking around tired him out in no time at all. It wasn't long before Dedue escorted him back to his room for more rest. Catching up on some reading seemed to be a good choice of sedentary activity at first, but he couldn't focus and wasn't retaining any information at all. Eventually, he simply gave up and tried to sleep.

The sleep that found him was shallow. So shallow that he still sensed the light of day coming in through the windows. But that light started to warp after a while. It flickered, as though a series of objects rapidly blocked it and moved away. Something moved outside. It was big, and dark, and it started squeezing into his room. He couldn't move at all, even as an enormous, sinister beast took up residence beside him, displacing the air with its bulk.

In a way, it was a peaceful dream. The beast seemed satisfied standing there over him, blowing puffs of blood-stinking breath on his face. He didn't quite know how long it stayed there, as real as anything else around him, when all of a sudden it was exorcised by the sound of his door opening.

While his sleepy mind tried to process what just happened, a shadow fell over him. There was a careful tug at the book he held loosely clutched to his chest.

"Mm?" He opened his eyes and blinked a few times.

Felix was leaning over him, one hand on the book and the other in the middle of pulling a blanket over him. Once he saw that Sylvain was awake, he froze mid-movement, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he curtly finished both tasks, dropping the book on the nearby chair and quickly turning to leave. Sylvain sat hastily, and the blanket fell from his shoulders to his lap.

"Felix, wait, don't go—?"

Felix barely made it two steps away. He stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

"You left your door unlocked," he said, giving up on slinking away without comment.

"Oh." Sylvain rubbed his eyes. "You came to check on me?"

"No. I came to tell you something, but you weren't in my room anymore." Felix turned back around. His eyes made a quick sweep of the room before settling on Sylvain.

Sylvain's room was still a mess. No, it was an even bigger mess now. The bedside table was still toppled over, the candle holder and candle having rolled away toward the wall and become stuck in place when the melted wax hardened. Some of his books had been knocked down without him noticing, probably missing the candle by pure luck. Clothes from the day before were half scattered on the floor, half littered on the desk. He left the ruined sheets piled up at the end of the bed when he changed them.

"— I talked to Professor Byleth," Felix continued. "You're excused from classes tomorrow."

"I am?" Sylvain stopped in the middle of moving to sit at the edge of the bed. The overturned candle hovered in the periphery of his vision as he put his bare feet down on the chilly floor. "I'm already feeling a lot better. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"No, you won't. You look seriously terrible right now."

Knowing that Felix was probably right, Sylvain closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force back nausea rearing its ugly head.

"… Heh, that hurts, you know." He tried to keep the slight waver out of his voice.

Having delivered his message, this would usually be when Felix announced his intention of exiting the conversation. Instead, he walked over and took a seat next to Sylvain on the bed. Sylvain opened his eyes, meeting the sidelong glance.

"I want to take back what I said yesterday," Felix said.

"Huh? You mean when you called me useless?"

"— No," Felix sighed. "You don't owe me anything. I got competitive because I thought you were hiding something from me."

"That's the part you felt bad about? That's just you being you, Felix." Sylvain smiled. "… Besides, you were right. I've been hiding something."

"What? … You have?" Felix quickly turned his head to look at him.

The genuine surprise almost made him feel bad, but he still couldn't help smiling.

"I thought about telling you right away, but… I think I'll keep it a secret a little while longer." He winked.

The White Heron Cup was just a few weeks away, and he'd been working really hard — uncharacteristically hard — both on polishing his skills and on keeping the whole thing secret. That was his deal with Professor Byleth. He did it because it was useful, and because apparently it had been a while since the Blue Lions managed to win. Disrupting the Golden Deer winning streak would be memorable. And of course, dancing was a great social activity; nobles all over Fódlan were traditionally taught the most common dances growing up. Dancing well worked great for picking up girls, too.

But most of all, Sylvain enjoyed it, and he didn't want his enjoyment to be intruded upon by other people's encouragement or criticism quite yet.

Felix narrowed his eyes.

"Is this related to why you haven't been going out with anyone for a while?"

"You said something like that yesterday, too." Sylvain leaned forward, chin in his palm. "Since when do you pay any attention to that? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"The only reason I noticed is because you were acting weird."

Sylvain tilted his head to get a better look at Felix's face, only to have him lean away and turn his head. The movement was abrupt and stiff. Speaking of acting weird…

"Felix?"

No response. Felix still refused to look at him. Sylvain leaned a little closer still.

"Fe— ?"

"— Ugh, what?" Felix turned back, and though he didn't seem angry, teasing him any more seemed inadvisable.

"… I didn't say thank you yet. If I'd been alone, she might have come back or done something worse… So, thanks."

Felix looked away for a moment, and sighed. His shoulders relaxed.

"You can thank me by not going out with crazy women."

"I wasn't dating her—"

"I'm serious, Sylvain. I don't want to wake up to something like that ever again."

Sylvain was about to protest again, but he stopped himself.

If Felix thought this was a case of what goes around comes around, well, that was probably fine. Sylvain's involvement with the situation was over and done with. In some ten or twenty years, his friends would remember it all as nothing more than that time Sylvain pissed some lady off while he had the flu or something. If they even remembered it at all.

"It won't happen again, I promise. But…"

"Sylvain…"

"… the way you came running for me?" Sylvain paused, looking at the way the light framed Felix's face. "… If I was a girl, I'd definitely ask you out."

"Hm." Felix's little laugh was barely more than a snort. "If you bowed down and begged, I'd consider taking you seriously."

"Come on, I meant that with all my heart." Sylvain laughed, too.

Felix didn't stick around for long after that. He announced that he'd "wasted enough time" and had to go. There was a for-fun martial tournament he was planning to win. But before he left, he promised to bring Sylvain dinner to his room if he behaved and stayed in bed like he should. And he did, if only to preserve the fact of Felix being unusually nice for a little longer.

Time passed, and Sylvain was a little apprehensive for a while… however, many difficult events came to pass in the following months, pushing thoughts of his personal affairs out of his consciousness for the foreseeable future.

Chapter Text

In the summer of Imperial Year 1182, the second year of the war spreading across Fódlan, house Gautier juggled handling their part in protecting what remained of the Holy Kingdom of Fhaergus against the Adrestian Empire and fending off unseasonably persistent incursions from Sreng. The flow of resources was especially important due to the margravate's location, wedged away in the northernmost part of Fódlan. Even one razed field or ambushed transport would disturb a very delicate balance. Thanks to that, road upkeep had never been more critical. Goods and troops needed to be transported smoothly, not to mention safely. Anyone could use a well-maintained road, enemies included.

In short, there was a lot to do and no room for slacking off.

Late one summer night, when the hot and muggy weather was its very foulest self, Sylvain leaned back in his father's chair, in his father's office. He was thinking that his hair was starting to get too long. It wasn't long long, but still longer than he would usually let it grow. He would need to have it cut soon. A mundane, trivial concern that seemed oddly out of reach. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the papers strewn out on the desk. The margrave had a whole lot of correspondence to go through. Sadly, that work fell to his son at the moment.

Of course, his mother was fully capable of handling these matters if she had to, but other issues required her attention. Paraphrased, she relied on him to pick up the slack. Perhaps he'd been applying himself a little too much. Keeping up with expectations, even those of his parents, had never been his forte nor his wish.

Shirking work was quite tempting, but… it's hard to have fun when no one else can really afford to sneak out either.

The various letters and reports were sorted into three piles: urgent, not urgent, and personal. The personal pile had only one letter so far, from Mercedes, and with so many letters and numbers swimming in his head, he elected to reread that one instead.

In her current position, she managed to gather that Ashe and Annette were okay at the time of writing, having returned to their families. Ingrid and Felix were in their families' territories as well; they made contact when necessary. As for Dimitri and Dedue… it was too early to make any assumptions, but she remained staunchly optimistic. He returned Mercedes' letter to its envelope and put his head down on the desk with a sigh. He wanted to be as hopeful as she was, but he couldn't muster it.

The sound of approaching footsteps coming from the hallway outside broke through his malaise. He lifted his head from the desk and swept his hair back out of habit, even though it wouldn't do much for his naturally flighty mess, taking a moment to straighten out some creases on his clothing and correct his posture as well. Whether it was a servant, a guard, or the guest he was supposed to receive,  he couldn't well face them looking like a depressed bag of rocks. So he put on a smile.

No, maybe that was too much. Obvious anxiety made him look unreliable, but some weariness might be helpful. He rubbed his face to loosen the muscles a bit, trying to picture the sort of expression he needed. Seeing the door handle being pushed down, he immediately lowered his hand onto the desk.

The door swung open with little care for etiquette. Felix entered, sweeping his wind-ruffled hair back.

"Lord Gautier, I've—" He stopped in the doorway with a brief look of surprise and uncertainty but recovered quickly, stepping inside and closing the door. "I thought I'd be meeting with the margrave."

"Felix!"

Before he had any chance to overthink any further, he was out of the chair and halfway around the desk with a natural, genuine smile on his face, opening his arms to sweep Felix into a hug. The frown he was met with made him falter. It looked almost like Felix was bracing himself. Sylvain changed his approach and placed a hand on his shoulder instead.

"… Did you run into any problems on the way here?"

Felix's eyes were first drawn to the abandoned hug. He said nothing about it, but there was a questioning look on his face when he spoke.

"No, but I had to leave a bit later than planned," he said, looking up at Sylvain. "Aren't you supposed to be up north?"

"About that… I still am, technically. And if anyone asks, you met with my father tonight, not me," Sylvain said, leaning against the edge of the desk. "It's fine, it's just heat stroke, but he's going to be out of commission for a few more days."

"… Heatstroke? That's… not what I expected to hear." There was a chair for visitors to use, but Felix remained standing.

"Yeah, it came out of the blue. But that's why I'm here. Need to keep everything running smoothly."

"Is this really the right time for a party?" Felix frowned.

"It'd be too suspicious to cancel all of a sudden. Oh, and it's a reception, actually."

Both of them knew well that if it came out that Margrave Gautier was weakened in some way, an enemy would be quick to exploit it. That was why the household had to pretend like everything was fine. And yet, despite the situation, Sylvain's mood had improved dramatically in less than a minute.

"I really don't care."

"I know, it's just that mother has been really insistent about the—"

"Call it whatever you want, I'm not here for a party. I'm here because the invitation came rushed over by a messenger on horseback—"

"Don't be like that! The food will be great, and we can catch up a bit...?"

Felix started turning away.

"… Wait, wait, sorry, I'll get to the point, so don't leave yet, please."

Felix turned back around.

"Um, remember Baronet Bodel? Or his daughter, Paloma?"

"One of your girlfriends?"

"No, she made that bouquet for your birthday? The one with the daffodils? I told you that. I was the one who had to give it to you in the end, though…"

"… What about her? Is she the reason you came all the way to hand it over in person?"

"Ahem, no, that wasn't her idea… she's getting married tomorrow. It's her party. Reception." He paused, taking a moment to pick out the important points in his mind. "The baronet turned traitor, and this is meant to re-establish the loyalty of her house by marrying a knight… that's the gist of it."

Felix crossed his arms. There was a hint of discomfort on his face as he listened.

"And the reason I was invited…?"

"Don't worry, she's not going to make you run away with her instead," Sylvain said with a wink. It was met with a glare. Adorable. "… I want someone I trust to be here and make sure nothing goes wrong. Officially, I'm still assisting our forces at the northern border, so I couldn't attend anyway."

"Are you expecting something to go wrong?"

Sylvain crossed his arms, glancing to the side. It was mostly a hunch, but he couldn't say that. Felix wouldn't take that seriously.

"Not expecting it, but…"

"… Is it really heatstroke? We've had a hot summer, but not that hot."

"That's what the doctor said." Sylvain shrugged.

"You don't believe them?"

"… I don't know. Father's suddenly sick, and on the same day, a kitchen hand quits and disappears after working here for less than a month…? I'm not sure if it's a coincidence."

Felix took a step closer, reaching out to touch Sylvain's arm and drawing his attention back.

"I'll help you," Felix said, withdrawing his hand.

Maybe his worry was showing too much. Sylvain relaxed his building frown and smiled instead.

"Thanks, Felix. I knew I could count on you." He stepped away from the desk. "There's a room made up for you. I'll walk you over."

"… I know where the guest rooms are."

"I know you know that," Sylvain sighed. "I've been sitting here for hours. Just let me have this excuse to take a walk."

Felix showed that he conceded by not closing the door as he left.

There was little to no activity going on anywhere this late. Everyone, even those who perhaps shouldn't, took the opportunity to rest when the air cooled down in the evenings, and thus the hallways were left quiet even though the sun only just set. Sylvain had been looking forward to finally doing the same very soon, but his senses were tickled awake by the sleeve of Felix's shirt brushing against his bare elbow. For some reason, it was incredibly distracting. He tried his best to ignore it.

"If you're not attending," Felix said, glancing up at him. "What will you be doing?"

"Oh. About that… it's a secret." Sylvain grinned. "By the way, there's going to be dancing. Do you still know the steps?"

"Don't change the subject."

"— You made me teach you the night before the ball, but you never danced with anyone anyway, and then I find…" Sylvain cut himself off. He caught Felix leaving the Goddess tower with Professor Byleth and teased him for it. Those memories tasted a lot more bitter than he thought. He smiled anyway, taking Felix's hand as if asking for a dance. "… I can guarantee someone's going to want to dance with you tomorrow. If you need a refresher…"

Scarlet bloomed on Felix's cheeks, spreading across his face. He tore his hand free from Sylvain.

"Will you never grow out of spouting idiotic, irrelevant things? Answer my question!"

Sylvain's face was frozen in a smile, startled and confused by the sudden flash of anger. He didn't say or do anything worse than usual. Did he?

"I… don't want to," he said finally.

"What? … Why not?" Felix's tone was a lot more confused than accusatory.

The words hung in the air between them. He didn't know what to do, faced with a sudden fear that Felix was already fed up with him, that he would change his mind and simply leave.

"Sylvain—…" Felix paused and sighed, turning to the side to compose himself. The anger left as quickly as it came, and Sylvain's tension dissipated as well. "… I'm sorry for losing my temper like that, but I still need you to tell me."

"… Yeah, I'm sorry too. That was childish."

He pulled Felix over into an alcove. The space was barely two paces across, with most of its outer wall side taken up by a window overlooking the courtyard and a pair of heavy wooden benches facing each other. It was an ideal place to read in the afternoons, if you had the time. Felix remained standing while Sylvain took a seat, looking up at him with a small smile.

"… Part of a Sreng force broke off and retreated into Gautier lands during a skirmish. We've tracked them to an old fort about half a day's ride away from here. That's a bit too close for comfort, don't you think?" Sylvain said. He tucked too long bangs behind his ear even though they would inevitably spring free of their confinement anyway. "I would've driven them out right away, but then father fell ill…"

Felix had been listening, arms crossed.

"That's it? Why attempt to hide it from me?"

That day about a week prior had been Sylvain's first time commanding a full company of soldiers on his own. It wasn't too bad. Then he made a call that, on the one hand prevented losses on their side, and on the other hand caused a ding in the pride of Gautier by letting enemy forces slip into their land. In Sylvain's opinion, having no losses on their side made up for any perceived damage to anyone's pride. That wouldn't absolve him of responsibility, however.

"Because I knew you'd ask to switch places if I told you."

"It makes more sense for you to be here than me…"

"It's my fault they slipped in, so I should be the one to drive them out. I need to do this, and I need you here. Please?"

"How many?"

"Huh? How many what?"

"How many Sreng warriors?"

"Oh, less than a platoon. Maybe twenty or so. I'll have six knights with me; that's about what we can spare."

Felix sighed.

"… I already said I'd do it. I'm not taking that back. In exchange, don't go goofing off anywhere. If you haven't returned by tomorrow night, I'll ride out and drag you back here myself."

"You're giving me a curfew? … I get it. You just don't want to admit that you've missed me." Sylvain winked.

Felix put his hand against the wall behind Sylvain.

"Focus on what you need to do for once," he said, a lot calmer now. "No side trips. No flirting."

Sylvain almost broke out in a cold sweat. He tried to hide it with a small laugh.

"Okay, okay, I promise… wait, who exactly am I supposed to flirt with?

"Knowing you?" Felix straightened up. "You'd find someone."

"Find someone..." Sylvain smiled up at him. "... When I'm already busy with you?"

"Goodnight, Sylvain." Felix stepped away, and Sylvain got up to follow, leaving the alcove.

"I'm kidding, come on…! I haven't seen you for half a year. I didn't mean to annoy you."

Felix paused to glance over his shoulder.

"If you return quickly, we might actually have time to catch up a bit." 

Sylvain stayed where he was while Felix walked off at a smooth, practiced stride. The two swords at his side didn't even rattle. He glanced back at Sylvain while turning a corner, and their eyes met. Sylvain raised his hand for a wave and was rewarded with a small smile. And then he was alone, silently regretting that he didn't follow. But that would be too clingy. 

"It's definitely me making it weird," he mumbled.

It started after the battle of Garreg Mach, at least to Sylvain's recollection. Everyone scattered, and he returned home, unable to see or even really know if Felix was alright for several weeks. Anxiety. Loneliness. Heartache. All of it was expelled when their houses met — along with some others —  to discuss the war effort. He made a fool of himself in front of a lot of people that night, but he was too happy to see Felix to care.

Happiness and relief that your friend turns out to be safe and healthy in a time of war, that was all normal. That fluttering feeling inside his chest at the mere prospect of spending some time with Felix probably wasn't.

"Don't be weird, Sylvain José Gautier."

Following the old road across a wide-open plain, with little variation besides yellowed dry grasses and spiky shrubs, you would eventually come upon the highest point in the immediate area; a long, rounded ridge resembling the back of an enormous bear rising out of the earth. At the top of it stood a grey stone fort known as Windworn… because it was. The stone structure, sturdy and in its best days defensible with only a few dozen soldiers, was constantly assailed by wind. Fort Windworn's future had been uncertain ever since the arm of the river running below the ridge had receded. It was a lonely existence, but there were still signs of life.

Clusters of trees dotted the landscape here and there, growing more numerous the closer you got to the old riverbed. The wooded parts of the region made a perfect home for mice and birds and good shelter for any travelers happening to pass through. Seven horses grazed quietly under the trees while their masters conferred over cold soup and bread.

"No movement at all for days. Not even a cooking fire. I don't like it." The first one to speak after a brief silence was Merlein, an experienced knight in his thirties who excelled in tracking and pithy verbiage.

"I disagree. A cooking fire would be worse news."

"Why's that?"

The following two were Felda and Gregoir, married to the job first and each other second.

"I know why." The youngest knight present spoke up. Vivien was barely twenty years old and said to be both brave and capable despite a look of constant sleep deprivation. "Look around. There's nothing for them to eat here except for each other, is there?"

"That's morbid!" Luéy, a tall man as thin as his favorite rapier, looked about ready to dissolve into laughter. He quickly grew silent under the gaze of Finley, the oldest in the group.

Finley had served Margrave Gautier for a long time. Long enough that he had actually retired as a knight. However, he could not remain idle and returned to service as the captain of the Gautier residence guards. He wouldn't usually be sent off on missions like this one, but his experience and discipline made him an excellent role model for certain people to learn from, supposedly.

Sylvain dunked his bread in his soup and took a bite. The wedding should have started by now. Once the ceremony and all the formal things were over, they would also be eating. Felix would definitely have foisted his cake on Sylvain if he'd been there. Now who would be the lucky person eating Felix's cake? He sighed. The conversation kept going without his input.

"Regardless," Vivien said, shaking his head. "We'll find out as soon as we take back Windworn."

Finley shook his head.

"It's not as simple as 'taking it back', Vivien. It's still a fort, and they've had plenty of time to settle in."

Merlein gazed past the trees and toward the fort.

"I'd like to confirm that they're still there."

"—A fine idea," Luéy cut in. "And once you've done that, it'll be as easy as starving them out."

"Sounds like you're volunteering to sit around and stare at a pile of rocks." Felda's comment earned her a derisive snort from Luéy.

"Ah, knew it. You don't understand jokes, do you? No, I don't want to sit around. Look at the sky! There's obviously rain coming."

Before the discussion had any chance of becoming an argument, Finley raised his voice.

"Settle down!" He looked at everyone in turn, then nodded to Sylvain. "What are your thoughts, Master Sylvain? I believe you're the one most eager to see this business concluded quickly."

Sylvain hastily swallowed his mouthful of soup, suddenly afraid that Finley somehow knew, but his eyes were encouraging. He pushed his irrational fear aside. It would be a shame to disappoint.

"Ahem, well…" He cleared his throat.

One trained knight — including Sylvain, of course — could easily take on four or five Sreng clan warriors on their own. And there were ways one could assail a fort without knocking the door down, but… this wasn't the same as clearing out a bunch of bandits. The situation was a bit off.

"I was thinking I'd like to start by talking to them."

Vivien exchanged a glance with the other knights.

"Sir, could it be that you spotted some beautiful women among them?"

His completely sincere delivery of the question nearly sent Luéy into orbit, apparent by the hand that flew up to tactfully cover his laugh. Finley was about to reprimand them both when Sylvain laughed as well.

"Avoiding unnecessary bloodshed is certainly worthwhile," Finley said, eying him from under bushy grey brows. "However, times being what they are, we can't afford to be kind for nothing. Taking them out would be the most effective."

"Well, what if they were Kingdom subjects?"

"What do you mean?" Merlein asked after a moment's thought. "Didn't you fight them?"

"Can't say that I did," Sylvain said with a smile. "They broke off from the main force and seemed a bit confused about where to retreat. But even before that, I never saw any clan colors on them. They could well be from Kingdom territory, and if that's the case, their only crime is occupying this fortress."

"Hmm," Felda glanced to her husband thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how well that holds up, but it's not a bad point."

"Thank you, Felda," he said, receiving no reaction in response.

"It's worth considering," Finley said, nodding slowly. "How, then, do you intend to approach them, Master Sylvain?"

Under an open blue sky edged with grey clouds, Sylvain, followed by Felda and Gregoir, boldly walked up the slope to the fort.

His initial idea of approaching alone with the knights standing by was shot down immediately by Finley, who looked strained as he outlined a less risky formation. The two knights at his side would unquestionably protect their lord's heir. Finley, Vivien, and Luéy waited at the edge of the woodlands. Merlein was standing by at the base of the ridge, ready to signal either group and engage the enemy if needed. Sylvain and Finley were separated so that in case either of them was incapacitated, the other was left to take command.

Although it went unstated, Sylvain's life had higher priority than anyone else there, friend or foe alike. At the same time, he had the greatest authority to negotiate, meaning he couldn't stay back. Not that he wanted to; it was his idea, after all.

Sylvain stopped about twenty feet away from the gates, scanning the battlements and arrow slits for any sign of life. The only noise, and the only movement, was made by the wind tugging at their cloaks.

The fortress gate consisted of two massive steel-reinforced wooden doors. One door was ajar with enough room for someone to easily slip in or out, which seemed to indicate that the Sreng warriors didn't lock themselves up as tightly as had been assumed.

However, according to Merlein, there were no signs that anyone had entered or left in several days. They could only take his word for it.

He took a deep breath and called out to the occupiers he hoped were still there.

"I am Sylvain Gautier, here on behalf of Margrave Gautier! I'd like to talk, if that's alright with you all!"

Still no sound, no movement, and no response whatsoever. He still waited a minute or so, just in case. Another brisk breeze signaled that the midday heat would soon fade and give way for cooler weather. 

"We're coming in, then!"

He gestured for Felda and Gregoir to follow and walked over to the gate. Gregoir peered inside briefly.

"One of them is standing in the courtyard," he said quietly. "Doesn't look armed."

"That's an interesting welcome." Sylvain glanced at the opening, then to Gregoir. "I should enter first, since I've already announced myself. They might get suspicious otherwise."

Gregoir hesitated, but soon nodded and moved aside. It smelled like a trap, and he was fully aware of that. Still, he wanted to try taking the initiative in showing good faith instead of falling back into the same old fighting.

Sylvain stepped inside. Like Gregoir had said, one Sreng warrior waited in the middle of the courtyard. He had short black hair, dark eyes, and wore fur-lined leather armor despite the heat. Their eyes met for a moment. Then the man looked to Sylvain's right and quickly nodded.

"Wait," Sylvain said, turning around. "I—"

Two arrows whistled past his face and slammed into the heavy door at the level of Gregoir's chest and gut. The knight flinched back, but even if he didn't, the arrows were precisely at a height to obstruct his way forward. Four Sreng warriors had waited out of sight to push the door closed at the given signal. It creaked loudly and slammed shut. They raised thick wooden beams to set into deep divots in the ground and the doors themselves, barring it from the inside. It wouldn't be possible to open the gate from the other side with human hands. Felda shouted something outside, then the man in the middle of the courtyard spoke.

"You're trapped, son of Gautier."

The four at the gate were slowly spreading out to encircle him. At a glance, they appeared to be armed with hatchets and short spears. All of them were young, definitely not older than him. One of them looked like a teenager. Still, they seemed hardy and worn. He turned around to face the speaker, making sure his hands were visible and not touching a weapon. He couldn't see the archers but assumed they had withdrawn out of view on top of the battlements.

"Still, to think you'd actually fall for it…" The first Sreng warrior, the leader of the group by appearances, rubbed his stubbly chin as though he was observing something sincerely puzzling. He was a little older than the other four, but still young.

Sylvain smiled sheepishly. He was stuck in a bad situation, obviously. That was the thing, though: stuck. Trapped, not dead.

"Looks like I messed up."

"Looks like you did. Grab him."

The leader nodded to the warriors behind Sylvain. They moved in to restrain him by bending his arms behind his back and removed his sword from its sheath.

He didn't try to resist, but…

"Is this necessary? I'm not going to fight my way out of here."

"Hmm." The leader kept observing him, keeping a distance. "I've heard a thing or two about the surviving son of Gautier. They say you're a fool who spends all your time chasing after women. Who's to say you won't take off to find some right now if we don't restrain you?"

"Is that what they say about me in Sreng?"

The leader's eyes narrowed.

"I have to wonder, what kind of beast did the Margrave lay with to sire first a rabid dog, and then a donkey?"

The two restraining him snickered. Sylvain tensed, clenched his teeth, then forced himself to relax.

"Ha! That's creative. I like it."

"Ósrenn, I don't think he's smart enough to realize he's being insulted." One of the warriors holding him spoke up to the leader figure, sounding impatient. "Can't we just tie him up and put him in a corner until it's time to hand him over?"

"Oh? I'm to be handed over? I'm not sure the knights waiting outside are going to like that."

"That's…" Ósrenn sighed, then glared at his comrade. "Alright. Tie him up and leave him out here in the sun so I can keep an eye on him."

Two sets of hands started dragging him toward a horse-hitching pole.

"Wait a second, um, it's Ósrenn, right? …" he said, trying to avoid stumbling. "I'm serious. There's six knights out there, and if I'm not back home by nightfall, they're going to have reinforcements."

The two dragging him ceased their movements since they had no way of knowing that he expected no more than one whole reinforcement. The Sreng warriors, excepting Ósrenn, started talking amongst themselves with varying degrees of worry clear in their voices.

"… Six of them? I only saw two."

"They're not getting through those gates very easily. Not without magic."

"He is the only son left, of course they'd come looking for him. Why'd we agree to this?"

"Let's just tie him up and run. I don't want to die!"

"What if she finds us?"

"I knew this was a bad idea…"

Ósrenn's gaze shifted from face to face as they spoke. Eventually, he raised his voice as well.

"Quiet, all of you!"

Silence fell inside the fortress. Sylvain realized they were barely holding on to him anymore, but… it wasn't the best time to pull a runner.

"You can all flee if you want to," Ósrenn said, looking at each one of them in turn, then he pointed at Sylvain. "But he's staying here. With me."

As if remembering themselves and their resolve for whatever their deal was, their grip on him tightened again. Ósrenn glared at him.

"We won't fall apart that easily."

There seemed to be seven of them. That was all he had spotted. Less than half the amount of warriors expected. The rest had to be hiding out, or… somewhere else entirely. Their attitudes suggested the latter to be true. These people weren't very confident.

"I'm being honest here! Please, listen to me. Do you really want to take on a force of knights?"

Ósrenn signaled for them to stop.

"Why would you warn us about that?"

"Like I said, I didn't come here to fight. I wanted to talk," Sylvain glanced to the apprehensive pair of young warriors restraining him. "It sounds like you're in a bit of a pickle, and I can't say I want to be handed over to anyone. Maybe we can solve both our problems by cooperating instead?"

Very faintly, Sylvain could hear some kind of activity happening on the other side of the gate. Ósrenn's dark eyes were briefly drawn in that direction. He must have noticed as well. One of the archers called down from above.

"There's more of them coming over here. I'm not sure what they're going to do, but…"

Ósrenn turned back toward Sylvain.

"Rion. Ké. You can release him. And give us some space."

The two young warriors let go and stepped back. Sylvain straightened up, rolling his shoulders.

"Thanks, I appreciate it…"

Ósrenn extended a hand to one of the other warriors, who tossed him a spear.

"… but, um…"

"Rion? Return his sword."

Rion, who seemed to be the youngest in the bunch, carelessly tossed the naked blade in his direction. It landed in the dirt a few paces away.

"I don't know that you're worth listening to yet. Prepare yourself, donkey."

"If you insist, but," Sylvain said, walking over to pick the sword up. "I'm not sure what this is supposed to accomplish."

A powerful gust of wind buffered the walls of the fortress. Sylvain's hair whipped into his eyes, making him swipe it aside. It was an excellent opportunity for Ósrenn to get the drop on him, but he didn't move yet. He waited patiently for Sylvain to acquiesce and stand ready to fight. His eyes sought Sylvain's, questioning, with the faintest arch to one eyebrow. Then, without moving his head, he glanced to the other warriors and back to Sylvain.

The bit of silent communication seemed to say, "Think about it, and you'll get it."

Sylvain cocked his head, raised the tip of his sword, and winked. Whether it was might, skill, or something else Ósrenn was looking for, he'd look bad if he didn't do his part.

They didn't have a signal, and yet one sounded anyway. Ósrenn moved at the first peal of thunder off in the distance, and he was quick to fully utilize the spear's superior range. The gleaming sharp tip came flying at him. The aim wasn't for his body but for his sword arm. A hit there would disable him and end the fight immediately. He twisted his torso to the side. The blade of the spear pierced the air and cut into the skin above the elbow.

Ah. Captured and hurt. Felix would be overjoyed. Someone certainly was; one of the young warriors watching whooped as though Ósrenn had already won.

With the spear still in the air and Sylvain's sword hand below it, he was in a perfect position to slice or stab Ósrenn in the side. That's what Felix would do. That would end their fight in seconds. However, he wasn't out to kill his opponent, and he sensed that Ósrenn wasn't necessarily looking for a lethal outcome either.

He stepped in closer. They had eye contact. Sylvain smiled and swung, slicing through the air horizontally. The tip of Sylvain's sword grazed the front of the leather armor, slicing right through a bit of the fur.

From a distance, it would have looked like an unlucky whiff. Ósrenn's widening eyes made it evident that he realized how close it had been. A polearm loses its advantage once you get close enough. The arc of the sword was barely restrained enough that Ósrenn's backstep carried him out of danger. He increased the distance between them with a few more steps and drew the spear back for his next move.

In his hands, the spear was starting to give off a faint glow. Little droplets of water formed on the weapon's surface and froze, coating it in a thin layer of magical ice. Sylvain recognized that art. Lorenz bragged about being the first student in all three classes to master it. A magic attack, then. Armor wouldn't protect him from that one.

Sylvain grabbed the sword with both hands, tightening his stance as Ósrenn moved forward, and the frozen speartip once more came flying at him, aimed for his armored torso. It wouldn't have to draw blood, just make contact with him; picking a large, easy target made sense. Someone like Felix would have the skill to knock the opponent's weapon away or avoid being hit entirely. Armor freed up some options and limited others. Lacking in mobility but knowing that his vitals were protected, Sylvain opted for the next best thing: securing his own next move.

He inhaled, raised his elbows, and stepped into the hit. Due to the angle of his upper body, the spear scraped over the surface of his cuirass. Superchilled magical energy created a fine webbing of rime frost on the metal and, not unlike an ice bath, sent a wave of numbness spreading out from the left side of his ribcage.

He exhaled, kept moving, and released the sword with his right hand. With his left arm, he caught the shaft of the spear and squeezed it tight against his side. With his right, he slammed his gauntleted fist into Ósrenn's solar plexus with a resounding impact.

The warrior's grip on the spear loosened, and he fell to his knees with a wheezing breath, clutching his abdomen.

Sylvain took the spear into his right hand and twirled it, ignoring the lingering cold sensation on the side of his body. The fort was quiet around them.

"Whew, that move really caught me off guard," he said, then he went down on one knee in front of Ósrenn. "Will that do?"

Quite possibly, Ósrenn was leading this group of warriors simply because he was the oldest among them, possessing a healthily rational mind as well as the trust of his fellows. Or, perhaps, they knew what he was capable of and believed that he could protect them. Now, however, he was at Sylvain's mercy. It was a show, in a sense, but the stakes were real. Very real. This way, Ósrenn could surrender without losing the trust of the other warriors. That was the position he needed to be in, as the one in charge. The swiftness of his defeat, despite using what must have been his very best move, hammered the point home further. Even if they took Sylvain down, the rest of the knights would get to them eventually, and they might not be as merciful.

Ósrenn looked up at him, face strained with the pain, glancing briefly to the weapons in his hands. Then he nodded slowly. Sylvain got up and looked around at the other warriors. Some of them had weapons at the ready but looked bewildered, unsure what to do. Although he wasn't moving to threaten Ósrenn's life, the sword was still in his hand, bright and shiny for everyone to see.

"Let's open those gates before this escalates any further."

"Do as he says," Ósrenn grunted, still on his knees.

Things were tense when the knights entered the fortress, but Ósrenn had recovered enough to talk and immediately had his companions stand down. Seeing that, Finley did the same with the knights. Merlein and Luéy were sent off to retrieve the horses. The rest took up position in the fort and kept an eye on the Sreng warriors, who were relieved of their weapons and clustered together close by one of the walls.

Sylvain sat on an overturned barrel to the side of the courtyard, tending to the wound on his arm the mundane way with a temporary dressing. He and the knights had no healing magic available between them, and he declined the use of a vulnerary. Those were better saved for emergencies, and he was feeling mostly fine despite taking a magical attack head-on. Due to his stinginess, however, he ended up needing to somewhat widen the tear in his gambeson and shirt to wrap the dressing over the outside of his clothing. It was either that or removing his armor, and that would be too time-consuming. As he was doing this, Finley came up to him, having finished instructing the knights.

"Well now, boy," Finley said quietly. "I wasn't expecting you to convince them so quickly or smoothly. I'm sure your father would be pleased to hear about it."

"He'll have plenty to say about it," Sylvain smiled, tying off the bandage. "And Felix, too."

"— There's one thing he would tell you for sure, something that I agree with." He frowned, looking Sylvain square in the eye. "Taking point and leaving your knights behind is reckless. They serve their lord, and you must not deny them that purpose. Do you understand, Master Sylvain?"

"Um… sure, Finley. Thanks for the advice."

Catching Ósrenn looking their way from the direction of the fort's mess hall, Sylvain got up, glad for the interruption. Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. The storm was coming steadily closer, and it was a perfect opportunity to move their conversation indoors.

The Sreng warriors had set up in the mess and kitchen area rather than spread out throughout the fort, moving whatever available bedding and supplies they could find there. Contrary to Vivien's assumption, those supplies included food.

Originally, twenty-one Sreng warriors had reached the fort, but they split into two groups due to Ósrenn and another warrior having some differences. About half of them left almost right away. The remaining ones rested there for a night and were going to move on as well, but then a woman showed up all of a sudden. A priestess of "Goddess faith", as he put it. She promised to show them a safe way out of Fhaergus if they helped her, first. Not only that, she would also bring them food, something they direly needed.

Ósrenn took the deal, but they weren't all happy with it. When the priestess left to get them supplies, one warrior decided to simply leave on their own. The next morning, the runner was found dead in front of the gate, not a mark on them. Soon after, another one within the fort fell sick very quickly and died. She showed up again that evening, apparently astonished and saddened to hear of the deaths. At that point, the rest of them were too scared to say no, and much too hungry.

"And this favor she wanted in return…?" Sylvain asked, even though he already knew the answer. Needless to say, he was disturbed.

"She said you would surely come," Ósrenn said, eyes downcast. "We were to capture you and keep you here until she returned."

Sylvain crossed his arms, looking down into the crate of supplies this priestess had brought. Food that would keep well and survive travel; dried meats, beans, rice, hard bread, and so on. There was even a jar of honey.

"Finley," he said, glancing to the older knight. "If I left now, I'd make it back by nightfall, right?"

Finley furrowed his brow.

"Easily, but… you don't wish to stay and see what this woman wants? Now that we've retaken this place, capturing her would be an easy task."

A priestess who, clearly, wanted him to be there. He was to be kept there, until she returned. Returned from where? Doing what? Memories from two years prior lingered at the edge of his mind, almost causing him to shudder. If she was truly after him, it wouldn't matter where he was, and if that was the case, he might as well stay close to the people he loved. And there was still the issue of the Sreng warriors who left. They seemed to be gone without a trace, as there had been no reports of any people like them roving about.

"No, I don't think I want that." He turned to Ósrenn. "By the way, where did you all come from? Which part of Sreng?"

"All over." Ósrenn shrugged, looking up at him again. "Most of us are orphans who lost our parents when Fhaergus invaded fourteen years ago."

"I suppose none of you have much love for the Kingdom, then."

"It doesn't matter."

The young warrior standing before him was waiting, he realized. Waiting to hear what their fate would be.

"You're right. It doesn't," he said with a slight smile. "… What would you do if I let you go right now?"

"Master Sylvain…" Finley frowned, but Sylvain raised his hand to silence him.

"Let him talk. I'm curious."

"I'd find that priestess and shoot her with one arrow for each of my friends she killed. I don't care what happens to her after that."

"So, you do think she's behind their deaths?"

"Yes."

"And you still cooperated with her?"

"Yes." Ósrenn clenched his jaw, staring Sylvain down.

Right now, he wasn't much different from her, in Ósrenn's eyes.

What would his father have done? Had them executed, to make sure the issue ended right then and there? Kept them as leverage against Sreng? Parlayed with them and possibly gained some information about the situation in Sreng? Would he have pity on a group of young people raised and armed to fight their parents' enemy before they were even old enough to make their own decisions, because it seemed so painfully familiar? Well, not that it mattered. Sylvain was the one making this decision.

"Hey, Finley," he sighed. "I think these kids should go back to Sreng."

"Kids? You're hardly older than me," Ósrenn scoffed.

"— We can arrange that, right? Having them escorted back across the border? I'll take responsibility."

"With you standing in for the margrave, you can certainly see it done."

"What's this supposed to be? Mercy?" Ósrenn said, clearly suspicious. "If you're feeling sorry for us…"

"No, I thought about what you said earlier, when you were calling me a donkey." Sylvain smiled. "I'd like to have the chance to talk again once the war with the Empire is over. For now, there's this woman I just have to chase down."

And, more importantly, he couldn't keep Felix waiting.

Chapter Text

Riding for hours with the wind at your back would generally be a fortuitous thing. For Sylvain and the three knights accompanying him, it meant following along the same path as the rainstorm the whole way from Fort Windworn to the Gautier manor. They arrived soaked to the skin and miserable, but held back from entering yet. Merlein rode first to make a quick survey of the situation. Fifteen tense minutes passed before he returned.

Everything seemed to be fine, and the party had gone on as planned. With the ceremony long over and dinner about to end, only the dance remained. Aside from one guest indulging in spirits a bit too much, there had been no disturbances. Finley nodded to his report and turned to face all of them.

"Then we'll do as we discussed. Vivien and I will return to the Margrave's side. Once we've confirmed that he's secure, Vivien will join Master Sylvain watching for suspicious movements inside while I guard Lord Gautier. Merlein, you'll stay hidden and watch out for anyone coming or leaving."

Merlein gruffed an answer that could barely be heard through the rain, while Vivien practically shouted his.

"Sorry for making you stay outside in this weather," Sylvain said, moving his wet hair out of his eyes. "I'll have someone make you a nice hot toddy later."

"It's fine, but thank you, sir."

"Alright. Let's move out."

Sylvain used one of the servants' entrances to avoid getting dragged into formalities, but his sopping wet, fully armored appearance caused a bit of a stir anyway. He quickly explained that he was there as a surprise, and his return shouldn't be announced to anyone, not even his parents. Once that was cleared up, he went straight to his room, watching out as he went. Nothing appeared out of place inside either. The rest of the manor was rather quiet and empty, with all the attention focused on the event.

Less than a minute after he entered his room, a maid brought some towels, lit the fireplace, and asked if he wanted a warm bath drawn, which he regretfully had to say no to. Once she left, he resumed the bothersome task of removing his armor. Like everything else, the leather straps were soaked through and stubborn, and he cursed them more than once, but that wasn't the sort of thing he could ask a maid to do. Felix rarely wore heavier suits of armor, but still knew a thing or two about helping someone in or out of it thanks to his time as a squire, and he'd helped Sylvain quite a few times.

Naturally, besides the sopping wet gambeson and his equally wet clothes, the bandages on his arm were soaked through and needed to be changed. All the jostling made the cut start bleeding again and he had to slow down and very carefully apply fresh bindings. He sighed, missing the comfort of assistance.

After quickly picking out some dry clothes and taming his hair as best he could, he was fresh as a daisy. From a distance, at least. The dressed-in-a-hurry look was something he pulled off just fine. And it wasn’t just for comfort. Walking around at home fully armored wouldn’t look good if anyone saw him.

Nodding to himself, he left his room and walked toward his parents' rooms down the hall. There was something he needed to do before he went to find Felix.

Vivien guarded the door, appearing relaxed, although he had one hand on his sword. 

"Sorry I took so long," Sylvain said. "Is Finley inside?"

"No," Vivien frowned. "He’s investigating a noise. I’m taking his place for now."

"A noise…? What kind of noise? How long ago?"

"I didn't hear anything, so I'm not sure. About ten minutes ago."

Sylvain glanced back the way he came. The only doors down that corridor belonged to the Gautier family's private rooms; his own was just around the corner.

"… I'm going to talk to father real quick. Stay here for now."

Vivien nodded and stepped aside. Sylvain knocked twice.

"I'm coming in," he said, opening the door to step inside the Margrave and Margravine's rooms. The outer room was a private lounge filled with heavy wooden furniture and textiles in warm, inviting colors. The lounge had access to a private veranda that wrapped around the building all the way to Sylvain's room as well. He passed through the empty lounge and through a wide doorway covered by a heavy curtain at the far end of the room.

"Dad? Are you awake?"

Matthias Raoul Gautier, a powerfully built man with his fair share of battle scars and the same unruly red hair as his sons, usually commanded respect just by being there. Few had ever seen him reduced to the state he was in now: pale, lethargic, resting in bed propped up by pillows and unable to even finish his evening meal.

Still, the Margrave was awake, and dreadfully so. He dropped the book he had been reading beside him on the bed as though he’d been waiting for hours to do so.

"There you are, son," Matthias said, his voice weighed down by weariness. "Finley barely even said hello before he rushed out again. Is something going on?"

“Hey, dad.” Sylvain walked over to sit at his father's bedside as he talked. "Nothing you're in any shape to worry about right now."

"Now listen here," he sighed. "I might be unwell, but I still need to know what's going on, especially at a time like this."

Sylvain opened his mouth to speak, but his father wasn't done yet.

"— You've been more diligent than usual. Finley said you resolved the matter at Fort Windworn well. I'd like to hear the details from you." Matthias paused, needing to catch his breath a little. "… And how was the condition of the fort? I've been reconsidering the suggestion you made before."

Matthias' vitality was there, simmering under the surface, but the weakness clearly bothered him. Neither weapons nor diplomacy had any effect whatsoever on illness or poison. It bothered Sylvain as well, but for other reasons. After bringing up his suspicions to his mother, she forbade him from mentioning them to his father, to avoid riling him up unnecessarily. However, not speaking up about his thoughts made it difficult to look his father in the eye.

"Dad… you should get some more sleep. We can talk tomorrow. That's fine, right?"

"Sleep?” He scoffed. “I'm certainly not too tired to listen to my own son."

"I really just came to tell you that I'm back home."

"I know there's a party going on, but if you recall, you're not supposed to be attending…"

"That's not it. Felix is waiting for me. I need to go talk to him."

"Can't you play later?"

"Dad, I'm not going to play!" Sylvain rolled his eyes. "It's important, and he's leaving again tomorrow!"

Hearing those words, his father frowned and let out a long, resigned sigh.

"I should have known better than to try and stop you from running off when Felix is here. Fine, then," he said, waving Sylvain off with a heavy, weak hand. "… Leave your sick old dad all alone for the rest of the night."

Sylvain got up, shaking his head with a small smile.

"What would everyone say if they knew Margrave Gautier was moping in bed?"

"Ha. Not a word, if they know what's good for them."

Matthias smiled as well, but then his expression turned serious.

"— Son, I'll let you go, but keep this in mind: it's fine to be close friends. There are, however, lines you shouldn’t cross. Don't let your affection turn inappropriate."

"Inappropriate… ?” Sylvain was seized by a sinking feeling. He turned it into an unbothered smile instead. “Where did that come from?"

"I'm not blind," Matthias said, his eyebrow arching over skepticism. "I was young once, too."

Sylvain was the first to look away.

"Come on, dad… Felix is my friend and I’m not going to confuse him for a woman anytime soon.” He shook his head. “I need to go. Get some rest. You really gave mom a fright, you know."

Matthias' expression softened back into his previous weariness, but he chuckled.

"Alright, alright. Try to stay out of trouble for once."

"I promise you won't hear a word about me doing anything bad."

Sylvain was already across the room, pushing past the curtain and proceeding outside.

"Vivien," he said, closing the door. "Stay here until Finley comes back."

"Leave it to me, sir."

Sylvain nodded and went back down the hall. Past his own door, outside the room that used to belong to his brother, something caught his eye. Muddy footprints, starting at his brother's door and heading into the house. Not his own, or Vivien's. Those were already wiped up. These were fresh, and the door was slightly open. It was closed when he passed by earlier, and although it wasn’t kept locked or anything, nobody in the household really had any business in there anymore.

He looked inside. The room was as dark and empty as he expected it to be. Almost everything Miklan left behind, including some of the furniture, had been moved or reappropriated elsewhere over the past year. They couldn't afford to let useful things gather dust. The room itself, however… it seemed like no one had a better use for it.

It occurred to him that if Finley heard the noise — whatever it was — and Vivien didn't, it might have come from outside. Like the other family rooms, this one had access to the veranda. The footprints could well be Finley's.

He closed the door. It was a sound theory, but an uneasy feeling continued to gnaw at him. He turned around and returned to Vivien, who watched him with a slight frown.

"Is something wrong?"

"Actually, I think you should be at my father's side instead of out here." Sylvain smiled. "Could you do that for me? He seems bored in there, anyway."

Vivien nodded, smiling slightly.

"Of course, sir."

"Thanks."

Feeling a lot better about this arrangement, Sylvain took off to find Felix.

The diffuse sound of rain mixed with muffled music from the ballroom. Sweet, lovely tunes perfectly suited for a summer's eve dance defied the weather. Sylvain's steps grew quicker and lighter the closer he got to the ballroom. He nearly knocked right into a serving girl on his way in but managed to step around her and catch the tray she dropped.

"My lord," she said with a gasp. "I am so—"

"—Sorry, that was my fault," he said with a smile, handed her the tray, and entered entered through the wide stone archway opening up directly into the ballroom. He stopped at the top of the landing to a low set of stairs and signaled for the greeter to not announce his presence, then turned his attention back to the room at large.

The large hall, a wide-open space one and a half stories tall, was decorated with flowers and colorful streamers and filled to the brim with pleasant music and chatter. The room was loosely partitioned in half to make it look less empty. One side housed a small stage where musicians were currently playing, as well as the designated dance floor, while the other side had tables with refreshments and seating set up along the walls. The number of guests was fairly modest for a wedding event — about a hundred or so people — which was understandable, considering the times. Plenty were dancing, including the newlywed couple, and some were happy to mingle.

Sylvain scanned the faces of the people spread out before him. First, he spotted the person who was always the easiest to find at any function she attended: his mother. Ludivine Gautier was not only taller than most women in the room, but she also eschewed fancy dress for armor polished to a shine. She was ready to personally defend visitors at any time should conflict come to their home, a habit from her time as a knight, and appeared quite happy to host.

She moved smoothly across the floor to hand Felix a glass.

He blinked a few times, not sure if he was currently dreaming. A crown of white flowers rested on Felix's head, and when Ludivine stopped to chat with him, he smiled. No, he laughed at something. Felix, relaxed, having a good time. And then, a young lady Sylvain recognized — they had a brief flirtation — approached Felix to join in the conversation. She walked up close to him, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

The scene made his chest feel tight, and suddenly he was fighting off the urge to walk straight across the ballroom and drag Felix away from there. And then he felt embarrassed for himself, for thinking that way.

He turned away, instructed the greeter to have a message relayed, and walked up the stairs to the room's upper level. It was nothing more than a short, open hallway leading out to a balcony overlooking the grounds. The Gautiers would usually enjoy their breakfasts there for as long as the weather allowed. The only other door opened up into one of Sylvain's favorite places in the manor: the library. However, as much as he liked the upper hall, he disliked the stairs. Miklan pushed him one too many times when their parents weren’t looking, and those memories still stubbornly came to the forefront of his mind every time he went there.

Eyes on the ballroom below, he stopped halfway down the hall, leaned against the banister. A servant aptly moved across the ballroom to deliver the message to Felix. He received it and glanced briefly up at Sylvain, who smiled and waved at him, then excused himself.

Felix weaved between people but was stopped more than once by people addressing him. He was polite enough to not ignore them completely. He was not polite enough to give anyone the time of day, though. Still, it did manage to hold him up. Sylvain smiled to himself, then turned his back on the ballroom and leaned against the banister.

Sylvain’s gaze wandered idly, and he noticed little droplets of water and mud spotted the floor beside the carpet. They made barely visible trail to the library. Finley again? No, he'd have to climb the balcony, a story and a half up, and… why would he need to do that in the first place?

The trail didn't lead farther down the hallway. There was nowhere else for anyone to go. He stepped away from the banister and went to crack the library door.

A thin band of light fell upon the dark and quiet library. He couldn't see or hear anything moving, so he pushed the door open further and entered. The watchful eyes of his great-great-grandmother stared back at him from a painting directly across from the doorway. Most of the room’s space was dominated by massive wooden bookcases containing all kinds of books and materials (some of which the Church of Seiros would probably clutch their pearls at). The silhouette of a writing desk and chair were just about visible a bit farther inside.

The windows were almost always covered to protect the delicate treasures inside. Light didn't reach the farthest corners of the room, let alone behind the massive bookcases. From what he could see, nothing looked out of place. However, there was something a little bit off. Something other than the comfortable smell of old books he knew so well tickled his nose. Faintly, he sensed rain tainting the cool, dry air. The smell of rain and wet fabric came from behind him. Realizing he made a big mistake, he slowly started turning around.

The door closed without warning, leaving him in the dark. Before he could whip around, an arm wrapped around his neck from behind. His shout was silenced by a hand covering his mouth.

He struggled, tried to pull the offending arms away from him, but they held on tight and only squeezed harder. He couldn't breathe. His assailant started dragging him down. In desperation, he flailed his arms out and grabbed hold of a bookcase. The thing was so heavy it wouldn't even move even as he strained against his assailant.

Sylvain's lungs screamed for air. The assailant grunted and muttered a curse, then yanked harder, and his fingers slipped free. Their legs knocked together and Sylvain took the opportunity to stomp down hard on his assailant's foot. He grunted in pain and loosened his grip enough for Sylvain to slip free. He stumbled forward and took a wheezing breath, but lost his balance and tripped into the side of a bookcase.

The door opened behind them, spilling light into the room once more.

"Sylvain?"

Felix. He turned to look, but his vision blurred. Felix and his assailant were little more than dark shapes in the doorway. One of them turned to take off.

"Grab him," Sylvain croaked.

One pushed past the other, and they both disappeared out of sight.

He slid down against the bookcase, focusing on breathing and fighting to keep himself from passing out. Slowly, vague and distant sensations became distinct once again, and he heard Felix come back down the hallway at a brisk pace.

"He fled off the balcony… Sylvain?" Felix's tone shifted to alarm, and he hurried over.

Sylvain opened his eyes to a beautiful sight. Vibrant brown eyes and a thin mouth drawn into a worried frown. Long, black hair in a loose ponytail, crowned by white flowers that brought out a measure of softness in those usually severe features. He recognized those flowers, now that they were up close. Myrtle, symbolizing love and marriage in some parts of Fódlan. His parents planted the myrtle bush together when they got married, and it bloomed beautifully every summer since.

He blinked out of the daze and came back to reality. Subtly, feelings shifted on Felix's face as he helped Sylvain sit up straight. They were difficult to follow in the dim light, but one thing was clear: he wasn't happy.

"I'm— I'm fine!" Sylvain smiled, drawing out a small laugh, but that only made him cough. "… He was just trying to choke me out, I think."

His attempt to sound reassuring did not win him any points.

"—Idiot! He was just trying to choke you out?" Felix hissed the words out. "And why are you unarmed? Isn't this what you were paranoid about? Why didn't you just wait?"

"No, I mean, I don't know—…" Sylvain paused and took a deep breath. He was a bit sore, but his attacker didn't hurt him too badly. "… I didn't think I'd have to worry about being jumped in my own home, alright? … He climbed down the balcony?"

"… He got down a lot faster than I could catch up with him."

Felix helped him up, and he gingerly rubbed his throat.

"Don’t worry," he said, pausing to inhale and exhale properly. "—Merlein's patrolling the grounds. He'll catch anyone trying to run off. Did you see his face?"

"No," Felix sighed. "It was covered."

While they were talking, Sylvain exited the library and approached the railing to look down at the ballroom. Felix followed behind to do the same. The balcony door was open much wider; outside, the rain had all but stopped. Below, the ballroom was just as before with no signs of anything being amiss; music, people mingling and dancing, oblivious to what just transpired above them, although things seemed to be winding down. Sylvain mentally estimated that the party would be over in less than an hour.

"… A random burglary and assault coincidentally on the night of a wedding, when everyone's busy," Sylvain said, glancing over at the balcony door.

"—Sylvain,"

It couldn't be a coincidence. Not at a time like this. Not when they had people actively patrolling—

"Ouch!"

Felix had grabbed his arm, quite firmly, directly on the spear wound. Seeing Sylvain flinch, he quickly let go and drew his hand back.

"What's — did he hurt your arm, too?"

"No, that's from earlier… It's not too serious, but it stings." Sylvain carefully flexed his arm. It didn't hurt too bad, when he wasn't being grabbed. "I haven't had the chance to get it sealed up."

"A vulnerary would've taken care of that."

"I know, you're right, but…"

"— Fine, suit yourself. Now," Felix said, arms crossed. "What's going on? What happened at the fort?"

"Right, I was about to tell you, I just wasn't sure…" Sylvain trailed off. Once more, he spotted the drops of mud and water on the floor.

"Not sure of what?"

Miklan's room and the library. What did they have in common? He had a hunch.

"I'll tell you on the way to father's office."

The two young men exited the ballroom at a brisk pace, leaving the celebration behind. Felix had his hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it anytime. Occasionally, the moon peeked out of the clouds and in through windows they passed, outlining Felix's profile with a soft, pale light. Although he was alert, he still paid close attention as Sylvain quietly summarized the day's events at Fort Windworn.

"So, this priestess was out to get you specifically?"

Sylvain smiled, turning his eyes to the front instead. They passed by the servants' quarters right as a footman stepped outside, and he was quiet until they were alone again.

"… I know what you're thinking, and it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"Her name is Visca. She's convinced I stole something valuable from her. I didn't, though. She stole it from me, and I took it back. That's how it started, but I don't think that really matters anymore," Sylvain said with a light shrug. He could feel Felix's eyes lingering on him, scrutinizing him closely. "I really thought she'd given up, but after hearing that story from Ósrenn… I'm convinced she poisoned those warriors, and father, too. I think she's looking for ways to make my life miserable until I give her what she wants."

"… For how long have you known this woman?"

Sylvain smiled stiffly. He already made his bed on this.

"— Remember that time I was really sick and a woman broke into my dorm room? That was Visca. Except I wasn't sick. I didn't realize this until later, but she poisoned me. Father has the same symptoms."

Sylvain's gaze wandered as he talked, looking at anything and everything in the hallway. When he finally looked at Felix again, he was met with bewilderment and rapidly increasing anger.

"That was her? Why didn't you tell me about this right away?!"

Felix was close to yelling, his tone exasperated. He moved toward Sylvain, who instinctively stepped away to the side, nearly tripping into the wall. He raised his hands apologetically.

"I didn't know it was her for sure!"

"I don't care! You had two years to tell me!"

"I — I wanted to forget about it! And I thought she gave up!"

"I can't believe you," Felix said, sounding more resigned than angry.

They walked in tense silence for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, it was just a few seconds.

"Let's not argue. You're right, I should have said something, but so much happened since then, and…" He shook his head. No. He couldn't be making excuses. "I—… Felix, I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It slipped my mind because I didn’t think she would show up again. "

He walked closer, almost stepping in Felix's way. As both of them came to a halt, Felix sighed, staring up at him with his eyebrows raised.

"Quit it with the puppy eyes already," he said, crossing his arms. "I get that she’s dangerous. I'll stay until this is cleared up."

Felix’s forgiveness wasn’t that easily earned. His conscience stung.

"Thanks, Felix." He smiled, facing forward again. "… So, here's what I think. The guy who attacked me is working with her, and they're looking for our family records. Maybe the seal, too. We've got some historic records in the library, but the important documents — the valuable ones — are kept in the vault…"

"… And the vault is in the Margrave's office. Yes, I remember."

"We really got in trouble that time," Sylvain chuckled.

"Only because you tripped and locked us in."

How was a curious young boy supposed to know that the treasures in the family vault were mostly paper, and not exciting at all? As an adult, he knew that boring paper with land deeds, important contracts, inheritance… and, of course, old and new Gautier family dirt, could be worth a lot to the right person. Like, for example, a person looking for the circumstances of a child added to the family register.

They were almost there. His father's office was just down the hallway. 

"… Actually, there's one more detail to the story, but I think that'll have to wait until later."

He paused and squinted, peering down the length of the hallway. It wasn't easy to spot from that far away. This late, most of the manor was only illuminated enough that one could move through it without bumping into things, but it was still lit nonetheless.

So was the office, it seemed. Some light seeped out from underneath the door.

"It’s supposed to be locked up and empty," he whispered.

Felix frowned and moved as though to draw his sword, but Sylvain stopped him.

"Hold on a second. Let's figure out if there's actually anyone in there first.”

"Hmm," Felix narrowed his eyes but nodded. "Don't get in my way if he is in there."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

With trained, light steps, Sylvain moved almost soundlessly up to the door. Standing right next to it, he held his breath for a few moments. Nothing happened. He could just barely make out a voice on the other side. He glanced in Felix's direction and saw that he was also sneaking closer, although much slower. Sylvain breathed in and breathed out quietly, then put his ear to the door to listen.

"—hidden by a mechanism?"
"That's right."
"And how is this mechanism operated?"
"… needs a key. The Margravine should have it."
"Well, then. Would you please get it for me?"
"Pardon?"
"You have a sword, don't you? I don't need her, just the key."
"Sorry, but no. Do it yourself."

Chills ran down his back. Not one, but two people inside. His mother was being threatened, but that wasn’t the thing rattling him. She was more than capable of defending herself. Both of the voices were familiar. Especially the woman making requests. She had a unique timbre he could never forget. She was actually right there in the manor, and not at Fort Windworn. The man seemed to be standing farther away and was harder to hear, but he still recognized the voice. Carefully, carefully, he moved to peek in the keyhole instead.

There were definitely two people inside, one slimmer, cloaked figure standing by the desk and a larger built one near the windows.

Felix reached Sylvain just as he straightened up and threw the door wide open.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of blood. Then, two faces turned toward them. Visca, of course, in her dark, floor-length cloak, as pale as before. The smell of blood originated from her, or more accurately, from the large puddle of blood she was casually standing next to. And the other…

One of Gautier's loyal knights, a man Sylvain had known since childhood, stared coldly back at them.

"Merlein?" He asked in disbelief.

Visca sighed and closed the book she was holding. She spoke to Merlein in an admonishing tone.

"Were you really sloppy enough to lead them right here?"

“I didn’t, but it’s convenient,” he said, not taking his eyes off them.

"Nonsense. Go clean up after yourself."

"— Don't even try," Felix pushed past Sylvain and stepped inside, hand on his sword.

"Oh my, how confident." Visca smiled. "But I suppose the younger Fraldarius still struggles to live up to his brother’s example."

"What?"

Felix's attention snapped right back to Visca. He didn’t notice the quick, small movements of Merlein removing something from his belt. Sylvain almost missed it as well. A hatchet made a swift, deadly arc through the air. There wasn't much time to react.

Sylvain pushed Felix aside, and the axe blade struck his shoulder. It nicked and bounced off his collarbone, then fell to the floor, failing to lodge itself in his body. The pain that came was so sharp and sudden that he couldn't even cry out, just stagger backward a few steps up against the door frame. He grit his teeth, forced a smile, and raised his head.

"You missed," he said, even as blood gushed out of the wound.

Felix was already back on his feet, throwing Sylvain a look that said they would be having words about his choices later. Worth it.

"Hmph." Merlein raised his sword and approached, undeterred.

Felix drew his blade and knocked away a broad swipe in one swift movement. However, instead of being left open and vulnerable, Merlein made an immediate follow-up that forced Felix to abort his own attack and sidestep. Merlein's shorter, lighter blade was better suited for indoor combat, and his senses were carefully honed as the highly experienced warrior he was. He anticipated Felix's overhead strike and parried, but the kick to his gut slipped through his defenses. He was pushed back, and Felix's sword came down, slashing his arm.

Petals dropped from Felix's flower crown and sailed down to the floor while he retreated a few steps, and Merlein cut through their path, kicking off from the wall to thrust his blade at his opponent. Again, he seemed to anticipate Felix's movements, coming in at a difficult angle to avoid. A loud, ringing clang sounded out as Felix partially parried the attack with the flat of his blade. Merlein's attack struck true, but it was a shallow stab in Felix's side rather than his chest.

He pulled back as swiftly as he had advanced. Both combatants backed away from each other, bleeding and wary of the other's next move. Visca, who had seemed content to watch on impassively, now spoke up.

"Sir Merlein," she said, raising her pale hand. "Remember that the Goddess supports our cause. Let's not disappoint her."

Wary of what she might do, Felix took a step back, but her aim was not for him. Bluish white light radiated from her palm and shone like a lantern at Merlein, bathing him in it for a short few moments, and then it faded. That was all it took for his injury to disappear as though it had never existed in the first place. The only evidence that remained of it was the drops of blood he shed on the floor.

Merlein advanced again. Felix threw a glance back at Sylvain, who started raising his hand for a spell.

"Felix, c'mere," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on Visca. "I'll close your wound."

Eyes trained on the enemy once more, and his sword raised, Felix backed closer to Sylvain.

In that moment, Felix chose to rely on him. Sylvain would never be the best, and he could never be the one to fill every gap, but he still polished himself up rather well in the last year. His talents were adequate, but unfortunately, the realms of magic weren't that generous. Even if they were…  faith and piety were never going to be a defining source of strength for him.

Visca smiled at Sylvain from across the room, and he understood. She was the problem. Sylvain had something to lose; she did not. This wasn't a battle of attrition they could win. Whether or not the Goddess truly did support her, their side had the upper hand.

He dropped the spell and cast a different one. Shining golden arrows flew out of his palm, curved harmlessly around Felix and passed by Merlein to strike only their intended target: a painting on the wall. The portrait of a long-dead Gautier ancestor flew off the wall by the force of the spell. Its hanger, a hefty piece of metal, slipped out and fell to the floor next to the painting. Something clicked inside the wall.

Merlein's eyes went wide when he realized what was going on, and he yelled.

"You damn brat!" 

Sylvain grabbed Felix by the back of his coat and pulled him away from Merlein's grasping hand, just in time to avoid the thick metal bars that came down from the top of the door frame. Inside the office, the windows were barred at the same time.

They backed away a little farther, wary of Visca's spell range.

"… Nice shot,” Felix said glancing back at Sylvain. “… but I'd rather have put a permanent end to them."

He sighed, holding his sword with one hand and putting pressure on his wound with the other.

Merlein muttered a curse, stepped away from the bars, and turned to Visca.

"There's an alarm connected to the contraption. Guards will be here soon."

"Is that so?" Visca chuckled like she had just been told a funny joke, lifting her skirts to step over the puddle of blood. "Looks like this is a loss for us."

"You don't say," he muttered.

Sylvain watched the short exchange leaning a little on Felix since he was starting to feel lightheaded.

"Hey, Merlein," he said after taking a steadying breath. "Why are you her henchman? Is it about money? Or…"

“No,” Merlein said, sneering back at him. "It's about you."

"… Me?" Sylvain half-smiled. "I don't know what you heard, but I never went out with your cousin. She's a bit young for me."

"You fop," Merlein spat on the floor and raised his sword again. "I'd rather place my bets on a different heir."

"You're a bit late for that," Felix said dryly when Sylvain couldn't quite muster a response.

Money would have been preferable. Everyone likes money. It was an understandable line of reasoning. Instead, he became the target of a man who felt justified acting on a self-ascribed grudge. That's what it always came down to. The poor kid wasn't even three years old yet.

Behind them and down the hall came the sound of several sets of heavy boots. Guards were on the way.

"Such a defeatist attitude," Visca said, standing next to Merlein. She opened the book in her hands. Again, a blue light shone, this time from below her feet. "A shame to use this so early."

"Hey, don't try anything—" Felix started moving forward, but he was too late.

The blue light covered both her and Merlein, grew stronger, and then suddenly blinked out.

"What the—" Merlein's confused voice faded away together with their forms, leaving nothing more than a puff of smoke behind.

Sylvain and Felix stared at the spot from where their enemies had just warped away.

"Well, damn," Sylvain said finally. "I didn't know she could do that."

Felix frowned, turning back to Sylvain. He was still holding on to his sword.

"If you had let mh-ee—!?"

The pitch of his voice rose suddenly. Sylvain laid his hand over the stab wound, casting a basic healing spell, which was the best he could do. It would stop the bleeding and start the process of healing.

"Sorry, is that ticklish? I haven't practiced much."

Felix repaid him with a glare.

"… It felt like you dumped ice water down my shirt. And you're still bleeding. Dumbass."

The first guard came around the corner, and suffice to say, the evening continued to be hectic. Two knights missing, one presumed dead. No trace of Finley was found except for his sword, which lay discarded in the puddle of blood in the office. The grounds and surrounding area were searched for any signs of Visca and Merlein, or where her spell took them. Much later in the night, there was frustratingly little to report.

While Sylvain and Felix while their injuries were being tended to, the Margravine came to interrogate them. She was furious, not at them, but at the very audacity of those rogues hurting her family. No small amount of ire was awakened by the mention of Merlein turning his blade against both Gautier and Fraldarius. Sylvain had little to say about it. Having heard what the man really thought of him, he was suddenly gripped by a fear that his parents would think even a little bit the same. His mother assumed the abrupt silence was due to exhaustion and didn't press him. For whatever reason, Felix pretended he didn't know either.

They ended their night cared for and comfortable, while manor guards and knights kept up their efforts.

And, of course, none of that could be relayed to the guests. There were appearances to keep up, after all. The highborn hosts couldn't be thought of as people who would let their guests be exposed to deadly danger. They departed for their homes, the newlywed couple included, never the wiser.

Felix ended up falling asleep on a chaise in Sylvain’s room. Hearing his calm, even breathing was soothing enough that Sylvain slept peacefully as well.

In the morning, the warm sun put nature in a wondrous mood. Grasses and herbs were vibrant, shining with dew. Trees swayed gently in the breeze. Birds sang. Flowers flowered. Sylvain ran.

He hurried out of his room while still doing up the last few buttons on his shirt. He reached the kitchens just as Ludivine exited them together with the house steward.

"Heavens, Sylvain," she said and sighed, seeing the state of her son. "What's the rush so early in the morning? I thought you'd sleep in."

"Good morning, mother," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek in passing. "I'm going out for a ride! I'll be back later!"

"A ride? Now? This is not the right time for—" She shouted after him. “Come back here this instant, Sylvain José Gautier!”

But he already swept through the kitchen and out through the kitchen door, headed directly for the stables. A young squire had already prepared his horse in exchange for an extra breakfast muffin. He mounted up, ignoring the slight twinge in his shoulder, and set off before anyone could try to stop him.

This far into Gautier lands, the roads were still generally quiet and safe. Aside from the regular guard patrol, the only people he passed by was a farmer with an ox cart. Surrounded by fields of golden crops swaying in the wind on all sides, he felt awfully lonely. However, cresting a small hill, he finally saw a spot of blue moving down the road.

"There you are, jerk," he said and spurred his horse on.

Hearing another rider approach, Felix turned in his saddle and frowned seeing Sylvain catch up to ride beside him.

"Shouldn't you be resting up and preparing to head back north?"

"I will, later," Sylvain said with a smile. "Why didn't you wake me up before you left? You’re so heartless. I was right there…"

Even though he must have expected the question, Felix's gaze flickered away from Sylvain. He stared in front of him, then sighed.

"I can’t be away from home for too long," he said finally, gripping the reins more firmly.

“Are you really in that much of a rush? I haven’t heard anything about Fraldarius being in trouble.” Sylvain tilted his head to stay in Felix’s field of view. “I wanted to eat breakfast together and catch up, like you promised.”

Felix glared back at him.

"Catch up about what? It's war. There's nothing new to talk about. I can't believe how clingy you've become. You're a grown man!"

He worked himself up into agitation, but lacked any proper force of anger behind his words.

"… Sorry about being a clingy grown man," Sylvain said, still smiling. "I'll go with you as far as the river checkpoint, then I have to turn back."

Felix turned away in a huff.

"Do what you want."

"I brought something to eat, too."

Felix glanced back at him, if briefly, in interest.

They rode along quietly under the morning sun, watching the breeze make waves over the fields. A brown buzzard circled lazily above them, scanning the ground for prey. Slowly but surely, a glittering band of water came into view, snaking across the landscape like a blue silk ribbon. Less than a mile away, a large stone tower jutted out of the opposite riverbank, connecting the two sides with a bridge.

Sylvain didn't feel quite ready to part ways yet. His eyes followed the river upstream to where he knew an old farmhouse was, surrounded by a large patch of trees.

"Hey, Felix. Let's take the scenic route instead." He nodded in the direction of the trees.

"You want to go out there? Why?" Felix looked his way, eyebrow arched.

"You'll see."

"No, I won't. I'm following the road."

Sylvain shrugged.

"That's fair. I'll go on my own, then."

"Wait."

"Thanks for all the help, Felix. I really owe you," he said, smiling as he directed his horse to leave the road, jumping across a shallow ditch.

"Sylvain!"

"I'll eat your sandwich so it doesn't go to waste!"

Sylvain set off following a green, grassy path around a field of grain, then made a turn onto a dirt path leading up to the old farmhold. He chuckled a little to himself, knowing that Felix followed close behind.

They rode under the heavy branches of an old oak, the first of many large trees surrounding the old property. The terrain became more and more thickly covered in underbrush and young trees, making it difficult to ride safely. He dismounted and led his horse by the reins, finding an old footpath that was easier to navigate. It took them to the center of the grove.

Mossy, square-cut stones and rotting wood decades old was all that remained of the old farm. Night-and day-flowers with violet top leaves and bright yellow flowers formed a border between the trees and the grassy clearing. Thick patches of small, cute daisies in white and pink covered the sunniest spots, growing around abandoned old farming equipment. The air was dense with the smell of sun-warmed earth, grass, and the nearby river.

Sylvain approached the edge of the water. Here, the waters flowed calm and soothing between tufts of rushes and reeds. He removed the saddlebag containing their breakfast and gave his horse a pat, leaving her to drink or graze at her leisure while he sat on an old log.

Felix walked slowly across the clearing with his horse, taking in the surroundings with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Do you remember now?" Sylvain scooted over and patted the free spot next to him, inviting Felix to sit.

"Our secret castle," Felix said, wandering over to join him.

A castle, an enemy fortress, their own lordly home, or whatever else a group of children needed it to be at the moment. Himself, Felix, Glenn, and sometimes Ingrid and Dimitri. None of them had been back there for close to a decade.

Sylvain unwrapped the sandwiches and handed one to Felix.

"This place is special to me, you know."

Felix was unable to answer as his mouth was already busy with breakfast, but he did give Sylvain a questioning look.

"Don't you remember telling me, right here by the water, that you'd definitely marry me when we grew up?"

"… No."

"Actually, you also said you'd marry Ingrid, your mother, and your nanny…" Sylvain grinned. "You were such a cute kid."

"Thankfully, I actually grew up."

Sylvain was barely two bites into his sandwich, while Felix had somehow devoured half of his already. He grew self-conscious being watched and slowed down, but Sylvain kept holding his gaze. It was something he'd done so many times before, which was probably why he didn't stop to think about who he was talking to.

At least, that's what he would tell himself later.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping slightly lower, and he leaned in the tiniest bit more. Long, wispy strands of hair had slipped free of Felix's ponytail. Sylvain reached out and tucked them behind his ear. His fingers brushed softly against Felix's cheek. "You grew out of cute and into stunning instead."

You could have heard a pin drop. Felix looked at him awkwardly.

"Sylvain, what are you doing?"

Sylvain straightened up immediately, mentally grasping for a way to salvage the situation. Don't be weird, he reminded himself.

"What? I can't compliment you?" He chuckled. "You're a good-looking guy. Anyone can see that."

The awkwardness wasn't going anywhere. Felix's cheeks were starting to turn red, and Sylvain could feel his own face growing hotter as well.

"— I'm serious! Come on, you can't tell me no one asked you to dance yesterday. If I'd been there to help, maybe you'd even have gotten a date out of it."

"If you'd been there, I would've danced with you instead."

"I'm flattered, but that won't get you any dates…"

"You're annoying and clingy, but at least you know what you're doing when it comes to dancing."

"That's right, I— … you really think so?"

Another wave of heat spread over Sylvain's face. That light, fluttering feeling in his stomach returned, and a smile started creeping back onto his face.

"Yes. Stop looking so happy about it."

Sylvain looked away, unsure what kind of face to make. It did make him happy, but did that make him weird?

Turning back, Felix was already brushing some crumbs off his clothes and getting up. His eyes softened a bit as they swept slowly over their old playground.

"I need to get going," he said, turning back to Sylvain. "And you should head back. I can tell your shoulder is bothering you. Don't make it worse."

"It's not that bad, really." Sylvain followed him over to where their horses were grazing. "One more healing session and it'll be just another scar, nothing to worry about."

A disapproving look was the only response he received to that.

Once again, Sylvain had an anxious feeling building in his chest. There was no telling when they would be able to see each other again. And even if they could meet, it would probably be because something troubling was going on, like it had been this time.

Felix turned back to him with the reins in hand.

Both of them remained standing there, not moving or saying anything else. Felix’s shoulders seemed tense, his whole stance steady, like he was bracing himself. Like he was waiting for something. Waiting for Sylvain to do something.

Waiting for…?

Slowly, Sylvain leaned in. Felix's eyes grew wider. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could do that, Sylvain pulled him into a tight hug.

Whether Felix actually wanted it or had simply resigned to accept the inevitable, the result was the same. After a short while, he uttered three special words, muffled against Sylvain's shoulder.

"… I can't breathe."

Sylvain let go and took a step back.

"Haha, sorry," he said, smiling.

Felix nodded and quickly started leading his horse toward the path out of the grove.

"— Don't do anything stupid," he said, glancing back one last time. His ponytail was askew.

"You stay safe, too, Felix."

Sylvain watched him ride off, then let out a big sigh.

There had been certain guys he thought of as good-looking before, and he saw nothing wrong with handing out a compliment here and there. A completely normal thing to do. In that sense, Felix wasn't the first. But despite his reputation, he was not, in fact, a completely thoughtless, selfish jerk who would irresponsibly act on “inappropriate affection”. He wouldn't do that to a friend. What use were those feelings directed at Felix anyway, who hardly showed any interest in other people at all, let alone other men?

Rationality had no place in deciding anything, unfortunately. He had no choice but to accept that he had it bad, real bad, and it wasn't getting any better. Still, he had retained a little bit of dignity.

Sylvain turned to his horse and pet her mane.

"You saw that, right? I'm a perfect gentleman."

She snorted.

"Okay, maybe not a perfect gentleman, but I'm doing my best."

It wasn't until he was getting ready for bed that night that he realized he never told Felix the final, crucial detail about why Visca was out to get him in the first place. But that, he figured, could wait until the next time they had a chance to talk.

Chapter Text

Sylvain and five officers chosen to command separate units of Gautier’s battalion of troops stood assembled around a table in the command tent.

"These units will aid Fraldarius directly." He moved pieces representing their forces to their appropriate spots on the map. "—The rest of us will ride ahead to the other side of the pass and engage retreating enemy forces."

He looked up from the map and quickly scanned the faces of his officers. Calm, nervous, neutral, receptive, skeptical. A decent spread.

"— But what's the purpose of having reserves for reinforcements? If we surround them with our full number, then surely there's no way they can flee."

"Good question," Sylvain said with a smile. "These aren't elite troops. Once reinforcements come in and they start losing ground, there's a good chance they'll be demoralized and try to flee."

"So we mop them up before they can get anywhere, yes?"

"When does it ever work out that way? If any of them slip away…" He drew a line across the map with his finger, from the site of the battle to the settlements farther downriver. "It's our job to make sure these people don't lose even one chicken. Does that clear things up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great. And this is the Margrave's plan, by the way. I'm just here to execute it. I'll accept constructive criticism, though."

There were some nods, some chuckles, acknowledgment. These were seasoned warriors, all with their own opinions, and it was only natural for them to express those opinions. Margrave Gautier was the thread that tied them all together, weaving the fabric of a heavy mantle Sylvain was quite happy to only borrow for the time being.

"Alright. Get your units ready to move out in ten minutes."

The officers swiftly parted ways to do so. All but one of them. His second in command stayed behind. She was nervous, shaking almost, and taking deep, calming breaths. He eyed her clammy countenance, quietly wondering if he should be worried.

"Are you sure you're alright with this? I know it was me who asked you to be here, but I won't force you to fight Empire forces if you don't want to."

She exhaled loudly, then nodded and sprinted off at top speed.

The battalion started mounting up and dividing up in two: the reserves, consisting of fifty soldiers and commanded by Sylvain personally, and the main force, eighty-five soldiers commanded by Bernadetta, formerly of Varley and most recently under Gautier's protection.

Usually, Sylvain would be the one leading the main force from the front. However, he was still recovering from a recent injury and as such, he couldn't. Therefore, he needed a trusted lieutenant to handle that task. Of course, the Margrave decided that this was an excellent opportunity to test his son's leadership abilities. There were plenty of candidates and many suggestions made, but failed to account for Sylvain's tendency to skirt arbitrary rules and make his own way.

Some in the court of Gautier rolled their eyes when Sylvain’s choice became known, because of course he would choose a cute girl over an experienced soldier or knight. He was confident that they would change their tune once they saw the accuracy with which Bernadetta pinpointed the biggest threat in the vicinity and worked out how to eliminate them. She looked unusually confident as well, armed and taking to the skies on her pegasus to guide her troops.

He mounted up and signaled for the reserves to move out. They all had a long day in front of them.

At the very cusp of spring, when the air was still crisp, and gently bowing snowdrops bloomed in secluded forest glens, Sylvain woke up in an unfamiliar bed.

He sat up and yawned, finding that he was not hungover nor was he sharing the bed with anyone. There was, however, a Fraldarius banner hanging over the fireplace mantle to jog his memory.

"Oh. That's right."

After a day of riding, engaging enemy forces, and then even more time on horseback, he arrived at Fraldarius manor late in the evening completely exhausted, passing right out as soon as a bed was prepared for him. Probably the best sleep he had in months, which turned the simple act of waking up into a challenge. He sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed and rubbing his lower back. All that time spent armored up on horseback in one day did him no favors.

Luckily, there was a perfect remedy for that heavy, sluggish feeling haunting him: the morning exercises he'd been neglecting over the past month. He slipped out of bed and started softly with the arms and shoulders, careful not to overextend himself; that was something Professor Byleth drilled into him. Moving on to the back and waist, blood pumped life back into his body beat by beat.

After a while, he felt satisfied both physically and mentally that despite the increased muscle mass he gained over the last few years, he had not lost any of his flexibility.

However, just as he lowered himself to the floor for a second full leg stretch, someone knocked on his door and pushed it open without waiting for a response.

"Sylvain, are you going to sleep all day?—"

Felix stopped mid-step, wide-eyed.

"Hey, good morning."

Sylvain smiled and got up off the floor, feeling hale and lighter than ever. He rolled his shoulders contentedly before pulling a dressing robe on.

Felix shook his head to fight off the fluster.

"Come—  come out here and explain that for me," he said, frowning as he pointed at something in the guest's sitting room.

Curious now, Sylvain tied the robe closed and went to have a look. It quickly became evident what he was talking about.

Bernadetta's worried eyes peeked out from behind a large and robust sofa. She quickly ducked down again and cried out.

"I'm sorry! Please don't kill me!"

It was as though the Bernadetta of yesterday ceased to exist, now that she didn’t have a helmet to hide inside.

"You didn't see her last night? I suppose not," Sylvain said, seeing Felix's questioning frown. He turned to her with a smile. "It's okay, Bernadetta. No one is going to kill you, I promise. Not even Felix."

No response. Which was better than crying and begging, at least. Felix didn't care much for it.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. What is she doing here?"

"She's here—" Sylvain said, turning back to meet Felix's glare. "— because she led the force that saved your soldiers yesterday."

"Why is an Imperial noble leading Kingdom troops?"

While their attention was on each other, Bernadetta disappeared from her hiding place, and she did so quickly enough that all they heard was the sound of her door closing. Felix whipped around, ready to chase after her, but Sylvain put his hand on his shoulder.

"Relax. She's not an Imperial noble anymore," Sylvain said with a shrug. "Count Varley disowned her, apparently. We've been putting her up in Gautier for a few weeks. I didn't think she'd be up to fighting against her own people, but she wanted to help."

Felix batted his hand away and gave him a skeptical look.

"She wanted to help? Bernadetta? She's scared of her own shadow."

"I think she's more afraid of being cast out again than fighting." He paused. "Anyway, no need for you to worry. We'll be out of your hair by midday."

Felix sighed and crossed his arms.

"Have you looked outside at all today?"

"No, why?"

He nodded over at the windows, and Sylvain went to open the curtains.

White. Pure white, as far as the eye could see. Winter still lingered; at some point during the night, the crisp air had become a full-on blizzard and snow came down in whirling, frigid bursts of wind. It was quite a sight, even for Sylvain.

"Woah, that's a lot."

"It won't be stopping anytime soon."

Untouched snow was like a blank slate, full of possibilities. Snow could never get him down, especially if it meant clearing his schedule. Traveling any significant distance in that kind of weather would be equally hazardous and stupid.

"Looks like we're not going anywhere today, then." He turned to Felix. "Do you want to do something?"

"'Do something'? Yes, I was planning on doing things, Sylvain."

"I meant you and me together," Sylvain grinned and put his arm around Felix's shoulders.

"I have to—"

"—Training hall, then breakfast?" He winked and leaned in closer. "I'm already nice and warmed up for you."

Felix opened his mouth, then closed it again, frowning. Then he sighed and shrugged Sylvain's arm off of him.

"Alright. Training hall in five minutes," he said and quickly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sylvain looked outside again, taking in the pure white world, and mentally thanked it. Of course, suggesting something that would be sure to get a bite helped, but being granted the time to do so in the first place was of course crucial.

He finished getting dressed in less than a minute, then went over to knock on Bernadetta's door. After a moment passed, he talked.

"Nobody here is going to hurt you, Bernadetta. You have my word."

A few seconds later, a weak voice responded from the other side of the door.

"It's my fault he's mad at you, isn't it? Oh, I knew should've stayed inside…"

"He'll get over it. And you didn't do anything wrong. I mean that."

His words were met with a resounding silence.

"… If you want, I can ask someone to leave your breakfast outside your door."

"… Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You offered up a really good trade. Not that you needed to. I wouldn’t have left you like that."

"… You'll definitely be the first to read it."

Sylvain grinned to himself.

"I can't wait. Alright, I'll talk to you later!"

Unlike the hefty Gautier manor, the Fraldarius estate was a compound with many different buildings connected by tiled and roofed paths. Sylvain moved quickly between the main house and the north building , turning the collar of his coat up to the blizzard's harsh wind.

The north building was primarily used for storage. It was mostly kept neat, but some doors were left open with all kinds of things practically spilling outside. None of it held Sylvain’s attention. He moved past those rooms and into an old banquet hall with a high ceiling and rough wooden floors, lined with rows and rows of arms and armor.

Felix stood at the far end and handed him a training lance as soon as he came near.

"We're doing polearms today?" Sylvain twirled the weapon with a wide smile.

"Yes, but we're not sparring." Felix grabbed one for himself. "I need you to correct my stance."

"Sure, I can do that," Sylvain said after a short pause. "Not a problem at all! Anything specific?"

"I need to improve the way I face cavalry."

"From the ground, you mean? Alright," Sylvain smiled. "You've always picked these things up real quick, so it shouldn't take too long."

Perhaps Sylvain was more skilled with the lance; that didn't mean Felix was bad, exactly. He had the basics down, and he had kept at least that level of skill up, as far as Sylvain could tell. Being mainly a mounted combatant himself, he knew the strengths and weaknesses of such combat quite well. Felix paid close attention as he explained and demonstrated.

Close to half an hour later, Sylvain lowered his lance and looked over at Felix, who had been copying his movements.

"Hold on," he said, frowning lightly. "Do that again, but slower."

Felix set the spear against the floor, angling it just so. In theory, there was nothing wrong with it. He waited, giving Sylvain a questioning look.

"It's so close, but…" Sylvain muttered, thought about it for a moment, then his face lit up. "I know! It's because I'm taller."

"What?"

"Don't move," Sylvain said and dropped his lance. He walked up behind Felix and started making minute changes to his stance. "If you copy me too closely, your angle will be off. See? It makes a huge difference."

“You’re right,” Felix said, glancing up and down the length of the lance. "I can't believe I didn't think of that."

Sylvain stepped back, watching him try jabbing the lance forward a few times, then went to pick his lance up off the floor. When he bent down, a sudden sting of pain in his back made him flinch, and he dropped it again.

"Woops," he laughed and grabbed it again.

Having seen this, Felix narrowed his eyes.

"What did you do?"

"What did I… ? Oh." Sylvain leaned the weapon on his shoulder. "I pulled a muscle in my back a couple of weeks ago. It's pretty much healed now."

Felix quietly stared at him, then he shook his head.

"We're done here."

"Huh? Come on, we can't stop now!" He followed after Felix, who replaced his own training lance on the wall rack. "I'm fine, I promise."

"No, you're not," Felix said and held his hand out to take Sylvain's as well.

"What about practice…" To his chagrin, he handed the weapon over automatically. "… I can still instruct you without holding a weapon."

Felix reracked the other weapon and turned to face Sylvain with a serious expression.

"I'm hungry."

Anyone would find it difficult to argue against that statement.

It wasn't long before they sat comfortably in the main house breakfast nook with a small but varied spread of food in front of them. Felix preferred a hot breakfast, Sylvain being the opposite, but their preferred meals still co-mingled peacefully.

Sylvain provided most of the conversation, which meant he was still in the middle of eating when Felix finished the last bite on his plate. Apparently not satisfied yet, he grabbed a scone from the basket and spread clotted cream on it. He noticed Sylvain watching and paused with the scone halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing, I'm just surprised you're not eating the basket too."

"Stop making me out to be a glutton," Felix said and took a big bite out of his scone.

A small dollop of cream clung to his cheek. Sylvain reached over to wipe it off and licked it off his finger.

"You eat like one," he said and winked. "But I like that about you."

Felix didn't snap back or anything like that, just stared at him with a slightly awkward expression. An unspoken boundary had just been breached, and as the criminal he clearly was, Sylvain averted his eyes and returned his focus to his own scone. He piled on some more strawberry jam and raised it to his mouth to take a bite.

Incredible, he thought, how he constantly seemed to forget to dial himself back and not be weird. He wasn’t left to his thoughts for too long.

"Are you trying to get with Bernadetta?" Felix asked quietly. "Is that why you're helping her?"

It seemed like their meal was destined to not go smoothly. Sylvain put the scone back down on his plate. Normally, he didn't take comments like that too seriously, but the question sounded more like an accusation this time.

"Get with her? Is that really what you think of me?"

"I meant that—"

"—She was in trouble, so I helped her, Felix."

Felix looked away

"… I know."

Again, silence fell between them. Sylvain glanced out the window and sighed. Winter chill faintly radiated through the windows, and the view outside was still practically a complete white-out.

"Mother is thrilled, though." Sylvain smiled, raising his teacup for a sip. "Bernadetta reinforced the stitching in all of her arming coats…"

"But are you interested in her?"

Sylvain almost choked on his tea, mainly because he started laughing.

"… I might ask her out if she's ever comfortable standing within ten feet of me," he said and wiped his mouth. "Why do you keep bringing this up? … Are you interested in her? Do you want some adv—"

"No!"

The servant who came to take their empty dishes awkwardly turned around in the doorway and left. Felix leaned back, seeming surprised and a little bit flustered by his own heated response. Sylvain cleared his throat.

"Let's just drop the subject, then."

But Felix suddenly got out of his seat.

"Huh? You're leaving already?"

"I need to go on an inspection," Felix said and swept out of the room before Sylvain could say anything else.

Sylvain ate the rest of his breakfast alone. Something about the idea of Bernadetta being around clearly riled Felix up, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t about her past affiliation. But even if the weather had been more agreeable, it wouldn’t be fair to send her away just because he was uncomfortable. The best thing to do was probably to give Felix some space until he came back around, because he always did, sooner or later.

Snow piled up on the roads, and it just wasn’t worth clearing them until it stopped falling. In the meantime, Gautier’s battalion was accommodated in a couple of unused grain storage buildings attached to a church a few miles out from the estate. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it kept the cold out a whole lot better than tents would.

Sylvain defied the snow in order to make sure the troops were doing alright and had everything they needed. They celebrated Fraldarius' victory by resting and eating well, still in good cheer despite the delay in returning home. Although no soldiers had been lost and injuries were relatively light, Sylvain offered up his meager healing ability to help treat them, simply because he could. It was appreciated, and he ended up spending several hours out there, speaking to the troops and conferring with the officers about how to proceed the following day.

He returned to Fraldarius estate by mid-afternoon, chilled to the bone but satisfied by what he saw. He checked in on Bernadetta, spent some time playing chess with Rodrigue, and enjoyed a lovely dinner with his hosts. Not a peep was heard from Felix until the evening was well on its way. A maid delivered the message that his presence was requested. Sylvain hurried over to his room, slowed down so it wouldn't seem like he hurried at all, and stepped right inside. Felix was writing at his desk, but he put the pen down when the door opened.

"Hey," Sylvain said, closing the door behind him. "I didn't see you at dinner."

"I only returned an hour ago."

"That sounds rough. How are things looking?"

Sylvain walked over with a small smile, and Felix flipped the page over.

"We'll be able to fortify the villages along the flood plain once the snow stops."

"That's great," he said, paused and waited for Felix to look his way. "Listen, I'm sorry if I got too pushy earlier…"

Felix frowned, looked away briefly, then shook his head.

"Forget about it," he mumbled. "She couldn't do anything even if she wanted to…"

"Huh?" Sylvain leaned a little closer, not quite catching what he said. "What was that?"

"I said forget it. That's not why I wanted you to come." He got up out of his chair. "I want to pay you back for helping me earlier."

"If this is about yesterday… you helped me in that situation with Visca. Aren't we even?"

"No, I'm talking about today, when you fixed my technique."

"Oh, that?" Sylvain chuckled. "You don't have to pay me back for that… I wouldn't mind another tin of those candies you got me before, though."

"I had something else in mind. Take off your shirt and lie down," Felix said, pointing at his bed.

Sylvain looked at him quietly, trying to read something, anything, from his expression.

"… You want me to do what?"

"… Your back is still sore, isn't it?"

Gears turned, eventually clicking into place.

"Are you saying you want to give me a massage?"

"Do you want it or not?"

"I'm not sure where this is coming from, but since you're offering…"

"Then take off your shirt and lie down."

Sylvain shrugged and started tugging his shirt off while walking over to Felix's bed. There was a faint sense of discomfort still lingering in his back, probably due to the cold weather. The incident earlier that day notwithstanding, wearing warm and sturdy clothing helped enough that it was hardly a problem, but since Felix insisted…

"Are you wearing a corset?"

He glanced back at Felix, who hadn't moved from the desk yet.

"A… a corset?" He grinned. "Felix, this is a girdle."

"… Why are you wearing something like that?"

"Why? Because it looks good, and it's warm?" He chuckled and slipped the garment off, dropping it on the edge of the bed together with his shirt. While he laid down on the soft sheets, Felix rolled up his sleeves and grabbed something from a desk drawer.

Sylvain rolled onto his stomach and grabbed a pillow to lay his head on. When Felix joined him on the bed and sat over him, straddling his legs, he closed his eyes and quietly wondered what he did to deserve this. It seemed karmic, somehow.

Felix touched Sylvain's back, just below the left shoulder blade.

"This is a new scar," he stated. "You said you pulled a muscle a few weeks ago. Was that when you took Bernadetta in as well?"

The weight of his body on Sylvain's legs was intensely there. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was just very… there. As were his hands. Very there. The distraction was very welcome.

"I did pull a muscle… I also took a blade to the back," Sylvain said with a small smile. "… want to hear the whole story?"

"Fine," Felix sighed, but there was a bit of curiosity reflected in his eyes. He opened a small glass flask and poured a little bit of oil into his palm. It smelled faintly of almonds. 

Sometimes, the line between reward and torment was so thin it could barely be seen.

"So, I joined a patrol along the west coast road, and everything seemed fine until we came across this group of mercenaries and the quarry they bagged. Turns out they were bounty hunters, but they said they would respect Gautier's authority and let us inspect the situation first to make sure there was no foul play going on…"

Felix got started while Sylvain spoke. He was a little awkward at first, unsure how much or little force to apply, but the more relaxed Sylvain became, the more confident he seemed to get.

When Sylvain got to the part where he grabbed a horse's reins to keep it from running off with an unconscious Bernadetta — which was when he hurt his back — he had already turned into putty for Felix to knead.

"— And the… ah…" He sighed contentedly. Felix paused briefly at that but didn't say anything.

He soon forgot about telling the rest of the story altogether, laying still and quiet with his eyes closed and listening to the persistent winds blowing outside.

“Mmh.” He let slip a somewhat embarrassing noise as Felix worked out a knot he wasn’t even aware of in his lower back. Again, Felix stopped momentarily, only to keep going like nothing happened a second later.

Felix did a really thorough job on him. Eventually, he seemed to be finishing up and removed his hands. Sylvain exhaled slowly and was about to thank him, but… he didn’t move off, but rather shuffled back to sit farther down instead. His hands moved on from the waist area and came slowly down the sides of the hips, on to Sylvain's legs, both of them finally settling on his left thigh.

If his intention was to work on the leg muscles, his hands were applied so softly that it hardly felt like a massage anymore.

His palm made a slow journey up the inside of Sylvain's thigh, treading — or touching — on dangerous territory. Things were starting to go off-script, and Sylvain felt himself beginning to tense up again.

"Um, Felix," Sylvain said, peering over his shoulder to meet Felix's gaze. "What are you trying to do? …"

Felix's hand halted in place. His gaze flickered down, then back to Sylvain's face, and he spoke quietly.

"… I thought you would be sore from all that riding yesterday."

Not even Felix could be that oblivious. It just wasn't possible. However, the other option was him feeling Sylvain up on purpose, which seemed even more absurd. He raised himself up on his elbows to look over his shoulder more easily, knowing that Felix had to be able to see how red his face was. Pushing that aside, he spoke in a lighter tone.

"Are your hands tired? It feels more like you’re trying to fondle me," he said with a wink.

A quiet moment passed. Then, Felix removed his hands in a fluster like he'd been gripping hot coals. The look on his face made Sylvain laugh, but his laughter was soon smothered by Felix smacking him in the face with a pillow. He moved off of Sylvain's legs and sat cross-legged on the bed.

"Really, though… thanks," Sylvain said, rolled over on his side, and closed his eyes. "I don't think I've ever been this relaxed before."

"Don't fall asleep on my bed."

Sylvain opened his eyes, looking up at Felix. There were traces of roses on his cheeks, but he smiled, and that made his face all the more handsome.

Several times over the past two years, Sylvain had told himself that he was over his crush — that's what he decided to call it inside his head — only to be proven wrong time and time again. Once more, his hubris flew him too high, and he was sent hurtling back down to reality.

"— You didn't finish the story," Felix said, looking down at him expectantly.

He blinked, realizing he should probably talk more and stare less.

"Story?"

"Your heroic rescue. The horse?"

 "Oh, yeah, where was I…"

Again, Sylvain woke up in an unfamiliar bed, and this time because he was shivering. It was still dark, the only light being a bedside lamp, and he had no idea what time it was.

The riddle of his location was soon solved by the sight of Felix sleeping next to him. A few loose strands of hair had drifted down over his face, moving up and down with each breath. Sadly, he was unable to enjoy the view for long. The room wasn't terribly warm, and he was still shirtless.

Trying to avoid waking Felix up, he very carefully sat up and shuffled off the bed. He pulled his shirt back on after finding it in a pile on the floor.

After a few moments of hesitation, he pulled the blanket over Felix's sleeping form, smiling to himself, and turned to leave. As he did so, something caught his eye. Now, knowing full well that he shouldn't, he snuck over to the desk.

He glanced over at Felix. Still sleeping. Looked back at the page Felix had been writing on earlier, then quietly flipped it over. He cupped his hands and drew on a very small Fire, just enough so that he could see, and leaned over to read.

Felix had been drafting a letter. Fairly formal wording, but blunt in its message. These kinds of letters were familiar to most people in their position. Paraphrased, Felix didn't "have the time to spend on a fruitless meeting", and had "no interest in any children, regardless of lineage". No other specific details about the recipient could be found in the unfinished draft. A war widow trying her luck, perhaps. Sylvain dropped the spell and turned the page back over.

How childish to feel relief that his friend still had no interest in getting hitched. That he wouldn't be "taken away" for a long time yet, if ever. He didn't regret being nosy in this instance, but still, it was childish. Sylvain shook his head and quietly left the room, intending to head back to his own.

He made it approximately ten steps down the hall before Felix's door opened. He froze, looking behind him.

"Where are you going?" Felix stood in the doorway, aiming a sleepy, half-lidded stare his way.

"Did I wake you up? Sorry." Sylvain said, keeping his voice down. "I'm going back to my room."

"Why?"

The blunt, deadpan, but ultimately simple question seemed oddly daunting to answer.

"Two adults having sleepovers? People are going to talk, you know…" He smiled, seeing Felix's blank stare.

"This might have been fine when we were kids, but it's hardly appropriate anymore," he said and shrugged. "Well, my reputation can't get much worse, but they would talk about you, too."

Although the words felt almost alien in his own mouth, the reasoning was sound and measured. It was the sort of thing his parents might say, and would make perfect sense to anyone in their position, even if they were friends. Someone like Ingrid would undoubtedly agree. However, Felix's expression grew more somber for every word.

"Since when do you care what other people think? Is someone giving you grief? Tell them to mind their own business."

Felix ended his short, sour tirade with a yawn, which was adorable, and also a big part of the problem.

"… Didn't you tell me not to fall asleep on your bed?" Sylvain smiled. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the—"

But Felix grabbed hold of his wrist before he could turn around and leave.

"—morning? …"

"Come on," he said, and started pulling Sylvain back into his room.

"I should—… Felix…?"

Felix complained plenty in the past about Sylvain being clingy, annoying, useless, and so on. And now, an attempt on Sylvain's side to put some distance between them was met with adamant resistance. He was left with no other choice than to lie back down, this time under warm covers. Felix went back to sleep almost immediately.

Maybe it really was possible for him to be that oblivious. Regardless, only one of them slept well that night.

The next day, Sylvain and Bernadetta were offered the comfort and luxury of not riding all the way back to Gautier.

Bleary-eyed, Sylvain stared out the carriage window, watching the white landscape roll by. His feet were propped up on the opposite cushioned seat. The neighbor to his feet occasionally threw them a glance but didn't comment on it. She kept working on her crochet project; a sweet little bunny rabbit.

"Argh!" Sylvain cried out in frustration and buried his face in his hands.

"Eek!" Bernadetta nearly fell out of her seat. She stared at him, one hand over her racing heart.

Nobody said anything for close to a minute, which gave Bernadetta enough time to gather herself.

"… Wh-what's wrong?"

"… Maybe I'm a hypocrite saying this, but," he muttered into his hands. "Guys are stupid, aren't they?"

Unaware of the full situation and unsure what to say, Bernadetta gave him a small, comforting pat on the shin.

Chapter Text

With the events of Ailell in their wake, the Kingdom army set its sights on the north-eastern border of the Adrestian Empire.

Now, although Duke Acheron was supposed to be some kind of loser, it was apparent early on that it would not be an easy battle. There was limited space to work with, being that the location was, well, a bridge. On top of that, House Gloucester supported the Empire and promised to stir the pot as well. Anticipation and tension spread quickly as the Kingdom forces made a momentary stop along the Airmid River to water their mounts and make other final preparations.

During this short break, Sylvain and the cavalry units under his command received a last-minute change in orders. Instead of being part of the initial push, they were to remain mobile and act as support to keep the army from being surrounded. It was never stated outright, but the change was presumably because of a recent report that a demonic beast was sighted among the enemy ranks. Although the thought of having to deal with beasts wasn’t all too new or worrisome per se, an uneasy feeling lingered in his body.

The weight of arms and armor was more tiring than usual, and his horse wasn’t responding well. Everyone had their off days, but being jittery and distracted would not be an acceptable excuse. He needed a moment to settle himself with whatever limited supplies at hand at the moment; nobody except perhaps Ingrid or Raphael would have supplies for a meal available so close to battle. Still, preparing a single cup of hot tea wasn’t too difficult, and he was even able to sweeten it with a piece from the thing of sugar candy he’d been saving for later. The small comfort helped ease his mind.

Until he noticed Felix approaching. There was no coincidence to it; his steps were deliberate and his aim obvious. 

Seeing this, Sylvain did something he very well knew was immature: ignoring, mounting up, and returning to speak with his unit.

An hour later, the board was set on the Great Bridge of Myrddin. The report proved to be correct. It was impossible to miss the beast waiting behind enemy lines, as the highest part of its spiked, arched back was easily three times the height of a human.

Sylvain swallowed back his apprehension, then turned and gave Bernadetta a nod. Her role — as it had been in most battles she took part in — was to be a spotter, to relay orders and information, and to take down key targets if necessary. She took to the skies on her pegasus. Meanwhile, Sylvain moved his ground forces into position.

They couldn’t afford to leave any units tied up subduing a huge monster. In this situation, having or not having the initiative made all the difference. He signaled his units to move. It was time to make a big, calculated move - a gambit, if you will — to draw the beast’s attention away from the rest of the army. It wasn’t easy work, but they had the method down and no reason to think this one would be any different.

He smiled.

Funny how a demonic beast seemed easier to take on than certain personal relationships.

More than a month prior to the battle on the river, a dreary and cold winter became more bleak with the fulfillment of a five-year promise. Garreg Mach Monastery was sodden with blood once more on the day meant to celebrate her first millennium. The sounds of battle continued until every last thieving soul had been put down.

The Crown Prince of Faerghus was finally located. He was in a state, but alive. Within days, the bloodletting was forgotten and Garreg Mach was being resettled. As though nothing was more natural, a new chapter of the war started. 

Establishing an army was a lot of work. Especially once the Adrestians caught wind of them. The Kingdom forces, along with the Knights of Seiros and other allies, had no choice but to patrol and strike against any who would encroach to threaten them. While another siege seemed unlikely, any hint of it needed to be beaten down without hesitation. Especially since there were talks about receiving aid from Fraldarius. Extra soldiers wouldn’t be much help if they could not even reach the monastery.

Each victory had a bittersweet taste, however. The Blue Lions were missing one, and they felt his absence. Deeply. Unfortunately, no one had much time to sit around and mourn.

Sylvain dismounted before the gates and lead his horse through the marketplace, which was still being set back up. It got livelier by the day since more merchants became bold enough to arrive and trade. Given another month or two, it would surely be right back to its old self.

He found a quiet spot near the stables to sit and doff his armor to give it a once-over. The location wasn’t ideal, but the faster he could remove it, the better. The sizable dent in the side of his cuirass made it rather uncomfortable to wear. His ribs were a bit tender, but it wasn’t too bad as long as he kept relatively still.

People kept bustling by. Running errands, tending to mounts, loitering to complain about something or other… then the clouds covered the sun. Metaphorically speaking.

Dimitri exited the old Knights’ Hall, with Gilbert and Professor Byleth in tow. The Prince came to a halt beneath the stone arcade, facing southward. His head bowed, shoulders hunched, dour and unflinching like he was cut from stone. Gilbert kept speaking, undeterred. The professor listened along and commented now and then. They were too far away for Sylvain to hear anything that was being said, but it wouldn’t take a genius to make a good guess. Not that he had the time to make any. A minor commotion drew his attention away.

Annette tripped over a broken barrel and knocked another one over in her haste to — as it appeared — reach him. She straightened them up and jogged over. Felix walked behind her, in much less of a rush.

Sylvain placed his left greave among the other armor pieces and straightened up, wincing due to a jab of pain in his side. 

“Where’s the fire?” Sylvain said, smiling up at her.

“Fire?” Annette came to a stop in front of him, needing to catch her breath a bit. “I heard you were hit by a trebuchet! Where does it hurt? I’ll fix you up right away!”

“Oh,” Sylvain smiled. “Were you that worried about me?”

“Of course! …” She exclaimed, but then went quiet for a moment, looking him over. “Wait, where exactly were you hit? And didn’t you see it coming? …”

Trebuchet fire was rarely subtle, so naturally he saw it. And that was precisely why he chose not to move out of the line of fire, neither before nor after it hit him. The brief explanation was that if he did, Ashe wouldn’t have been able to retreat safely. Regardless, Sylvain wasn’t a tactician and could only act on what he judged to be the right thing to do in the moment.

He nodded to the dented cuirass placed next to the rest of his armor. 

“My armor took the worst of it. See?” He lifted the hem of his shirt to show the lower edge of a purple bruise on his side, just below the ribs. “—You should save your healing spells for someone who really needs them, but if you really want to look after me—”

Annette seemed relieved and about to laugh it off with him until Felix walked up and wordlessly leaned over to pull Sylvain’s shirt up enough to expose the whole bruise. It covered the side of his ribcage, almost the size of his splayed hand.

Felix gave him a skeptical look, then turned to Annette.

“What do you think?”

She frowned, looking closer at the injury, then gave Sylvain a stern look.

“Even if it’s just a bruise, it looks painful. Would you have been fine with Ashe walking around in pain? Or me? Or Felix?

Felix let go of the shirt and scoffed.

“I wouldn’t have been hit in the first place, unlike this idiot.”

“Maybe, but you would have charged the biggest enemy you could find instead,” Annette sighed.

A small argument between the two followed, with Annette accusing Felix of being reckless, and Felix denying that ever being the case.

Sylvain, forgotten about in favor of a squabble, chuckled and smoothed down his shirt. While preparing to inspect another piece of armor, he threw a glance back over at the Knights’ Hall.

The Prince no longer hung his head low. His attention was fixed on something ahead, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists.

Ferdinand and Bernadetta lead a horse and a pegasus respectively, still in their barding, from the direction of the gates.

They weren’t the only defectors from the Empire, and also not the only former Eagles, to have turned up at Garreg Mach in time for the jubilee. Many of them still wore Empire-issue gear for a lack of anything else being available, but they were known. Even to those who harbored grudges against those from the Empire like Dimitri did. But, perhaps, knowing and seeing were concepts a little too far apart from each other.

As soon as he took one step outside the arcade, Sylvain sensed trouble and left the bench he was sitting on to step in stride with the Prince.

“Your Highness, I haven’t had the chance to talk to you yet, with everything going on,” Sylvain started.

Dimitri didn’t stop, but he was distracted enough to slow down a bit.

“—Bernadetta has been in Gautier for the past year and even fought on our side,” he said, glancing their way briefly. They seemed to have halted in place. “In fact, she’s been a great help to my father…”

The pegasus whinnied, and Bernadetta shied back. Ferdinand put his hand on her shoulder as though to urge her away, but she looked frozen in place.

“… And I heard that Ferdinand broke with his family completely—”

Mentally, Sylvain urged them to keep going. He stepped in Dimitri’s path.

“—They’re our friends,” Sylvain said, meeting his eye. “So—”

Dimitri grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him hard into the nearest wall. Pain shot through the injury on his side, but all he could utter was a quick, pained exhale.

“—No,” Dimitri said, his voice raspy and low.

But almost as soon as the brief altercation had started, it was over.

Gilbert and Professor Byleth arrived to pull Dimitri off of him, and to separate Felix from Dimitri before that turned into a fight as well. While that was going on, Ferdinand and Bernadetta finally drew back into the stables, out of sight and out of mind.

Sylvain stood with his back against the wall, holding his side, since it still hurt. The situation seemed diffused and Dimitri got coaxed back toward the Knights’ Hall. His gaze was downcast again, but as he turned to walk away, his eye met Sylvain’s for a moment. There was a glimmer of guilt in there, and then he turned away.

“What happened? Why did you fight?”

Annette came over, and he smiled at her worried expression.

“Whew,” Sylvain winced. Being slammed into a wall didn’t help with his bruised ribs at all. “It was just a little love tap. He didn’t mean it.”

“You’re defending that lunatic?” Felix stared at him with a scowl on his face. He still had a hand on his sword.

“No, well, I don’t think he’s—”

“—If he does something like that again, I’ll cut him down myself.”

“Please don’t say that.”

Annette’s quiet, sad words seemed to give Felix some pause. He sighed, released his grip on the sword, but still frowned.

“Stay away from him from now on,” he said, then marched off through the courtyard.

Dinner that night was a spicy fish dish Felix would have enjoyed, but he was nowhere to be seen. As for Sylvain, he stuck around and took his time, moving from table to table as the people he sat with eventually finished their meals and left. Plenty of old and new friends seemed more than happy to talk his ear off and relay funny stories or less funny complaints, and forget all about troubling times for an hour or two. The only break in his otherwise decent evening was Ingrid showing up to grill him about the incident that afternoon. His version of events easily placated her once he got her an extra serving of stew (along with plenty of delicious, fresh bread).

In the end, she even praised him a bit, for preventing what could have turned into a confrontation with terrible consequences. No matter the state of his mind, if the Crown Prince of Faerghus showed hostility to allied former Empire units and troops, the rest of the army would lose trust in them as well.

For all the scoldings, lectures, and the occasional threat of doing so… Dimitri had never actually hit Sylvain before. He felt hard pressed to count the previous instance as being hit, since the only reason it hurt was because he already had an injury. And Dimitri was in pain as well, in a way much worse than Sylvain. Like Annette said, it wasn’t right to ignore someone’s pain. Still, there wasn’t much he could do short of bringing the dead back to life…

Stay away from him, Felix had said, and maybe he wasn’t wrong. But his opinion was never favorable in the first place.

Sylvain sighed and looked over the dining hall. Small groups and couples were scattered throughout the room, having quiet conversations. Trading stories and a few drinks kept him occupied, but unfortunately, there were no groups left for him to easily impose on without making an ass out of himself. Sitting around alone felt really sad, though.

Then, as if on cue, Felix finally entered the hall, making a beeline for the counter to pick up his evening meal. Sylvain watched, slowly sipping his drink.

Felix had his hair up in a bun, but since it was a lot shorter now, much of it was slipping free and draping around his face. The look was nostalgic, but more than that… a couple of years farther into adulthood, the style was attractive in a whole new, mature way.

I’m just looking, nothing more, he told himself and waved Felix over to his table, trying to keep the fluttering feeling in his stomach from showing on his face. Felix came right over and put his food down, taking the seat next to Sylvain rather than sitting across from him.

“—Didn’t I see you come in here hours ago?” Felix shook his head. “How long does it take to eat a single meal?”

“Doctor’s orders,” Sylvain said with a smile, and raised his cup. His other hand rested over his bruised side. “Nothing I can do about it.”

“Didn’t Annette heal you already?”

Softly and carefully, he patted his side.

“She did, but it’s still pretty tender.”

A healing spell took the edge off the pain and he’d be fine by morning, but only if he made sure not to move around too much. She instructed him to take it easy for the rest of the day, and he found himself rather inclined to agree once she made it clear that if he didn’t have a cracked rib before, being slammed into a stone wall likely left him with one.

“I’m on night watch later,” Felix said, and casually lifted Sylvain’s shirt again to have another look. “So you can safely slack off and heal up.”

On a purely skin-deep level, the bruise had started to shrink and was taking on an array of interesting hues, meaning it was visibly well into the accelerated healing process. But Felix didn’t stop after a cursory glance.

At first, it was a bit funny, like a baker checking on the progress of a loaf of bread. Then it started to drag on. He stared down at Sylvain’s body — eyes tracing the outlines of his muscles, and the increasing amount of scars — for several quiet seconds.

Sylvain cleared his throat.

“There’s a lot more to see, if you’re that interested,” he said in a joking tone.

Felix immediately dropped the shirt, then slowly looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“In public?”

Sylvain had been prepared to… divert the conversation somewhere else, or apologize. He wasn’t prepared for Felix to play along.

“Who knows what I might get up to if someone buys me a few more drinks?” he said, deciding to keep the tone light and nodding to his cup.

“… I think you’ve had enough already, Sylvain.”

Sylvain laughed. While he might be a bit tipsy, he would have to work really hard to actually get drunk on watered down beer.

“Not enough to be indecent.”

Felix glanced at the cup as well, then back to Sylvain’s face.

“I remember how many it took last time.”

“Huh?” Sylvain looked up again, and seeing Felix’s nonplussed face, he grinned. “What time?”

After a brief pause, Felix shook his head with a faint smile on his lips.

“Forget it.”

Sylvain’s grin faltered a bit as he tried to recall any past time or times he’d overindulged and made a fool of himself (which wasn’t nearly as often as one might assume, in his defense), but as expected, it’s quite difficult to recall things you don’t remember. It was starting to make him feel nervous.

“Hmm,” Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, then started getting up from his seat. “It’s about time I call it a night, I mean, your food is getting cold.”

Felix snorted, amused.

“How considerate of you,” he said, then crossed his arms. “Don’t go wandering, Sylvain. Just go straight to bed.”

“Yeah, I know, I know…”

Sylvain watched him quietly, watched another few strands of hair free themselves from the bun, and Felix tucking them behind his ear. He watched Felix’s fingertips lightly touching the rim of his ear, moving down his jaw, and the side of his neck. Watched as it became a brief foreground feature to Felix’s open collar, exposing his collarbone. Watched it come to rest on the tabletop once more. Glanced up to see Felix staring back at him with a questioning look.

“Now you’re the one staring.”

It was in that precise moment he came to a decision. One more time wouldn’t hurt.

With a small smile on his face, he beckoned Felix closer while leaning down himself, ignoring the little sting of pain in his ribs. He touched Felix’s chin and tilted his head slightly to the side. Then he kissed him on the cheek — no more than a light peck — and drew away.

“Goodnight,” he said, still smiling. “Don’t wear yourself out.”

Felix offered a blank stare, then stiffly turned away.

“I won’t,” he said.

Sylvain walked off with a warm feeling buzzing inside his chest. However, the chill of night tended to be a fairly sobering experience. Halfway across the courtyard, he halted.

It was a bold move. Very bold. In retrospect, it wouldn’t have been surprising if Felix snapped at him for so blatantly crossing a boundary. But then, half of that conversation wouldn’t have happened in the first place if it wasn’t for Felix’s insistence on appraising his condition, as it were. Appraising it very closely. Weirdly enough, they might be evenly matched in terms of acting mildly indecent in public this time. The difference being that Sylvain could always make the excuse that he was a little more drunk than he thought.

But then again, apparently Felix knew how much Sylvain needed to drink before he did anything “indecent”, so maybe not.

He turned back toward the dining hall, looking at the warm light spilling out from the wide-open doors. Then he shook his head, trying to shake off that thought, and kept walking. It was late, he was still tipsy, and Felix told him not to wander.

He really wasn’t going to wander, but…

Out of habit, his feet brought him toward the greenhouse and on to the entrance of the Officer’s Academy dormitory. Specifically, the stairs to the second floor.

The dorm wasn’t in use at the moment, even though it had plenty of much needed space. Some of Garreg Mach’s structures still needed to receive at least a cursory inspection to make sure the siege and five following years of abandonment didn’t leave their integrity compromised. It couldn’t be helped. Nobody liked the idea of a building falling down on them, but never before had Sylvain missed having a room to himself so badly.

Currently, the former Blue Lions — except for Dimitri — quartered in the old Academy classrooms, along with others who lacked their own places to sleep or store their things. Which wasn’t an issue by itself, but… Felix liked to pick a spot near the door, and if he didn’t sleep there, he slept next to Sylvain. And Felix was a light sleeper. No matter how light he was on his feet, Felix was lighter in his sleep. Felix told him not to wander because he knew, every single time.

It’s difficult to combat your own feelings when you cannot physically get away.

The dorm looked quiet and empty. He ducked under the tatty ribbon tied across the doorway and stepped inside with fire summoned into his hand to light his way.

Everything looked the same, except much dustier and crumblier. Every step stirred up motes of dust whirling around in a ghostly way, like memories of the students who used to walk up and down the stairs and halls. All the doors were wide open, revealing rooms partially or fully stripped bare aside from broken or knocked over furniture. Ingrid and Marianne on the first landing. Then Hilda, and Edelgard, and…

Sylvain sped up his steps until he reached the room at the end. His room. The only door in the hallway not left wide open, because it was stuck. He never got around to oiling the hinges or lock, and it seemed to be rusted shut. Against better advice, he pulled at the door until it gave in. Which was, fortunately, before his ribs did the same.

Despite the state of the door, his room wasn’t untouched, but it was still like walking into something of a time capsule. His desk and dresser both had what remained of their contents dumped onto the floor. Anything remotely valuable had been removed, even the brass knobs on the drawers. All of his books were gone too, except for one on floriography he only ever skimmed through before anyway. It was a gift from a girl he dated at some point, but he never had much interest in botany.

Still, he would have felt bad leaving it behind, so he grabbed the sun-bleached little volume and tucked it under his arm.

He looked around, not quite able to say what he was looking for. The state of the room was depressing at first sight, but that feeling already passed. Perhaps he was looking for some kind of closure. He pushed the door to the closet open. As expected, there wasn’t much to see. Only a pile of old clothes that wouldn’t fit anymore and a bunch of broken hangers.

An oddly sizable pile. And oddly squarish. He removed the clothes and found the only thing he might ever think of as evidence of divine providence.

It was a wooden box, more like a small wooden chest, with a beautiful, serpentine pattern carved into the lid. He picked it up and was amazed that it wasn’t empty. Gave it a little shake. A muffled sound of jangling metal, almost like coins. It wasn’t coins, of course, but something far more valuable to have been left behind for so long. He already knew it was locked; the key was, unfortunately, sitting in a jewelery box at home…

That wouldn’t be a problem, though. Ashe actually taught him how to pop simple locks a while back as part of a bet. Long story, that.

Together with the book, he brought the box with him out of the dorm and to his pallet in the old classroom, thinking that maybe someday, after the war was over, he would make use of it again.

Arrows slammed into the side of the demonic beast. It hissed and growled, sweeping several soldiers off their horses with its tail. It howled in rage underneath its golden mask, and smoke leaked from its mouth and nose in ribbons. They had just barely pierced through its hide and any moment now, it would retaliate with flames.

Sylvain was already getting tired. His head was pounding from all the noise, his body felt heavy, and he was thirsty. He would power through it for as long as he had to. At the very least, he needed to make sure the beast was down and out in time for the main force to break through enemy lines.

But just as he was about to have Ashe’s archery units to fire off another salvo, a signal arrow from Bernadetta drew his eyes skyward. Bright orange sparks burst from the fletching and followed in its wake. It was a simple message. North; Reinforcements. North, meaning from behind them. Reinforcements, meaning…

Close to the base of the great bridge, a large, dark mass… no, a creature, came clambering over the edge of the bridge and tumbled down onto the cobblestones. It righted itself, but the movements were clumsy. A damaged or deformed forelimb already hobbled the beast, and no mask concealed its hideous face. So, it appeared to be at a slight disadvantage as its defenses were already weakened, and without the direction of an Adrestian master, it stalked along the edges of buildings with no obvious purpose. That didn’t make it any less dangerous. Just unpredictable.

If it kept going, it would soon start tearing through the Kingdom forces’ back ranks: healers and support troops. Or it might turn around and wander straight into the army’s supply train. Either option promised terrible losses. Everyone in the front had their hands full and wouldn’t be able to redirect their attention.

Sylvain made his choice quickly. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking clearly. Or he thought just clearly enough to pick one decisive action. They would have to draw the eye of both beasts. He signaled to the leader of his battalion of knights, and then to Bernadetta, trusting that she would see.

It would be tough, but then again, neither war nor love was ever easy. He raised his sword and lead the charge against the second beast, knowing that the first one would follow soon after.

Mercedes stood beside a greengrocer’s market stand, alone and troubled, with two large baskets of apples at her feet.

“What should I do? I bought too much again…”

“Thank you for your business, miss, but I’m afraid I can’t leave my stand,” the greengrocer said before turning his attention to the next customer.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” she said, then mumbled to herself. “I’ll just have to make two trips back.”

Having seen her standing around looking deep in thought, Sylvain hurried up to her side.

“—Hey, Mercedes! Do you need some help?”

She turned around and her face lit up with a sweet smile. He couldn’t help but respond in kind.

“Sylvain! Oh, would you mind? I’m afraid I bought a little more than I can carry on my own.”

There had to be about ten pounds of shiny red apples in those baskets. They sure looked attractive enough for someone with a sweet tooth to overindulge on. He held back a small laugh and nodded.

“I can do that. How about you take one for yourself,” he said, and handed her one apple. “—and I’ll carry the rest for you. Where are they going? The kitchens?”

Thankful that he had recovered overnight, he bent down to grab one of the baskets, wondering if it would be best to stack them.

Seeing this, Mercedes laughed and put the one apple back.

“Let’s carry one basket each instead.”

“I really don’t mind…”

But she shook her head, and that was that. He couldn’t help being curious, though.

”What do you need so much fruit for, anyway?”

The early spring sunshine made it a pleasant day for simpler work, and for listening to someone talking so happily about the many uses for apples. So many classical desserts and many loved dishes used apples, not to mention things like cider or wine. In the realm of impulse buys, ten pounds of apples wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t purely a selfish purchase, though. Mercedes had a plan. Clerics could do a lot more than pray, sing, and heal broken bodies, she said. They tended to hearts and minds as well.

She felt that everyone could use a pick-me-up, and Sylvain agreed. The only downside being that a lot of fruit needed to be washed, peeled, chopped up, and what not. Never one to lave a lady in the lurch, Sylvain rolled up his sleeves and got to work elbow-to-elbow with her, happy to volunteer his time. It would be the first time in a good, long while he used a blade for something other than fighting, but he couldn’t deny that he was having a good time.

After a few relaxing minutes of working quietly and comfortably in tandem, he noticed that Mercedes’ hands had stopped moving, and she was peering up at him.

“… Something on my face?”

She put her hand to her cheek and smiled.

“Yes. That smile looks lovely on you.”

Sylvain blinked, unsure of what to say. On the occasion that he received a compliment, it was almost never for his smile, even though he smiled a lot. He opened his mouth to return the compliment, but before he could do that, the sound of glass shattering outside the kitchen interrupted them. Sylvain and Mercedes both looked over, exchanged a glance, then went to see what was going on.

Felix stood by the counter with a tray in hand and the broken remains of a glass carafe scattered around his feet.

“Sorry, my hand slipped,” he said, averting his eyes to crouch down and start picking up the pieces. He didn’t turn away fast enough to hide his tired eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Sylvain mumbled to Mercedes.

He went to bring a broom and dustpan over and took over cleaning up.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you look awful,” he said while sweeping the glass into a pile. “I would’ve thought you’d be asleep by now.”

He looked so listless standing there that Sylvain handed over the dustpan, just to give him a minor task. 

“I had some errands to run first,” he said, glancing up at Sylvain. “Some of us are busy and don’t have time to flirt and play around in the kitchen.”

“Play around?” Sylvain arched an eyebrow. “Come on, Felix. We’re preparing food for everyone. Just because I’m not swinging a weapon around—”

“—And I saw you sneaking about last night while I was on patrol.” Felix frowned. “I thought I told you not to do that. Weren’t you chatting up Annette just yesterday?”

“Huh? I wasn’t—”

“—No, listen to me, Sylvain.” Felix rose and had him fixed with a serious look. “Stop and consider the situation we are in right now. You can’t expect other people to keep picking up the slack for you.”

Only a handful of people currently occupied the dining hall, and the tone their conversation was taking piqued their idle curiosity. Disagreements between the two were fairly routine and all, but Felix was already coming on rather strongly. Any attempt on Sylvain’s part to defend himself would lead to a fight.

“—Okay, slow down, I hear you,” Sylvain said, and raised his hand to interrupt. “Come on, let’s talk outside.”

He took the dustpan and emptied it in the bin, put it away with the broom, and gestured for Felix to follow him out the door. Once they were standing out of the way from onlookers and rubberneckers, Felix awaited Sylvain’s words with his arms crossed. Words he hadn’t quite chosen yet. He had to think on his feet.

“I’ll listen to what you have to say, but I’m not interested in your tired, old excuses.”

“I wasn’t going to make any excuses!” Sylvain stopped himself before he got into it and threw a quick glance around to really make sure they were alone. “I wasn’t sneaking around last night. I was taking a walk to sober up a little, that’s all. And I got to thinking about—”

“—About how you’ll be more responsible from now on, I hope.”

“—Come on, at least hear me out!” He laughed, but Felix’s unimpressed face brought it to a quick stop.

Once Mercedes started talking about her idea, he developed one of his own. A small, silly idea. Maybe closets weren’t so bad. Every now and then, you’d open one and find an opportunity.

“… Will you meet me here at dinner? There’s something I want to show you.”

Felix stared at him, his expression shifting from mild surprise, to skepticism, to annoyance.

“The only thing you need to show me is that you’re capable of being responsible.”

“I’m serious, Felix. I know I don’t have the best track record, but… I want you to see that I can be relied on.”

“Really,” Felix said flatly.

Sylvain sighed and glanced aside. Even though he was practically pleading, it didn’t seem to do any good. The smile Mercedes complimented gradually slipped away. He tried bringing it up again, but it didn’t feel quite right, and probably didn’t look it either.

“We’ll be marching out soon. It could happen tomorrow,” he said quietly. “So… before that happens, can’t you do this for me?”

Silence sat between them for what seemed like an eternity. When Sylvain finally looked back at Felix, the animosity from a minute ago had deflated and been replaced with abject resignation. He huffed and didn’t seem too happy about it.

“You don’t play fair, Sylvain,” he said, but he did smile a little. “Fine. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Sylvain smiled as well, mostly out of relief.

“—But,” Felix said, and he started turning away as he spoke. “If you flake on me—”

“I won’t,” Sylvain hurried to say.

“—I’ll make you regret it.”

The other thing Sylvain hurried to do was step up and put his arms around Felix from behind. Felix tensed up a little at first, then he relaxed, staying still.

There was an odd feeling bubbling inside him, like a mix of excitement and anxiety. The revelation of what Felix’s ‘errands’ must have been did not deter those feelings in the least. His dark, soft hair had the lingering fresh scent of whatever soap he had used very recently. For a brief second Sylvain got distracted by that idea, but he forced himself away from that avenue of thoughts before they left him in a position where he could no longer look his friend in the eye.

“… I doubt you’ve kept practicing in your off time… or ever, but I can work with that,” Sylvain said in Felix’s ear. “I don’t mind taking the lead.”

The Millennium Festival never happened. It couldn’t happen. Regardless, the inhabitants of Garreg Mach still deserved their respite and levity.

It was a small affair, spread by word of mouth to the appropriate people. They gathered outside the dining hall under a clear night sky dotted by glittering stars. Annette carefully applied fire magic to make warm drinks. Mercedes handed Felix a plate of biscuits to pass around to everyone outside, and he gave it to Ingrid — that was probably as far as it would end up going — before taking a seat to the side of everything. The cinnamon apple crumble was already passed around and almost completely demolished. Even Felix had some, despite reiterating his dislike for sweets.

Dorothea came up the stairs from the market side, dressed to suit a gala just as much as a battle; it was hard to tell with her.

“They still had some,” she said, raising a bottle of wine with a victorious smile. “It’s no vintage, but it’s attractive and Dagdan.”

Ashe hurried over to trade her bottle for a steaming hot mug of tea.

“Nice find!” he said and turned to Annette, ready to give it to her, but he hesitated.

Having noticed his hesitation, Annette huffed, her cheeks red.

“I-I didn’t blow it up on purpose, you know…”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to heat up the whole bottle,” Ingrid said, still holding on to the biscuits with seemingly no intention of sharing.

Mercedes came back out of the kitchen again, carrying a saucepan. She stopped to glance over at the assembled people, taking a quick head count.

“… Has anyone seen Sylvain? It’s not like him to miss out on something like this.”

“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon,” Ashe said, looking over to Bernadetta where she was practically ducking behind Dorothea’s skirts. “He said he was looking for you then, actually.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up soon…” She shrunk back, averting her eyes.

“Oh?” Dorothea turned to her with interest. “Do you know something? Now that I think about it, didn’t you live with him for a while?”

Bernadetta stared at her in horror, and her voice rose a few octaves.

“What are you saying?! I wasn’t living with him, I was g-given dispensation to live on his family’s property! For safety!”

“Really?” Ingrid swallowed a big bite of biscuit. “I didn’t know about this.”

“The Margrave put her up in their summer home,” Felix said, but Bernadetta’s fretting nearly drowned his words out.

“—Are people talking? What are they saying? I-I’m… Oh no… I should go back there and bury myself in the garden… become one with the earth and disappear…”

It was to the sound of her faltering voice that Sylvain arrived, swept in the very same dancing costume he competed for and won five years ago. Charcoal accented with purples, and crimson bands and sashes in a semi-sheer fabric trailing his every movement. Simple but beautifully polished jewelery jingled and tinkled as he crested the stairs.

Mercedes noticed him first.

“There you are, Sylvain — oh!”

“What’s everyone doing hanging around here? Having a party without me?”

The faces turned his way — some surprised, most of them smiling — eased the anxiety in his chest in no time. The last time he wore that costume, he was standing on a stage. Honestly, he loved it, but this was even better. Right now, he had the audience he wanted. The only one that mattered.

Annette hopped down from the wall and ran over to him.

“Oh, wow! This is so nostalgic!”

He took her hand and twirled her around. She laughed, delighted.

Briefly, he caught Bernadetta’s eye, and winked at her. She offered up a small, brief smile in response before sidestepping in behind Ingrid.

It was all thanks to her that he could even wear the dancer’s costume again at all. After five years, he wasn’t as skinny and filled the costume out a lot more, to the point where he would have popped a seam or two for sure, and nobody needed to see that. Bernadetta did a beautiful job to where you couldn’t even tell the costume was altered, and seemed delighted to receive sweets, that flower book, and an excuse to hole up alone somewhere for an entire afternoon as payment.

He went around chatting with everyone for a bit. And the more he did, the better he felt. So did his friends, to a visible degree. They all had a dark cloud resting over them for a while but now, if only for one night, skies were clear and the stars twinkled prettily. They also twinkled over the one person willingly not participating. Felix stayed seated somewhat away from everyone, but he was staring openly.

Since he wasn’t coming over, Sylvain went to him.

“Hey, what are you sitting all the way over here for?”

“I’m,” Felix said, turning his head to the side. “I’m not in a… party mood.”

“You weren’t five years ago, either…” Sylvain laughed. “You didn’t even see my performance.”

Felix gave him a sidelong glance.

“I already apologized for that.”

“I know, and I’m not holding a grudge, but… there is a way you can make it up to me,” he said with a smile and offered his hand. “Come on, let’s join everyone else.”

“… If taking a few steps is all it takes to make you happy, I can do that.”

And he got up, taking Sylvain’s hand with a small smile of his own.

“A few steps? How about a two-step, in that case?” he said, and took both Felix’s hands.

He drew Felix out toward the others.

“Wait,”

“Annette, keep time for us!”

“Okay!” She laughed and put her mug aside to clap her hands in a simple time for them to follow.

They stepped in, stepped out, stepped in. Felix stumbled along at first, and his eyes kept flickering down to their feet. Despite this, he still stepped on Sylvain’s toes once or twice.

“Felix,” Sylvain whispered. “Look up at me instead.”

He did, but then his eyes were drawn to their hands instead.

The tips of Sylvain’s fingers glowed. Small tongues of fire flared up and sent off sparks that danced through the air around them like fireflies, reflecting warmly in their eyes. Their fingers intertwined. Felix’s feet grew less awkward with each step, and if they had attended a dance, he might have been eased into a nice waltz.

“See? Even you can do it,” Sylvain said and stepped back, letting their hands slip apart.

Their little dance didn’t last long. Not even a full minute. Too short. Still, it did what it needed to do, and he forced himself to look away. It was good that they weren’t alone. He might not have let go if they were alone.

“—Ingrid, what about you?”

She blinked, staring at him with her mouth full, then shook her head.

“Aww, I’m hurt,” he said, but he wasn’t really hurt, of course.

Their parents made them practice together as kids, and they both hated it. Ingrid, especially, since, well… she had another boy to think about at the time. He turned to Dorothea, who regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky smile. It turned into a round of playful rejection and ribbing until Annette, who didn’t seem to be in on the joke, wondered why everyone was being so mean. It was quite sweet of her to defend him, and he turned to Felix to say so, but… Felix wasn’t there anymore.

Figuring he had tired of the crowd and gone ahead to grab some food, Sylvain went to look inside the dining hall. He wasn’t there, and not in the courtyard seating either.

At first, Sylvain was at a loss. Then he kept walking, slowly. He passed the arches to the Academy, passed the benches and shrubbery, passed the sauna. There was always one sure place to find Felix.

Despite the late hour and a lack of any training being done at the moment, the training grounds were still well lit. The place needed to be accessible, since close to one third of it was used as temporary storage of supplies yet to be diverted elsewhere. Felix sat alone on a box with a sword in his hands, inspecting the edge. He looked up briefly when Sylvain approached, then kept doing what he was doing.

Sylvain figured he should just go there and ask why he left. Keep it light and don’t act hurt. But the words wouldn’t form in his mouth, and he ended up simply watching as Felix made a few small, explorative swings with the sword to test the weight, or balance, or something, for whatever reason. It was one of Felix’s swords, one of the two he always carried at his hip and maintained flawlessly. Both of them knew perfectly well that there was no need for a sudden inspection.

Eventually, Felix sheathed his sword and spoke up with a flat, almost bitter tone.

“Did you get tired of all the attention already?”

Sylvain shrugged and kept a small smile going.

“I mean, the person I wanted to spend time with took off…”

Felix rolled his eyes.

“I’m not interested in being an accessory to your philandering.”

“What? Talking to my friends — and they’re your friends too, by the way — is philandering now?”

“You see a girl, you go after her. That’s how it’s always been, friend or not.”

Sylvain almost laughed, but not because he found it to be especially funny. Already, his chest started feeling tight, because he could see exactly where this was going.

“Come on, what’s with you? You leave, and now you’re acting like I’m the one who ditched you?”

“I’m supposed to believe you dressed up like that,” Felix’s eyes quickly swept over Sylvain’s form. “—for me? I’ll trust you on the battlefield, but beyond that, I know better than to take you at your word.”

He looked down at his feet, feeling his face heat up not from embarrassment, but from anger. The sensible, mature thing to do would be to walk away and cool off, but they would never get anywhere if one of them always walked off. But more than that, Felix wasn’t stupid and had to know that his words were hurtful. Sylvain didn’t want to accept them.

“Fine,” he said, and looked up. “Let’s talk your way, then.”

Sylvain stepped away from the boxes of supplies to have more room for movement.

“—Here’s your battlefield. Draw your sword and come at me, if you want to know why I’m dressed like this tonight.”

Felix looked taken aback by the sudden shift. He looked Sylvain up and down.

“Are you being serious right now? You want to fight me in that?”

“Come on.” Sylvain cocked his head to the side. “I’ll even let you go first.”

Felix hesitated, then he moved into position opposite of Sylvain. He frowned and readied his sword.

What Sylvain had in mind involved more amicable conversation and a lot less arguing, but this was close enough.

Felix came at him with a straight-forward, head-on attack that he stepped out of without much effort. It closed the distance between them and set up for a follow-up, while Sylvain would have a harder time getting away with spells. Standard method to deal with longer distance attackers. Felix was playing it safe, although he wasn’t playing.

He was an excellent swordsman. Better than most people they knew by a large margin. A large contributor to his skill was the fact that he didn’t under or overestimate his own abilities. He knew the amplitude and speed of his swings, his reaction time, reach, everything like that, and he knew how to measure them against an opponent for optimal results. However, like with most skilled and precise people, once you introduced an unknown into the situation, the outcome was out of his hands.

Sylvain’s light steps moved him out of the way of the second swing as well. Sparks were flying already, literally, making his jewelery glitter and the flowing fabrics of his costume to light up from within. The moment the next attack came, he opened his arms wide as an invitation.

Felix’s high overhead swing had him practically flying through the air. Flames burst out of the ground and licked the soles of his boots, danced up his legs, but did not burn. It was an entertainer’s light show; their duel wasn’t deadly. It wasn’t meant to be. However, Felix’s eyes widened as his sword sliced down through the air. For a brief moment, there was a note of fear in his expression.

When training with real weapons, there would always be the risk of drawing blood, no matter how restrained and in control either party was. Still, drawing blood was never the goal, and not the intent.

The tip of the sword passed barely an inch away from Sylvain’s face and kept falling until it bit through the fabric of his shirt and sliced a thin, shallow cut the length of a finger beneath his collarbone before Felix was able to stop himself and jerk back.

He took a step back, staring at the cut, then at Sylvain.

“Why didn’t you move away? I could’ve taken your arm off!”

Sylvain looked down and touched the cut, barely a wound but still a wound as it marked his finger red, then sighed.

“I tried, but you were too fast,” he said and shrugged lightly.

“I wasn’t—…” Felix protested, but dropped it, realizing he was right. “You did something.”

“That’s right,” Sylvain said, and smiled. “Why did I dress up? It’s part of the magic. It’s just how it works. But this way, I can give someone a little boost. This time… I wanted you to have it.”

“… Why didn’t you say so from the start? You’re unbelievable.”

Felix’s tone implied that he thought he got what the whole thing was all about now, so the argument was over. It was not over. Not from Sylvain’s point of view, at least.

“I’ve been trying. I really have! But I’m an idiot, so it’s not like anything I say matters.”

“Sylvain—”

“—If you stopped acting like a jealous girlfriend and paid attention to what I want for once, I would’ve explained all of it to you.” He didn’t want to see what Felix’s expression looked like, so he turned away and started walking off. “You’re a real piece of work sometimes, Felix.”

Sylvain marched away to cool off. By the time he arrived at the opposite side of the monastery, it seemed like the party had ended. Listless and alone, Sylvain stood staring down at his own image in the pond, wondering if he should ask Bernadetta to mend the tear in his shirt. He sighed. His eyes wandered.

The stars reflected upon the flawless surface, and beneath those stars, a large pike swam leisurely near the bottom of the pond. Smaller fry hovered nearby, as if unconcerned by the presence of a predator. Then, all the fish scattered in a sudden burst of movement.

“—What’s wrong?”

Startled, his head whipped to his left. He didn’t even hear Mercedes approach, but there she was, coming up right next to him.

“Both you and Felix disappeared. Everyone’s been wondering where you went…”

Inevitably, her eyes went straight to the blood, since it was basically at eye level for her. Before she could make a fuss, Sylvain interrupted.

“—Just a little slip-up, don’t worry!” He smiled. “Well, we snuck off for a bit earlier, but we parted ways for tonight. You’re so sweet, coming here to keep me company with your wonderful smile instead…”

Mercedes wasn’t smiling. She tilted her head, speaking softly and kindly.

“You had a fight, didn’t you?”

He could have tried to protest and lie, to try to make her not worry. But she already was worrying, obviously. And he was tired. His face fell.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly.

“Oh, Sylvain…”

He sighed, glancing aside toward the pond. She waited for him to speak.

“I lost my temper and said some stupid things, so that’s my fault, but… I don’t know what to do when he gets stubborn like that!” He shook his head. “Shows how mature the both of us are, doesn’t it?”

Mercedes watched him for a moment, then took his hands into hers and spoke softly.

“I think he’s just afraid, Sylvain.”

“Heh, afraid? Felix? I can’t even imagine that.”

“Maybe you should,” she said, then she reached up to cup his cheeks, turning his face back to hers. “And then you can both say you’re sorry and make up.”

Then she hugged him, and he hugged her back. No expectations or demands, just a friend offering comfort. Perhaps more. Perhaps, he wondered, this is what it’s like to have an older sibling who actually cares. He wasn’t about to admit to that, but he could pull off a genuine smile once they pulled apart and she reassured him again.

“It’s going to be alright, I promise.”

“I’ll believe that, since it’s you saying it, Mercedes.” He paused. “… What were you doing walking around at night all alone, anyway?”

She put her hand to her cheek, thoughtful.

“What was it again? I’m sure I had some reason…”

He laughed.

“If it’s important, I’m sure someone will remind you. Come on, let’s head back.”

Despite everything, his evening wasn’t a complete loss. In fact, it brought him a much needed moment of clarity. He knew now, more than ever before, how important it was that he kept his feelings to himself. Not just his feelings, his general inclination as well. If any of that ever came out, Felix would have even less reason to trust him, or even like him at all.

Dust and opaque, noxious fumes swirled around the battlefield, creating heavy banks of greyish fog. Sylvain could no longer see any of his allies. Even his horse was missing. He was alone.

“Taking point and leaving your knights behind is reckless. They serve their lord, and you must not deny them that purpose.”

Sir Finley said those words to Sylvain not six hours before he was murdered. More than once since that day, he wondered if he would have been the one to die if he had found the intruders first, before he had backup. The only conclusion he ever found was that in all fairness, he was someone’s knight, too, and not anyone’s lord.

He took a wheezing, painful breath. The scenery winked out for a moment and then he was on his knees coughing, wheezing, sputtering, and collapsing onto the ground. Everything smelled and tasted like iron. The smell and taste of his own blood, and maybe worse things. His chest hurt with each breath, and the rest of his body slowly seemed to grow cold and numb.

The sounds of battle seemed so distant. Growls and a scream. Thuds. Metal clashing. A large, dark shape moving closer.

Some people accepted death as it came. Sylvain wasn’t ready to do that, but it didn’t seem like he had much choice in the matter. Felix would be furious. Probably curse him and kick his gravestone over.

The figure wasn’t a beast, he realized, but humanoid.

“Sylvain?”

It was a familiar voice. He tried raising his head, but couldn’t. The man kneeled down beside him.

“Still breathing,” the man mumbled with a mix of relief and worry.

Sylvain was lifted off the ground, armor and all, as gently as was possible in the current situation. He struggled to open his eyes, but he couldn’t see. Tried to speak, but no words came out. Everything was a blur. Breathing was agony.

“His Highness couldn’t bear losing any more. Let us return his side.”

Chapter Text

Several hours after the battle on the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Kingdom forces paused their march. All troops were debriefed and allowed to eat and rest. The army would keep moving toward Enbarr later, during the night. 

The already quiet dusk was winding down, as much as it can do so in a war camp inside enemy territory, and those with enough energy left to talk congregated around their cooking fires. They discussed the events of the battle, their current momentum, the addition of house Gloucester’s forces, and many other things. The way Sylvain Gautier took the lead in defending their rear from demonic beasts came up as well. Opinions seemed to be mixed. He was called brave by some and irresponsible by others, but regardless of how brave or irresponsible he was, whether or not it had been reckless wasn’t up for questioning. The comparatively scant number of knights and other troops under his command made it a fool’s errand. After all, he couldn’t have known about the Duscurian reinforcements.

Felix wasn’t enough of a gossip himself to do any more than overhear in passing while patrolling around the war camp. His route brought him by the outer rim of the camp where the mounted troops had set up for the night. They needed the space for their horses, pegasi, and the small number of of wyverns, which were cared for by squires and non-combatant retainers.

Nobody popped out from who knows where to talk his ear off. His pace slowed until he was almost idle, scanning the vicinity for someone who wasn’t there. He scoffed at himself and kept walking.

Closer to the central part of camp, where the higher-ranked people congregated, it didn’t take long for someone to approach. He vaguely recognized one of the younger knights sworn into his father’s service.

“Sir? Master Felix?”

He stopped and replied curtly.

“Yes?”

“Lord Rodrigue wishes to speak with you.”

“What does he want?”

“He didn’t say.”

Felix sighed and nodded, following the knight to their forces’ command tent. Rodrigue and one of the commanding officers stood outside and ceased their conversation when Felix approached.

“Ah, there you are.” Rodrigue nodded to the officer, who bowed her head and left to handle whatever she was assigned, then motioned for Felix to follow him inside the tent. “I’m told it was you who brought General Ladislava to her knees. And there’s nary a scratch on you. I’m proud of you, my son.”

Felix crossed his arms.

“If that’s all you wanted to say, you’re wasting my time. I did my part. I don’t need praise for not taking a sword to the chest.”

The lines around his father’s eyes, which he had taken for fatigue at first glance, deepened with hurt from Felix’s remark.

“… I didn’t mean,” Felix started, but he couldn’t finish and mumbled. “… Forget it.”

“You might not believe me, but I do find it praiseworthy.” Rodrigue smiled faintly and placed his hand on Felix’s shoulder. “I was hoping you would show some interest in your inheritance, however…”

Naturally. The Aegis Shield waited, mounted up on a rack next to Rodrigue’s armor and sword.

“—Carrying that around would have slowed me down too much.” He swatted his father’s hand away.

“It is heavy, that much is true,” Rodrigue said, glancing at the relic as well. “However, it has protected many lives. Mine, yours, and His Highness as well.”

“Keep it for yourself. The boar won’t need it with his loyal dog back at his side.”

“Felix!” He sighed and shook his head. “That’s not how you speak about His Highness, or about a friend of yours. A friend who was presumed dead, I might add.”

“He is not my friend. Neither of them are.”

Rodrigue sighed.

“This is not the first time you’ve tried to convince me you don’t have friends, but we both know that’s not true. You have at least one.” He paused, and his demeanor turned more serious. “Have you gone to see him yet?”

Felix narrowed his eyes. There was only one person his father could be referring to, but there was no reason for him to be concerned about whether or not Felix and Sylvain were on speaking terms.

“You’re talking about Sylvain,” he said, finally. “No. Should I have?”

Oddly enough, Rodrigue hesitated before speaking.

“Gautier’s knights were struck hard in this battle…” Rodrigue’s worry lines deepened as he spoke. “I don’t know the details of Sylvain’s condition now, but the last I saw of him, Dedue carried him to the healers… Did you not hear about this yet?”

The question answered itself. Felix simply stared at his father.

“Felix,” he continued, speaking a little more softly. “I have heard no worse news either, but… in these times, you need to be prepared for—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Felix turned around and left without saying another word. He already knew where the medical tents were set up.

There wasn’t much movement going on among the medical tents, aside from supplies being moved or healers checking in on their charges. Still, a washtub where bloodied bandages soaked in water here and a muffled groan there spoke for itself.

As it turned out, there was no need to ask anyone about Sylvain's whereabouts. His gambeson and armor were dumped into a wooden box next to the tent flap. They were spotted with blood and the metal dented here and there, but still in surprisingly good shape. Felix passed it by and stepped inside. The sight that awaited him wasn’t what he expected, but not in a good way.

Sylvain’s prone figure occupied one of two cots. Mercedes stood over him, appearing to check his vitals. There wasn’t a smell of blood. He wasn’t wrapped up in bandages or missing any limbs. From a distance, he merely looked asleep. He didn’t stir, flinch, move, or react in any way. His hand stayed where Mercedes laid it down as she reached for a sheet of paper to jot down some notes. Felix walked closer so that he could see Sylvain’s face.

Hot and feverish with blotchy red skin, and fast, shallow breathing. Asleep, but not in a restful way. He looked like he was suffering.

Mercedes looked up and gave him a warm smile.

“Oh, Felix, good evening. I didn’t hear you coming in.”

Her face was tired but calm. Any other day, it might have been reassuring.

“… What’s going on with him?”

“That, well…” She tucked Sylvain back in. “… There are no spells for normal things like a flu, unfortunately. All we can do is treat the symptoms.”

“A… flu? This is a flu?”

“Flayn examined him as well, and that is the most likely diagnosis we could come up with. He was exposed to a demonic beast’s poison breath, but we used magic to expel that hours ago.”

Sylvain’s injuries weren’t too serious, she explained. Some twenty knights and soldiers suffered the same poison breath and were treated successfully before it could wreck their lungs. Sylvain was the only one who didn’t seem to recover fully. Once she finished talking, Felix was very tempted to go back and rip his father a new one.

“Falling ill in the middle of a campaign,” he said, starting to feel tired himself. “—And still going into battle? I shouldn’t be surprised he’d cause trouble like this.”

“I am a bit cross with myself for not noticing earlier. I suppose,” she said, with a thoughtful look on her face. “… we’ve all gotten used to how you keep him in check.”

He opened his mouth to reply, realized he didn’t know what to say, and closed it again before shaking his head.

“There are plenty of people around who can do that,” he said flatly. “Or are you saying this is my fault for not wanting to babysit him anymore? Why don’t you do it?”

To his surprise, she shook her head with a rueful look on her face.

“I don’t think it’s me he would want to rely on.” Her expression softened again. “I’ve seen the both of you act very stubborn for a while. Sylvain more so than you this time. It’s not that he wants to push you away. He admitted as much to me…”

She took both his hands. Hers were warm and kind, but also red and chapped from the hard work of a healer.

“… But I have faith that he wants to resolve this issue between you. He just doesn’t know how.”

“He ‘doesn’t know how’?… I’ve been trying to talk to him, but he keeps walking away from me!” Felix sighed, paused, then frowned at her. “… Hold on, you said he admitted… what exactly has he been telling you?”

“Oh, Felix, I mustn’t repeat what has been said to me in confidence.” Mercedes let go of his hands. “I can tell you don’t want to leave things like this, either.”

Felix watched her in sullen silence, but her expression didn’t change.

“… Fine, you’ve successfully guilted me into it,” he said eventually. “Send for me when he’s well enough to talk.”

“You might not have to wait for long,” she said, smiling again. “Spells may do nothing for him, but he should recover very soon with the right medicine.”

“What kind of medicine?”

“It’s difficult to get a hold of right now, but I should be able to…” She tapped the side of her face. “Oh, and now that I think about it, I haven’t eaten yet.”

His shoulders slumped. There was no helping it, was there?

“… I understand. I’ll keep an eye on him until you’re back.”

“Thank you.” She pulled out the chair next to the cot for him. “… If he wakes up, try to have him drink some water. And if he throws up, there’s a bucket and supplies over there…”

“… Right,” he said, and started undoing his sword belt.

“I won’t be long.” Mercedes caught his eye and touched his shoulder. “He’s going to be alright, I promise.”

While the sound of her swishing skirts faded, Felix leaned his swords against the side table, lowered the brightness of the oil lamp somewhat, and took a seat. No doubt, this was her aim all along.

The way Mercedes spoke, she had to know plenty about his and Sylvain’s argument. He must have been talking to her about it. Confided in her and admitted things he would never tell Felix. She was right in her observation, and it probably didn’t take that much insight to see it. They were both stubborn, neither being quite honest with the other. He had his reasons, but…

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. It was strange, seeing Sylvain so… helpless. Every few breaths hitched, becoming a little shorter or longer. Occasionally, his fingers, eyelids, or mouth would twitch as though something had disturbed him, but his eyes remained closed. No traces of his usual lively self. No invitations to skip training, no toeing the borders of socially acceptable behavior, not even a playful smile… although that started weeks before he got sick.

On the outside, Sylvain appeared the same as always; extroverted, flirtatious, encouraging… and they still talked, if it was necessary. Days passed, then a week. Professor Byleth placed them side by side in Ailell, but they parted ways without saying anything. Two weeks passed by and Sylvain kept finding reasons to be somewhere else, or with other people. By the third week, he ran out of reasons or people and simply walked away. Felix was willing to move past their argument, but at that point, they still didn’t have a long enough conversation for him to even say so.

Frankly, with how muddled their relationship had become since they attended the Officers Academy, it was a miracle they didn’t have a serious falling out sooner. Sylvain constantly caught Felix off guard lately, but the ways he started showing affection were especially hard to deal with. Whenever Felix thought that maybe there was something to it, they were quickly back on square one.

At the very start of the war, Cornelia announced the so-called “Faerghus Dukedom”. The Shield of Faerghus himself was quick to act — and denounce, of course. Soon, the loyalist Kingdom nobles came together for a war council.

The late morning at the Fraldarius estate was livened up by the arrival of the Gautiers. The Duke and Margrave’s boisterous greeting must have carried for miles. In the next few days, house Galatea, and others as well, would join them. For the time being, Felix hung back and let his parents and uncle handle things. His own reunion was inevitable, but the state Sylvain was in gave him pause.

After the battle of Garreg Mach, they traveled north separately to be less conspicuous. Despite the circumstances, Sylvain was far from grim at the time. Now, standing next to his father in the courtyard, he offered a brief smile and a little laugh to his hosts. As soon as the attention turned elsewhere, his expression turned somber, almost anxious. That changed the moment Felix was called over.

They made eye contact, and his face lit up with a bright smile. Instead of waiting, he walked across the courtyard to meet Felix halfway. In full view of both their families, and despite Felix’s protest, Sylvain pulled him into a big hug that lifted his feet right off the ground. Later on, his mother would call the overblown greeting “sweet”. There was little room to disagree. He was seated next to Sylvain for practically the entire day and essentially forced to let it slide to keep the peace.

There was a lot to cover, even before the other houses arrived. Their available forces and logistics, for one — not small — thing. Once the afternoon ran its course and alcohol entered the picture, snide insults to the Empire and disloyal nobles snuck into every topic. At that point, even Felix started zoning out, but Sylvain had contributed little more than an acknowledging comment for quite some time.

During a lull in the discussion he leaned over toward Felix, sighed heavily, and complained about how his old man was planning on sending him up north to “test his readiness” or something like that.

Felix responded that maybe it was about time. Sylvain quietly finished his drink, mumbled something, and wandered off. Nature calls, presumably.

An hour passed without him returning. It was his prerogative to skip out if he wanted to, or so Felix thought, until he decided to get some fresh air himself. He pushed his chair out and accidentally knocked over a bottle on the floor between his and Sylvain’s seats. A wine bottle that reached Sylvain and traveled no further. Thinking back, he polished off quite a few glasses of what was served up. Sylvain knew his limits, but he wasn’t above getting carried away, and getting carried away would always lead to some kind of trouble.

While he was deciding whether or not to look around for that trouble, his father noticed him standing up.

“—Felix, we’re still talking. Where are you going?”

Matthias wasn’t nearly as disapproving.

“It’s fine! We’ll be going over all of this again later, won’t we?”

“… You're right. And I’ll remember it all even if you do not, Gautier.”

To this, he only laughed. Notably, both of them were also a few drinks down, but their pace seemed a lot more reasonable.

“Well, Felix,” Matthias turned back with a smile. “Why don’t you find Sylvain and go have fun for the rest of the night? He won’t be back to play for a while after this.”

“And why do I have to ‘play’ with him…?”

Matthias seemed to think for a moment, then he gestured for Felix to come closer.

“Listen, I know my son, and he has not been himself since he came back home. I figured he lost some girl he got serious about over there, but he won’t say anything to me or his mother. I hoped that you, as his friend, could cheer him up.”

“… Wouldn’t Ingrid be better for—” Felix started, but Rodrigue gave him a look. He subtly nodded toward the door, which Matthias didn’t seem to notice. “… I’ll talk to him.”

Matthias grinned and gave him a cavalier pat on the back.

“That’s the spirit! Responsible, but reluctant.” He chuckled.

As he left, Felix watched the two out of the corner of his eye. Matthias leaned over into Rodrigue’s space to speak, which earned him a shake of the head and a small laugh. There was something to be said about family and resemblance, but he felt disinclined to think about it too much lest he come to a realization he’d rather not have.

Outside the dining hall, he faced needing to figure out where a drunk might wander off to. Delicious smells wafted over from the evening meal being prepared in the kitchen down the hall to the right. The left hall was a short walk to a breezeway connecting the main building with the training hall. He picked the left, because it was a shorter, more familiar walk and there were no immediate signs of discord in the direction of the kitchen.

The open sides of the breezeway offered a good overview of the courtyard, where nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on. A guard slowly made her rounds and stopped to give a disapproving look to the gardener, who was flirting with a maid. The back garden and pavilion were empty, but beyond them and down a gentle incline, a group of knights were conducting exercises in the open field behind the property. That field would be trampled even further in the coming days, as it would host a large number of troops.

There was a boot print on top of the breezeway’s fence. Miles of woodland sprawled out beyond the field, and far, far beyond that, the sun was setting. 

What were the odds of Sylvain wandering off that way, getting lost in the woods, and falling face down in a creek? High enough that Felix was about to vault the fence himself when a muffled thud stopped him in his tracks. It was coming from the training hall. Upon closer inspection, the door was left ajar. He threw one last glance toward the woods, then pulled the door open all the way and squinted his eyes to see inside the unlit hallway.

Light seeped out from underneath the door to the training hall. Sylvain’s boots lay discarded on the floor by the threshold. Farther in, what looked to be his leather jerkin and doublet lay in a pile.

Felix paused for a moment, fervently praying inside his mind that he wasn’t about to see a pair of abandoned pants next. Luckily, he did not. He still stopped a few paces away from the door and strained his ears to listen, but it was quiet in there. Somewhat relieved, he walked over and pushed the door open.

Sylvain stood in the middle of the room with a practice sword in his hand and his back to Felix, staring at nothing. He sighed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other with a light sway, then put his left foot one small step forward, raised the tip of the sword…

There was something about the way he angled his feet, and it wasn’t just his unsteady stance. Felix spoke up without thinking.

“… Sword dance?”

“Huh!?”

Sylvain whipped around in surprise and promptly fell over. The practice sword clattered to the ground. He dragged himself back onto his feet, almost falling over again in the process.

“He— hey Felix, I, uh,” he stuttered out, moving his hands behind his back like he was hiding something. “Um, what’s up?”

“You were gone for a while,” Felix said, eying him up and down. “Were you training here this whole time? On your own?”

While drunk off your ass? He didn’t say it, but he definitely thought it.

“No…” Sylvain trailed off, staring quietly at Felix, then he averted his eyes. He still smiled, but not as widely as before.. “I wuh—… was… checkin’… things.”

“… What things?”

“The, uh… y’know…” Sylvain shrugged, non-committal. His eyes flickered between the sword — which was still on the floor — and Felix, smiling as innocently as he could, face still flush with inebriation.

Alcohol and privacy were indeed useful tools in getting people to confess things, but only if no one stumbled into a weapon rack and hurt themselves.

“… There’s no need for that. Join me for dinner at the pavilion instead.”

Sylvain blinked slowly, hesitating.

“Oh, but… um… I can?”

“Come on,” he said, half-turned into the hallway. “I’ll leave you behind.”

This prompted Sylvain to hurry across the floor, tripping and stumbling twice. On the practice sword first, and then on his own tangled feet.

Felix instinctively put his hands up, but Sylvain caught himself by the doorframe.

“Oops,” Sylvain chuckled, rosy-cheeked and happy at the invitation.

They were standing very close. So close that he became incredibly conscious of the fact that Sylvain was not wearing an undershirt. The lines of his body were visible through the fabric of his button-up; his collar bone, chest, the curve of his hip where the shirt was tucked into his pants…

Felix cleared his throat. This time, he was the one averting his eyes and turning away.

“Pick… pick up your clothes first,” he said, while tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Yeah…” Sylvain moved up beside him, but then he stopped. “—Hey… I wanted to say this earlier, don’t know why I didn’t…”

His smile had turned into a serious, earnest expression, although in a sort of dazed way.

“When your hair’s down like that… I really like it. 'S, uh…” He paused, scratching the back of his head. “’S really h—… uh, I mean, gallant. I think.”

Felix looked at him quizzically.

“Thank you… I think.”

“So…” Sylvain still looked oddly serious, even though his collar was inside out. He lowered his voice. “B-Before we go, can I hold you?”

“What? You want to… hold me? Like a hug?”

Felix groaned inwardly. They wouldn’t ever get anywhere if Sylvain kept voicing every random thought he had, but there wasn’t much point trying to reason with a drunk. At least he asked this time.

“… Fine, but make it quick.”

Having been given the go ahead, Sylvain wasted no time and wrapped his arms around Felix. It wasn’t merely a brief, friendly hug, however, but a fully committed embrace that seemed like it would never end. Some oft-ignored part of himself wanted to stay put and indulge this drunken whimsy a little longer, but he did have his limits.

Eventually, he tapped Sylvain’s arm.

“Did you fall asleep standing up?”

“… No, m’awake,” Sylvain mumbled in his ear. “… missed you a lot. Don’t care if you’re mean and no fun at all.”

That was it, then. It was that simple. Sylvain had been lonely, and once the war council was over, he’d be lonely again.

Slowly, tentatively, Felix put one — only one — arm around Sylvain to return the hug. Immediately after he did so, Sylvain pulled away a little to look him the eye, like he was seeking something. Felix became preoccupied with fingers stroking his hair and didn’t realize the inevitable direction things were heading towards until it was too late.

Sylvain cupped his cheek, closed his eyes, leaned in, and kissed him. It was an uncoordinated attempt, and he almost missed, almost dragged the both of them down on the floor as well, but for a few seconds… their lips pressed together and he froze in place, trapped in a kiss.

A wave of heat rose through his body to thaw him out.

Drunk, he reminded himself. Lonely, obviously confused, and more importantly, drunk. It wasn’t right.

So, he firmly pushed away, bit back his own feelings, and dragged Sylvain to a guest room where he could sleep it off — alone. That evening was never brought up again by either of them. Sylvain was inebriated enough that he likely wouldn’t remember most, if not all, of it, and Felix had no desire to discuss it at all. What would be the point? He fully intended to file the memory away as a weird, one-time incident, but apparently, he didn’t bury it as deeply as he should have.

When Sylvain suggested they spend time together, he remembered it. When Sylvain hugged him, he remembered it. When Sylvain touched his hair, he remembered it. When he smelled alcohol on Sylvain's breath, he remembered it.

“You are so difficult…” Felix sighed. He brushed Sylvain’s hair out of his face.

Almost like a direct response, Sylvain stirred slightly. His head rolled to the side so his cheek rested against Felix’s palm.

“Sylvain…?”

No response, of course. Still asleep.

At the Academy, Sylvain was so damned proud of winning, of performing… only to put the costume away, quietly and without complaint, when things started getting crazy. Years later, he dressed up again just so he could grant Felix that boost. That was what the dinner invitation had been all about; the others being there was coincidence. The rush of power granted by the Dancer’s blessing and how it kept him going in Ailell was still vivid in his mind. It was for him. Of course he understood that. The accusation of womanizing was nothing but a stupid excuse to avoid saying what he was really thinking: that Sylvain looked really attractive, and it was difficult to focus on anything else despite taking pride in being a disciplined person. Letting his physical reactions get the better of him was disgraceful.

His thumb ghosted over Sylvain’s lips.

Sylvain would have attracted lots of women even without a significant bloodline, and he’d known that since before he was even old enough to understand what lineage meant. He was the careless, carefree serial dater who always said yes and flirted with anyone he felt like. Even if they had been compatible, Felix didn’t want to count himself among those people, but Sylvain’s fever still seemed to radiate into him and rose like steam to his face as well.

The tent flap moved and his head whipped to the side, startled. Ashe stood in the opening with a small wooden crate in his hands.

“Oh, this isn’t the…” His eyes were drawn downward, and then immediately back to Felix’s face.

Realizing he’d been caught, Felix quickly removed his hand and straightened up, feeling slightly ashamed.

“Do… do you need something?”

“No, sorry for intruding…” Ashe said and started backing out of the tent.

“Wait,” He got up immediately and followed him outside. “Ashe!”

Ashe stopped and turned around, hearing his name. Felix threw a quick glance around, to make sure there was no one else loitering.

“—I want to make this clear: you did not walk in on… I am not a pervert.”

Ashe stared at him, stunned. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to suppress a chuckle.

“What,” Felix hissed out, frowning. “—What are you laughing at?”

“… I didn’t mean to laugh, Felix, I’m sorry.” Ashe said and cleared his throat. “But, hearing you say something like that… I-I mean, I believe you! I know you’re not that kind of person.”

Felix sighed, feeling the tension ease and leave behind an extract of mild embarrassment for him to marinate in instead.

“… So long as you understand.”

Ashe adjusted his hold on the crate. The small glass vials and bottles inside clinked softly against each other.

“… Still, I’m happy for you. I didn’t realize you and Sylvain were—”

Felix cut him off quickly.

“—We’re not!” He frowned and lowered his voice again. “Even if I was interested in him, or anyone else for that matter, I have enough self-respect to not pursue someone with a completely flippant attitude toward relationships…”

Seeing Ashe’s confusion by the heated response, he trailed off.

“I was going to say I’m glad you two were getting along again… I thought that was the case, since you were looking after him.”

Ashe’s reaction to Felix’s apparently unwarranted outburst colored his face a shade of red once more. He put his hand to his forehead and took a moment to put together what he was going to say next, so he wouldn’t put his foot in his mouth again.

“… Mercedes needed to step out. She asked me to stay since I happened to be here.”

“I understand,” Ashe said, but then his small smile faltered a bit. “… How is he doing? I was shocked to hear he became so ill out of nowhere.”

“He’s sleeping now, but…” Felix let his hand fall to his side. “… out of nowhere? What do you mean? He didn’t go into battle unwell?”

“I don’t think so. Nothing seemed off to me, at least.” Ashe said, thoughtful. “I even saw him with a cup of tea in hand. Maybe he felt it coming on?”

“That… is sudden.” Felix frowned. “… What about you? Why are you running errands instead of resting and preparing?”

“Oh, this?” Ashe tapped the side of the crate. “Everyone is low on antitoxin right now. I’m returning what I didn’t use, so the next person doesn’t have to run around looking for a bottle in an emergency.”

“Are there people who haven’t been treated yet?”

“Actually, it was for a couple of horses, not people. I noticed that there’s hemlock growing where they were grazing, and they might have eaten some by mistake. A sick horse can’t carry a rider or pull a wagon, so I gave them some as a precaution.”

“That’s true, but a cleric could have healed them on the road. We’re not in a position to use up resources without being sure.”

Ashe shook his head.

“Spells are good for immediate alleviation, but this is different. They’ve already eaten it, and it’s being digested,” he said, gesturing to his own stomach. “Marianne taught me that horses need different treatment when they’re sick, because they can’t vomit.”

Whether or not that made sense, Felix did not know. He wasn’t a healer, or a veterinarian, for that matter. But he recognized the importance — and cost — of keeping and training horses.

“I’ll trust you on that, then. Don’t tire yourself out running around. Remember, we’re headed for Enbarr.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “… And if you see Dedue, thank him for me.”

Ashe nodded and promised he would do so, before walking off to find the right tent, and Felix returned inside, hoping that such a lover of stories did not leave with a whole new (false) one forming in his head.

A soft whimper interrupted his thoughts. While he was out, Sylvain had rolled halfway over on his side, where he lay shuddering. His arm hung over the side of the cot, and the blanket fallen partly to the ground. Felix hurried back to his side, thinking he was about to roll off the cot. Sylvain tensed up at his touch, then exhaled a shaky breath. His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing they focused on was Felix.

Through the haze of fever, it seemed to take him a moment to recognize his friend. When he did, his eyes widened, and he struggled to speak.

“F-Felix… I… wh-…”

“—Hold on, you’re going to fall.”

Gently, he rolled Sylvain onto his back. He seemed confused, glancing around like he didn’t even know where he was.

“You’re safe, Sylvain. Lie still, I…” Felix raised his head and quickly looked around. The barrel of drinking water was close within reach. “I’ll get you some water…”

Sylvain had little strength in his limbs, unable to even sit upright without help, let alone hold a cup without dropping it. Having him drink a few sips of water without choking was a challenge unto itself. The exertion seemed to be all Sylvain could handle at the moment. His head lolled to the side and onto Felix’s shoulder, keeping a weak grasp on the front of his coat.

“Please don’t throw up on me,” Felix muttered, but he kept his arm around Sylvain’s back to support him.

“Sorry… I saw…” Sylvain’s voice was raspy, and he seemed to run out of breath every other word. “Dedue… was that a dream…?”

“No, it wasn’t. He saved your reckless ass.”

Sylvain smiled faintly with relief. Felix grit his teeth.

“Dedue is back by his master’s side, and I,” he said, using his free hand to tilt Sylvain’s face his way. “—Am here. Don’t forget that. You’re not running away from me anymore. Not now, and not after you recover.”

“Uh…” Sylvain looked back at him with tired, half-lidded eyes.

Gears turned in his head, but it wasn’t obvious whether or not those gears actually aligned. Not a surprise, considering the state he was in. Felix’s hand dropped from Sylvain’s jaw to his shoulder.

“Go back to sleep,” he said bluntly, but laid Sylvain down without a hint of roughness. “… Mercedes will be back soon to take over. I know you’d rather have a beautiful woman taking care of you instead of a piece of work like—…”

Sylvain’s weak grip on his coat persisted. He looked up at Felix but said nothing. Then he let go, closed his eyes, and sighed. In less than a minute, he relaxed and peacefully fell asleep. Felix pulled up the covers and tucked him in, careful not to wake him up again, and sat down by the cot. He wasn’t sure what to think. No, he wasn’t sure what to think of what Sylvain seemed to think of him.

Even though they had known each other for such a long time, fought together, attended the same strategy meetings, learned to read the flow of battle… Felix simply had no clue what was happening among the back ranks that day as he was too far in, slipping past enemy lines to take out a commander. His accomplishments were nothing to scoff at, but that didn’t matter. If it weren’t for Dedue’s reinforcements… or rather, if Dedue wasn’t alive, it was highly likely Sylvain would have been lost as well.

He could have asked for extra support, but he didn’t. Felix didn’t have to be in the front, but he went anyway. Dumb luck and coincidence saved Sylvain’s life, after he went into battle unwell without telling anyone. He had to have felt something was off before they reached the bridge. It couldn’t just come out of nowhere. Out of nowhere…

There was something about that…

Ashe’s idea about horses possibly ingesting hemlock slowly teased out some unpleasant memories.

Sylvain wasn’t as sick last time, but the symptoms were the same, as were his father’s. Both of them fell seriously ill very suddenly, and Sylvain mentioned kitchen help suddenly disappearing. Mercedes said both she and Flayn had examined him and purged the poison with magic. However, since he already knew magic couldn’t heal all ills, that did little to ease his bad feeling.

No point in sitting around thinking about it. He got up and stepped outside to find the supply tent. Ashe was right; if he was wrong, he was wrong, and at worst merely wasted one dose of antitoxin.

The rest of the war camp was coming back to life, but things were still rather quiet around the medical tents. He found the supply tent quickly since it was obviously marked as such, which left him wondering if Ashe truly entered the wrong one by accident. He shook his head and entered, only to find a mess inside.

Several small potion crates like the one Ashe brought sat on top of a larger box, one of them carelessly toppled over to the ground. At least a dozen vials and small bottles lay scattered on the ground, cracked, shattered, and empty.

He scratched his head. Resources were precious. If someone was clumsy enough to waste them like this, it made more sense to clean it up and write off the loss. And probably pretend like nothing. But it wasn’t his mess to sort out… or so he thought until he checked the other crates.

There wasn’t a single dose of antitoxin left. Not even one. He turned his attention back to the broken ones and crouched down to have a closer look. Some vulneraries and other field potions were broken or ruined, but like he had guessed already, most of it was antitoxin.

After the battle the Kingdom army just had, it wouldn’t be strange for the stock of antitoxin to be low. Low enough that one might assume whatever they lost simply because someone accidentally knocked a crate over would be a problem. It wasn’t not clever, but if you spent half a minute examining the scene, it rather was obviously deliberate. Almost as if someone had been listening to him and Ashe talking and made the same conclusions.

Felix turned on his heel and marched back to Sylvain’s tent… and let out a sigh of relief, seeing that it was just how he left it. Sylvain was still asleep, although he had rolled over on his side again.

Sylvain’s condition appeared stable enough, so there was no need to rush yet. Once Mercedes returned — and not before that, because he wasn’t about to leave Sylvain alone — he could act. There should be plenty of potions still in his father’s private supply.

Maybe he was just being paranoid, but if he wasn’t, there was a high likelihood that there were hostiles hiding out in camp. That priestess, and possibly her little henchman, too. He touched his side in the spot where Merlein stabbed him two years back. He never did get the whole story on that…

He went to strap his swords back on, throwing a glance to the cot and speaking quietly to himself.

“You’re not dying before you talk, Sylvain…”

He barely finished his sentence before a seemingly disembodied gasp stopped him mid-movement.

It wasn’t Sylvain. Sylvain was asleep.

There was no one behind him, but the sound came from…

Rustling movements underneath the cot. He walked around it, ready to draw his sword, only to see a child crawl out on the other side.

“What’s a child doing here?…” He muttered under his breath and removed his hand from the hilt, figured he might be the child of a civilian accompanying the army or something to that effect who happened to wander in there, but as soon as he got a better look in the light of the lamp, he had to do a double take.

The child looked at him wide-eyed while scrambling back to his feet. Besides a pair of bright blue eyes, he was a dead ringer for Sylvain as a five or six year old boy. There was even messy red hair sticking out from under a knitted hat that was sliding off. He hugged a rabbit stuffy close to himself.

While Felix just stared, the boy found enough courage to speak, well, whisper.

“Is Sylvie going to die?”

Felix blinked, and after taking a second to gather himself, he followed the boy’s example and spoke quietly as well.

“No, he’s going to be fine. Are you…” He paused momentarily to glance over at Sylvain. “… is your mother here, too?”

The boy shook his head. He seemed shy and a bit worried, but didn’t look scared.

The idea of this obvious red-headed child traveling with an army on the march for weeks without even the smallest whisper of a rumor reaching him seemed ludicrous. However, if Sylvain was preoccupied with keeping the boy hidden, it would probably make sense for him to have been so avoidant. Of course, that premise brought about no shortage of issues by itself. The whole why of it, for example.

But he couldn’t exactly interrogate Sylvain on it at that moment.

Felix went down on one knee to make them more level. Kids were usually a bit beyond him, but he did remember the things Glenn used to do when he was in a big brotherly mood.

“… I’m Felix. I’m Sylvain’s friend. What’s your name?”

“I’m Gavin,” he said, pulling the hat down like he wanted to hide under it.

“Gavin…” Felix nodded slowly and glanced at Sylvain again. Still asleep. “… It’s dangerous to walk around in camp alone, and I can’t leave Sylvain alone since he’s sick. A priestess called Mercedes will come back soon to look after him. When she is here, I’ll go with you back to your mother.”

“No,” he whispered. “It’s a secret, so you can’t tell my mama!”

“Listen, I think she knows already…”

Gavin shook his head vigorously.

“Mama is napping. I sneaked out in secret, because I’m the best at hide and sneak.”

“You mean hide and seek?—”

“Hide and sneak! I’ve been playing it for always, so I’m the best.”

Felix thought for a moment.

“… Gavin, were you in the supply—”

Gavin jumped and covered his mouth suddenly, cutting Felix off as well. Both of them looked toward the tent flap. They could clearly hear people approaching the tent. One lighter set of steps, and one heavier set.

“… still needs to sleep, but of course you’re welcome to see him.”

That was Mercedes’ voice. A deeper male voice responded.

“His Highness said I should go now. It will be more difficult later.”

Felix heard a rustling sound, but not from the tent flap, and whipped his head around in time to see Gavin quickly crawling under the canvas to escape the tent.

“Hey, wait…!” he hissed out and tried to grab the kid, but he wasn’t quick enough.

He scrambled back on his feet, rushed out through the tent flap, and ran face first into a wall. At least, that’s what it felt like. He stumbled back a step or two, blinking as he identified the sight of Dedue standing before him with a surprised look on his face, hands raised to catch him.

“Felix?” Mercedes said next to Dedue, also surprised. “Oh, dear, you’re—”

But Felix pushed past them and rounded the tent in haste.

Dusk had turned into proper night. The war camp was dark everywhere except where it was absolutely needed. The torchlight coming from behind showed a few small marks in the dirt where Gavin crawled out, but he couldn’t see or hear any movement at all. Something laid on the ground at the very edge of the light, though. He walked over and bent down to pick it up.

It was Gavin’s rabbit. Evidently, the stuffy wasn’t quite as good at hiding and sneaking.

A drop of blood fell on the back of his hand, and then another one in the dirt, before he straightened up. That would explain why his face hurt…

He turned around to see Dedue following him.

“You’re hurt. Is there an enemy?” Dedue said, his scarred face stern.

Felix held his sleeve up to his bleeding nose, staring straight at the small, single spot of blood on the front of Dedue’s chest plate.

“Are you serious…” he muttered. “—No, but Sylvain will be in a lot of trouble when he’s better.”

Luckily, his nose wasn’t broken. Mercedes still offered to heal him with a good-natured smile, and Dedue apologized in a genuine and serious manner. The two exchanged glances when he refused to say anything about the stuffed animal he left next to Sylvain’s pillow, but insisted Mercedes not leave him alone for even a second. She reassured him that she wouldn’t. Since the army couldn’t spare the resources to have the infirm escorted back to the monastery, they were to be loaded up on wagons, a task she would, of course, attend.

Perhaps he came across somewhat unreasonable, because Dedue followed him outside as he was leaving.

“Felix,” Dedue said, making him stop. “It was my fault you were hurt, and I know you said there were no enemies, but your behavior… it concerns me.”

He glanced back at Dedue. They didn’t get along at the Academy, but he was Sylvain’s friend, and… a stalwart defender, if nothing else.

“I don’t need your concern…” He sighed. “If you have the time to spare being away from your master… I have no proof, but someone looking to hurt Sylvain may have followed him here, and I can’t be in two places at once.”

“Someone out to hurt him?” Dedue frowned. “I understand. Unless His Highness tells me otherwise, I will stay here.”

“Ask him about it sometime.” Felix started walking. “I’ll be back before camp breaks up.”

Camp would break up within the next two hours. There was little to no chance Felix could rustle out a potential enemy in that chaos, especially with no sort of evidence they were even there in the first place. Likewise, it would be a waste of time trying to chase after a little kid who didn’t pose a direct threat to anyone. There was a third option, however: informing his father, who had the weight and experience to deal with such things, that hostiles may have infiltrated the ranks of the army.

And he would need to make a visit to his father’s personal potion supply as well. He fully intended to make good on his threat to Sylvain as quickly as possible.

Chapter Text

“Mercedes, give me a hand with this. He’ll need to drink all of it.”

“Hmm… it wouldn’t hurt, but… Oh, I hope he can keep it down.”

It was Imperial Year 1175, two years before Miklan Gautier would be disinherited.

Miklan turned in his saddle, tracking the westward trajectory of the sun while muttering something under his breath. The mission was his, after announcing that he would personally track down a fugitive — a saboteur running for the border mountains — who escaped guard custody mere hours earlier.

Sylvain volunteered to follow, citing a need to do something other than training and practice to truly grow. He was reluctantly allowed to go, which he now regretted. So far, their pursuit had been nothing but boring and tedious. He removed the wooden flask from inside his coat and drank water that only his body heat kept from freezing. He clipped it back to his belt and smoothed down his coat; a warm gift for wintertime, from his mother and father.

They did not catch up with their quarry before reaching the foothills. Ordinarily, that would be the point where one let the harshness of winter and hungry beasts finish the job, with the only loss being in pride. The fugitive must have counted on that. Sylvain counted on it as well. Whether or not they caught the fugitive, he would get a day out of the house, and it would be a simple matter to spice the story up and impress that cute new lady-in-waiting of his mother’s.

This time of year, all they had was some five or six hours of daylight, and their trip up the mountainside took more than half of that time. The mountains were never hospitable in the middle of winter, and certainly not at night. They grew up with it. They knew it well. Sylvain expected that his brother would consider his own safety, if nothing else. However, while he considered that the fugitive must have fled that way for a reason, his brother seemed to scoff at the idea. After all, the tracks were right there and need only be followed.

They pressed on under a vast, silver sky that steadily grew more dull and grey.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll carry him to the wagon.”

“… I could have done it myself.”

Trees grew farther and farther apart the higher they climbed, offering less shelter from the wind. They followed the tracks through a meadow. An arrow flew out from behind a distant rocky outcropping and hit the ground between them. A warning shot.

Miklan sneered, spurred his horse and took off, and Sylvain followed. It was foolish, he realized, but his young mind thought that, perhaps, if they apprehended the fugitive together… perhaps something would change.

The next arrow grazed the flank of his horse. It startled, reared up, and he fell. He never saw that horse again. His water flask cracked and soaked the inside of his coat. What’s more, he failed to secure his sword in its sheath, and it fell into a deep crevice in the ground. In a panic, he tried to retrieve it, but his arms simply did not reach.

Right as snow started to fall, Miklan returned from his fruitless chase. Expressionless atop his mount, he stared down at his younger brother, who was cradling an injured arm. His eyes widened, struck by inspiration. In that instant, Sylvain understood what Miklan saw, looking down at him, in that situation: an opportunity. 

Miklan rode off. He would be the one spinning a story, not Sylvain.

“His fever is down by a lot already. This is wonderful, but…”

“… Go get some sleep. I’ll stay with him tonight.”

Sylvain cried out, but if anyone heard him, they didn’t come. Night quickly approached. There were tears in his coat, he had cuts and scrapes all over, and his arm was most likely broken. No water, no food, no light, and only an empty sheath for a weapon. He shivered in the cold already. Had he put some effort into learning even the most basic of magic, he could have at least stayed warm.

Many hours later, when he couldn’t walk anymore, he curled up under the evergreen branches of a snow-covered pine. As he laid there listening to the snow accumulate, he was so tired. So tired, and so cold. But somehow, he wasn’t alone, even though he should have been. That was how that day went. If it weren’t for a hunter — an actual hunter hunting animals, not people — being alerted to his presence by their dog, he would have frozen to death all alone. The rest of that story didn’t matter. He was alone, that was the point.

So where the feeling of loss came from, he didn’t know. No one had put their arms around him in that darkness and slept next to him until he was safe. Come to think of it, Dedue and Mercedes weren’t there either, so it made little sense to hear their voices. And Felix… even if he had been there, that wasn’t the voice of a thirteen-year-old boy.

Sylvain finally realized he was awake and opened his eyes. A white, oppressive sky stretched out above, instantly filling him with deep dread. He sat upright with a start, but dizziness struck so hard he had to stop, close his eyes, and sit still until it went away. Familiar sounds filtered back into his consciousness as he waited. Distant voices of people talking. A horse neighed close by, followed by the sound of many heavy footsteps — an armored troop — walking by. He opened his eyes once more.

The sky he saw was only the canvas canopy of the covered wagon he occupied. Light leaked in from outside and the air was brisk, but not cold. A wagon for the infirm, piled with crates and sacks of medical supplies, all properly strapped down to not fall onto the person sleeping on a pallet in the middle.

The vague, lingering feeling of abandonment didn’t seem to go away even as he came to understand his situation. There wasn’t enough room for two sleeping pallets, although… there were two thick blankets. One draped over his legs, and one squeezed into the space between him and the boxes.

He scooted off the pallet, toward the opening in the canvas. The light stung his eyes, even though it was only twilight. But the cool air was refreshing.

Through blurred vision he saw a handful of similar wagons parked in a semi-circle around a large tent, and some tall trees in the vicinity. There were people hanging around, but he couldn’t make out any details. One of those people — he recognized Kingdom colors, at least — separated from a small group by the tent and walked his way, while he pulled his legs over the edge and hopped down from the wagon. As bare feet touched dew-dropped grass, his knees buckled.

Not that he felt faint. Just weak. There was no other way to describe it. His body simply felt hollow, empty of anything besides vague pain in the center of his chest. A mild headache lingered like an invisible crown around his head. The person approaching stopped before him. His eyes rose from the pair of heavy boots, and just kept on going up until he started feeling dizzy again.

“I’m — I’m fine,” Sylvain said, his voice hoarse, summoning a small smile in spite of himself. “I just need a moment, I think…”

Dedue went down on one knee in front of him.

“You may have your moment, but not while sitting on the ground.”

His hair looked different, his face was scarred up, and he might possibly have become more buff, but… It was Dedue Molinaro, and not some fever-induced hallucination.

“Oh,” was all Sylvain could think to say.

Dedue helped him back on his feet and said nothing about his wobbly legs. He gently lifted Sylvain up to sit on the edge of the wagon. Next thing he knew, there was a blanket being draped around his shoulders.

“I’m not sure I deserve this,” Sylvain said, trying to keep his tone light. “At this rate, I’ll never stop owing you.”

“You don’t owe me, Sylvain. I know you would do the same for me.”

Sylvain laughed.

“… I’d try, but I’m not that strong… sorry.”

The small smile Dedue responded with suited him well, but he didn’t get to enjoy that private little moment for too long. Ingrid and Mercedes came up to them next to check in on him and bring over some food.

It was subtle, but Ingrid paused briefly to look up at Dedue and give him a nod. Her attitude was far from frosty, although it wasn’t warm either. Obviously, a lot had changed since the Academy. She turned to Sylvain.

“Here,” she said, holding a mug out to him. “You must not have eaten since sometime yesterday, so take it slow.”

“Yesterday? Um…” He accepted the mug filled with steaming warm broth. So that’s where that hollow feeling came from. He was running on empty. “… It’s not evening, is it…? Actually, where are we right now?”

“No, it’s dawn. We’re across the Airmid River, in Bergliez territory,” Ingrid said, and handed Dedue a mug as well. “Not too far away from Gronder Field.”

While Mercedes checked his condition, they — mostly Ingrid — filled him in on what had been going on since the end of the battle on the bridge; the state of the army, the addition of forces from Gloucester and Dedue’s retinue, reports of the Imperial army marching out from Enbarr, and their current position. Very likely, they were to battle once again on a historical battlefield. Only this time, it wasn’t a playfight, and no one would be able to stomach the idea of having a feast afterward.

Sylvain stared down into his mug, lacking much in the way of appetite. Pacing himself with the food didn’t require much effort. Even though he badly needed to eat, most of the motivation to do so came from wanting to appease his concerned friends. However forced, filling his empty stomach returned a sense of strength in his body. Strength, and perhaps a bit of understanding.

Going by the way they looked at him, and looked at each other, it started to dawn on him how serious his condition must have been. Everything after his final charge against the second demonic beast was fuzzy and unclear, but piecing together the main points wasn’t difficult. He fell and was picked up. He remembered pain, a lot of indistinct words, and dreams he couldn’t tell apart anymore. Faces hovering over him. Dedue, Mercedes, Flayn, possibly… and Felix.

Felix. He remembered Felix. Looking up at Felix, talking… a conversation?… Or…

“Very good,” Mercedes said, and patted his arm. “You’re recovering very well.”

“Huh? Oh, um, that’s good.” He smiled. “Thanks, Mercedes.”

“— But your body needs more time to heal. Nothing physically strenuous today, and then light duty for the next two days, at least…”

His gaze wandered, as did his thoughts.

The cup. The cup… he couldn’t hold it, because his hands were trembling. Felix said something he wasn’t supposed to forget. That they were close, or… that he couldn’t be alone. Vague memories colluded with fragments of dreams to keep him from recalling properly. Ingrid leaned into his field of view, ending the distraction.

“Sylvain?… Are you listening? Honestly…” Her tone was on the sterner side. “You had better not be taking this lightly. There won't always be someone around to save you.”

“… I’m not, but…” He smiled. “I was just thinking how I wouldn’t mind being the damsel to your gallant knight, Ingrid.”

Her scolding was a lot lighter and more brief than usual. Soon after that, Mercedes — being satisfied with her examination — asked for her help to move some supplies to the other side of camp. They reminded Sylvain to rest, not strain himself, and make sure to eat. Although he agreed, he quietly wondered how well that would work out. It seemed like his breakfast was taking its time to settle.

He glanced into the wagon briefly and rubbed his upper arms. Not because he was cold, though.

“Dedue, did Felix, um…”

He hesitated, but it seemed like Dedue could read his mind.

“Felix stayed by your side overnight.”

Sylvain blinked and stared at Dedue. He wasn’t joking. Of course he wasn’t.

“He left a short while before you woke up.”

The vague ache in his chest started up again. There really was nothing he could say to that.

“… Come to think of it, I would’ve thought you’d be by His Highness’ side.”

“He is resting. I will return to him before he wakes. For now…”

Although his expression was mostly unmoving, there was a slight crease between Dedue’s eyebrows. He was sincere, but uncertain. Some things never changed. He wouldn’t be going anywhere unless he had to. The “unless he had to” must be what troubled him. There was never any doubt as to which duty would win out in the end, but it wouldn’t be fair for him to go about it with a guilty conscience.

“Dedue... it's really great to have you back, but I’m fine now. Dimitri needs you a lot more. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“But…”

“Hey, you can’t fool me. I know where you really want to be.” He winked. “I’ll give you a shout if I need to be carried anywhere, though. Deal?”

Dedue looked on thoughtfully.

“… What do you intend to do now?”

“Me? Well…” Sylvain chuckled. “To be honest, I need a bath. And a shave.”

“I understand.” Dedue nodded. “I’ll walk you to the bath, at least.”

“— I’m telling you, I don’t need that!” Sylvain laughed. He hopped down from the wagon, staying upright without issue this time. “The wobbliness is all gone, see?”

Dedue placed his hands on Sylvain’s shoulder as though to keep him from walking away.

“Felix mentioned a different concern to me last night…”

“This is a lot nicer than bathing in a creek.” Ashe sighed, content, on his side of the partition. “But I’m not sure I followed that conversation, to be honest… Sir Bodel owed you for not dancing with his wife?”

“Something came up and I couldn't attend the wedding.” He stopped for a moment to keep the soap from running into his eyes. “… I wouldn’t steal the bride’s first dance away from anyone, though. Well, unless…”

“Have you really done that before?” Ashe’s tone was accusatory.

“Of course not.” He paused. “It’s not stealing if I’m the one being asked to dance.”

“Sylvain, that’s still terrible!”

He grinned and leaned over to rinse his hair. It was getting long again. Or maybe it just seemed that way when the water weighed it down.

Considering where they were and what was available, their bathing arrangement was downright luxurious, and also a decent representation of noble privilege. They had privacy (a small tent with a partition made of unused canvas and wooden posts), wooden wash tubs big enough to at least sit in (it was probably more comfortable for someone under six feet tall, though), and best of all: hot water (after Sylvain heated it with a spell).

Having connections with people who refuse to compromise on certain amenities paid off sometimes. And it was nice being able to share the ‘wealth’, if only because he was awkwardly handed over by Dedue. If Ashe knew anything about Felix’s suspicions, they did not mention it; he accepted anyway. Well, the both of them seemed convinced he might just fall over if left on his own.

Ashe got out of the water on his side and Sylvain took it as a cue to do the same, towel off, and start getting dressed. Doing so was a lot heavier than it should. Being refreshed on the surface felt good, but not energizing. Although unpleasant, he’d been through worse. Mercedes told him to take it easy, but… he could probably handle a bit of light exercise after doing so much sleeping.

“Hey, now that we’re clean, how would you feel about—” He peeked around the partition to Ashe’s side. “— Woah, you’re quick.”

While Sylvain was still standing around with his belt loose and his shirt in his hands, Ashe already put his coat on.

“I got used to getting ready quickly.” Ashe’s eyes quickly swept his figure up and down before he looked aside, closing the clasps to his coat. There was the smallest twitch to the corner of his mouth.

“… It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Sylvain raked his fingers through his hair. “Haven’t had it cut in a while.”

“Oh, no, I think it looks fine,” Ashe said, and then went quiet for a moment. “... You have so many scars. It must have been tough, dealing with the war and Sreng at the same time. I wish it wasn’t like this…”

Sylvain looked down at his body. Sure, he had his fair share, but it didn’t seem like that many. Maybe his metric was skewed, as both his parents had quite a few between the both of them as well. He shrugged.

“We’ve all got a scar or two at this point, right? You’ve got some, too. That one on your hand… if I’m remembering this right, you were hurt during that whole Death Knight debacle, weren’t you?”

“You remembered that? Yes, but it wasn’t anything heroic. My bowstring snapped.”

“Hey, it’s not like all of mine have a good story to them either,” Sylvain said with a short laugh. He angled his arm to look, finding a pale, thin scar about two inches long running from inside the bend of his arm to the outside. “See this one? I fell off a horse, must have been fifteen or so. Broke my arm and wrecked my favorite coat, too…”

He finally pulled the shirt on while he spoke, but paused hearing the soft crunch of gravel as someone approached the tent and stopped close by.

Their hosts, as it were, set up close to the water but still within the confines of the war camp. Not much foot traffic passed through the immediate vicinity. Anyone walking by should have somewhere to be or something better to do than hanging around. Seeing as this person didn’t seem to move, he raised his voice and spoke, figuring he might embarrass whoever loitered outside.

“Hey, whoever is sneaking around out there… sorry, but you’re out of luck if you were hoping to peep on some lady knights bathing.”

Ashe looked at him surprised, but turned toward the tent opening as well.

Silence, then a sigh.

“… Are you finished in there?”

“Oh, it’s just Felix,” Ashe said, relieved.

Sylvain looked at the tent flap in thought.

“I charge per view—”

The tent flap suddenly flew open. Sylvain took a step back, expecting to be told off, but Felix didn’t look angry at all. He entered and stepped to the side, turning to Ashe first.

“Thank you, Ashe. I’ll take it from here.”

Ashe looked a little nervous, but he nodded.

“Okay, but please don’t fight. We need the both of you at your best.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Sylvain said with a smile. “Well, not about me, at least.”

Ashe smiled back as he passed them by on his way out of the tent. Felix was quiet, obviously listening for Ashe’s footsteps to fade before he turned to face Sylvain.

“We need to talk.”

The fragmented memories of Felix being at his side despite being given the cold shoulder for so long made him feel bad. Real bad. Or maybe good, in a way. He couldn’t really pin down how he felt about it, especially with the object of his feelings standing right there.

“We do?” Sylvain smiled, arms crossed.

Felix frowned, but there was a measure of hesitation in his expression until he spoke.

“Yes,” he said, firmly. “We do. And you don’t get to walk away this time.”

Being handed over twice with no say in the matter, combined with Felix’s demanding tone, made Sylvain bristle. 

“Okay. Lay it on me, then. How much of a burden am I being?”

“What?”

“Or is this about how I want to mind my own business without you breathing down my neck all the time?”

“No—” Felix looked mildly confused.

“Oh, let me guess, then… You found out that I’ve talked to two women today?”

“I don’t care about that. Sylvain—”

“— You don’t care? That’s a lie, Felix. You’ve been nipping at my heels for… hell, since we returned to Garreg Mach! I don’t get to walk away? Is having some breathing room too much to ask?” He sighed in exasperation, having kept himself from shouting only because he ran out of breath so quickly.

Felix opened his mouth to respond, but Sylvain wasn’t done yet. Even though his body protested against the slight exertion, the words poured out of him on their own accord.

“—So I messed up and got myself hurt. So sorry about that! I’ll work harder to meet your standards…” His heart was pounding, he was starting to feel nauseous, and falling short of breath. “There, we’re done talking. I mean, if that’s good enough for you.”

Sylvain breathed in slowly and exhaled, running his hand through his hair again. He looked up to see Felix watching him go on with a frown.

“Sylvain,” Felix said quietly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

He walked the short distance between them. No anger. Instead, he was worried.

“What? I’m fine.” Sylvain uncrossed his arms and turned his gaze aside. “… Aren’t you going to say something?”

“You should sit down.”

After all that, Felix didn’t even try to argue back. Everything he said was only air, nothing of consequence. It was almost embarrassing, especially since he was right. He took a few steadying breaths and turned back with a smile.

“Look at me, getting worked up about something stupid again.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s out of my system now. But if you want to call me useless once or twice… I probably deserve it this time.”

“She was right,” Felix muttered.

“Huh?”

Felix looked up toward the tent ceiling and shifted his stance uncomfortably, then looked Sylvain in the eye and spoke in a clear and serious voice.

“I won’t make excuses. I should have paid attention to what was right in front of me.” Neither his eyes nor his voice wavered. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. Will you forgive me?”

“Um… yeah,” Sylvain said dumbly.

He couldn’t think of an objection, even if he wanted to. The rapid pace his heartbeat still pounded at made it hard to focus. It just wouldn’t slow down.

No excuses, he said. Which meant no explanation either. And certainly no defending his actions or words. Not even an attempt to smooth things over. In fact, Felix skipped over his side of the argument entirely. As far as admitting fault went, that was pretty straight-forward. If the both of them wanted to move on… that would be one step closer to things returning back to normal. Rejecting an apology like that would be stupid.

He glanced aside, fiddling with his collar. Felix followed the small movement with his eyes.

“So… are you getting a better look now?”

Despite their difference in height, he had kept his eyes above the neckline until then. As if lured in, Felix reached out for him. He pushed the shirt collar to the side to rest his palm on Sylvain’s chest, fingertips framing the fairly recent scar below the collarbone. The scar that Felix gave him by accident. Beneath that scar, his heart was still beating like crazy, like it was going to burst right out of his chest at any moment.

“Yes,” Felix said, and gave Sylvain a light but firm push before turning away. “Get dressed.”

Sylvain stood there for a second, staring at the back of Felix’s head, then he started buttoning up.

“Seen enough, huh?”

“—Ugh.” Felix crossed his arms.

It wasn’t shyness or consideration making him turn away. Even before they were packed together tightly together with an army on the march, Felix had probably seen more of his body than some of his girlfriends ever did, and there wasn’t anything weird about that. His eyes were on the tent flap, because he was keeping watch.

“… So,” Sylvain said as he tightened his belt. “Dedue told me what you told him."

Silence loomed, tense and uncomfortable. Sylvain ignored it.

“— There’s no proof that Visca poisoned me, and you haven’t seen her or Merlein… right? I haven’t seen them either. Not a trace of them since last time. No reason why they would suddenly show up now.”

“The antitoxin worked.” Felix glanced back at him. “That’s not good enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” Sylvain hesitated a second looking at his boots. There wasn’t a stool to sit on or anything. Taking a knee to tighten his bootstraps seemed ominous, even though the dizziness had mostly gone away. “Maybe I had an allergic reaction to the poison breath? I’m allergic to bees. Antitoxin clears that right up.”

“If that were the case, a spell would have fixed it.”

“—I know, but the point is…” Sylvain — carefully, just in case — went down on one knee. “We’re at war. She… hates me. All she has to do is wait for me to die on a battlefield somewhere. The same is true for Merlein. Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to wait it out?”

He paused for a moment to make sure his breathing was even.

“… You need to lighten up a bit and relax. Maybe take a nap. I mean…” He switched over to tighten the other boot. “How much sleep did you actually get, crammed in next to me on a sick wagon?”

Felix stiffened at the question and glanced over his shoulder. Sylvain smiled, but no sour or flustered response came.

“Don’t try to change the topic,” he said, frowning. “If your life is truly all they’re after, it might make sense for them to wait, but you’re leaving things out.”

“Leaving what out?” He kept his attention on his boots. Keeping a straight face was a lot easier that way.

“I remember what Merlein said in your father’s office.” Felix turned halfway around to look at him and spoke with his voice low. “Before that, you said they were looking for Gautier’s family register. That ‘different heir’ he mentioned wasn’t Miklan.”

Sylvain slowly got back on his feet and brushed some dirt off the knees of his pants.

“What makes you say that…?”

“Sylvain.” Felix’s firm, stern voice almost made him jump. “You’ve never mentioned Gavin to me before. Not even once.”

Sylvain took his time to answer.

“Must have slipped my mind,” he said slowly while retrieving the old change of clothes hanging over the screen. “Who told you?”

Felix stared at him, eyebrow raised.

“What exactly did you ‘take back’ from her?”

“… What are you getting at?” Sylvain paused, mildly confused. At first, he didn’t quite process the implication being made. “… Oh. No. Definitely not. She didn’t attack me over some… custody issue. She has no claim on any kids that I know of. I have never even slept with her.”

“I suppose you’re at least that smart,” he said, but he still had that expectant look on his face.

“… He’s a relative’s kid.”

“Which relative?” Felix crossed his arms. His words were overladen with skepticism.

“Does it really matter? Their problem is with me, not Gavin.”

Felix closed his eyes and rubbed his temples before speaking again.

“… I always knew you were irresponsible, but this is on a whole different level. Do you even care about this kid at all?… Is your family aware?”

Without all the facts in hand, it was only natural for him to react that way. Getting angry wouldn’t be fair. But assumptions weren’t fair either, despite how common it was for them to spring up uninvited. And once they arrived, their privileged spouses — expectations — followed close behind. The Margrave and Margravine were only happy to host. The disappointed and accusatory tone in Felix’s voice stung, but why would he be any different? Regardless, having another argument wouldn’t be productive. If Visca or Merlein were stalking around — fine. That way, at least they would locked into a march halfway across Fódlan, far away from Gavin.

Sylvain shrugged lightly.

“My parents have a handle on things. No need for you to stick your nose in it.”

Felix looked as though he disagreed readily. Being evasive wouldn’t stop Felix from asking and it wouldn’t clear up any misunderstandings, but their conversation came to a standstill for a moment along with everything else when a horn — a signal — sounded through camp. Promptly, Felix went to look outside with one hand on his sword. Sylvain followed a second later.

“An attack?”

“No,” Felix muttered, and his words almost faded into the quickly building commotion. “Camp is breaking up now.”

There was an onslaught of activity all around; people hurrying, running, to pack everything up. Horses and pegasi neighing. Tents were being broken down, wagons strapped to horses, and supplies stowed away.

Now taut as a bowstring, Felix dropped their discussion and dragged Sylvain back to his wagon, then stepped away to speak with someone.

He went in between two wagons and leaned against the wooden frame, keenly aware that he was rather useless at the moment. Standing there listening to everything offered a bit of respite and a chance to catch his breath in peace, but only for about a minute. Felix nearly walked right past when he returned, no doubt having expected Sylvain to stay right where he was dropped off. Sylvain straightened up and smiled, trying to make the way he leaned on the wagon look casual, and some of the annoyance left Felix’s expression.

He walked up and went straight for putting an arm around Sylvain's waist to support him while relaying the information he received. Sylvain listened, subtly trying to lean away from Felix, who paused to shoot him a frown. There was nothing else to do but give in and let it happen, even though he wondered about this sudden display of intimacy. It wasn't as though he really needed someone to hold him up.

It was incredibly distracting, but he didn't want to reject it either. He tried really hard to pay attention.

Scouts had returned with urgent reports — the Adrestian army advanced at a speed much greater than expected. They would reach Gronder by the end of the next day at the latest. Alliance forces were approaching as well, but no clear communication existed and their intentions were unknown. The faction supporting the Empire was in an excellent position to march in on them as a response to the clash on the bridge. And so, the Kingdom army had no choice but to scramble and prepare to face both.

The army would have to move quickly. A lot quicker than what the supply train could keep up with. They would relegate part of their forces to protecting the non-combatants, but Felix was not part of that escort.

“I have orders. Father said he can’t take my wishes into account this time, and it’s too late to convince him otherwise now.”

Felix appeared collected at a glance. He was always a little terse, frowning more often than not, but rarely stiff. However, with his back straight, tight jaw, and impatient little movements of his hands and feet, his frustration and stress were both in clear view. Putting two and two together, he must have gone to see his father before Sylvain was even awake, and then… argued about his position to the point of being ordered, not told, and certainly not asked.

It seemed a little out of character, but... circumstances were extraordinary. Perhaps... Felix just wanted to be close.

“There’s going to be plenty of soldiers assigned to guard the war camp...”

“— That’s not good enough. Your battalion is temporarily under Fraldarius’ command. I’ll have one or two knights assigned to protect you.”

"I think you’re going a bit overboard,” Sylvain said with a little laugh.

“— Listen to me."

Felix pushed Sylvain up against the side of the wagon. It wasn't only his strong grip holding Sylvain in place, but also the serious look on his face.

"I can't keep picking up the pieces every time you don't take the situation seriously enough. You can't defend yourself like this, so stop pretending like you can and accept the help!"

Weeks and weeks of thoughts all suddenly came together in his mind.

The issue wasn’t whether Sylvain was poisoned or not. Poison could be dealt with, if it was known. Enemies could be dealt with, if they were known. Felix tackled what was in front of him decisively. He could not defeat a foe outside of his reach, and he could not defend a friend who wasn't at his side. Once, Sylvain said he couldn't imagine Felix being afraid. Even then, he knew that was dumb, but the thought was hard to let go of. Being confident and being afraid weren't mutually exclusive, and this wouldn't be the first time Felix went out of his way for Sylvain's sake.

If falling for someone had a velocity that could be measured, his would be terminal.

“Want to run away together?”

Felix looked at him with a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“— We’d be deserters and fugitives, but…” He smiled. ”Leaving this all behind to live our lives on the run as a pair of dashingly handsome mercenaries doesn’t sound too bad, does it?…”

It was brief, but Felix laughed. Actually laughed. Like vibrant spring flowers; a burst of wonder and beauty after many bleak, lean months. A feast for the eyes of a starving man. Sylvain grinned.

“Well? What do you say?”

“… This isn’t the time for that kind of nonsense.” Felix stepped back and shook his head, but he still smiled.

“In that case, it looks like you have no choice but to believe in me a little bit this time.”

Felix looked at their hands together, then met Sylvain’s eyes and nodded slowly.

“Don’t make me regret it.” He started turning away, but paused. “When you’re… ready to share the rest of the story with me, I’ll be there to hear it.”

“… Thanks, Felix,” Sylvain said, and reluctantly, he leaned back and out of Felix's space. “Heh, I feel like I’m a wife sending off my husband to war. Do I get a goodbye kiss?”

With a dubious look on his face Felix turned fully back around. Instead of rolling his eyes or scoffing, he made a casual inquiry.

“Do you want one?” He sounded like he was offering to share a snack.

It was difficult to gauge his mood. Wearing an uncertain smile, Sylvain quietly chastised himself for what he said out loud, but it was too late for regrets. 

“… Are you really asking me?” 

“Yes,” Felix said, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m asking if you want a kiss, Sylvain José Gautier.”

A silent moment passed where Sylvain found himself locked into a battle between backtracking and doubling down. Whichever won, he nodded slowly.

“You know, for luck."

Felix wouldn't do that kind of thing just because someone asked, so where was this going? He thought he knew, until Felix gestured for him to lean down and then gently held his face with both hands. Callused palms and fingers against his cheeks felt familiar, sending a little shiver down his back. The angle was different, but… it reminded him of those fleeting, feverish images of Felix’s face hovering over him.

If this went on for much longer, his bad habits would surely come out.

“… Are you sure?”

A small crack in Felix’s nonchalant veneer brought those thoughts to a halt. The look of determination in his eyes wasn’t as solid as it seemed, nor was it as calm. Asking for confirmation over and over again… he was stalling, because Sylvain’s lack of self-restraint kept him from cutting off a joke before it became inappropriate. He reached up to remove Felix’s hands.

“Hey, uh… you don’t have to force yourself to kiss another man, if it’s that unpleasant. I won’t be offended.” He smiled a little. “I was just wondering howfmmh—”

With his eyes closed, Felix quickly leaned in the rest of the way and captured Sylvain’s lips in a soft, chaste kiss. After a few seconds, he pulled back, watching for a reaction.

No words came out. Sylvain’s mind was blank. What was he supposed to do? Laugh it off? Take it seriously? Every single smart, snappy thing he could have said already evacuated his mind, leaving him in the dust like a fool.

Felix was the one to break the silence.

“Sylvain,” he said in a tired voice. “If you're curious, that's fine, but me being gay doesn't mean I am interested in playing with you.” 

With that proclamation hanging in the air between them, he quickly turned and walked out from the space between the wagons. Sylvain watched him go, his head swimming with thoughts and little time left to sort them out in peace.

The dismantling of the war camp did not cease during their clandestine little conversation. There was no chance he would be able to catch up to Felix in that chaos. Especially with his knees feeling that weak.

Chapter Text

The supply train finally made its stop around midday. Kingdom, Empire, and Alliance forces stared each other down at Gronder Field under clear blue skies.

For Sylvain, the day passed in a slow, unpleasant haze. Resting wasn't very restful, even after his infirm wagon stopped moving.

Although his physical condition had improved, it still wasn't good enough to join the battle, or so Mercedes had said. Laying still and pretending to sleep wasn't helping at all, however. Every thought looped back to Felix somehow, back to the events of that morning. His friends were out there shedding blood, and that was all he could think about.

Usually, Felix would drag him out of the doldrums, but he was, of course, all too busy with things like fighting for the liberty and integrity of their people, and making sure Sylvain was safe from direct threats to his life at the same time.

He raised his hand and smacked himself in the face, hard. This was a terrible, terrible time to be in love with his best friend. He forced himself to sit up, take a deep breath, run a hand through his hair, and pull his boots on to exit the wagon into the free air. His body protested this, feeling sore and stiff at the same time. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his limbs helped improve the glacial pace his blood had been keeping for a while.

As he did so, his assigned guard came around the side of the wagon.

Sylvain squinted his eyes slightly to glance around. Everything was quiet. A bit too quiet. Vivien, his guard, had still not said a word.

He turned to Vivien with a smile. Getting the noble treatment outside his home still didn't feel quite right. "… How much were you told? About why I need a bodyguard, I mean."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Vivien's lips. "I was provided all the details that I need. No need to worry, Master Sylvain. Sentiment won't be an issue."

Although he was grateful and not taking protection for granted, those words fell a bit short of being reassuring.

"I don't think it'll be necessary, but thank you, I really do appreciate that," Sylvain said, and his tone was much lighter than he felt.

His eyes were drawn southward. Three armies clashed less than two miles away, but… ignoring all the war, it was a wonderful and warm southern Fódlan afternoon. "Let's take a walk around camp," Sylvain said after a short silence. "I'm sure you're sick of standing around."

In reality, it wasn't so much a camp as a long train of wagons, horses, and soldiers bunching up just off the side of a smaller road. No tents or semi-permanent structures of any kind were set up yet. No one said it, but it was because they needed to be able to break it up and get moving instantly, if things went badly. The only exception was a canopy set up as a sort of temporary command central at the bottom of a hill. Seteth had a table stacked with reports and maps with little markers representing the various parts of the armies. Keeping one eye on logistics and the other on the battle, as always.

Sylvain avoided getting too close walking up the hill, thinking it would be best not to get too involved if he wouldn't be riding out anyway. The incline was enough of a challenge. He needed a moment to recover at the top. It was just a hill. Not terribly steep or tall, not even worth thinking about when he was at his best. He sighed, glad that Vivien didn't comment.

He was after the view, even though it would be near impossible to follow the movements of many soldiers from so far away. Still, if he strained his eyes and ears, he could barely make out some movement and noise. Once the plains seemed to start roiling and their lines blurred together, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

What was he hoping for, exactly? To see Felix riding toward him in the sunset? The sunset that was hours away still?

"Hey, Vivien, is there a lady waiting for you at home?"

Vivien stared forward in thought for a second before answering. "Curious, sir?"

"Well, yes. You're younger than me, but you were knighted before I even went to the Officers' Academy, and you're a skilled swordsman. Ladies would be throwing themselves at you if you were single."

"I really couldn't say if that would happen or not," Vivien said without shifting his expression.

"Is it some kind of secret, then?"

"My relationship status? Not particularly."

Sylvain thought about it for a moment. "Is it unrequited? Or… maybe she's playing around with you?"

Vivien kept watching Sylvain with a raised eyebrow. For some reason, the words kept coming.

"— It could be that she's not doing it on purpose, but it still hurts all the same, doesn't it? Trust me, I know. I'm not proud of it, but I've been on both sides of that…"

"—Master Sylvain," Vivien quickly cut in. "While the heart is certainly a part of the body, deployment to that area is beyond my rank and station."

Sylvain laughed and raised his hands in capitulation. "Okay, I get it. I'm dropping it."

He turned his gaze back to the distant battlefield. Evidently, that conversation had been a blind alley all along. Vivien was a fine knight and seemed to take his current assignment in stride. He wasn't obliged to like it, or to like Sylvain either, for that matter. It made sense, considering that he was sworn to serve Margrave Gautier and not his son. The loyalty was by proxy and best not tested.

After some time of drifting thoughts, Vivien suggested they return to his wagon. Sylvain quietly conceded that he probably should and nodded.

As they descended from the hill, three wyvern riders split from a group of six patrolling the edge of the battlefield. They veered sharply from their path along the river and flew back toward camp to take their landing at the wide open field near the base of the hill. One rider appeared to help the other dismount while the third hurried ahead toward the temporary command central. Sylvain and Vivien were passing by within earshot when the wyvern rider came in to speak with Seteth.

"… darius' forces holding those bridges alone," the rider said.

Seteth shuffled some papers. "And one is aflame, you say?"

Sylvain wasn't paying attention to their conversation until that moment. He paused to listen in and gestured for Vivien to wait and be quiet. The wyvern rider, a member of Seteth's own St. Cichol Wyvern Company, gave his report.

Swords fell, magic struck, and banners flew. The Alliance army turned the field into a menage a trois by charging in from the east while the Kingdom army became deeply entangled with the Empire on the field proper.

An arm of the Airmid River laid across the northern edge of Gronder. The waters ran quick and deep this time of year, and neither soldier nor horse could ford them. Therefore, holding those bridges was crucial to the Kingdom army's strategy; so long as they controlled the bridges, their retreat would not be cut off, and they could destroy those bridges to keep the Empire from pursuing them quickly. All well and good, except for one problem: they were short on troops, and maintaining control would be difficult against just one foe. They still persevered until the tides of battle started to turn.

As though Claude had foreseen it all, Alliance reinforcements — a full regiment split into two groups, all fresh fighters — came in from the northeast and east on either side of the river. If they made contact, Felix might be forced to choose between sacrificing the bridges or the troops under his command.

Once the rider finished his report, a heavy silence hung between the two men for almost half a minute until Seteth broke it. He muttered something under his breath and cleared his throat. "… Keep circling and keep an eye out for demonic beasts, but do not engage unless necessary. Use your best judgment."

"Sir. We are prepared to rejoin the others once our mounts have had a short rest, but I'm afraid Lernot cannot keep flying due to his injury…"

About half of this information Sylvain overheard, the other half was, admittedly, conjecture on his part… but regardless, now that he had heard Seteth's orders, he couldn't ignore it. With a calm smile, he approached.

"Sorry for eavesdropping, but…" Both Seteth and the wyvern rider captain turned his way. "The bridges are looking awfully precarious for being so crucial."

The wyvern captain exchanged a look with Seteth, who replied with a slow nod.

"The placements of the Alliance's reinforcements were… unexpected, but they do not pose a threat at the moment."

Sylvain gave the maps a quick visual scan. If it was accurate, then… "By the time they are a threat, it'll be too late to send troops over there."

Seteth shook his head. "It is already too late. We cannot divert any more forces that way."

"A wyvern could zip over there in minutes." Sylvain glanced to the wyvern rider. "Couldn't they?"

Hesitantly, the rider nodded, but Seteth wasn't budging.

"… Regardless, under current conditions, I cannot spare five riders."

That was the crux of the matter. Even half a regiment would be a lot to deal with for a group of elite riders. However, a certain Professor long since proved that a single person being in the right place at the right time changed everything. The fact that this Professor often times seemed to have been born indestructible, well… that was a debate for another day. Sylvain straightened up his slouch. Perhaps sensing what was about to happen, Vivien stepped in beside him.

"Sir, remember, you are supposed to be resting…"

Sylvain ignored him.

"Can you spare just one?" He smiled. "I'll take the place of the injured rider and help with holding the bridges while the rest of the company patrols."

Seteth was quiet for a moment, eying him in thought. "Sylvain, you're land cavalry, not airborne. Furthermore, I believe Flayn helped wrest you from the embrace of death a mere day ago? I doubt you're in any shape for heroics."

"Who said anything about heroics?" Sylvain said with a smile. He opened his arms wide. "As you can see, she did a great job — well, Mercedes did a lot, too, but the point is… I'm looking this good after just a day. I might be better on a horse, but I'm trained on wyverns, too."

"The battle will reach a critical stage very soon." Seteth paused, arms crossed. "What difference is it you think a single knight will make?"

"I don't know, but staying back when there's something I can do… I can't obey an order like that." Sylvain paused briefly. "I'm headed out there one way or another. I just thought I'd offer first: myself and the Lance of Ruin for a single wyvern. I don't think that's such a bad deal."

Seteth was stern, but he wasn't unmoved. His eyes went to the wyvern rider. The man shrugged lightly.

"Why not let the lad go? He's certainly willing enough."

Slowly, Seteth nodded. "Very well. It'll permit you to join the patrol. Sergio, have him suited up right away."

On top of a wyvern rising over a hundred feet into the air, the edges of Sylvain’s vision blurred and he swallowed back nausea. He was sweating despite the windchill. The last flying patrol he joined, which was months prior, had been a calm and straightforward affair where he was in good health and not riding the coattails of poison. Backing out wasn’t an option any longer, but that was fine. All he had to do was keep breathing in and out slowly, follow the other rider’s lead, and get to where he needed to be.

A great clash of three armies upon a historical battlefield raged between him and the ever-expanding horizon. Whatever the outcome, the ripples of this event would be felt across Fódlan for countless years to come, and even then, this battle would not be the last one fought. It really put some things into perspective.

Personal issues were so small and petty in comparison. Small or not, however, they were still his to do with what he wanted. Everyone always preached on about personal responsibility, anyway.

Sylvain exhaled and tightened his grip on the Lance of Ruin. Suddenly, the wyvern lurched under him, and they must have dropped several feet. His stomach lurched as well, and it took all of his self-control to keep the contents of his stomach from taking flight. The wyvern seemed indifferent to its new rider for the most part, but perhaps the creature sensed that the Lance was used many times to slay members of its kind in the past and therefore wasn’t too comfortable having it that close. He checked again that he was properly strapped to the saddle, just in case.

The fields stretched out before them, occasionally broken by patches of woodland and the river in the half-distance. At the speed they were going, the battlefield was no more than five minutes away at most. Wingbeat by wingbeat, they approached.

Ahead of them, Sergio raised his arm and signaled back.

“Smoke ahead. Split up and steer clear.”

The midpoint bridge accounted for one of the pillars of smoke he had seen from a distance. Large sections had already collapsed into the river, so it must have been set ablaze some time ago. Sergio and the other rider split off to the east while Sylvain flew as close as he dared.

There seemed to be no fallen soldiers and few signs of a battle. More smoke rose from a point on the river farther to the east.

An increasing number of terrible scenarios played out inside his mind. It wasn’t like Felix to retreat and abandon his position… not without a good reason… injury, or being captured, or— …  No point panicking when it wasn’t even clear which one of three sides destroyed that bridge or why. They finished their survey and rose higher up in the sky once more, turning westward instead.

The final bridge, wider and built out of stone, was still standing.

Fraldarius troops and Gautier knights held the south end. They were protected by simple wooden fortifications, but that was all they had. Alliance troops, half of the regiment of reinforcements, had taken the northern side. No fighting had broken out between the two sides at a glance. Sylvain was soon able to guess why. A second banner flew beside the Leicester Alliance’s: Goneril. If at least part of that force was made up of the famous Goneril Valkyries, then Hilda was likely leading them in person. It made sense for Hilda, being the person she was, to delay contact with the enemy without downright avoiding it, but the greater issue was their position.

Any escape north was cut off; at the moment, the Kingdom side was outnumbered and in trouble as the other enemy was about to make contact from the south. Sylvain clearly observed this fact, but actually processing it took him a second.

Pegasus Knights — he couldn’t tell how many; they were like a fuzzy flock of flapping shapes in white, black, and crimson — were descending toward the very same bridge he was headed for.

He spotted a flash of blue among the ranks of knights on the ground. Mounted for once, and with the Aegis Shield heavy on his arm, Felix turned his horse around to face the incoming fliers. The sword in his hand gleamed, elegant and strong. Sylvain probably romanticized the sight, but his heart simply wouldn’t be still.

What could he do here, realistically? One person (and wyvern) wasn’t much help in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, there was only one clear answer, odds be damned.

Sylvain shifted his weight back in the saddle. The wyvern took his cues and rose, giving them some additional height while proceeding forward. At the crest of their ascent, he took a deep breath. And then they dove, in a steep diagonal toward the Alliance soldiers, swooping over their heads while swerving sharply over the bridge. They kept a safe distance, having never intended to attack, but some soldiers may have bowled over from the tailwind anyway.

Even as they shot toward the enemy at speed, he was calm, clutching the Lance of Ruin in both hands. He felt lighter than air. His body obeyed his every thought, but it was like his limbs were moved by someone else’s power. An ancient force that ran through his veins together with his blood, creating a rush of power and momentum that drove the tip of his lance into the first pegasus knight coming for his allies. He might have yelled something; he wasn’t sure. He thought he saw Felix below, but he wasn’t sure about that either.

A thunderclap ran through his body, a shock, and impact, then sudden numbness. Everything turned white.

As if from a great distance, he heard people yelling, pegasi screaming, and wings flapping. The noise appeared all around him. His vision expanded, and he saw grass approaching rapidly.

“Woah!”

They pulled up just in time to avoid crashing. Sylvain turned his head to see mayhem erupt before the body of his foe even hit the ground. Crashing through their formation caused the pegasus riders to scatter in different directions, rising up higher again to reform and swoop down. Likewise, the ground forces were swiftly getting ready to receive them. Arrows were fired off pre-emptively toward the pegasi. A throwing spear flew through the space which Sylvain had just vacated and struck the ground.

A battalion of a hundred or so soldiers and knights might seem like a lot, but barely a third of them were equipped to take down enemies in flight. Considering the situation, some needed to stay their ground and guard against any opportunities the Alliance might seize. The longer the battle took, the likelier that would become. The battle seemed a lot more uneven than he had first assumed.

Sylvain felt strange and faint. His pulse throbbed in his temples. No way could he pull off a maneuver like that again, but his wyvern had other ideas. For the first time, the wyvern seemed to deliberately glance back at him. Their eyes met for a second. He tightened his grip on the reins and held on as it followed after the enemy, rising higher in the air once more.

They couldn’t keep up in terms of speed, but that’s not all you need in a game of tag. Seeing the closest pegasus get ready to dive, his wyvern turned abruptly to intercept. At first, it seemed like they would pass over the enemy rider’s head. A terrified scream put an end to that idea, as the wyvern grabbed the rider with its daggerlike talons, ripped them out of the saddle, and let go. A bit gruesome, but… it was a beast, after all.

Sylvain looked below. Four left. Three, as one fell to longbow fire. Two, as another swooped down too low trying to plow through a throng of soldiers, only to fall to a well-aimed lance. And the final two were brought down by Felix and the knights at his side. The skirmish was over. Not without losses, but it would have been a lot worse had the pegasus riders maintained formation.

They made a swift loop around, scanning the vicinity. No more enemies came flying. Not a soul in the nearby woods, either. He looked for Felix, but movement at the bridge caught his attention first. A dozen or so Alliance troops were moving onto the bridge. Kingdom knights noticed and were moving in response.

Sylvain flew over and landed near the midpoint.

That weak feeling wasn’t going away, but he couldn’t falter now. He straightened up, kept one hand on the saddle supports for strength and the other still grasping the Lance of Ruin tightly, and took a deep breath. Which he then released in mild relief, seeing Hilda marching up together with her Valkyries. They didn’t look up in arms and ready to fight exactly, but Hilda carried Freikugel with her.

Felix came over from the south, curiously not on his horse. A half-dozen knights, Fraldarius and Gautier, accompanied him. and stopped next to Sylvain’s wyvern. The knights were standing at attention, and Felix turned his head, looking up at him. All of them seemed a bit battle-worn without any notable injuries, but the bottom of Felix’s coat was a bit torn and singed.

Sylvain smiled, and Felix gave him a long, searching look. He turned his attention toward the approaching Goneril Valkyries. With no horses between them all, it seemed more level of a meeting. And then there was Sylvain, an interloper who remained in the saddle.

Besides the road dust, Hilda and her entourage were looking completely fine. She put her hair up differently. It gave off a more mature impression. Still, despite the situation, she met them with a bright smile.

“Hello, there. It’s been way too long, hasn’t it?”

Perhaps because he was tired, Sylvain found her chipper tone a bit grating, but he greeted her with a smile anyway.

“Good to see you again, Hilda. How’s your brother doing?—”

Felix cut in, curt and to the point. “— Enough pleasantries. Is there a point to this ‘siege’?”

Hilda shifted her weight from one foot to the other and clasped her hands behind her back around Freikugel’s mighty haft. “Well,” she said, drawing the word out while her gaze swept across them both. ”This is the only way across since the other bridges went down…”

Instead of dividing limited forces in three, Felix picked the most defensible access point and eliminated the other two from the equation. In hindsight, that made perfect sense; he didn’t give up on the other bridges, merely used what resources he had at hand in a decisive way. Hilda’s arrival complicated things. The knights on either side were a good representation of their available combatants. Hilda’s force was larger and less weary.

Knowing what she was getting at, Felix narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said after a short pause. “And there is no use in asking.”

They would be able to hold the Alliance soldiers off for long enough that their own reinforcements could arrive. None would, but Hilda didn’t know that. Felix didn’t know that, either.

Sylvain bit the inside of his cheek. Passing the information to Felix meant Hilda would hear it as well. What were the tenets of successful negotiation again? Something about never telling lies? There had to be some room for “just be yourself” in there, too. He turned to Felix with a smile.

“Don’t be like that, Felix! Let’s show some courtesy and hear her out, at least.”

Hilda giggled. “I see some things never change. At least one of you knows how to treat a lady.”

Felix frowned back at him, then at Hilda. The hilt of his sword was in his hand, ready to be drawn. “I haven’t cut you down where you stand yet. That’s enough courtesy from me.” 

“Hey, hold up, that’s not happening,” Sylvain said and made a small gesture for him to back off. “We’ll hear you out, Hilda. As a favor between friends.”

Felix’s glare burned. He didn’t mean to sound dismissive, but maybe it couldn’t be helped.

“Thank you, Sylvain, Felix,” she said, looking at them both in turn. “I don’t want to have to fight my way through, but I can’t let Claude down…” She lowered her head. “Still, asking me to take down my old friends, even though they’re from a different class and country… it’s all a bit much.” 

Hilda slowly shook her head and peered back up at them, looking Sylvain in the eyes. “Can’t you just let us through?”

She made her play: she did not want to fight. It would sadden her to have to do so, genuinely. Even though they were never close, that much was obvious. Even so, Sylvain did not find that her plea struck a chord within him the way it might have done in the past, despite feeling the same way. 

“Well, there’s an idea,” Sylvain started, still keeping a slight smile on his face. Letting them pass would be the same as capitulating. Abandoning their post, essentially. Even if these particular soldiers did nothing to harm the Kingdom army, it would be dereliction of duty. Felix wouldn’t allow it unless ordered to do so, and maybe not even then. Sylvain felt the same way about that, too.

Again, he had to ask himself, what exactly could he do here? His head certainly wasn’t the clearest it had ever been, internally struggling for a good handhold to utilize. All that did was bring back the headache. Hilda looked way too happy to ask what she was asking, staring right at him the whole time, not even trying to offer anything back.

“… I understand where you’re coming from. Honestly, I do. It would be really nice if this entire war never happened and none of us had to fight.” His tone shifted from soft to sharp. “But it did, and we do, so you can’t ask something like that. It’s insulting.”

She looked up, surprised at his remark. “Sylvain, you’re the one who said you’d hear me out!”

“I’ve listened to every word you’ve said so far, haven’t I? Unfortunately, I’m not the one in charge here.” He turned to Felix. “What do you think?”

Felix had watched on quietly so far. The irritation seemed to have all but left his expression. He shook his head. “I’ve already made it clear that we are not letting anyone through.” 

Sylvain shrugged and turned back to her. “There you go. I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you the way it used to, but I’m sure Claude placed you here knowing the kind of person you are.”

“Why are you being so harsh today, Sylvain…?”

True, that sounded a lot harsher than he meant it to, but weren’t they at war? It was customary to banter a bit, or so he thought. Felix was giving him an odd look, too. Something clearly went over his head there that he wasn’t feeling sharp enough to catch.

He was about to say something else but stopped himself and looked behind them. “Do you hear that?”

They did not, and that was the thing. The distant sounds of battle — tens of thousands of voices, weapons clashing, magic crackling — lapsed for several quiet seconds until a horn sounded. Suddenly, Hilda called out.

“Oh, that’s us!”

A light signal made a lazy arch from somewhere beyond the woods. 

“It’s time to go home already. Looks like we waited too long,” she said, but she didn’t look too displeased.

Sylvain chuckled. A knot of worry had just released in his chest. “An almost simultaneous Adrestian and Leicester retreat? Couldn’t have timed that better. Right, Felix?”

Felix grunted in response, arms crossed. “The timing or order doesn’t matter. Are you still planning to force your way across?”

“Oh, what for, at this point?” Hilda nodded to one of her Valkyrie guards, who swiftly turned and went back ahead of the others to relay the news. She looked to the both of them,  effortlessly leaning Freikugel on her shoulder. “Let’s chat over tea next time, instead.”

Felix grunted in response, clearly waiting for her to leave.

“We’ll see,” Sylvain said with a smile. “I think my Felix will keep me busy for a while…”

“Your—?!” Felix sputtered, suddenly flustered. “… We’re done talking,” he said, pointing directly at Hilda. “Leave already! — And you!” He turned to his own subordinate knights, who had been waiting patiently. All of them took a small step back, seemingly simultaneously. 

Sylvain waved her off, watching for a short while as she rather casually walked her troops back, while Felix went on.

“—Tighten up our ranks and set up patrols along the road. Make sure to direct the traffic away from the other bridges.”

The two Gautier knights seemed to hesitate because of Sylvain’s presence, so he figured it was time to cut in a little.

“Great job, everyone! Just a little more, now.” He smiled. “Felix and I need to discuss our next move, so your platoon will remain and be in charge for now. Station yourselves on both sides once Goneril has marched off. Oh, and prepare a runner to re-establish contact with base.”

“Yes, sir!”

Once they were alone, just the two of them, Sylvain allowed himself to sigh and slouch a little. Something about what he did caused his wyvern friend to react, shifting its stance and the position of its folded wings a bit. He gave it a pat on the neck.

“I hear you, buddy. I’ll bring you back soon.”

“Sylvain,” Felix said, approaching while offering the wyvern a respectful distance. “What exactly possessed you to do this?” He gestured to the whole wyvern riding situation.

Despite how their last conversation went (and ended), Felix had a very faint smile on his lips, and even that tiny a spark was enough to make his entire body feel warm. He blurted out the first words to form inside his mind, unable to stop himself.

“Do you want to ride with me?”

Felix looked at him, confused. “Ride with you…?”

“To… to have a look at the state of the battlefield, I mean.” He paused for a heartbeat. “You know, to get an overview of things and report back.”

“Didn’t you just leave instructions for a runner?”

“Yes, but that’ll take a while, and I think it’s best to let base know as soon as possible…”

One half of him hoped that Felix would refuse, and the other half wished he would agree. Both halves were too preoccupied with the simultaneous excitement and dread to notice right away that the object of his attention stood there, busy with an inner struggle of his own. Felix looked to the south for a long few seconds. What he felt reflected only in a mildly bothered look on his face. It was awfully cute, but indulging in the view would have to wait for some other time.

Sylvain leaned forward in the saddle to try and catch Felix’s eye. It worked. His attention snapped back immediately, staring for a second before blinking back to reality.

“Felix?” Sylvain smiled and sat up straight again. “Would you rather stay behind…? I suppose the Shield will be too heavy to bring.”

“No… you’re right,” Felix said after thinking about it for another moment. “I… should come with you.”

The landscape rolled by. Open fields marred by war — deep gouges and trenches, muddy patches, scorched grass, discarded arms gleaming silver in the setting sun next to the bodies of their fallen wielders. And that was only the outskirts of the battlefield, where patches of trees sometimes obscured the view. Farther south, the Adrestian army was already making strides in their retreat, most likely headed for Fort Merceus. At the same time, the Alliance started withdrawing toward the northeast.

It was hard to tell any individuals apart from such a distance, but certain people would always stick out. Dimitri’s mantle of blue, for example, and Rodrigue’s figure atop his horse, rallying troops together to form an escort for the prince. It became evident that the army at large needed some time to reorganize and start marching back, even with the guidance of the Kingdom bigwigs. 

In encountering another St. Cichol Wyvern Company member, Sylvain waved and signaled that they would be flying back. They made a gentle turn back north to make a pass back over the stone bridge. Patrols were already formed, and the bridge was under watch. Everything looked fine, and Hilda’s half-regiment steadily marched away.

Sylvain glanced over his shoulder and saw Felix quietly meet his eyes.

Talking was utterly useless with the wind in their ears, but it didn’t matter. Felix held on tightly with his arms locked around Sylvain’s midsection.

Despite all the discomforts he felt at the moment — parched throat, shoulders and neck aching, and even a bit of vertigo — his back was warm. A steel cuirass was nothing to Felix’s steady strength and warmth. It would probably be better if they kept a distance from each other for a while, both physically and emotionally. Sylvain knew that he should want that, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if Felix wanted that. If so, this would be the perfect opportunity to express that, but… given the chance, he didn’t.

Even though the kiss was so fresh in his mind, the compounding fatigue he felt was enough to blunt his spiking emotions. It allowed a display of composure he would later swear bordered on saintly. If Felix could be normal about it, then so could he. Absolutely normal.

Still, seeing the rapid approach of their destination brought on a sting of disappointment. He gazed out toward the horizon. It sure was far away from all this. A little too far away. Running away together had been a nice dream.

Other fliers were already trickling in on the strip of flat, grassy land stretching out from the hilly spot he had taken off from earlier. The wyvern, being well-trained, already knew what to do and started the slow descent without rider input.

With two riders on its back, the wyvern needed to lose more speed before touching down. Their descent started out slow and careful, unlike a dive, but Sylvain felt that light-headed feeling from before creep in.

He blinked a few times, but the feeling persisted and grew stronger as they approached the ground. Nervous about possibly passing out again, he instinctively grabbed onto something safe and secure — Felix’s hand. In response, Felix tightened his arms around Sylvain.

He squeezed his eyes shut until they landed without incident.

The tension released from his body in the form of a relieved chuckle. He and Felix both let go of each other. He sat there for a moment until he accidentally made eye contact with a different rider some fifteen feet away, also in the process of dismounting. She nodded to Sylvain, he nodded back, and she resumed her task. In the corner of his eye, he saw a squire hurrying to her side. Others were moving in the periphery of his vision as well.

The saddle wasn’t actually made for two people. That’s why they had to sit so close together. And wyverns of this size were strong enough to carry an extra person for shorter distances. It wasn’t weird. Still, with the eyes of others upon them, the position was a bit…

He fumbled with the saddle straps, distracted, and froze when he touched Felix’s leg.

Felix spoke from behind him. “I can reach those. Let me—”

The wyvern shifted underneath them. Sylvain forgot entirely to have it lower its body for dismounting, so it decided to rectify this breach in flight etiquette on its own. Probably out of reflex, Felix put his hands on Sylvain’s hips for balance, to which he let out a surprised yelp.

“…… What was that?” Felix sounded about as incredulous as Sylvain was embarrassed.

Well, he couldn’t take undignified noises back after already making them, so it was better to just own it. He stuck the Lance into the dirt next to the wyvern to free both hands and make the unstrapping process easier.

“Give me a break, Felix,” he said with another chuckle, trying to laugh it off while undoing the straps as quickly as he could. “You’re the one who grabbed me all of a sudden!”

“But you were fine with being held…?”

Sylvain looked over his shoulder with a soft smile. “Look, it’s nice that you want to keep holding on to me, but it’s time to get down from here.”

Felix drew his hands back to himself. Once he was loose, he swiftly hopped down. He started walking away while Sylvain half climbed, half fell out of the saddle. The lady rider hanging around close by (looked like a real beauty under all that soot) called out to him.

“Gautier, right? Need some help over there?”

Sylvain pulled the lance up. “—Yeah, would you mind taking over? I need to, uh…” He glanced at Felix’s retreating back.

“Alright, just get off the runway, mate!”

“Thanks!” He nodded to her, gave the wyvern a quick, appreciative pat in farewell, and followed after Felix. “Hey, wait up!”

Felix looked back at him briefly and didn’t stop, but he did slow down enough for Sylvain to catch up.

It soon turned out that he needed that. He wasn’t dizzy anymore, but most of his body still ached, and his limbs were heavy to move. The Lance of Ruin felt heavier to lug around than ever before. However, seeing Felix look his way, not in a foul mood for something he’d said or done, made his heart feel light.

“What are you smiling about?”

“… No reason. I’m glad we both made it back okay.”

“Hmph. You weren’t supposed to go anywhere in the first place. You’re not even wearing the proper armor, but… I’ve never seen you fly like that before.”

Sylvain waited for him to continue, but that was it. “Are you actually praising me?”

His smile faltered a bit, seeing how serious Felix’s expression was.

“You deserve some praise this time. Even though I hate to admit it, you… you handled everything there a lot better than I did.”

He hated to admit it but still did so without grumbling. The tone of it, though… Sylvain didn’t quite like it. It seemed like he unintentionally struck a sore point. Seeing Felix’s confidence falter even slightly was… a bit uncomfortable.

“I think you’re going a bit far… All I did was crash in and interfere. I was definitely sweating a bit up there. Mess up once, and you’re falling right out of the sky…”

He trailed off, deciding on a different angle. “Everyone respects you and your skills. That’s more than can be said about me, isn’t it?”

“That’s your own doing, Sylvain,” he said calmly. “— Pay attention.”

Felix nudged him aside and out of the way from a wagon that was being moved but then quickly stepped away. After a short silence where they moved slowly between other small groups hurrying to and fro, Felix spoke again in annoyance.

“… Where is that guard I assigned to you?”

“Huh? Um… now that you mention it, I thought he’d stand by and wait…”

Sylvain stopped to quickly look around, but Vivien didn’t conveniently show up out of nowhere.

Felix paused as well, glancing back at him. “I didn’t take Gautier knights for being that unreliable.”

“My father trusts him, and that’s good enough for me. I’m sure there’s a reason,” Sylvain said, but he couldn’t smile with complete sincerity. “Maybe he’s getting something to eat?”

Both of them stared at each other. Sylvain adjusted his grip on the Lance of Ruin somewhat, trying to not make it so apparent that he was leaning on it.

Felix pinched the ridge of his nose, quiet for another few moments, then let his arms fall to his sides. “Your father’s trust is useless to me right now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean…?”

“Did you forget why you had a guard in the first place? I can’t let you out of my sight like this.” He then stepped up next to Sylvain and — with some reluctance — offered his arm. “—But I won’t be picking you up if you fall over.”

In the coming hour, the sitting supply train needed to once again become a functioning war camp ready to receive tired, hungry, and injured soldiers. How long this reprieve would last before marching on remained to be seen. Still, Seteth seemed a smidge less tense after hearing about the battlefield developments. He was happy to let the messengers take a break and refuel.

Sylvain sat dozing off on a wooden box. Everything that happened in the last hour or so caught up with him all at once as soon as he relaxed. The smell and taste of metal and smoke finally started to fade from his senses, and he did see the slow return of an appetite. Unfortunately, the mess tents were still being set up, and there wasn’t much available to eat besides hardtack softened in water. Felix still insisted on grabbing them a meal, which he handed over without comment after giving Sylvain a light kick in the shin to wake him up.

He kept his word to stick close. He stood less than an arm’s length away.

The light of the setting sun framed his face in a faint aura of gold and turned his eyes a beautiful amber color. It was a view to get lost in… until he noticed. Sylvain quickly looked away and finished his slop. It was like having cold, flavorless oatmeal. No reason to stop and taste it. At the very least, he didn’t feel as parched anymore, but the rest of him wasn’t exactly comfortable.

He undid the top buttons on his arming coat so he could rub the back of his neck.

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to peel all of this off soon.”

Felix gave him a sidelong glance. “Hm,” he replied, taking a sip of water.

“Since you’re here,” Sylvain said with a hopeful little smile. “Could you give me a hand with that?”

Felix was mid-sip, and then he was suddenly mid-choke.

Sylvain put his mug down next to him on the crate. “… Easy, there. Are you okay?”

“You want me to—?” Felix coughed, wiped his mouth, and cleared his throat again. Somewhat bewildered, his eyes flickered up and down Sylvain’s form a few times. His cheeks turned a shade of pink. “… Your armor. Right.”

He stared right back while the gears turned in his tired mind. Once it clicked, he nearly laughed because of how out of character it seemed for Felix’s mind to go there. It was completely unintentional, but the way he said it, the fault was probably Sylvain’s.

“Yes, my armor,” Sylvain said with a small laugh, trying to keep his tone casual as he turned away. “What did you think I was talking about?…”

“Don’t turn that on me! I told you—…” Felix frowned at him, but hushed his tone. “… Why are you trying so hard to act like nothing has happened?”

“Um,” Sylvain said and quickly glanced around them, speaking quietly as well. “… This isn’t really the time to talk about that, but…” He shrugged lightly. “I get why you did it, you made your point, but I’m not a virgin, you know? I’ve been kissed before. Don’t make it any more weird than it needs to be…”

His eyes swept the vicinity again while he tried his best to make the topic go away, until he spotted a cloaked, feminine figure standing between two newly risen tents some thirty feet away. He froze, and Felix’s response eluded him.

Her features were hidden by a hood. She raised her hand from under the cloak and waved for him to come over. A shiver ran down his spine. Without thinking, he shook his head, which caught Felix’s attention.

“What are you looking at?”

Both of them must have been thinking the same thing because Felix rested his hand on one of his swords and called out to her. “What do you want?”

She seemed to sigh and walked out from between the tents. Her steps were resolute, and she showed no shyness or caution stepping around the soldiers and other people bustling about. It seemed she saw little need to push down her hood, but her features were clearly visible. As she came closer, Sylvain quickly realized she wasn’t who he’d first thought, but this woman was still someone he recognized.

By all accounts, Erin was a beautiful woman with wavy strawberry-blonde hair, blue eyes, full lips, and an athletic figure. The multiple small, thin scars on her face did little to tarnish her beauty, but the displeased frown did away with some of the charm. She was only a few years older than Sylvain and single, but, as one might expect, held little genuine interest in him. In this case, the feeling was mutual.

In a minor bout of panic and confusion, he stood up so quickly that his vision blurred. He knocked his cup over but quickly collected himself.

“Erin, what are you doing here?”

She shook her head. “That’s not important right now. I need you to come with me,” she said and grabbed his arm to pull him away.

“Wait, I can’t just…”

Erin was stronger than she looked, and her initial pull on the already tired and weakened Sylvain made him stumble. Perhaps the lack of yelling or accusations on her part and excuses on his part tipped Felix off that the situation differed from the usual fare. He came up to firmly remove her hand and step in between them.

“Back off.”

“You back off. This doesn’t concern you.”

Felix remained where he was, unintimidated. “He’s not going anywhere.”

She looked quickly between the two men, then arched an eyebrow at Sylvain.

“I see. This is the Fraldarius kid. Is he your keeper now, Sylvain?”

“No—”

“Yes,” Felix said, crossing his arms and staring her down.

Sylvain cleared his throat. “Okay, he is not… Erin, I’ll listen if you need my help, but I can’t just step away. I’ve still got duties.”

Her determined look softened, brow furrowed.

“… Sylvain, please? I don’t want some man I don’t know listening in on our private business.”

“Wait, he’s going to misunderstand if you say it like that!” He made eye contact with Felix, who seemed less than amused. “Felix, she’s not—…”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what she is,” he said, then turned to her. While he seemed less hostile, he wasn’t being friendly either. “If you have something to say to Sylvain, you’ll have to say it in front of me, too.”

Erin looked at Felix for a second, then stepped around him to get to Sylvain. She grabbed the collar of his arming coat and pulled him down to whisper in his ear, “We need to talk about Gavin. There’s an abandoned farmhouse down the road, due east from here. Come alone.”

The entire time she whispered, he stood awkwardly stooped over her shoulder and made eye contact with Felix, who stared on with a mildly offended look. After releasing Sylvain, she didn’t even bother looking at either of them before turning abruptly on her heel and walking away the same way she came.

Sylvain didn’t look at Felix, either. He straightened up and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling entirely uncomfortable, waiting for the inevitable. At that moment, he couldn’t even think about what she had just said. But Felix didn’t berate him or even make a snide comment. Instead, he calmly asked a question.

“What did she say?”

“Well, that’s private…” Sylvain ran his fingers through his hair. The chill from before seemed to linger on his back. “… is what she’d probably want me to say. There’s no reason for that. She wants to see me alone at some abandoned house off to the east.”

He glanced quickly in Felix’s direction, and upon seeing his friend’s deepening frown, the agitation inside his chest only worsened. “… I don’t know what it is you’re getting mad about this time, but… I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. There’s nothing for us to talk about.”

Felix took a moment to respond. “… I don’t care who you go out with, but for the time being, you won’t be alone long enough to sneak off and see her in secret.”

Well, he obviously did care, but Sylvain was too tired to argue.

“… I really don’t have that kind of relationship with her. Didn’t even know she’s here.” Sylvain sat back on the crate and let his eyelids fall shut, tired. “She’s Gavin’s mother,” he added quietly and sighed.

There wasn’t much reason to share those tidbits of information without coming clean about everything else. But, regardless of whatever questions Felix might have, there was one track his mind had not left yet… it made sense; not much had been presented yet to derail it.

“… She’s his mother? He looks more like you than her,” Felix said, and he sounded somewhat bitter about it. As if he had any right to be.

A surge of anger rose like bile in Sylvain’s chest. He clenched his fists on his lap and glared up at Felix.

“It doesn’t matter what he looks like! He is not my kid, Felix!”

He regretted losing his temper immediately, seeing how taken aback Felix was by the outburst. He also regretted it because the bile turned too real, bringing the nausea back with a vengeance. All color left his face, and he leaned forward, feeling the uncomfortable chills. A few seconds passed, but miraculously, the slop remained where it was inside his stomach. He remained leaned over, elbows on his knees and neck bent, taking a few deep breaths.

Felix stepped closer.

“Then whose child is he? You still haven’t told—”

“Wait,” Sylvain said, raising his head to look Felix in the eyes. “How do you know what Gavin looks like?”

Chapter Text

"… An unattended five-year-old running around all these weapons and huge animals… Sheer wonder someone didn't see him sooner." Sylvain laid his head down on a pillow. Nausea had mostly subsided, but taking a rest anyway offered a sparse resource that was otherwise hard to come by at an active war camp: privacy. The tiny bit of peace came as a blessing after struggling to remove his armor.

As it turned out, wearing a flight harness under a regular cuirass invites every single strap, hook, and clasp to tangle with it. Without assistance, he might have been stuck wearing it for the rest of his life. Felix placed the last armor piece in a box in the corner.

Sylvain sighed. "Why would she bring Gavin to follow me all this way? In secret, too. I really couldn't guess what she's thinking."

Felix pushed Sylvain's legs aside to make room for himself, which was natural for him to do in that cluttered space. However, letting his hand rest on Sylvain's knee and leaving it there had to be a deliberate choice. "Whatever reason she might have, she is either delusional about the dangers of moving with a military force, or she has no regard for her and her son's life."

Sylvain tore his eyes away from the hand touching him and stared at the ceiling instead.

It wasn't unheard of for civilian families to come along on campaigns to support a soldier family member or because they needed the work. Still, all of Erin and Gavin's needs were already covered by the Gautier family, and Miklan tolerating a "support the troops" kind of person enough to have a child with them seemed unlikely.

"Now that I know he's here, I can't ignore the situation. I'll have to at least hear what she has to say."

"As I thought," he said, then silence stretched between them. Felix leaned on a heavy travel trunk. "You're always like this."

"Always like what…?" Sylvain paused, trying to read something off of Felix's frown. "I don't think Erin would put Gavin in harm's way on purpose, but if she's being irresponsible… he's only five years old. Someone's got to look out for him."

"I know," Felix said, watching Sylvain with an eyebrow raised. "I didn't disagree about that. Regardless, if she starts asking you favors, cut that off immediately."

Sylvain smiled. "Like I said, it's for Gavin's sake, not her. And only while they're here."

Very softly, Felix gave his knee a squeeze. It was so light it may have been unintentional. "I know you're not stupid, Sylvain. You already know she's planning to take advantage of you," he said, fixing Sylvain with a frown. "Since you insist on seeing her anyway, I'll come with you."

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in defeat. "I'm just going to talk to her, Felix. It'll be fine."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Felix said, and his tone was firm. He wouldn't be entertaining any more discussion on the topic, nor any attempts to make light of it.

Because he was right; Sylvain wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on. He knew the pattern. Obviously, an army away on a war campaign offered nothing that would benefit a child. Obviously, Erin wanted something out of him, like most women who approached him tended to do. Obviously, Felix picked up on it, too.

His insistence wasn't… soft, exactly, and not what one might think of as friendly, either. The Felix brand of going out of his way for someone else wouldn't typically involve either of those things. In the past, it usually involved criticism  — warranted or not — and then washing his hands of the situation. There were always some exceptions, of course.

Bursting into Sylvain's dorm room to save him was one, but the care he shyly (and somewhat reluctantly) showed afterward made a more significant impression. And then getting involved with Gautier's family issues when he didn't have to, just because Sylvain asked. Even little things like accepting an unwanted hug, or… making sure he ate and took care of his injuries.

At some point, his approach to Sylvain's bad choices started transitioning from passive-aggressive to very hands-on. Thinking about all of it together, it was years and years of Felix making him feel…

"…Sylvain? Are you feeling sick again? You're making a weird face."

Realizing he'd been spaced out for a while, he turned his head to the side, unable to quite identify the emotion that started welling up from within… it definitely wasn't nausea, though.

"No… I was just thinking…." He weaved his fingers together on his chest. "When you look out for me this much… it makes me feel kind of special."

Slowly, he turned to look at Felix, whose eyes were growing wider.

"I—…… What are you going on about all of a sudden? You yelled at me for 'looking out for you' this morning!"

Sylvain propped himself up on his elbows. "No, that was for being really annoying about it. I appreciate the caring part. That's something I could brag about the next time someone complains. 'Oh yeah? Well, Felix cares about me'. I'll be the talk of the town for a whole new reason— hey!"

Felix raised his fist to punch him but settled for a gentler slap on the knee and a glare. "You wouldn't dare."

"You're not denying it," Sylvain said, still smiling. He flopped back down on the pillow but comfortably supported the back of his head in his palm. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I mean… it's the cutest thing about you! I love having that all to myself…"

Suddenly, Felix was a blur of movement. He flew up and climbed over Sylvain to cover his mouth. The sheer surprise alone was enough to push him down, and the back of his head hit the pillow, with Felix on his hands and knees over him.

"Enough," Felix hissed through clenched teeth, exasperated, almost desperate, and embarrassed. "Don't you have any shame at all?"

Sylvain's gaze started to slide straight down the open collar of Felix's shirt and then swiftly back up to his eyes. Even though their faces were less than a foot apart, it was impossible to tell if he noticed. However, a different issue popped up when Felix removed his hand from Sylvain's mouth. In doing so, his weight shifted from his upper body to his knees, one of which had found a fortuitous spot to touch down: between Sylvain's thighs.

Their legs were barely touching. It was more like the fabric of their respective articles of clothing brushed together somewhat. Sylvain could tell because he was, at that moment, a hundred percent conscious of every point where their bodies made contact. As a result, he was afraid to move his legs at all.

"No, not really," he said, relieved that at least he kept his voice steady and his tone light. Subtly, he moved his foot back to scoot away a bit. "… If someone were to ask me how I feel about you, Felix, I'd happily—"

His bare foot slipped on the blanket, causing his body to slide in the opposite direction intended. He was in an even worse position than before, effectively straddling Felix's leg.

"—Oops."

Felix's eyes trailed down, and his expression stayed flat at first. Then, he stared intensely into Sylvain's eyes and posed a simple question.

"How do you feel about me right now?"

Sylvain stared right back at him. The situation was already headed beyond what his previous composure could handle, and it wasn't even his fault this time. But, even with Felix's leg against his jewels, he had to laugh a little. "Um… I feel like I'm having a fever dream."

After a short silence and some hesitation, he moved off Sylvain and retreated to his previous position. "Right, you still need to recover," he said, and he seemed calm, but the slight redness to his cheeks and ears revealed that he wasn't as collected as he wanted to appear. "… I'll be waiting outside, once you're finally awake."

"Sure…" Sylvain watched as Felix climbed out of the wagon, then laid his head back down with a heavy sigh. Never before had he been so grateful for a fever. He probably looked the part of having one, at least. Enough to get him off the hook for the time being.

The day's events were all jumbled up inside his head, but one thing was clear: Felix seemed to be catching on, and he would figure it out eventually. An excuse like "I never thought about you that way" wouldn't work at that point because it wasn't true, and even if it was, Felix had no reason to believe him.

… How could he not wonder what it was like, especially after being pinned down like that?

He stared up at the ceiling. Thought about a hand on his knee. Remembered two hands traveling up his thigh one snowy evening… what was that, anyway…?

"… That's enough thinking for today," he muttered, rolled over on his side, and closed his eyes.

While the camp grew steadily more lively outside, he slipped into a shallow, uneasy sleep. Once, he surfaced briefly to the sound of Felix speaking to someone, but he couldn't make out the words and quickly drifted off again.

“— Place them wherever there’s room for now!” Manuela’s sudden shout startled Sylvain awake. He sat upright, feeling arguably even worse than before. Again, he almost jumped hearing Manuela so close, but he quickly identified that she was simply walking past the wagon, giving instructions on how to set up the infirmary.

Sylvain stood outside his wagon and rubbed his eyes. Activity really ramped up since he fell asleep. A handful of wagons were moved to create more open space, which in turn was slowly taken over by cots, pallets, bedrolls — anything that could house the injured soldiers trickling in from the battlefield. Tents were put up as needed. Felix wasn’t there.

He leaned back against the wagon, taking slow, deep breaths. Judging by the position of the setting sun and the relatively small amount of people being treated yet, he couldn’t have been passed out for too long. Maybe about half an hour, if that. It wasn’t that long, but… considering how insistent Felix had been about sticking around, it seemed odd that he didn’t stay close. And no sign of Vivien, either. In fact, no one paid any attention to him at all. His mild distress — a headache, knots in his stomach, chills — was not an emergency.

It was incredibly uncomfortable, standing there and doing nothing but waiting for someone to come up to him. There were supplies in his wagon as well, although he wasn’t sure if those were potions and things for quick treatment or general medical supplies. Should any of it be needed, he would not hesitate to help bring it out where it needed to go, but no one came to ask for anything. Eventually, he decided to make himself useful instead. At the very least, he had the energy to offer a healing spell or two.

Between sealing an arrow wound and carrying a box of bandages from one side of the infirmary to the other, the edges of his vision started to blur, and he needed to sit down before it got worse. As he recovered, someone approached from behind and touched his shoulder.

“Please,” a soft woman’s voice said. “My son needs help.”

“Okay, one moment…” He took a deep breath to collect himself and stood up. Immediately, she took him by the arm and started pulling him. “What’s going on? Is he badly hurt?…”

The cloaked woman was leading him away from the infirmary without answering. As soon as he realized this, he tried slowing down.

“… Erin? Wait, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she said, not allowing her — their — pace to slow.

The combination of low-light conditions and their pace was getting disorienting. He glanced behind them at the infirmary, but Felix still wasn’t there. But then, that was probably why she came back now, pulling him away from the eyes of people. As evening approached, it steadily got darker and harder to see in between tents, behind wagons, and away from the established paths. She intended to sneak him away in the night, but it worked a little too well.

Before they went around a large cart of horse feed, he put his foot down and stopped.

“Erin, I never agreed to go anywhere. If you want to talk, we can do that right here,” he said as firmly as he could manage.

“No,” she said, impatiently looking around. “It’s not safe here.”

She tugged at him to move again, but he didn’t budge.

“Let’s be serious. It’s nothing if not safe here. Is something going on with Gavin? Where is he? He’s safe, right? … Please just tell me.”

She glared up at him, cold as ice. “He won’t be, if you keep being difficult.”

“What do you mean?—”

Lightly, she placed her free hand on his arm, and he felt cold metal against his skin. A small stiletto knife was sticking out of her sleeve. “I’ll put you to sleep and drag you if I have to,” she whispered.

“Okay, no need to go that far,” he said, forcing a smile. “Will you at least tell me why you’re so desperate?”

Erin glared at him. “It’s a trade. You, for my son.”

Sylvain’s heart sank, but the initial shock soon gave way to anger. “… So that’s how it is.” He sighed. “If you’d told me… you realize this is an army, right? There are plenty of people who would help, no questions asked, even at a time like this. We could’ve made a plan! …”

The look on her face was so hateful it startled him quiet.

“No. I have to bring you alone. No one else. That’s the deal. What do you think happened to that knight guarding you?”

Despite building unease in his chest, Sylvain breathed and found his voice. “Somehow, I doubt you’ll tell me Vivien just stepped out because he was sick of guarding me…”

Erin regarded him coldly. “I’m sick of being around you, but I’ll do anything for my son. He’s all I have left, thanks to you.” She tapped a seam in her bodice with the sharp tip of the stiletto. “And don’t try to run away or cause a scene. I’ll scream and let everyone know you’re scum.”

Any hope he had for leaving the situation disappeared. Not because he feared Erin or her threats but because it was the only way forward. She wouldn’t give up, and she wouldn’t wait. Whatever energy he might have mustered to resist simply vanished in the face of her hostility.

She pulled at him to get going. At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Someone approached. He was going to ignore them but decided to throw a quick glance behind them anyway, just in case it was Felix.

It was Ashe stepping around the other side of the cart they had just passed, seemingly out of nowhere, some ten feet away. He looked a bit wind-ruffled, with spots of dirt on his coat and his coattail singed by some spell. His bow was still strung and in his hands, although the quiver at his hip held no arrows. There was a tear in his sleeve and sloppily applied bandages underneath, but he seemed otherwise fine, physically. As their eyes met, Sylvain was greeted with an ill-fitting frown on his usually sweet, smiling face. He seemed… on edge, like he expected trouble.

His eyes quickly went to Erin, to her hands on Sylvain. His grip on the bow tightened. Even a kind young man like Ashe might still be as tense as his own bowstring and make snap judgments if he was very fresh off the battlefield. Although some part of Sylvain welcomed the save, he also knew that causing a ruckus wouldn’t resolve the issue any faster.

“Ashe,” he said with a smile, turning halfway around, making Erin stop. “Did you just get back?”

“Oh, um, yes,” Ashe replied, and his tone and expression softened somewhat, instantly looking more like his usual self.

“Are you hurt? Let me take a look. I was just helping out at the infirmary anyway,” he said, pausing briefly as though he had just remembered the lady on his arm. “Erin, I’ll need my arm back.”

She gave him a warning glare and let go; he almost didn’t expect her to, and stepped back with a shrug. “Don’t make me wait too long while you play the nice guy.”

As Sylvain walked over, Ashe glanced between the two, thrown off by Sylvain’s casual attitude.

“It’s just a small cut. I was going to pick up a vulnerary for it.”

“I’ve been useless all day. At least let me do this much,” Sylvain said with a small laugh and held his hand out. “Come on, let me see.”

Ashe relented, and Sylvain gently held his wrist while unwrapping the bandage. A clean cut on the outside of the wrist, too shallow to reach the bone, and the bleeding had long since stopped. It wasn’t too serious, but it would probably leave a scar in the absence of magic. While he was looking at the injury, Ashe whispered.

“I might have misheard… did she not threaten you just now?”

With his back to Erin, Sylvain raised his free hand as though touching his chin in thought. Instead, he put a finger to his lips. Ashe frowned lightly again, and his eyes briefly went to Erin.

Sylvain lowered his hand over the cut to apply the spell, but his fingertips were trembling. To keep Ashe from noticing, he smiled again and spoke with a voice much steadier than his hands. “It’s not too bad,” he said while the soft, golden light enveloped Ashe’s wrist. “But you should get it wrapped properly at the infirmary anyway. Make sure you go right away.”

Ashe nodded. “Thank you, I will.”

“Oh, and if Felix comes looking for me…” He paused for a moment. Ashe would definitely help if asked, but if Erin caught on, they would probably be back on square one. Well, he had good wits to match those good ears. Sylvain gave his hand a light squeeze before letting go.

 “… Well, he wouldn’t be happy knowing I was taken away by a pretty lady when I’m supposed to be resting.” He winked. “You’ll help me out this once, won’t you?”

At this, Ashe frowned a little and seemed to hesitate. “Sylvain, I don’t think he’ll be—”

“I’m done waiting.” Erin came over to start dragging him away again.

“Oops, sorry, Ashe!”

“But—!”

“Let’s talk later!”

Something about his lone figure in the darkening aisle created by carts and tents summoned a sense of anxiety in Sylvain’s gut, but he was forced to turn his gaze forward. Erin seemed to have their course plotted out, taking them between tents, behind wagons, never too close to any groups of people, and toward the edge of camp. His heavy steps made it feel a lot farther than it actually was.

A few minutes outside the camp, Erin still held on to him, not saying a word. That was fine. Sylvain used the time to consider his options. If necessary, he could swing a weapon to defend himself if he had one. Felix’s insistence on always being armed came to mind as though to mock him. Magic seemed to be the best self-defense option in case he couldn’t get away. Although his repertoire wasn’t the widest, the spells he did know also had the added benefit of being very visible from far away.

Seeing a dark outline in the night, Sylvain strained his eyes and barely made out what he assumed to be the old farm. Completely dark, with no lights in any windows. In contrast, the lights of the war camp were still visible among the gently sloping hills behind them.

He cleared his throat. “So, who is picking me up? Is it Visca or Merlein? Or maybe the both of them?”

Finally, she pushed away from him. The stars were enough to light the way but not enough to reveal her expression.

“Go,” she said. “See for yourself.”

An abandoned farmhouse, a perfect little hideaway for those wanting some time away from their duties. It might have been prosperous once, located in a good spot a bit off the road and close to the river. All that remained now was a broken-down barn and a house that resembled a skeleton. 

The plains were a lot windier than the warm camp. A handful of skinny old trees on the property swayed and creaked, but Sylvain was hardly moved by it. The wind chill couldn't possibly make him feel any more numb than he already did after parting ways with Erin. The quiet, starlit night would have been beautiful and romantic under any other circumstance. For the time being, crickets were his only company.

He walked down the gravel path to the farmhouse's front door, still straining his eyes to see much.

"Hello? I'm here," he said, but no one answered. 

The door was still on its hinges, slightly ajar. He reached out to open it, but the wind caught it and swung it open. A dark, gaping hole of a doorway stared back at him. The floorboards creaked underfoot. "Screw it," he muttered, and called on Fire in his palm. No use trying to hide when the enemy already knew he was there.

The spell illuminated a front room whose walls and floor were completely bare, aside from an open doorway to the next room across from him. A breeze softly pulled at sheets covering a few remaining pieces of furniture and made the flame in his palm shudder. He wondered if the original owners had intended to return one day, but quickly shook his head and walked a few steps farther inside. No time to be distracted.

"Anyone here?… Gavin?"

The door slammed shut behind him, and he spun around, almost dropping the spell in surprise. It was just the wind again, but… very faintly, he smelled blood. He lowered the flame in his hand closer to the floor and saw specks of blood on the floorboards leading back toward the entrance. There was a big, dark stain on a sheet covering a boxy object near the door. He steeled himself and pulled the sheet away to reveal a large, wooden storage chest. More blood on the lid. He hesitated before lifting it.

"Vivien…?"

The smell of blood came from Vivien's body, crammed into the storage chest in a half-sitting position with his knees up to his chest. His pale face was half-hidden by his long, dark hair. Blood was all over the front of his uniform, but the only visible wound was a scrape on his forehead, which wouldn't have bled nearly enough. His eyes were closed. He didn't move. Sylvain gently pressed two fingers against the side of Vivien's neck, then sighed softly in relief. It was faint, but there was a pulse. Vivien was on the brink, and he needed to make a decision… it didn't take long to choose.

With his fingers still against Vivien's neck, he dropped the fire and drew on his last healing spell in a pitch-dark room. After that, he was utterly depleted in that department, but Vivien had a greater chance of surviving until he could get more help. He straightened up, swayed, and steadied himself. It was all physical weakness; for some reason, he felt calm rather than upset. The numbness probably helped.

He breathed in, breathed out, and cast another Fire. It used up even more energy, but stumbling around unarmed in the dark would be stupid.

"Hey," he called out, trying to force some firmness into his voice, and into his steps, as he walked farther into the house. "I'm here! It's time to come out!"

The next room was another wide-open and almost empty space with a couple of doors at the far end, a set of stairs leading up to the second floor, and a wide-open back door. The windows were all boarded over. He approached the stairs, staring at the pitch-dark second floor, reasoning with himself. Going up there also meant risking being trapped there.

Right then, when he was still and no longer creaking the floorboards, a faint noise cut through the silence. The softest little shift of… something. Something brushing against something else. It came from inside the room.

There were two pieces of furniture crammed into a darkened corner. A rotting old cabinet and the shape of an armchair under a heavy blanket. Sylvain approached slowly, raising the flame in his hand slightly to see better. First, he glanced at the old cabinet. It was barely holding together, and one of the doors was only hanging from one hinge. Then he looked at the armchair. It was a low-backed thing and smelled musty. Whatever pattern had existed in the fabric faded into a murky greenish brown. The blanket on top looked a little too new. He grabbed one corner of it and lifted it up.

Instead of being greeted by another body, Gavin peeked out at him in surprise from under the chair.

"Found you," Sylvain said, letting out a small sigh.

Gavin pouted and crawled out. He looked disappointed, but his big blue eyes soon brightened up in the firelight. Some dust on his clothes, but that was it. No injuries. He didn't even seem scared or upset. Although he was old enough to understand dangerous situations as they happened, for better or for worse (mostly for better), it didn't seem like he knew what was happening.

"Sylvie, why are you so good at finding me?"

Sylvain quickly glanced at the door he came through, then he grinned down at Gavin. "That's a secret," he said, and ruffled Gavin's hair. The kid protested and pushed his hand away, frowning.

"Stop it! I'm not a baby!"

"Sorry," Sylvain said, forcing his smile to stay in place. It was a struggle. Everyone said they looked so much alike, but he always felt Gavin looked the most like Miklan. Especially when he frowned.

But as with most kids, he was soon distracted by something else. He stared up at the magical fire in Sylvain's hand.

"I wanna do magic, too," he said.

"I'll teach you sometime." He took Gavin's small hand in his. "It's late, so it's time to go back to your mom, okay?"

"Whaaat? But you didn't find everyone yet…"

Sylvain glanced around again. Nothing else seemed to move. That was fine. He would play along until he knew Gavin was safe and then ditch. "I know, but your mom will be mad if you're out playing too late, so the rest of the game will be grown-ups only."

"That's not fair," Gavin said, pouting again, but he obediently followed Sylvain toward the back door.

"When you're as big as me, you can play as late as you want." They stopped just outside the doorway. It was even darker out now, but outside the radius of his firelight, the stars above lit the way. Behind them, he heard a soft creak. He refrained from turning around. "Gavin, are you scared of the dark?"

Gavin shook his head. "Nuh-uh. I'm almost six, so I'm not scared anymore."

To his credit, he didn't seem the least bit apprehensive. That was a small relief.

"That's great. Your mom is waiting by the road. Run around the house as fast as you can, run to the road, and find mom, alright? And…”

"Okay," Gavin said and nodded. He was watching Sylvain's face curiously.

"… If you meet any other adults, tell them I'm still playing, but I'll be back soon." He smiled and let go of Gavin's hand. "… Right, now show me how fast you can run."

Gavin looked up at him with those big blue eyes. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking. Suddenly, he hugged Sylvain around the waist and mumbled, "I'm super fast." Then he let go and took off as quickly as his little legs could carry him, disappearing around the corner.

As soon as he could no longer hear Gavin's footsteps, Sylvain turned around just in time to dodge the dagger flying at him. It lodged into the door frame, and he stumbled backward while a dark figure jumped straight down from the second-floor landing.

Merlein straightened up and drew his sword in one fluid motion. He didn't look any different, down to the surly look on his face, but there wasn't much time to contemplate that as he immediately followed Sylvain out the door.

The moment he was within a sword's length, he was ready to swing, but he paused briefly to glance in the direction Gavin ran off. That short delay gave Sylvain enough time to find his feet again and step back in time. Even so, the sword's tip passed barely an inch from his throat.

He kept backing away. "Can't we talk about this?"

Merlein's eyes narrowed. "No. Die." He thrust his blade forward.

Sylvain stumbled to the right, but Merlein moved in step with him, and the stab turned into a swing. He made a split-second decision to duck down on one knee under the swing of the sword, then sprung up to dart past his attacker. But his legs weren't as light as he was used to, and Merlein grabbed the back of his shirt. At that moment, Sylvain suddenly realized what a complete idiot he was. He swung his right hand over his shoulder and sent his Fire spell off. At the same time, the tip of the sword pierced him in the back, and he gasped.

The Fire spell hissed and singed. Merlein grunted in pain and let go. Sylvain stumbled forward. He felt the pain kick in, but at the same time, it seemed so distant it was hardly there. But at least he felt it. Luckily, the fire threw off Merlein's aim enough that his sword was stopped by the shoulder blade. He would have been run through if he had waited any longer to cast the spell.

Make sure Gavin was alright, then run away; that was the only thing on his mind, even as his legs struggled to carry him and he could barely see. The outer wall of the house appeared out of nowhere, but he caught himself just short of crashing face-first into it. He turned around to see the dark outline of Merlein patting out some embers on his shoulder.

What did he have left? Perhaps another spell or two. Even if they hit, they might not be enough.

He looked off in the direction of the war camp. Everyone was right. He was a complete fool. A lost cause, probably. Reckless to the point where he couldn't well protest if someone called him suicidal. The fatigue, anxiety, and fever he had been pushing through for most of the day might have cooked his brain, making him think he could outrun anyone, let alone a trained knight, in his condition. Hell, he could barely put a few steps of the distance between them.

"Hmph." Merlein took his sword in hand once more and turned back to Sylvain.

That's when he noticed, over Merlein's shoulder, a small point of light on the road. It was moving, quickly coming their way. Merlein didn't seem like he saw it, and it was probably best that he didn't, yet.

"Wait," Sylvain said, barely holding himself upright with his back against the house. "At least… at least tell me why you hate me that much. I'd understand if you thought I slept with your wife or something like that, but…"

Traitor or not, Merlein wasn't just some mindless killer, or he wouldn't have hesitated to take Sylvain down while they were still in the house. There had to be some humanity inside him.

"I don't hate you," Merlein said, yet his tone was detached. He approached slowly, perhaps wary of another spell. "I respected your father once. Now… you're his dregs. Without you, Gautier will start over fresh. That's all."

That light was getting closer. A little bit of hope broke through the numbness. Ashe seemed to hint that Felix wouldn't come, but maybe…

"So, when I'm dead, you'll… feel better about my family's future?" Sylvain shifted his position, cautiously putting his hand up, ready to cast a spell if he needed to. If running away was useless, the least he could do was stay alive. "I've been told that before plenty of times, but this is the first time someone dragged an innocent child into their grudge against me."

At this, Merlein seemed to hesitate for the first time. The dark made his expression unreadable.

"That woman insisted on meddling. I won't be doing this again."

Visca or Merlein, or maybe both of them, had followed him there. That's what he and Felix assumed. Erin showing up with Gavin had been a coincidence, or so he thought. Although he didn't know Erin all that well, on some level… it made sense for her to have things in common with people who wished Sylvain harm. Whether they used her or worked with her against him didn't matter if the result was the same.

"Huh, so you're cheating on Visca?"

Merlein stopped, incredulous. "Cheating? Are you alright in the head, boy?…"

Very faintly, a noise broke through the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. Horses… possibly. Merlein turned his head. He seemed to listen, and that distraction created an opportunity. The perfect time for Sylvain to shoot off the spell he was holding. However, his body wasn't listening. The stab from before might not have impaled him, but the pain in his shoulder slowly grew more intense, and blood trickled down his back. Before he could raise his hand, Merlein had already identified the sound of beating hooves. Unlike last time in the Gautier mansion, he wasn't made to flee. With a burst of speed, he rushed Sylvain, pushed his arm aside, and slammed him against the wall.

Sylvain cried out in pain. His spell fired off uselessly, sending an arrow of light off into the night sky like a beacon. Merlein calmly pressed his elbow against Sylvain's throat, holding him in place.

"I could have made this quick and painless," he said, placing the tip of his sword against Sylvain's gut. "Quick will have to do…"

Think about your movements carefully when using magic, especially against melee opponents, Byleth had instructed him one day in an extra tutoring session. Don't just use your head; use your entire body, and don't let yourself be pinned down — the words echoed unbidden in his mind. Fueled entirely by adrenaline, Sylvain wrenched his lower body to the side so that the sword only grazed his belly before digging into the wooden wall instead. Merlein lost his patience and shouted, "You slippery little bastard!"

He threw Sylvain to the ground and pulled his sword free, but he didn't have enough time to try again. An arrow whistled through the air and struck the ground between them.

Everything turned kind of indistinct and blurry after that. He couldn't quite sort through the impressions in the moment. But there was one thing he remembered clearly. So clearly it hurt.

While Sylvain struggled to drag himself out of the dirt, Felix arrived — not as a knight in shining armor in the sunset, but more like an avenging spirit in the night. His blade gleamed as he stood between Sylvain and Merlein. Before he engaged the enemy, he looked over his shoulder at Sylvain, who saw the redness around Felix's eyes. He saw, for a moment, the grief of a still raw loss mixed with the very fresh fear of another one.

The moment passed. Only then did Sylvain realize by which light he saw what transpired. Ashe, with a lantern hanging from his belt, had already arrived at his side.

Without a single word, Felix strode into battle, and Merlein met his advance.

Even with a longer, somewhat heavier blade, Felix was faster. He opened with a swift, horizontal sweep that Merlein was forced to parry. Their swords were pushed to the side, leaving them both wide open, but Merlein had one hand free. He drew another dagger from out of nowhere to slash at Felix's arm. It cut through the fabric of his sleeve like butter, forcing him to retreat a few steps to avoid another strike.

In something of a haze and almost transfixed, Sylvain tried to follow the fight while Ashe tried to get him to move. They made it a mere few paces away before Ashe picked up his bow and nocked an arrow instead. The moment Merlein advanced, an arrow struck at his feet, and Felix followed it with an overhead slice.

Merlein's right arm, from the elbow down, sailed through the air and hit the ground, still tightly grasping his sword, followed by a spurt of blood. He backed away, tripped, and fell onto a crumbling old well none of them had seen in the dark. The stonework crumbled under his weight. He disappeared into the hole in the earth with hardly even a cry. Felix followed to the edge of the well in time to hear the large splash of a body hitting the water and then a series of smaller splashes as stones and pieces of mortar fell in as well.

It was an old and very deep well connected to an underground vein of the river, they would learn later. He already seemed to realize that retrieving Merlein's body would be a fool's errand and sheathed his sword, still turned away from them.

Moments later, the rest of the cavalry arrived. Having been dispatched to deal with certain types of undesirables — opportunistic looters lurking around the sites of recent battles or displaced enemy soldiers out to vent their anger on whoever they might come across — a patrol of knights was close by enough to catch the tail end of the fight.

At first, Sylvain hardly even noticed them showing up. His attention was on Felix, who said nothing even as Sylvain tried to get his attention and got back on his horse without even tending to his injury.

Ashe supported Sylvain, at least physically, which was enough for him to remember his priorities. Poor Vivien needed to be saved from inside the house, and a civilian woman with a child required a safe escort back to camp as well.

Their arrival with the knight patrol initially caused a bit of a stir. As it turned out, Sylvain wasn't the only one who took off without leaving any word.

Professor Byleth diffused the situation with surprising ease. No one gave Sylvain much of a scolding at all. Not yet, at least. It would probably come sometime in the morning. Regardless of how tired he was, however, upon seeing the look on Byleth's face, he couldn't avoid offering at least a bare-bones explanation. He gave the brief facts that an enemy of his family took advantage of the situation and conspired to isolate him, which Felix and Ashe put an end to. Byleth didn't press much more than that, likely due to the late hour.

During their conversation, a message came from an officer among the Gautier knights, saying they had Erin and Gavin in their custody — for their safety, of course.

Felix didn't stay to talk or to listen. As soon as the cut on his arm was treated, he slipped away.

The evening had an unpleasant, unsatisfactory feeling to it long before Sylvain finally heard what transpired on the battlefield while the two of them were having a leisurely flight across the fields.

Hours passed. How many, Sylvain wasn’t quite sure. He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. It wasn’t the aches, pains, and fresh new wound — not as bad as it could have been, but he had been generously bled — but rather the lonesome stewing in worry in his infirm wagon.

Carefully and slowly, he sat up. The wound on his shoulder was busy mending itself underneath the bandages, but the pain wasn’t so bad, as he was given something to numb it a bit. Even so, he felt sick with exhaustion, and the lingering darkness only seemed to make it all worse. Clerics made rounds among the wounded, even at night. Occasionally, he overheard whispered conversations, someone calling out in their sleep, or a patrol walking nearby. Having the wagon to himself could be considered a luxury. With all those people around, it became lonely instead.

Eventually, he gave up on sleep. Rather than simply lie about, he made a comfortable cushion behind himself. He leaned back, staring out through a small gap in the canvas. The night sky was starting to get ever so slightly lighter at the edges, but dawn was a ways off still.

A small group of people quietly walked by, and one set of footsteps stopped at the back of the wagon. They didn’t seem to move for almost a minute. It was a bit odd but not alarming until the person quietly pushed the canvas aside. Sylvain tensed at first until he recognized the silhouette gently backlit by the nearby firepit. He reached over to light the small, portable oil lamp. Felix blinked a few times at the sudden light. He seemed surprised to see Sylvain awake.

Sylvain smiled. “Can’t sleep either, huh?”

“No,” Felix said, and his voice was as rough as he looked. As they both looked. “I’m making sure you didn’t go off anywhere.”

It stung, but… at least he dropped the silent treatment.

“Stay there this time,” he said and started turning away.

“Wait,” Sylvain said, sitting upright a little too fast. “—Ow, wait, don’t go…”

Felix stopped, looked to the side for a second, then back to Sylvain with a frown. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Huh? … Uh, Felix, can’t you stay? Please?”

“… I hate it when you do that, too,” Felix said, but his tone remained free of vitriol. Although he did concede and climb inside to sit, he went no closer than the entrance.

He sat there, staring quietly, and Sylvain’s smile faded.

“Felix, I… I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what happened, but I shouldn’t have relied on you like that anyway—”

“—I’m not,” Felix cut him off sharply. “I’m not… angry. I’m fed up with how careless you are with yourself… if you had died too, on the same day as—…” 

His voice cracked, and he went silent again, looking like he might actually cry. Instantly, Sylvain panicked mentally. It was one thing to comfort an upset Felix when they were little. That expression on an adult Felix threw him for a loop, even though it shouldn’t be that strange. After all, he just lost his father in practically the same way he lost his brother.

“—I won’t!” Sylvain wanted to remove the distance between them. Just get over there. It was the only thing he could think to do. His body protested. “Felix, I won’t die from something like this… I promised, remember? I-I’ll be more careful, so…”

But Felix didn’t cry. His expression smoothed out, and he sighed. “Then stop moving around.”

“Right,” Sylvain said, still a bit frazzled. “Sorry.”

He tried adjusting his position a bit and relaxed, as he had unwittingly started putting some pressure on his wound. The short break in conversation didn’t help him come up with a way to handle the heavy atmosphere.

Still subdued and quiet, Felix stayed on his side of the wagon, but was making himself at home. He left his sword belt, which he was still carrying around all this time, on top of his coat, and slipped out of his tall boots. Sylvain turned his head, feeling suddenly guilty for watching something he’d seen a hundred times before. Once it seemed Felix had finished dressing down, he glanced back over. Felix was taking a peek outside.

“It’s, uh…” Sylvain smiled. “You don’t have to sleep over there. There’s more room over here, and it’s more comfortable.”

“I can keep you company from here,” Felix replied, still looking outside.

“You’re not doing a great job keeping me company by sitting over there like a gargoyle.” Sylvain patted the soft cushion next to him. “Come on…! I’d come over to you, but… my whole body hurts, and there’s still that hole in my back…”

Felix finally looked over with a slight, questioning frown on his face. “… Fine,” he said, and closed the distance. Most of it, anyway. He sat almost a foot away still.

“Isn’t this a lot better?” Sylvain couldn’t help but smile a little more, pleased that it worked as well as it did.

“It makes no difference,” Felix said flatly.

Sylvain waited, but Felix didn’t seem to be really settling down. Only one idea came to mind for smoothing things over, though… and perhaps foolishly so, Sylvain decided to go for it.

“I’ve only got this one blanket, but we can share if you want,” he said while opening the blanket up as an invitation. “… Um, I don’t mean anything by it, so don’t take it the wrong way. It’ll be warmer that way, that’s all.”

The look on Felix’s face could best be described as… conflicted.

“… Why would you offer—…” Felix made an odd pause as if reconsidering his words. “… Are you sure you want to touch me?”

“Um, what?” Sylvain laughed a little, not sure how to respond. The laugh quickly died in his throat, though. Felix was looking a little too genuine about his statement. “Is that why you wouldn’t come over? Seriously, you’re asking that now, after the day we’ve had…? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because— ugh,” Felix shook his head and looked aside. “I went too far and pressured you.”

They were sitting close enough. Sylvain raised his arm while Felix looked away. “It’s fine, really, but… if you’re feeling bad about it…”

Felix wasn’t prepared. He couldn’t brace himself against the arm around his shoulders pulling him over and practically fell into Sylvain’s lap.

“Sylvain!—” He immediately tried to move off, but Sylvain put his arms around him and chuckled again.

“Haha, ow, ow…” There wasn’t much strength for Sylvain to tap into, but Felix ceased struggling almost immediately. “… Sorry, I shouldn’t be messing around like this,”  he said, his voice somewhat strained. His wound stung, and his tired muscles protested. His arms around Felix loosened. “I think we’ve both had our weird moments today. And it’s been a long day. Really long. Really, really long… I’d like to forget about everything for just a little while.”

Felix remained in place and didn’t push away. Slowly, the tension inside of him started to let up. “… I won’t make a habit of this, and it’s only for a little while.”

His face nestled into the crook of Sylvain’s neck. His left arm found its way around Sylvain’s waist, where it seemed to fit perfectly. His right palm rested against Sylvain’s chest and stayed there, probably feeling every single heartbeat. The impulsive hug was transitioning into something a lot more intimate. 

Sylvain regretted his decision, and then he regretted regretting it. It wasn’t about only his feelings anymore. It took Felix all the time they had known each other to admit he was gay, and even then, he obviously didn’t do so because he wanted to. It didn’t even occur to him to ask if Rodrigue knew, and now he wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea to ever bring that up. Admitting to his own attraction to Felix, or men in general, was out of the question. That would only paint him as some kind of shady opportunist. More than before, at any rate.

If Felix lost the reason to trust him, they couldn’t have meals together, spar, or bicker, without constantly riddling their interactions with even more weird feelings. Sleeping next to each other, or cuddling, for that matter… even worse. It just wouldn’t work.

A few more years needed to pass. By then, he would have to be over his stupid little infatuation, and maybe even found someone to marry. Someone who truly cared for him, and someone he could love as well. Once that happened, he might consider telling Felix — and only Felix — that he was bisexual. Not as a confession, but because keeping up the lie wouldn’t work out forever.

So don’t ruin it, he thought to himself, trying to steer his mind toward the nice and the comfortable. Felix’s breaths on his neck were comforting and nice. The warmth and weight of his body were also comforting and nice. As was the hand still resting on his chest.

“I meant what I said, Felix. Honestly, it’s okay,”  Sylvain said quietly. “You wanted to know where we stand. That caught me off guard and I didn’t give you a proper answer,” Mentally, he blessed the soft, warm, buzzing feeling starting to spread throughout his whole body, as it promised to sweep him away from consciousness. “You’re really important to me. Maybe even… the most important…”

That hand on his chest, the one he told himself was so nice and comfortable, grasped at the fabric of his shirt. It woke him back up in an instant. He knew that he was weak, but never realized just how weak. Weak enough that it took active effort not to ruin a lifelong friendship.

“… I need to be stronger,” Sylvain mumbled to himself.

“You need to be quiet,” Felix muttered back.

Only for a little while, Felix had said. But any semblance of difficult, complicated thought left both of their minds after settling back into silence. They slept soundly for the rest of the night and far into the morning.

... Of course, after that, Sylvain had to deal with the consequences of going against medical advice. The combination of fatigue and his new wound lead to a moderate fever spike, prolonging his recovery by several days. He spent most of that time laid up alone on a wagon, except during the night. Felix stayed away, kept busy both by his regular responsibilities and the new ones he inherited. Despite this, without fail, he always returned to sleep next to Sylvain. All the way back to Garreg Mach, plus one more night… the night of his father's funeral.

Chapter Text

The return to Garreg Mach less than a week ago came with exciting news amid the troubles: the old dorms were fixed, and the broken furniture was replaced. While none of the items were of poor quality, some of the occupants seemed to receive somewhat preferential treatment in their fixings.

Sylvain sat down on the bed, immediately distracted. The mattress was just so springy. “Why is your bed so soft? It’s a lot softer than mine…”

Sitting by his desk, Felix looked over his shoulder with a light frown. “Stop messing with my bed.”

Caught, Sylvain stopped and sat still. “… I’m not messing with it.”

Eventually, Felix turned back to his desk. “What did you get Annette, then? That’s what you barged into my room this late to tell me, isn’t it?”

“Well, kind of…”  He laid down on his side, watching Felix’s back. “I thought about getting her fire-proof oven mitts and an apron because of the kitchen disaster last time, but wouldn’t it be better if she didn’t set things on fire in the first place? …”

The pile of paperwork still commanded almost all of Felix’s attention, but he hummed to acknowledge what was said.

“… I took her to this restaurant Ashe mentioned the other day. The food is average, but the desserts…” He sighed dreamily. “We had a great time! I felt bad about asking her out with an ulterior motive on her birthday, though. Should I get her something else, too? Maybe some fancy stationery? … Hey, what do you think?”

Felix had gone still. He put his pen down and slowly turned to stare Sylvain down. “You took her out to woo her and still came here afterward?”

“What…? Get your mind out of the gutter!” Sylvain laughed and waved off Felix’s glare. “If I tried something like that on her, she’d never forgive me!” He rolled over on his back instead and mumbled. “… Now that I think about it, maybe he was planning to bring her to that restaurant…?”

“Then, your ulterior motive was about what, exactly?”

“Well…” Sylvain put his feet up as well. “I figured she’d know what kind of jewelry Mercedes likes since they’re best friends. I wanted to ask her without anyone else overhearing, but she’s always buzzing around all over the place, doing stuff.”

“Jewelry?…” Felix paused. He seemed confused. “For Mercedes? You haven’t mentioned this to me before.”

“Right, I wasn’t sure what to get her… No offense, but I doubt you’d know what she likes, either.” Sylvain stared up at the ceiling, quietly off some side track, then found his way back to the present a few miles from where he started. “She’s really different from most women I know. Like, I could trust her with my heart, you know?”

He sighed and smiled. After a while of silence, he looked over. Felix sat with his hands on his lap, his head hung low, and a mildly pensive look on his face.

“What’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt or something?”

“I’m… fine,” Felix said and straightened up. “… I’d be able to get my work done if you showed some restraint in the drinking department.”

“I didn’t drink that much…” Sylvain sat cross-legged and grinned. “Well, maybe a little more than I should have, but we got complementary wine, so what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let Annette drink it all. Oh, and then, on the way back…”

Sylvain told a somewhat meandering tale about running into Dedue by the various grocers’ market stalls as they started closing down. For no respectable reason he could think of, one of the merchants simply refused to take Dedue’s money even though the wares weren’t even packed away yet. He accepted it with dignity, but disappointment was evident in his eyes. All he wanted was a simple restock of some spices. At that point, Sylvain started feeling rather strongly about making himself a nuisance.

“The guy changed his tune real quick when I walked over, calling me sir and rubbing his hands together like a fly… So I turned around and paid for the stuff Dedue wanted from another stand.” He shrugged and smiled. “Dedue said he’d pay me back, but… that’s not a debt I’d feel good collecting on. Especially after he saved my life. Wouldn’t have said no to a big hug, though.”

During the story, Felix listened in silence, not once telling him to get to the point or even sighing. Instead, he had a look of focus on his face, taking it all in.

“I didn’t realize you were that fond of him,” he said. And that was the only comment he made before turning back to his desk and picking up his pen. “If you’re done recounting your entire evening to me…”

Sylvain watched him write. “… Aren’t you tired? I’m sure whatever you’re working on can wait until tomorrow.”

“It’s due tomorrow,” Felix said flatly.

Although Felix hadn’t officially received the title yet, his current position left him in charge of many more administrative tasks than he was used to. Rodrigue’s death left no room for a gradual handing off of duties. Once his uncle stepped down, Felix would also be in charge of Fraldarius’ domestic affairs. It really was a lot to look after for someone who refused to delegate or pace himself.

But, perhaps, that was simply how he mourned.

“Felix?”

“Yes, Sylvain?” Felix sighed and opened a drawer to grab something. 

“Are you feeling lonely? Want me to stay over?”

He slammed the drawer shut. “No. And no.”

The sight of his back, slightly hunched over the desk in the lamplight, became strongly compelling. Sylvain slipped off the bed and padded over to Felix’s side, slipping an arm around his shoulders in a loose side hug.

“You’ll grow mold if you sit around like this every night. Why not come with me and check out the sights for once? We could have a nice dinner and watch a play…” 

Felix’s hands on his desk formed into fists, but the tension quickly dissipated. Sylvain privately enjoyed the tickle of his ponytail against his skin when he turned his head to speak. “What sights? The market? The mountains?…”

“Yeah, those are good!” Sylvain chuckled. “One of these days, you might even loosen up enough to bring a date somewhere.” He paused, scratching his cheek. It wouldn’t be strange to ask a follow-up question. The answer seemed predictable, but it was making him feel nervous anyway. “… What kind of guy would you go out with, anyway? … Someone strong who can keep up with you, right?”

“I…” Felix tensed. He seemed caught off guard by the question. “… Yes?”

Sylvain had to hold back from grinning too much. If that really was Felix’s criteria, he might be single for a long time. Some distant part of his consciousness whispered that he shouldn’t feel happy about it. He ignored that voice.

“And, I’m guessing,” Sylvain said, smiling down at him. “He needs to be okay with being the little spoon?”

Suddenly, Felix got up and spun around, almost knocking both his chair and Sylvain over in the process. His face was beet red. Sylvain’s hand flew to his mouth, trying to keep the laughter in. Moments later, he was ushered out of the room at great speed. He stumbled into the hallway and pivoted around right away, thinking he was about to have the door shut on him. Felix stood in the open doorway in a huff, still red in the face.

“… Sorry about teasing you,” Sylvain said, but he smiled. “I really didn’t mind, I promise! I want to be there for you, too… even if it’s just as a hug pillow.”

Felix threw a quick glance down the empty hallway, then stared at him dead on. “I know. I’m your most important person, or so you said.”

“—I-I meant it,” Sylvain hurried to say.

“You’re annoying,” he said, although he was visibly calmer. “Goodnight, Sylvain.”

“Goodnight…”

Felix shut the door, leaving Sylvain alone in the dimly lit hallway. Back inside his own room awaited the work he left behind to go out.

Some of it was a pile of letters, but the bulk of the clutter was language reference books and materials for drafting official documents. And on top of the desk shelf… a blue bunny doll with a vest and bowtie stared him down with its beady little eyes.

Although he wasn’t sure how, the bunny got mixed up with his belongings at some point, and he found it while unpacking his travel trunk. It was Gavin’s absolute favorite thing, handmade for him by “miss Bernie,” and he must be missing it a lot. Even knowing that, Sylvain kept putting off returning the bunny, because going to see Gavin meant also seeing Erin.

He sighed, pushed the chair in, and started getting ready for bed. Felix’s comment about being important still bounced around inside his head. Eventually, he fell asleep, wondering what the best way to prove it would be. A small opportunity to do so manifested in barely a week.

The doors to the Cardinals Room, now used as a meeting room, were closed. The war council was in session, and the topic was the plan to retake Fhirdiad. At first, the very idea had brought new energy to hearts and minds. Then came the practical side of things…

Everyone’s attention was focused on the head of the table where Dimitri was seated, with Dedue and Gilbert on his respective sides. Professor Byleth and Seteth brought up the blackboard to demonstrate some points about the allocation of the Knights of Seiros. The recent campaign had brought on an increase in donations from the populace, which was a boon — however, the Church was obligated to directly serve the people in turn. It simply wasn’t feasible for all their standing forces to be part of the invading army.

There was a shortage of personnel everywhere, and an increasing crisis of faith among the masses was a dire and very real threat… but it wasn’t the only one. The flow of people (meaning, the flow of goods and services) into and out of Garreg Mach was entirely dependent on keeping the roads open and safe.

“We should be recruiting more people,” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “—Not stretch ourselves thin trying to cover everything at once.”

Lorenz spoke up after her. “In the Archbishop’s absence, it is our duty as nobles to reassure the people so they can continue their daily lives. That will benefit our cause more than anything else…”

Felix interrupted, “—There won’t be anyone left to reassure if every merchant and pilgrim on the road is beset by bandits,” he said, and the room fell into a brief silence. “I’m prepared to take the warriors and knights who cannot go into battle anymore and put them to work training a militia, or as close to one as they can get in a few weeks.”

Seteth raised his palm to make his input. “While I am not opposed to this idea, again, it becomes a question of logistics. How will you find volunteers, space, and supplies for this effort? …”

It was to the sound of this discussion Sylvain opened the doors quietly and slipped inside. He listened along to whoever was speaking, yawning discreetly into his hand. No one paid much attention to him yet, even as he approached his usual seat between Felix and Ingrid, close to the head of the table.

Right as he was about to pull his chair out, Dimitri glanced over. His eye lacked the cold, forced apathy that plagued him before. Instead, he seemed kind of… lost. He looked away without comment. In the past, he wouldn’t have hesitated to bring attention to Sylvain’s tardiness. This time, that duty fell to Seteth.

“Sylvain, I don’t think I need to say this, but you’re late. Do you have anything to contribute aside from an interruption?”

And just who was it stopping everything to scold a grown man for being a little late to a conversation that wasn’t going anywhere? Sylvain held himself back from giving sass and instead took his seat, even though he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for being late: important correspondence got delayed despite the premium he paid to expedite it. The atmosphere in the room already wasn’t very good, and making excuses wouldn’t fix anything.

“Sorry, keep going. I’ll wait my turn.”

Seteth and Professor Byleth exchanged a look, but it was Felix who decided to speak up.

“I’m done talking in circles. Bring anything new to the table. Please.”

The impatient, slightly tired tone woke him up like a mug of hot tea splashed in the face. Everyone seemed to strain themselves to give as much as possible; none could afford to give it all. However, he was the only one sitting there without any materials in front of him. Anyone there might assume he wasn’t putting in the work, including Felix. And they were free to do so. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but…

“… I do have an idea that could work.” He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “The fighting on the northern border has been slower than usual for the past year or so. My father can’t send much else in the way of fresh troops. Instead, he’s offered to transfer a mercenary contract for the war effort. I took the offer, but I’m having trouble finding room for them…”

Gilbert nodded slowly. “I must admit I hoped for more knights, but we can’t afford to be picky. With Margrave Gautier’s recommendation, they should at least be reputable.”

Sylvain smiled, fully aware that his own word on this wouldn’t be enough to impress the ‘old guard’. “Yes, but I doubt you’ll have heard of them this far south.” He shrugged, turning to Professor Byleth instead. “These mercenaries are worth about the same as half a company of knights if they’re paid enough.”

“I see. What kind of work do they do? How would you suggest we use them?”

“How about this? Have them handle some of the patrols or training,” he said, looking briefly in Felix’s direction. “Whichever seems more preferable.”

Byleth nodded slowly, seeming to catch on. After a short pause of the people in charge exchanging glances and thinking intensely about their war chests, Seteth spoke again.

“The Church of Seiros may take over this contract.”

Then, for the first time since Sylvain entered the room, Dimitri spoke up. “Let me handle it,” he said, and even without raising his voice, it seemed like everyone paused to hear it. “I would like to ease the burden a little bit. For the Church, and for all of us.”

Seteth nodded. “If you’re certain, Your Highness.”

The table seemed to be in agreement, more or less. Certain voices were displeased with the idea of “forcing innocent people to take up weapons”, until it was clarified that no one would be forcing anyone to do anything. In the background, a messenger came with word on another issue. As the talking went on, Sylvain leaned back in his chair and let his eyes fall shut.

Some papers were passed around. Felix skipped over him and sent them on to Ingrid. She wasn’t as quick to leave it alone.

“Sylvain, this is important, too.” Ingrid kept her voice down, but the mild disapproval came through clearly.

“I’m sleepy, though,” he murmured.

“He did good. Leave him be this time,” Felix said, to which Ingrid sighed.

A minute or two went by, and her attention evidently turned elsewhere. Sylvain stayed still where he was, quietly listening. Though he wasn’t chasing after recognition or anything, it felt pretty nice being told he did something good. One mercenary group wasn’t going to solve the problem, and in all honesty, he didn’t walk in there with the intention to even mention the contract, but — it was helpful, and it gave the discussion a small nudge forward.

To his right, Felix moved in his chair. The soft creak of the wood and rustling of fabric suggested he leaned over.

“Sylvain,” Felix said quietly, much closer to his ear than he expected.

“… Yes?”

“The light was still on in your room when I left for my morning exercises. You never willingly get up that early,” he said, awaiting a response. When none came, he asked directly instead. “What were you doing all night?”

“… Reading,” Sylvain mumbled, still keeping his eyes closed. “Needed to brush up a bit.”

“… You’re not going to recover any stamina by pulling all-nighters. Get proper sleep and train with me in the mornings instead.”

Training was far from the first thing on Sylvain's mind at the moment, but it presented a few good benefits. First, it was a very innocent, platonic thing to do together. Secondly, on top of being innocent and platonic, spending time together frequently and regularly was a near-foolproof way of monitoring Felix’s condition in case he was overworking himself. Third, willingly building his strength back up looked a whole lot better than not doing it would, which was a nice bonus.

He smiled a little. “Sure, but go easy on me, please.”

“I won’t,” Felix said and leaned away.

The rest of the meeting passed in a sleepy haze until it came to an abrupt close, at least for Sylvain. Felix nudged him awake; he didn’t expect to actually start dozing off, but in hindsight, perhaps they started associating each other with comfortable sleep a little too much. Some fresh air was in order. But as he pushed his chair in, Dimitri drew his attention, getting out of his seat as well.

“Sylvain, I’d like to have a word with you before you leave.”

“Me? Uh…” Sylvain hesitated, glancing briefly at Felix, but he was already walking away. “Oh, about the contract? Of course.”

They relocated outside the meeting hall, to the window at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t as private as Dimitri’s tone suggested the conversation required, but at least it was empty, at the moment.

Two mere months ago, Dimitri shoved him against a wall, and the encounter might have escalated further without intervention. A repeat of that scenario seemed unlikely, but some tension lingered regardless. It was awkward, to say the least.

Dimitri’s gaze seemed to falter, flickering to the side, and he wasn't speaking up right away. The slight hunch to his posture and the fur on his mantle made him resemble a little bird puffing up its feathers in winter… but that seemed like a weird comparison to make all of a sudden. Sylvain searched his mind for a better ice-breaker.

“Looking at you this close, I couldn’t help but notice…” Sylvain tilted his head slightly to the side. “I thought we were the same height now, but you actually grew past me a little bit.”

Dimitri looked up, finally meeting his gaze properly. “… Oh. I didn’t notice …” He seemed to ponder it momentarily, then cleared his throat. “Before we discuss anything else, I owe you an apology for what I did to you that day by the stables.”

“I’m pretty sure you held back that time,” Sylvain said with a slight shrug. “And I already had a cracked rib going into it.”

“—You don’t understand. I intended to hurt several people then, including you. It wasn’t an accident. The condition I was in at the time is no excuse,” Dimitri sighed. “I’m grateful you stopped me, but… I am also sorry for hurting you. It won’t happen again.”

“I didn’t take it personally… I don’t think anyone did.” Sylvain smiled a little. Ferdinand didn’t seem to mind being in the same room as Dimitri either, and Bernadetta… wasn’t any more scared of him than she was of anyone else. “But thank you for apologizing. I’m fine just forgetting it happened, even if you’re not.”

Dimitri shook his head. “Plenty will not share that view. You’re not the only one I must apologize to,” he said, and while he spoke, he slowly turned to look down the empty corridor. “I’d like to ask you about Felix, since the two of you seem closer than before.”

“We seem closer? …” Sylvain hesitated. It was off-topic, but he couldn’t help but wonder. “… In what way?”

“That is, well…” Dimitri glanced his way again and then to the side. “You argue less, I’ve heard, and…”

“And…? Your Highness, please don’t keep me in suspense.”

“Yes... after the battle at Gronder, I had some injuries that needed care,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was still avoiding eye contact. “I visited the infirmary mostly at night, to not make a fuss, and noticed Felix sneaking into and out of your wagon on several occasions. I took it to mean that there have been developments among my friends outside my notice for some time.”

Felix’s reaction the other night suddenly made more sense. Being completely knocked out by fever and exhaustion, Sylvain was the only one who did not see him slinking in and out like a naughty cat. Dimitri saw him, at the very least. Any number of people in the infirmary might have noticed, including others within their social circle.

Did anyone give them funny looks lately? Sylvain had not been paying enough attention to the people around him recently to notice. That might be bad.

“That’s… that’s a tactful way of putting it,” Sylvain said, quickly recovering his composure. “But, no, we’re not having a candid little affair. He’s embarrassed about being worried about me, and about needing comfort sometimes. That’s why he does it in secret… or tries to, I guess. That part of him hasn’t changed.” He smiled, feeling surprisingly calm while making the final push. “Anyway, I don’t have an interest in men to begin with, so I’m not sure where your assumption came from… but, that’s not what you wanted to ask about, was it? … Or were you actually worried I’d break his heart…?”

“N-no, we’ve quite grown past that kind of conversation… ” Dimitri closed his eye, taking a moment to re-center himself, then faced Sylvain fully. “Once those mercenaries are on my payroll, I intend to have a portion of them assist with Felix’s militia training. Sylvain, in your opinion, is it too soon for him and I to work together?”

His words were earnest, and weighed down by guilt no one could absolve him of. Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, deeply unsure how to best express his solid “yes”. This was a possible issue he hadn’t considered at all during the meeting.

No matter how he or Felix or anyone felt about it, the Crown Prince would take the throne in the not-too-distant future. They were all conscious of that fact. However, Felix’s view of “the boar prince” spoke for itself most days. He was still there regardless, acting civil and observing, like he said he would, without making any more profound effort beyond that. For Sylvain, it wasn’t as personal. He had already decided some time ago that he’d accept an apology when it came. Being slammed into a wall once was leagues less painful than losing a family member.

“How should I put this,” Sylvain said, thought for another moment, then held out his hand. “Your Highness, your hand, if I may?”

Hesitatingly, Dimitri reached out from underneath his mantle. Sylvain took his rough, callused hand. Without even trying, he felt many little scars, old and new; on the back of his hand and the knuckles, in the palm, and even on his fingers. He guided Dimitri’s hand to the right side of his torso and softly pressed the palm against his ribs.

Dimitri’s attention was squarely on his hand, mildly confused, with his fingers awkwardly splayed out.

“See? It’s not even tender,” Sylvain said with a small smile. He leaned over and lowered his voice a bit. “But with Felix, it’s not a matter of healing and getting over it. There is no time frame I, or anyone else, can give. Let him see you working at it, but don’t do it for him. Do you get what I mean?” 

Dimitri’s gaze slowly rose from the point of contact between them to Sylvain’s face. It was the only part of him that seemed to move, until the tension in his hand and arm started to give.

“I-I understand,” he said, as solemn as before, but with something of a fresh, new spark behind it all.

“And try not to mind any remarks he makes too much...” Sylvain stopped himself, then winked. “Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s eye widened in quiet surprise. His face tinted a slight red. It wasn’t too hard to guess why. Dimitri never was an overly touchy-feely person; propriety wouldn’t allow it. Being made to suddenly touch another guy like that might have been a bit much for him. Even so, he was yet to pull away.

A little too late, Sylvain realized they were both waiting for the other to move first. Slowly, he lifted his hand, intending to gently break the contact between them — after all, he was the one who started it. But he paused mid-movement, seeing the look on Dimitri’s face. His expression was less severe. Warmer. Softer. Not by a lot, but it was there.

Before either of them could express themselves any further, quick footsteps came around the corner, drawing their attention. Felix stopped and stared for a moment at the opposite end of the hallway, then kept walking toward them with a frown. Dimitri withdrew his hand and the both of them took a small step back away from each other.

“Hey, Felix,” Sylvain said, smiling while trying to read his mood. “Did you forget something…?”

The animosity in Felix’s eyes was… mild, if there was any at all. He slowed to a stop long enough to acknowledge Dimitri’s presence, only by looking his way for a second. Despite everything, the two seemed to understand each other perfectly at that moment.

“I didn’t mean to monopolize his time,” Dimitri said, taking another small step away.

Felix turned to Sylvain. “We’re going,” he said and grabbed Sylvain by the hand to walk off with him.

“Looks like I have plans I didn’t know about...?” Sylvain waved the Prince off and followed obediently.

After rounding the corner, Felix let go of Sylvain’s hand, but he kept walking. His pace wasn’t rushed. His body language seemed relaxed at a glance, but small signs still betrayed his mood, like the tension to his brow and his lightly clenched fists. Sylvain kept pace with him as they passed the offices, headed for the audience chamber and stairs, quietly asking, “What was that about?”

No reply, although he already had some idea of what was going on. Felix came around that corner suspiciously quickly.

“… Were you eavesdropping? Because that’s not very polite, you know.”

Still nothing. Sylvain curbed his smile, lowered his voice a bit, and put on a slight frown.

“Felix, why are you ignoring me?”

Felix looked at him, did a double-take, and then stopped. There was a small twitch to his eyebrow. “I didn’t enjoy walking in on you being fondled in public,” he said, then he started walking again.

“… That’s not what happened at all! Felix?!” Sylvain glanced at the offices and infirmary as they passed. “—What kind of rumor are you trying to start about me?”

At the staircase, while they descended, Felix glanced over his shoulder. Unexpectedly, his eyes had a mischievous glint, but it took Sylvain a moment to catch on.

“That’s not fair,” he said with a small laugh. It was partly out of relief. “I can’t tell when you’re messing with me…”

Outside, the late spring afternoon greeted them with a warm breeze and the scent of flowering trees. People buzzed by, headed here and there like busy little bees. Though Sylvain also had places to be, he didn’t want to end the conversation yet. He lightly nudged Felix with his elbow and smiled at the frown he received in response. “Why did you stick around to listen in on us? Were you worried?”

“No, that’s not it,” Felix said slowly, checking left and right as if looking for something. He nodded in the direction of the gazebo over by the battlements. Sylvain followed him there, and their arrival scared off a couple of turtle doves.

“So,” Sylvain said, glancing outside the gazebo, then back to Felix. “Are we sharing secrets?”

“Not exactly. Sit down.”

“Okay…?” Sylvain sat, still smiling but somewhat confused.

“Now close your eyes,” Felix said, and he looked very serious about it.

Sylvain could only obey, despite his increasing confusion. Five, ten, fifteen seconds passed. A small group of people walked by, chatting happily. Their footsteps faded away. A few more seconds passed.

“I’m waiting. Are we playing some kind of game? … You’re still there, right?”

“… Don’t rush me,” Felix said quietly.

By the sound of it, he moved closer and leaned over. He touched Sylvain’s jaw only with the tips of his fingers, the thumb on the opposite side, taking a loose hold under his chin. His head was tilted slightly back and to the side. The touch sent Sylvain’s mind racing back to that moment they shared hidden between a pair of wagons, and out of instinct, he turned his head — he couldn’t risk looking like he was sitting there waiting for a repeat.

Conk! Their foreheads collided. Sylvain nearly fell backward off the bench, and Felix took a stumbling step back, both holding their heads. “Ow!” Sylvain blinked a few times, looking up at his friend. “Why’d you headbutt me!?” 

“Me?” Felix, doing the same, stared at Sylvain in disbelief. “How do you mess up staying still and keeping your eyes closed!?…” He sighed and muttered, “Unbelievable…”

Sylvain gingerly touched the sore spot on his forehead. Though unintentional, the impact was surprisingly hard and might leave a tender bump. He smiled sheepishly.

“… Okay, maybe it was my fault. Sorry,” he said with a small laugh. “I got nervous just sitting there waiting for something to happen…!”

Felix crossed his arms. “And yet you weren’t nervous letting him manhandle you,” he started in a huff and quickly faltered. He seemed a bit annoyed, embarrassed even, and maybe a teensy bit guilty, judging by the way he avoided eye contact.

It was all a bit muddled, but an idea started shining through the murk. Felix was still of the opinion that the Prince was a danger to others. He said he wasn't worried, but his actions showed otherwise. It might be best to not be too buddy-buddy until they were all comfortable with each other again.

“Hey,” Sylvain said to get his attention after thinking about how to approach the situation. “If that’s what you’re concerned about, show me how to get out of a hold sometime. I never did practice hand-to-hand all that much anyway.”

“……… I’ll think about it,” Felix said, sighed, then uncrossed his arms. “I’m waking you up before the roosters crow tomorrow. No more all-nighters,” he said and poked Sylvain decisively in the chest.

“I’ll sleep properly, I promise,” Sylvain smiled.

"Good," Felix said and turned away as if to leave, but stopped suddenly. "You were the first one to entertain my plan without complaining," he said, much softer than before. "Thank you for that."

"Anytime, Felix."

There was little else to speak about, it seemed, as Felix nodded and left the gazebo shortly after. Sylvain watched until he was out of sight, and was subsequently overtaken by a yawn. He tried to lean back, only to remember that the bench he was sitting on had no backrest. Luckily, it seemed like no one saw his failed attempt to save himself. And there, lying on the cool stone slab, he finally realized that Felix never actually explained why he stopped to eavesdrop in the first place — the “conclusion” he came to was only a theory. It was plausible, but a theory nonetheless.

Sylvain sighed. The whole sequence of events following the meeting nagged at him, but he desperately needed a nap.

As promised, Felix dragged Sylvain out of bed early for their training sessions. It was a well-balanced affair with stretches, warm-ups, exercises, and of course, sparring. Although some breathing room existed for variety, Felix preferred keeping to a strict routine and planned out training menu. No mention was made of unarmed fighting at all, and Sylvain didn’t press it as he had his hands full keeping up as it was, leaving no room for distraction. Felix kept wiping the floor with him.

Three days in, Sylvain’s weapon went flying twice in one session, and he caught the passing look of disappointment in Felix’s eyes. No doubt, his own eyes must have mirrored that same feeling, on top of a rapidly building sense of frustration. Not with Felix, but with himself. He cut their practice off early, saying he was tired.

Sylvain was never one to happily train and exercise regularly since he never felt much need for it. He knew Felix was right in that physical activity, plenty of rest, and good food were the correct steps for recovery. He enjoyed their time together, even when he couldn’t keep up, slipped up, got a new bruise, or lost badly. All fine, but... it simply wasn't enough.

What was it that drove him to practice dancing seriously back then? He wasn’t sure about that anymore. Still, he went to bed that night determined to keep going — sooner or later, he would hit his stride again.

The following morning, Felix must have trusted Sylvain to keep his word, wake up early, and head to the training grounds without assistance. And he did! Well, he was a little late. Not too much. He’d definitely been later to things before. At worst, he’d be told off a bit, and then they would go on as usual.

But Felix wasn’t waiting and stewing. He had a good time shooting targets with Ashe. A new line of targets they had, presumably, set up together. There was some competitive spirit, but they weren’t competing exactly. They seemed so… relaxed.

Felix drew the bowstring back and aimed. He was focused. Ashe reached over to make a minor correction, then kindly brushed Felix’s hair out of his eyes and stepped back. His arrow struck true. Clearly, Ashe’s input helped him clear a hurdle, however small.

Sylvain watched on, rooted in place by his own thoughts. A very ugly feeling had started to emerge from some pit inside of him. A shameful feeling he surely had no right to, and one he wouldn’t ever want to name. Seeing Felix smile should have been a good thing.

He backed away and left without being noticed, to avoid posing the question burning like bile at the back of his throat: “Am I as important to you as you are to me?” It wasn’t fair to ask. They weren’t doing anything wrong.

Thinking that he might be over his crush, infatuation, love, whatever, in a few years had been too optimistic. A decade or so might have to pass for that to happen. Briefly, he considered drinking, but… the day was still young, and a messenger managed to find him before any poor decisions were made. For once, Sylvain was glad to busy himself with work.

Meeting over lunch seemed like a great way to break the ice. Business is business, but the dryness of a contract negotiation was heavily mitigated by the shared experience of a delicious meal. And the plan worked out surprisingly well. Between the food and the warm weather, collars loosened a fair bit. Dedue had a surprisingly calming presence, standing next to the Prince like a pillar. He set a good example without speaking more than a handful of sentences.

Even so, it took no small amount of talking and setting expectations, but the involved parties shook hands and signed off on the deal, satisfied.

Sylvain sighed softly, tired but pleased with the outcome. No one would ever know he set up an important meeting between Prince Dimitri and (as good as) a foreign delegate in less than twenty minutes. And if anyone did find out, they couldn't possibly complain.

As the host and mediator, he waited for everyone else to file out first. One person stayed, waiting by the door. Ósrenn gave off an older impression with the longer hair and neatly trimmed beard, even though they were only about a month apart in age.

"Son of Gautier," he said, arms crossed. "I'll acknowledge that you arranged a better deal than I expected, but my warriors won't be too pleased about staying here, even if it's for good money."

Sylvain pushed his chair in and walked over, smiling. "That's why I suggested the shift work. When you're off the clock, you're free to do what you want… and there's plenty to do around here. Make sure you warn the younger folks in your company to pace themselves, though. If they blow all their money as soon as they get it, eventually they'll walk away from here with nothing."

"Hmph. It'll be an interesting sight when the Wall of Ice gives way for a single donkey. If he lets you keep your head that long, that is."

"My father wouldn't get rid of such a useful animal," Sylvain winked but received no reaction aside from a silent stare. "… With all that out of the way, what about that little favor I asked…?"

"Little favor…" Ósrenn sighed. "It wasn't that easy to find one, but it is genuine. I left it with that blacksmith you recommended. Pick it up anytime you like," he said, removing a folded piece of paper from his pocket and offering it. His other, empty hand waited expectantly.

A warm, almost giddy feeling bubbled up from within, and Sylvain found it difficult to keep it from showing on his face. He took the note and passed Ósrenn a pouch of coins in return.

"Thank you," he said, taking Ósrenn's hand into both of his. "Sorry for the trouble. I really appreciate it."

Slowly, Ósrenn withdrew his hand and put the money away. "… It's fine. You pay well."

"On that topic… once we've taken back Fhirdiad, I'd like to discuss the job I originally contacted you about."

Ósrenn nodded. "Stay alive until then and we'll talk."

"You too, Ósrenn," Sylvain said, watching the Sreng warrior-turned-mercenary exit and walk down the hall.

At a glance, his group was outfitted and armed like any other local warriors. Only the accent gave him away, but most people of Fódlan knew very little at all about the Sreng people or their language. Most of it was easily explained away as a northern dialect. No one said anything so far. Everything was working out fine. Sylvain left with a spring in his step, but on the path between the reception hall and the entrance hall, he slowed down and eventually stopped. Hands on his hips, he stared at the ground, distracted by the return of his thoughts from that morning.

Unless he came up with a really good reason for skipping out, Felix would be pissed.

He froze at the sound of someone walking up from behind and slowly turned around… exhaling his relief upon seeing it was just Dedue. Instinctively, he smiled. "Hey, good work earlier. It's great having you around again. Out for a walk?"

"I'm on my way to the dormitory," Dedue said, eyeing Sylvain with a light frown. "Is there something troubling you?"

Sylvain hesitated, unable to simply wave it off after meeting his gaze. "… I'll walk you there," he said, gesturing for Dedue to go on while he walked up beside him.

They turned to walk through the gardens. Sylvain stayed a bit closer than strictly needed, and their pace was slower than a common purpose might suggest. Dedue didn't ask what was wrong, waiting for Sylvain to speak first.

A couple seated in the gardens gave them a cursory look. Sylvain straightened up his slouch.

"… It's nothing serious," he said, keeping his voice low. "I'm getting Felix a gift. There's no special occasion or anything, not that he'd care about that. I just had an opportunity to get my hands on something interesting…"

"I see," Dedue said, but Sylvain kept on talking.

"—I gave him flowers for his birthday once because I didn't have time to get him anything else, then I lied and said they were from someone else. He still thanked me and put them in a vase. Can you imagine that? … Um, anyway…" The smile stayed on, but it was smaller now. "He's been doing alright, considering… and we haven't argued in a while… but then I missed our training session this morning without telling him. If I give him any kind of gift now, he will think I'm just trying to smooth things over. I don't know how long I should wait to give it to him…"

Dedue gave it some thought before speaking.

"I don't think you should wait. Your objective is to make Felix happy. That will be enough… after you've apologized and explained why you missed training."

Sylvain looked up at Dedue and wondered if he'd ever felt strongly and unduly jealous before. The question refused to leave his mouth. "… You're right. I was thinking of myself, not Felix. That's kind of pathetic of me," he said, smiling anyway.

"It wasn't my intention to imply that you're pathetic," Dedue said, frowning lightly.

"I know. You're still right, though."

There was a pause while they passed by the old classrooms. Sylvain stared ahead at the dorm building as they approached. "Thanks for listening to me complain," he said, smiling wider again, genuinely. "It's plenty of repayment for last week, in case you were still thinking about that."

Dedue smiled back slightly as well, although he seemed to not agree fully.

 "… Have you ever been told you should smile more?"

"… Yes," Dedue said, and a hint of trepidation entered his expression.

"I can see why. When you smile, even if it's just a little bit every once in a while, you really brighten up the room. I'd love to see that more too, but it's best when you don't force it."

"Thank you," he said, but his voice came out so small it was astonishing, seeing such a big man act shy. "You're the first one to compliment me like that."

"Well, you're a great guy with a great smile. "I'm just telling it how I see it," Sylvain said, giving him a cavalier pat on the arm. "If there's ever anything bothering you, let me know anytime, even if it's small. The least I can do is listen in kind."

The somewhat serious look in Dedue's eyes as he nodded hinted that, perhaps, there was something on his mind. However, he said nothing about it at the time, and they parted ways at the dorms. Sylvain felt a little selfish going about his business without at least asking, but if the other party wouldn't tell… it wasn't always a good idea to pry. That same courtesy was extended to him first, after all.

For the time being, he pushed it aside to focus on his own problems.

On the rare occasion they had a block of free time, Felix could be counted on to do three things: service his weapons, eat, and train. He wasn’t in any of his usual spots, including the training grounds. Ashe was still around, setting up for an examination on archery techniques. Sylvain declined to participate, figuring he’d best not stick around, or the temptation to ask a few too many questions might grow too strong to resist.

One sure bet remained. Lunch had already passed by a good margin, but Felix would never miss dinner. Loitering at the dining hall for a few hours with a good book seemed like a better plan than wandering around randomly.
 
Sylvain left the training grounds and walked south, headed back toward the dorms to pick out something to read from his room. The more he thought about it, the more he looked forward to some downtime with a book. Reading for pleasure almost seemed like a relic of the past.

“Wait.”

A voice came from above as he passed the bath and sauna. One look and Sylvain’s heart almost leaped out of his chest. Felix leaned over the wall at the top of the stairs with a backdrop of blue sky. He’d left his hair down to frame a face still lightly flushed from a visit to the baths. 

“Don’t move from there,” Felix said.

Recent experience showed that it was best to stay still when told; Sylvain couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. Felix, meanwhile, jumped over the wall directly down to Sylvain instead of wasting time using the stairs. He landed flawlessly, didn’t even stagger or stumble, and flicked his hair out of his eyes. As though to embrace the coming heat of summer, he wore short sleeves that perfectly showed off the fruits of his training. Between that and the hair, he was looking a little too sexy.

Sylvain forced himself to focus on the task, look his friend in the eyes, and say something.

“H-hey, fancy meeting you here.”

He really couldn’t afford to get caught staring, but Felix was already appraising him with a raised eyebrow. “Yes, fancy that,” he said, lightly frowning at Sylvain. “Where have you been?”

“About that. Sorry about this morning. I overslept, and, well…” The whole truth still dug its heels in, refusing to come out. “On the way there, I was notified that the mercenary company from the other day showed up to negotiate their contract. Setting up the meeting and all of that took a while,” he sighed.

Felix watched him closely. “A meeting? That’s why you didn’t show up?”

“Yeah, exactly! I’m still your training partner, it’s just that I happened to miss out today…” He paused to take in the view — the slightly furrowed brow, the flutter to his eyelashes as his gaze flickered to the side, the little pout to his lips.   “… Felix, why are you looking at me like that?”

Felix frowned deeper and glanced aside. “… I’m not looking at you in any particular way.”

“Yes, you are,” Sylvain said, tilting his head to get a better look. “Those are sad puppy eyes! It’s breaking my heart! Were you looking forward to kicking my ass that much?”

“S-sad puppy?!—…” Felix stopped to look around. Although no one else loitered quite that nearby, they were in a very public place. He took a step closer and continued at a much lower volume. “I am not sad, Sylvain. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but send a message next time, or I’ll have to make assumptions.”

“Assumptions…? That sounds bad,” he said, and although he tried to keep his tone light, it was apparent he messed up — just not in the way he thought. Picking out the right thing to say would be tricky. “Why don’t we keep going to the training grounds together from tomorrow on? Uh, we could run there as warm-up…” He smiled, seeing Felix nod slowly. His answer was accepted. He was in the clear. It was not Felix’s fault that he had any of those feelings. Especially the uglier ones. “Oh, and keep pushing me. I should be in better shape, to be honest. Got to put some work in before I go all flabby, right?…”

 As he finished his last sentence, Felix’s gaze slowly wandered up and down his form in clear, blatant appraisal. “You’re in no danger of that happening,” he said, making eye contact once more.

Without even trying, Felix had his heart in a firm grip… and, figuratively speaking, other parts of him as well. That little comment was almost enough on its own to turn his knees to jelly. Actual, deliberate flirtation never made him feel that way anymore. The same with being blatantly checked out. The temptation to reach out and touch what was in front of him grew increasingly stronger while he felt weaker to resist. He resolved to put his hands behind his back to keep himself in check. Endure it, he told himself. A grown man needs to be in control of his feelings and act normal.

Hopefully, the warmth on his face was only from the sun. 

“Thanks, that makes me feel better about myself,” he said, smiling. “I’ll have to keep it up, then. Every single day…”

They stared at each other while Felix appeared to take a second to think something over. “I know what this is about, Sylvain,” he said eventually. “I can take a hint.”

“—You can? I mean, what hint?”

Felix closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes, I can. It’s obvious you want to… spend time together outside of training and practice.” He looked aside, arms crossed. “I’ve been giving it some thought, but I couldn’t… think of what to do… I’m no good at that kind of thing. Tell me what you’d like to do, and we’ll do that. You mentioned something about a play before…?”

Sylvain waited for someone to pop out from somewhere and declare he was being pranked, but nothing like that happened.

“Huh… really? You actually paid attention to that?…” He tried to keep his tone of voice at acceptable levels. This was not conducive to his endeavor of acting normal. “I need to think… am I actually dreaming right now? You’re asking me to hang out?”

“Yes, I am,” Felix said flatly. “… Just to make it clear, we’re not going anywhere to hit on women.”

“Aww, really? But that’s what I wanted to suggest…” For some reason, nothing came immediately to mind. In the past, he paid for plenty of tickets after his girlfriends suggested them, but he really had no clue if any shows were touring currently, and any notion of friendship-like activities left his brain. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to do…?”

In a matter of seconds, Felix’s demeanor changed as he seemed to struggle with himself almost as much as Sylvain just did. “There is one thing,” he sighed. “I ruined the last time you dressed up to dance. Let me make it up to you by taking you out to an event. That’s what I want.”

A bubble of warm feelings — a mix of good and bad, but mostly good — was building up inside Sylvain’s chest.

“That’s what you want, Felix?… You really do make me feel special,” he said, keeping a firm hold on his own wrist. “—Dorothea will know better than me if any events are going on. I can try asking her. If not… why don’t we walk around the market the next time we’re both free and see what happens? There’s always something fun going on.”

Unfortunately, Felix and Sylvain were not at leisure to chat all afternoon — Felix would be running his troops through drills, and Sylvain was asked to join Ingrid for an important inspection. Tedious work, yet his mood was fine. With the little misunderstanding from that morning fixed and tentative plans made for the near future, Sylvain walked away from that conversation with a heart much lighter than before. Almost as light as his stomach, which was kept aloft by the colony of butterflies it hosted.

Soon enough however, his hands were full managing one of the many little crises constantly popping up in the monastery's delicate machinery of life.

Ingrid was upset because her Galatea company wasn’t given the provisions promised — very understandable, given her history. Sylvain found the issue by asking around a bit: a missing signature on some paperwork. Not anyone’s fault, in his opinion, but relations would be pretty sore unless the weak link in the chain was found and dealt with. In the end, it turned out that their kindly old quartermaster let one of the monastery cats have her litter in a cabinet in his office and was unwilling to disturb them, thus delaying some of his work.

No one wanted to make the little feline family homeless, but an office cabinet made for a poor home. Ingrid came up with the idea to move them in with the ladies taking care of the dining hall. The cats would be fed and looked after, and the pantries would have a handful more mousers. With that out of the way, they finally started on the boring work. Sylvain would have complained normally, but his good humor persisted to the point where Ingrid remarked on how happy he looked. What was the occasion, she wondered. He leaned over as though sharing a secret.

“Don’t tell anyone, but… Felix asked me out,” he said with a little grin.

She stared blankly at him, then smiled and shook her head. “I almost took you seriously! Well, egg on my face for that.”

It was clear to him by then that she really didn't think anything was going on between her two oldest childhood friends. Still, she was surprised — and glad — that Felix took the initiative for a little break… so long as they both stayed out of trouble. Sylvain made no promises, but found that it was nice to have a light-hearted discussion about it with her. Unsurprisingly, her idea of a successful outing was centered around food. It was worth considering. Even if they went out right after a meal, Felix wouldn’t say no to sampling some nice snacks from the food stands, and then they could find somewhere to sit and relax for a little while. Lastly, Sylvain would surprise him with his gift at the blacksmith’s (and he made sure Ingrid knew to keep that part a secret).

This brought him to the second issue to consider: what to wear, a topic he spared Ingrid from. Their day was over anyway, and he wanted to go wash up before having a late dinner.

As soon as he was left to his own devices, his thoughts circled back their own way. He made a decent but absent-minded berth around the spot Cyril swept at the moment and made for the stairs. Felix would definitely side-eye him if he dressed up, but being too casual seemed almost like a waste. He paused outside his door to tuck his hair behind his ear. Getting it cut the day before might be too obvious… then again, people get haircuts all the time for all kinds of reasons. A true quandary. He sighed and opened the door.

One window was wide open, and papers were strewn all over his room. “Oh, shoot!”

Sylvain made for the open window while gingerly stepping over the documents and notes on the floor, since it was impossible to tell which ones were important at a glance. Once the window was closed, he looked back at the mess. The wind started picking up a bit throughout the afternoon, which usually meant rain coming in later. One disaster averted, at least. Frankly, it was as good a time as any to clean up and put some of the clutter away. Whistling to himself, he set about doing so.

One sheet had blown into his open closet door and serendipitously gotten stuck by the corner between a pair of shirts. He looked it over, finding that it wasn’t a page of notes but several false starts on a letter to his father. Trash — he crumpled it up and chucked it over his shoulder instead of adding it to the stack in his hands. It bounced softly against the hallway door and fell to the floor. For a little while, he considered the merits of some of his nicer-looking shirts, and then something blue drew his attention.

Gavin’s blue bunny had somehow made a journey from his desk and onto the small, carved wooden chest at the bottom of the closet. Sylvain picked it up and stared at it, puzzled. That was definitely not the wind’s doing. His eyes were drawn back to the chest. He dropped the documents and bunny on his bed, swallowed the rising anxiety, and opened it.

Empty. Not one garment in there. Not the scarves, not the belt, baubles, jewelry, not even the shoes — every single piece and scrap of his dancer’s costume was missing.

He straightened up. Turned around and scanned the room. Nothing, not a hint, just paper everywhere. He started taking down the clothes on their hangers. Checked every cubby in the closet. Walked over to his dresser and pulled out every drawer. The same with his desk. Looked around again. Checked under the bed. Checked under the covers. Got a sudden idea and went over to open the window again. Nothing out of place outside, either.

In the back of his mind, he had already made a guess at what was going on, but it was painful to acknowledge. It was too pointlessly cruel for a prank. The costume wasn’t just gone, it was stolen, and whoever stole it wanted him to know. She just had to do it when he was at his best.

Staring out the window and looking at nothing at the same time, the little knot of feelings tightly wound around his chest suddenly dissolved. His face felt hot. His vision blurred. He sniffled and blinked tears out of his eyes.

Distantly, the sound of boots hitting the wooden stairs came down the hallway. Sylvain didn’t even react. Lying in wait for him to become vulnerable was something Visca would do. He’d left the door open; she could just walk right in and see how he turned his room inside out in a frantic search for the precious item she stole. She’d smile like she does, letting him know it was all his fault.

The steps slowed a bit as they came closer. “Why is his door open,” Felix muttered in the hallway. “Sylvain, are you in there?”

Sylvain looked over to see Felix pushing the door open wider.

“… Why is everything on the…” Felix looked up from the mess to meet Sylvain’s eyes and went quiet. Confusion turned into surprise and then alarm. They stared at each other, both frozen in place. Sylvain cleared his throat and smiled a little, even though he knew it was too late to pretend like nothing.

“I-I was… just looking for something,” he said, his voice thick and shaky. “What… what’s up…?”

Chapter Text

From the doorway, Felix stared, bewildered and yet to even step inside the room. “What’s… up…?” he repeated back. “You’re bawling! Don’t you ask me what’s up!” 

“I’m not bawling…” Sylvain cringed inwardly at how rough his voice sounded. “Um, dust got in my eye while I was cleaning up,” he mumbled and turned away to wipe at his tears.

“If by ‘cleaning’ you mean ‘throwing everything you own on the floor’…”

The silence between them was only broken by an occasional sniffle. Sylvain fought to regain some control over himself.

Quieter, Felix tried again. “… Is it a… a dating thing? Did some woman do this to get back at you? Or steal from you? If that’s what you’re cleaning up…”

Sylvain wanted to protest at first, but it was futile. His voice probably wouldn’t hold up — and the guess wasn’t all wrong anyway. He tried to inhale and exhale slowly to collect himself enough to speak. It must have taken too long —

“I’ll help you look for… whatever it is, as long as you stop crying…!” Felix pleaded.

“Thanks,” Sylvain squeezed out, but the tears wouldn’t stop. The feeling of being stared at burned and only made it worse.

Felix’s voice grew firmer again. “Tell me who hurt you and I’ll—”

“—No! Don’t,” Sylvain turned around and almost tripped over the clothes on the floor trying to cross the room.

Out of reflex, Felix stepped inside, reaching out, but he wouldn’t have made it in time and was left standing halfway across the threshold, exasperated. “Why not?!” He clutched his sword as though expecting to pin the situation on an enemy.

Sylvain again wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and took a steadying breath, unable to meet Felix’s eyes at the moment. “There’s no one to go after.” The roughness of his voice was almost cringeworthy. “Okay, maybe that’s not quite true, but I don’t know where they are.” He forced on a little smile as he bent down to pick some clothes off the floor. “The person who broke in, I mean. What’s gone is gone, though!…”

At the edge of his somewhat blurry vision, Felix came farther inside. His movements seemed hesitant, but his voice was definitely steadier. “A break-in? You wouldn’t be this upset about some stolen money…” He paused. “What about that jewelry for Mercedes you mentioned before? …”

It made sense to mention valuables, but he never gave them a second thought. The jewelry box probably was there on the floor with everything else.

“No, it was…” The emotions he worked so hard to swallow welled back up again. His voice cracked. “My… my dancing costume… damn it!” He threw the clothes in his hands back down. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, and he started pacing in agitation. “It’s just a costume, right? I know I’m being ridiculous! What’s wrong with me?—”

His foot caught on the edge of a drawer. He lost his balance, stumbling forward. This time, Felix made it over in time to catch him, dropping his sword in the process. He blinked a few fresh tears away and sniffled while Felix dragged him upright again. “Stop flailing around before you hurt yourself!”  

“S-sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes again and forcing out a small laugh. “Ugh, this is so pathetic…”

He tried pushing away, but Felix was unwilling to let go yet. “It’s… it’s fine,” he said, even though it clearly was not. "Calm down and we'll find a way to fix this—"

A pair of hastened footsteps came down the hall, closing in on the still wide open door.

“Sylvain? Felix?—” It was Mercedes, and she was just about to walk in.

Sylvain froze in place. His face instantly grew hot with shame. One person fussing over his little freak-out was bad enough. Two would be just too much. He tried to speak, to say anything, but all that came out was a choked little noise of dread — then everything turned dark.

“—I heard shouting, is everything…” She stopped in the doorway, her expression hidden from Sylvain because Felix pulled him into an awkward sort of embrace with his face pushed down against his shoulder. Sylvain grabbed his sleeve out of reflex, but decided to go with it and hold on to him instead, like it was an intentional hug.

“—We’re fine here,” Felix said hastily, with his hand in Sylvain’s hair.

“Oh, you weren’t fighting after all. I’m glad I was wrong,” Mercedes said with a mild undertone of relief. “But, Sylvain, what happened to your room…? Do you need help cleaning up?”

“I’ll take care of it, Mercedes.” Felix tightened his grip further, to the point where it was impossible to respond. Or breathe, really. “Weren’t you going to help Ingrid with something?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she said, then turned oddly upbeat. “Then I’ll leave it to you, Felix. Ingrid and I will be in her room if you need anything.”

Felix responded with a non-committal grunt, and she walked away. As her footsteps faded, Sylvain was finally released. He stood up straight and took a deep breath. “… Whew, I thought I was going to die,” he joked, ignoring that his voice was still raw.

“I didn’t mean to,” Felix said, looking sheepish. “Would you rather have her with you, after all?”

"No," Sylvain hurried to say. His chest felt tight, but the tears dried up at least. “She’s sweet, but if anyone’s going to see me lose it over some stolen clothes, I’d rather it be you,” he said, glancing aside. Movement drew his attention back.

“It’s not just clothes,” Felix said, almost to himself, as he reached up to brush Sylvain's hair out of his eyes. He seemed to grow self-conscious of his action almost right away and let his hand fall to his side.

This time, Felix averted his eyes, his brow drawn into a frown and his mouth forming a thin line. His clumsy but earnest way of being considerate was nice, but… frankly, Sylvain craved more. Most of all, he wanted to be held like that again. Instead, he decided to step back, metaphorically and physically speaking. He cleared his throat. “I’ve calmed down, so there’s no need to stick around.”

Felix sighed and then let go of the remaining softness. His expression smoothed out into his usual, somewhat aloof one. “I'm not leaving yet. I meant what I said. Did you see the thief? I’ll help you track them down.”

Sylvain considered sweeping it all aside, at least for the time being. Looking Felix in the eye, however, he felt compelled to speak.

“… I don’t have any evidence, and I didn’t see her, but… it has to be Visca. I can’t think of who else it could be.”

Hearing that name, Felix’s expression hardened. He seemed to wait for Sylvain to continue but thought better of it and went to close the door first.

“I think she’s been looking for opportunities to get at me for a while.” Sylvain started picking things up off the floor as he continued speaking. “See, Mercedes gave me some candy a little while before we marched out last time, but I’ve only eaten one or two.” He quickly scanned the floor to find a small, colorful candy tin in a pile of other things and picked it up. Its contents rattled slightly. “That was right before that whole poison fiasco.” He put the tin on the desk. “I’m scared to have any more in case Visca tampered with them. It’s either the candy or the tea I had, and I have no idea how I’d find out without… you know, eating one. Don’t tell Mercedes, though. I don’t want her to feel bad.”

“Hm.” Rather than stand around to watch, Felix also started helping out by picking up the piles of clothes and stacking them on the bed. He paused, his eyes on something buried under some shirts. “Isn’t this Gavin’s rabbit?” He picked up the blue bunny that was ripped out from the closet with everything else. “What about Erin? It couldn’t be her?”

Sylvain shook his head. “I really don’t think so. She’s been in custody and under watch this entire time. Even if she got out, it wouldn’t be to play a prank to upset me."

He paused after catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on his dresser and seeing a mirror image that looked about as awful as he felt. Behind him, Felix dropped the bunny onto the bed with a deep frown on his face. He continued, “I know Erin tried to have me killed, and I’m sure she’d love to see me suffer, but I still don’t think it’s her. Besides, the bunny is still here. She would have taken it.”

Bringing up details about the significance of the items used to draw his attention, or why Erin wouldn’t have known to use them, was a whole mouthful of words to choke down on at the moment. Instead of getting into that, he decided to start by fixing something actually fixable. He filled a small wash basin next to the mirror from a pitcher to give his face a quick, refreshing splash and wiped it down with a towel. “… Merlein didn’t mention Visca last time, so I figured they no longer worked together. Was it naive of me to hope she lost interest and moved on?”

Felix dropped another few garments on the bed and bluntly replied, “Yes.”

Sylvain smiled into the mirror. “Wow, Felix. You always know just what to say.” Satisfied that he looked at least slightly better, he turned around to lean on his dresser. “Well, if she wanted to make me cry, she succeeded. Good for her.”

Next, Felix picked up his forgotten sword and re-fastened the sheath to his belt. “She won’t be enjoying that victory for long.”

Wow. He really did know what to say. Sylvain chuckled. “… Can you cut her down faster than she can warp away?”

Felix stared at him blankly, then frowned. He definitely forgot about the warping. “Hmph. One lousy trick won’t save her.”

“It would be nice if she only had that one trick…” Muffled, distant chatter from the rest of the dorm spilled in through the walls and floor. The last light of a waning day colored the room in hues of orange, but the warmth was deceptive. On the horizon, clouds dark and heavy as lead blew in with chilled gusts of wind. Sylvain looked over from the window and smiled. “It’s getting pretty late. The dining hall won’t stay open forever. Want to get some dinner with me?”

“Dinner…? You’re thinking about food after all this?” Felix frowned.

“Of course I am! I’m starving. I can’t deal with evil schemes on an empty stomach.”

No more than a handful of people were hanging around the dining hall at that time, but the food was still nice and hot. A sullen-looking Felix came along strictly as company, since he already ate. Sylvain told the story about the cat in the cabinet while being urged to shut up and actually eat more than once. Which he did, occasionally. After a while of listening, Felix interrupted to say he needed a drink to endure any more babble.

While he was away, Dorothea strode into the room through the entrance hall's double doors. Seeing Sylvain eating seemingly alone, she deviated from her course to claim a chair at his table.

Dorothea was dressed up nice and clearly just returned from an evening out, yet lacked a companion. Sylvain wasn't in the mood to play the gentleman and cheer her up after a lousy date, but thinking it might look bad to ignore her completely, he randomly picked something to compliment: her perfume. Apparently, that was the right thing to say. She smiled and said it was the one he gifted her a while back, which he completely forgot about.

Following his comment, she scooted in close enough that their elbows touched. She was a bit giggly, probably had a few drinks already. Not her fault. He fought the urge to move away while trying to come up with a polite way to make her leave. Felix chose that moment to announce his return by setting down two drinks on the table with a deliberate thunk. One for himself and one he slid over to Sylvain. Instead of sitting across, Felix took the chair on his other side.

"Thank you, Felix," he said, receiving no response besides a sigh. He took a bite of his food, suddenly stuck between two companions who, for some reason, both refused to sit across — or acknowledge each other with words. He reached for his glass. It was the same weak beer typically served at the dining hall, but it might offer enough of a buzz to get through the current looming silence.

"Sylvain, you seem a bit worn down tonight," Dorothea said, casually flicking her long hair over her shoulder.

"Hah, I guess I am," he said, keeping his eyes strictly on his food, suddenly nervous about what she was about to say next. He needn't have been.

Felix scoffed. He glanced over, expecting a disinterested expression. Instead, Felix sat with his elbows on the table, staring Dorothea down with a look of barely hidden contempt.

Sticks, stones, and words were all effective in their own way, but a mere glare had enough force behind it to push her away physically. She rolled her eyes and withdrew with a dry apology for intruding on their "date," opting to join Ferdinand a couple of tables over instead.

After hardly even getting to try humoring her, Sylvain turned back to Felix and got immediately sidetracked by the flickering candlelight playing over those handsome features, but caught himself before it got weird. He couldn't be angry. Not really. However... "Can't you be a little friendlier?"

Felix grew defensive right away. "She tried to pick you up. Didn't you notice?"

"Of course I noticed! I was planning to turn her down gently," he said, glancing over in Dorothea's direction. Ferdinand was giving her the attention she wanted, it seemed. He'd definitely walk her back — and, more importantly, wasn't the type to try anything. "See? She gets a gentleman to walk her home, I get, well... you. Everyone wins." He winked, and Felix turned away. Not quickly enough to hide the way the corner of his mouth curved into a small smile.

Sylvain looked down at his plate instead and poked at the food with his fork, unable to repress the little grin on his face. He deliberately took his time finishing his meal, and Felix subtly shifted in his seat so that their arms touched and settled there. It almost seemed like… being flirted with by someone who didn't flirt. Enjoying a thought like that every once in a while wasn't a crime, only a shame that it didn't last longer.

He finished his drink. "Okay, I'm done. It's time for us to turn in, too."

The first few drops of rain fell as they descended the steps outside the dining hall. Brisk air and a splash of water did their damndest to be refreshing, to no avail. Coming down from tall peaks of emotion, a drink, a warm friend… Sylvain yawned.

"Hurry up," Felix said, stopping a few steps ahead to look back at him, eyebrow raised. "We'll get soaked."

Getting rained on wasn't that bad, but he relented and sped up his steps until they were walking shoulder to shoulder. Much too soon, they reached the dorm and stepped in under the entrance awning. The light rain tapped a soothing refrain on the roof above. There was a pronounced pause where neither of them took the initiative of opening the door. Their eyes met, standing side by side. Felix looked aside briefly. His lips parted and he took a breath, preparing himself to speak.

"You shouldn't sleep alone," he said but quickly changed the course of his words, lowering his voice into a softer timbre. "—Stay in my room tonight."

Sylvain smiled. "Thanks, but I don't need to be held through the night this time."

The corner of Felix's mouth turned down ever slightly, like he was displeased. "Would you rather I stay in your room?"

"It's still a pretty tight squeeze…" Sylvain shrugged. "I think we'll both sleep better without worrying about elbowing or kicking each other."

Almost as though he anticipated the response, Felix quickly made his next offer, "I can sleep on the floor."

The rain didn't do much to wake Sylvain up, but the insistence got him to pay closer attention. Was Felix still worried about his safety, or… Dorothea's earlier comment slid into his mind. It had been a while, but this pattern seemed somewhat familiar. He smiled, pretending like he never had those thoughts, quietly blaming Dorothea for putting ideas in his sleepy head.

It was normal — and platonic — to be worried. Even for Felix.

"It's really cute— sweet, I mean, of you to offer that for my sake," he started, almost missing the slight twitch to Felix's eyebrow at being accidentally called cute. Too late to take it back. He decided to roll with it. "—But if you keep insisting like that, a guy's gonna have thoughts, you know…?"

Felix's eyes widened slightly, he opened his mouth to reply, seemed to think better of it for long enough that Sylvain could continue, "—I'm kidding! Seriously though, I'm fit enough to defend myself this time, if it comes to that. Without crying. I promise." He chuckled at his friend's unimpressed stare. "Plus, who knows, you might also be targeted if you stick that closely to me."

He watched Felix's expression turn into an annoyed frown. Pouting again. Cute. Dangerously cute. Cute enough that he almost wanted to give in and share a damn bed.

"I don't care," Felix said in a huff. "I have swords." He elbowed Sylvain out of the way and pushed past him inside the dorm.

"—Wait," Sylvain said, hurrying inside as well with a grin on his face. "You can't just run away after dropping a line like that on me! 'I don't care, I have swords'? I don't think I've ever felt this reassured!"

At the stairwell's first landing, Felix turned around abruptly, obviously embarrassed but trying to cover it up with annoyance. "Is that right? Then shut up and go to bed!"

Then Ingrid came out of her room to scold them for being noisy. Shortly after that, Lorenz came out of his room to tell her to scold them more quietly — and then proceeded to add his thoughts on the matter of improper behavior inside shared housing. One too many instances of folks sneaking in and out late at night, it seemed.

To be fair, the concerns were very valid. To be unfair… Sylvain started tuning out right away. Felix had little interest in entertaining a lecture about etiquette, no matter the circumstances. He was already walking away.

"Lorenz," Sylvain cut in, smiling wanly. "Don't worry about it too much. These beds aren't nearly wide enough for anything interesting to happen."

He wished them goodnight before either of them had a chance to properly process what his comment implied. On his way back to his room, he stopped to knock lightly on Felix's door and say goodnight to him as well. No reply, but that was expected.

Before settling in for the night, he checked the lock and window latches twice over, feeling satisfied that they were secure enough — at first.

Once he blew out the candle and drifted off to sleep, darkness seeped through the cracks that could not be covered.

In a dream, someone entered his room, walked around, and left. He didn't like those footsteps at all, but the dream faded away as dreams do. And then… it came back. The dream-visitor tiptoed across the room and softly sighed, saying his name in a familiar, somewhat resigned voice. His mattress dipped slightly with the weight of the visitor's body. Everything about the second visitor felt better than the first. He wanted to wake up and see who it was, but he couldn't. What seemed like an eternity went by in silence, and he had enough time to think that this dream was oddly clear and realistic, until he felt the tickle of another's breath on his lips.

—Suddenly, Felix shook him awake, grouching about how he was careless for leaving the door unlocked. Even in his drowsy, half-awake state, he knew that didn't sound right but had little time to formulate a protest. It was time to get up for morning exercise.

The following lovely, bright, and cloudless day, Sylvain had a routine visit to his cavalry unit’s barracks to check the progress of preparations for the march. His officers had everything under control, except for one tiny issue: about a dozen horses were, for some reason, still not outfitted with new shoes, and no one knew why.

Sylvain undid that snag by dismissing the blame part and sending someone out to get their usual farrier, while he compared the quality of horseshoes with one of the riders whose horse was involved. Boring, but necessary. For want of a nail, and all that. While he was seated outside the stables with horseshoes on his lap deciding where it would be appropriate to compromise, Felix showed up, clearly somewhat out of breath and trying to act like he wasn’t.

He walked over to Sylvain and asked what he was doing while looking over his shoulder. The view of Felix from above had an immediate effect, like a bolt of lightning from clear blue skies.

The memory of his dream that morning exploded into the forefront of Sylvain’s consciousness. It was still so clear in his mind. The dream itself, the way it ended, and the seamless transition to Felix standing over him in bed. He completely pushed it aside in order to play it cool while training (it was either that or getting trashed). To his relief, he managed to stay calm in front of his subordinates as well. The initial little stumble in his greeting seemed to go unnoticed, and his explanation barely got a reaction either, as Felix had no opinions on horseshoes. No specific reason for dropping by on his way back from inspecting the militia effort, either — at least, none stated out loud. Perhaps he spotted Gavin's bunny sticking out of Sylvain's pocket and made an assumption.

Once a few other small errands were cleared, he accompanied Sylvain to visit Gavin, and by extension, the boy's mother as well.

The details behind their detainment were only shared with a chosen few on a need-to-know basis. Still, as long as the whispering and conjecture stayed within closed ranks, Sylvain didn’t pay it any mind. The words of Erin were slightly more difficult to ignore.

It was the kind of day where droves of kids played in creeks, skinned their knees, and got into all manners of mischief. Gavin should have been one of those kids playing freely instead of being kept in the Gautier barracks, which Erin was quick to say the moment her “captor” came to visit. In response, Sylvain pointed out that they had a large, comfortable room all to themselves, access to good food, opportunities to be escorted outside for fresh air daily, and lastly — that she knew precisely why they were being “housed” that way.

She ignored everything he had to say, instead pointing out that her son didn’t have a tutor yet and that his education would suffer. Like most children, Gavin didn’t care much about schooling — however, he did declare his interest in magic with enthusiasm. Again, like most children, he was easily placated by his favorite toy. Sir Yarney the bunny reunited with its young lord, and the two happily went to read a storybook together.

Felix watched the interaction with a look of polite disinterest. So far, there had been no signs of any harmful conspiracy, and it would have ended peacefully if Erin did not decide to get one final jab in.

“How magnanimous of you to finally return it,” she scoffed. “I was starting to think you decided to take it away forever. Like you did with your own brother’s life.”

Sylvain’s jaw dropped. Angry and full of vitriol as she was, saying that in front of her own son—

“—Don’t be a fool,” Felix said, calm but with a razor-sharp edge. “I’m the one who ended Miklan’s miserable life, not Sylvain.”

The room fell silent. Erin stared at Felix in shock. Felix glared back at her. Sylvain looked between the two, then at Gavin, who peered over the edge of his book with big, curious eyes.

“I can’t believe either of you,” Sylvain muttered in disbelief. He took Felix by the arm and quickly dragged him out of there, across the building, and into an unused meeting room. He closed the door, simmering with a mix of anger, a pinch of relief, and a large peppering of guilt.

“Felix,” he said, needing to take a steadying breath to keep his voice down. “What the hell was that? Why would you let her provoke you like that… in front of Gavin! He— he’s old enough to understand what you both said!”

“That’s exactly why,” Felix said and removed Sylvain’s hand from his arm. “Do you think Gavin would be any happier thinking his uncle killed his father?”

Sylvain stiffened, and his eyes widened in surprise as the words sunk in. “You knew…? How?”

“I didn’t know for sure, but your reaction just now proved it,” Felix said, arms crossed, looking up at him, not drawn into the fluster. “If it wasn’t you, it had to be Miklan or your father, and there is no reason for you to be quiet about having a little brother — even if he was a bastard. Either way, I assumed you would bring it up eventually.”

Sylvain averted his eyes, turned away entirely and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, Felix,” he muttered.

Miklan died when Gavin was just a baby, but Erin made sure to tell their son about his father as soon as he was old enough to understand. Ten, fifteen years into the future, when they had long since taken back the capital, saved the kingdom, and ended the war… Gavin wouldn’t be a little boy anymore, just like Sylvain wasn’t a little boy at Conand Tower five years ago. Only time would tell if the boy would grow up with or without strong feelings for a father he never met. He sighed and rubbed his temple with his thumb.

Behind him, Felix took a step closer. In a tone not half as sharp as it had been a minute ago, he said, “Are you going to sulk and avoid me for weeks again?”

He glanced over his shoulder and knew he couldn't sustain being angry anymore.

Felix called it sulking, and it was obvious he wasn't planning to make any apologies. Rude, crass, defiant, proud, protective, and so… very… huggable. Weak and hopelessly lost, Sylvain faced him again with a slight smile. “I thought there’d be no way I could forgive you right away, but as expected, I just can’t stay mad at my most important Felix,” he said, throwing his hands out in a shrug. “… Don’t do anything like that again, though. Promise?”

“I am not your—…” Felix stopped himself, averted his eyes, and huffed. “I’ll make you that promise when you start remembering to lock up at night,” he said, passing Sylvain, heading for the door.

As his hand grasped the door handle and started pushing it down, Sylvain said in what he meant to be a joking way, “But if I lock my door, who’s going to sneak in and wake me up with a sweet little kiss in the morning…?”

Felix suddenly stumbled where he stood, giving the door a stronger push than intended. It flew open right in the face of a page standing outside. The page backed away from the door with a hand over her nose but didn’t let that unfortunate happenstance deter her. “S-sirs! I’m sorry to interrupt, but one Lady Annette has come looking for Master Felix.”

They exchanged a look. Felix’s face was like that of a statue, showing no expression, but Sylvain shrugged and smiled. “Everyone sure knows where to find you, huh,” he said quietly. He noted the one who came to notify them  — a young woman barely into adulthood dressed as a page to a Gautier knight — and dismissed her back to her duties (after ensuring she didn’t have a broken nose or a black eye or something).

She hurried off, making clear and apparent steps on the creaky wood floors — steps neither seemed to have heard approaching. Felix didn’t appear to pay it any heed.

“I’ll see you later, Felix,” Sylvain said, patting his shoulder. “I’ve still got stuff to do before I head back.”

Felix took the excuse to leave without further discussion. His reaction — and subsequent flight — were immediate, clear, and… confusing — but, it was better not to make things more awkward, Sylvain told himself, and dove right back into work.

Sylvain read the names on the guard rotation list, then removed it from the board and brought it to the officer responsible for managing those duties to have it amended. No one who had served for less than a year would guard or escort their pair of live-in guests. In general, the duty rosters needed some revisions going forward as well. He expected some pushback for the extra work, especially as the march to the capital loomed ever closer, and more pressing issues constantly reared their ugly heads. However, his officer didn’t complain and seemed to agree.

During that conversation, Annette came calling once more. This time, she asked for Sylvain.

She explained, with a somewhat stressed face, that she had been assigned to a support battalion connected to Gilbert’s branch of the army. She had never been responsible for that many troops before and wanted advice, but Felix said he had none to give and that she was better off asking Ingrid or Sylvain. Then he ditched her. Ingrid was away on an aerial patrol, so she returned here.

Despite feeling like the third option he was, Sylvain smiled and invited her to join an impromptu exercise with the troops. She came expecting something like a tour and a chat, which Sylvain would have been more than fine with if they weren’t currently entertaining a pair of secret VIPs.

He explained the considerable risk of the upcoming battle (or battles) taking place inside city limits. Knowing how to lead troops in those conditions was necessary, and as luck would have it, Gautier’s small complex of barracks and connected buildings were located next to similar compounds near the town. His reasoning (and the fine weather) proved convincing enough.

The thirty-odd riders rounded up for the exercise were informed that, for the time being, Annette was to be considered second in command. Looking at them, some unhappy to be pulled away from other tasks, Sylvain wondered if there would be issues. A fair bit of unease had built up while their commander was out of commission and it wouldn’t be strange for some to linger. But, he soon found out, there wasn’t much reason to worry. The looks exchanged were good-natured because, of course Sylvain Gautier would pick up a cute girl to be his second-in-command again. They all remembered Bernadetta and occasionally asked about her. Annette also turned out to be a natural fit with them, despite a few stumbles and falls. Ultimately, it didn’t turn out to be the most serious of operations — more like a game of kick the can on horseback — but everything went smoothly.

Gautier’s finest knights were confident, prepared, and took excellent care of their mounts and equipment — a given since they were renowned for their speed, even among fellow cavalry. Both morale and anticipation were high for the battles ahead. By the time they ended the exercise, plenty of that mood spread to the temp second in command as well.

Before they left, Sylvain thanked the unit captain for going along with it and left instructions that all who participated were given the next morning off. Walking back to the monastery proper at the end of the day, he considered giving himself the same reward. Annette seemed bolder, but equally tired.

“Sorry, Annette,” he said, turning to her with an apologetic smile. “There wasn’t much room for you to ask questions, and now we both smell like horse.”

“Er, that’s fine. It was very helpful! I’m feeling a lot more confident now.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “… To be honest, I’m impressed you were able to arrange all that with no notice. So, even though I’m sure I made trouble by taking up so much time… thank you.”

“It was no trouble at all. I think it worked out great for the both of us. After all,” he winked. “I got to spend all afternoon with a cute girl.”

“Sylvain!” She sighed. “I thought you were taking this seriously!”

He held back a laugh. “I am! I promise! And you did great. There’s a few knights under the Gautier banner who have served my father since before I was born — you saw them, strong warriors but real old fogies —  and even they responded really well after you relaxed a bit. Messing up once or twice doesn’t matter, so there’s no need to try so hard.”

“There you go again,” she shook her head. “You made it look easy — I still have no idea how you keep track of everything!”

And there she went again. Without meaning to, but still…

He smiled and chose to keep his tone light. “Keep track of everything? I think there’s only one person in all of Fódlan capable of that, and we both know it’s not me. Ordinary people like us use things like a command structure and management.”

“I know that, but…”

“—But what? Listen, Annette…” He stopped as they were about to pass through the gates and touched her shoulder. “Here’s my special advice for you: start by visiting your troops.”

Looking up at him, she seemed a little confused. “Of course I’ve visited them when I need to…”

“Visit them daily, not just when you need to give orders. Check the mood and see how things are going. Everything else will sort itself out in time. Trust me on this. Oh, and don’t forget to delegate. That’s how you run an organization.” He patted her shoulder, and they resumed walking. “Well, it’d also help to talk to Gilbert about how you want to work together. Make sure to communicate — that’s the most important part. Everything falls apart without communication.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Remember to take it easy now and then, too. How about I treat you to cake again sometime?”

Annette seemed like she had more to say, but instead, she quietly looked up at his face.

“…What,” he said after a few seconds. “Would you rather have me than cake?”

“No, I was going to say you seem more mature and reliable lately, but I’m not sure about that now…”

“’Lately’? I’ve always been mature and reliable!—” In the corner of his eye, someone came rushing in their direction. He gently pulled her aside before they could bowl her over. “Oops, better watch out.”

At that time of day, all the varieties of folk that usually streamed between Garreg Mach, the town below, and beyond, seemed to move at once. Especially in the last week, as so many tried to finish any remaining business before the march north, people came through in large throngs. For a short time, they created a crowd easy to disappear into — especially those barely five feet tall. The risk of fights breaking out over minor and major issues alike increased, as did the presence of guards to contain it all. Already, raised voices came from the direction of the shops farther in.

Sylvain suggested Annette take his arm while crossing the market to be safe. Initially, she wasn’t too keen on the idea, but agreed after he said he didn’t mind carrying her instead. For Annette, the contact between them kept her from being stepped on or shoved in the crowd. For Sylvain, it kept the constant urge to look behind him from growing too strong.

He eyed the blacksmith in passing. The place was almost cleared out of any non-commissioned wares. It was an excellent opportunity, but… the receipt slip was somewhere in the unsorted pile of papers he dumped on his desk to look through later. Stupid. He sighed. Annette noticed.

“I can make it back the rest of the way on my own if you want to do some shopping.”

Brought out of his thoughts, Sylvain turned to her with a smile. “Huh? No, I was thinking about something…” They kept walking and passed the smithy. “Did Felix say anything in particular before he left earlier…?”

She made a face. “You mean besides, ‘I don’t have time for this, ask someone else’?…”

“Yes… did he say anything about me, for example?”

“No, well… he said something about needing to work off some frustration…”

“And this came up after he mentioned me…?” Sylvain looked on and up in front of them. The crowd thinned out as they reached the stairs, with people going in different directions. He shook his head, smiling a little even though it didn’t come as easily as he wanted. “Good old Felix, huh?”

Her manner dampened a bit seeing his expression. Still, he kept talking, making an excuse about having to prepare for some vague evening duty. At the top of the stairs, he watched her head off toward the stables and then went the opposite direction.

The surface of the pond glittered prettily in the warm afternoon sun. On the opposite side, Felix and Byleth come out of the greenhouse together. They stopped at the edge of the water. From a distance, it looked like they were finishing up a conversation.

Sylvain watched them interact for almost a minute, hoping they would move on so he could head into the dorm undisturbed, but also unable to make himself look away. It was impossible to tell what they were talking about from there, but they appeared pretty relaxed with each other. No tension. Felix’s arms were at his sides, not crossed over his chest or resting his hands on his sword belt. Byleth seemed as composed as ever, listening closely and nodding along a few times. It dragged on. They weren’t leaving. What could they be talking about? Why was Felix so calm and deferent? …

Someone like Byleth, the Ashen Demon, elite mercenary, veteran, the apple of the Goddess’ eye, wielder of the relic of legend… someone like that had to be Felix’s type. Maybe not Byleth the individual, but… someone like that. If their relationship was even the slightest bit better, Dimitri would have been in the running, too (may the Goddess have mercy on anyone who said so out loud, though). And Ashe — they seemed compatible and got along well enough.

But Felix didn’t try to sleep in any of their beds, did he?

He groaned and mussed his hair in frustration, smoothed it back, and sighed. Distractions be damned, all his thoughts veered off in the same direction sooner or later. “Don’t be weird, Sylvain José Gautier,” he mumbled to remind himself.

Then he lifted his eyes and inadvertently made eye contact with Felix across the water. His heart skipped a beat, met with a look of unguarded surprise. He caught himself and waved, then started walking around the pond like he intended to do so all along. Felix stayed next to Byleth, and they both waited for him to join them, which he did with a practiced smile.

“Hi, Professor, Felix,” he said but faltered. That easy atmosphere from before was all but evaporated… on Felix’s side, at least. His shoulders seemed stiff, and he even looked away.

What Felix did to “work off some frustration” became apparent up close. His coat had some new tears, his boots were scuffed at the toes and knees, and he tied his hair a little differently. Sword-training, obviously, but Sylvain’s mind still made a sneaky attempt at going places anyway.

“Hello, Sylvain,” Byleth said, blessedly interrupting that train of thought. “This is great timing. We were just talking about you.”

“… About me?” Sylvain’s stomach fluttered.

He glanced at Felix in time to see the deadly glare aimed at the Professor. “—You don't mean…? This isn’t what we discussed!”

Byleth quirked an eyebrow and, in a gently admonishing tone, said, “That’s not important right now. Go on, you two. The greenhouse is still empty.”

“Um, excuse me,” Sylvain said, looking between the two. “I’m a bit lost over here…?”

"Ugh," Felix gruffed, obviously reluctant. “Sylvain, I have something to say to you,” he said, and together, they headed on into the greenhouse.

Inside was pleasantly warm even as the early evening cooled off, smelling of flowers, ripe fruit, and recently watered soil. Only the main walkway through the middle was lit, but those lights would dim in time with the setting sun.

This season, white flowers seemed to be the theme; gardenia, rose, and myrtle shrubs flowered next to each other, no doubt growing so abundant due to the gardeners' offerings of pegasus "blessings". Beneath the taller plants were swaths of smaller flowers — white as well, like daisies and lilies. Sylvain kept walking to the plant beds in the back and regretted it almost instantly. The air was thick with sweet scents, enough to make one dizzy. 

Felix also appeared regretful, dragging his feet despite being the one to enter first. He was on the alert, glancing left and right as he moved. No dangers lurked, only discomfort. Sylvain sat on the stone ledge lining the beds and patted the empty space next to him, insisting when he was met with hesitation. "We've both been on our feet all day. C'mon," he said, smiling.

"If you're that tired," Felix sighed and sat.

Why he sought out Byleth seemed clear in retrospect; he wasn't one to readily take advice. Instruction, however, he would accept.

"—So," Sylvain started, and his gaze flickered aside to the cluster of white flowers in the periphery of his vision. "I've actually got something to tell you, too. Want me to go first?"

"No, there is no need for that."

There was a cluster of flowers, and each one looked like a small explosion of white petals. He didn't know what they were called, but Mercedes called them 'mums'. What a cute name. He gently brushed his fingers over the flowers. The petals were as soft as they looked, and the touch caused their sweet scent to stand out more clearly. As he looked back up, Felix was watching on quietly. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, I'm listening, it's just that…" Sylvain plucked one of the flowers. "I thought these would suit you," he said and tucked the flower behind Felix's ear, where the white petals made a lovely contrast with his dark hair. "Looks like I was right."

"—Don't derail the conversation before it's even started!…" Felix swatted his hand away but let the flower stay. "Let's get this over with and clear the air between us."

There was, undoubtedly, an air of anticipation building up between them. Sylvain paused to ruminate on the feeling before he made the leap. Communication, that's what he told Annette. "Oh, about Gavin? Don't worry about that anymore; I'll have a proper talk with him when he gets a bit older."

"…… That's not what I was getting at, but fine, go ahead and tell him Miklan got what he deserved."

"It'll be, um…"

The little twitch in Felix's eyebrow signaled that it was time to yield for his choice of topic.

"Don't glare at me…! "Sylvain smiled despite feeling slightly anxious. "What was it you wanted to clear the air about?"

"About," Felix said, suddenly more stiff than annoyed. "This morning, when I woke you up… you weren't actually asleep. Am I right?"

"Well, kind of," he said and saw right away that Felix wasn't pleased with that answer. "… I thought I was still dreaming. That's why I didn't react until you shook me."

"If you were really awake, then you know," Felix said, holding Sylvain's gaze firmly. Even so, he struggled somewhat to get the words out. "I've never… done anything… to you, without your consent. This morning included. There wasn't a… a morning kiss."

"—But you thought about it, didn't you? While sitting on my bed," He raised a hand to stop the incoming protest before it started. "Look, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything! I'm just saying, if you, uh, felt attracted to me for a second, it doesn't bother me." He deliberately looked away as he spoke, letting his eyes wander aimlessly. Despite his best attempt at staying cool, his cheeks were heating up. "I wasn't the only one to blame that time after the battle on the bridge. Maybe I was a bit curious, but! I'm straight and always have been. Have to admit, though… it was a bit exciting. I never thought you'd go that far to teach me a lesson," he said, adding a laugh at the end to keep the tone light, even as rational thought spilled out of his ears like steam. He mentally fumbled for the lid to keep it all in, despite losing track of whatever point he was trying to make. "—All that to say, um, regardless of what's happened before, I trust you."

Finally, he looked at Felix again and went quiet at what he saw. Softened gaze, melting the frown away. A slight crease to the side of his mouth, lips slightly parted, waiting for the right words to pass between them.

"You trust me. That's all I needed to hear," he said, then turned more serious. "I won't ask anything else of you for now."

The ache in Sylvain's chest rose upward into his throat, and he nearly choked. He cleared his throat. "For now? … That sounds ominous…" He studied Felix's face for a few seconds, taking that time to collect himself. Tilting his head to the side a bit, he continued, "I hope my little joke earlier wasn't what made you question whether I trust you or not. Even a guy like me gets nervous thinking that a cool, handsome knight gives them even just a little bit of attention," he said and winked. "I mean, rushing to my side all the time, acting jealous when I talk to women, or insisting on sleeping in the same bed… That's a lot of attention, now that I think about it…"

Felix closed his eyes and sighed, embarrassed. "Sylvain, stop talking." Unlike the roses in the flower beds, the ones on his cheeks were red.

As commanded, he stopped talking. If there had been a hole of any description nearby, he would have thrown himself into it and disappeared, but what use was hiding if he couldn't keep his mouth shut? The more he spoke, the more questions appeared inside his mind, and he was already treading on dangerous territory. All the better to throw himself in a river — the water would do the job and flush him out into the sea afterward. But Felix called him back from those thoughts by opening his eyes again and fixing Sylvain with a steady, firm gaze.

"I have to keep a close eye on you since you're a magnet for trouble," Felix said, fists resting on his lap. He looked about ready to battle against some unknown foe, yet the slight waver to his voice betrayed his show of courage. "And there are times when I… simply find it hard to look away."

For the second time in one day, Sylvain was rendered speechless. He studied Felix's face for a few seconds, unsure what to make of this sudden admission. He couldn't deny it, though. The comment was genuine — of course it was, Felix never wasted his breath on meaningless words. It brought to mind the way Felix had looked him up and down just recently when they met outside the sauna. The memory alone was enough to bring out that same weak, wobbly feeling again. Luckily, he was already sitting down. A small chuckle formed in his throat. Felix almost seemed startled by it, then his expression soured. "—Forget I said anything."

Sylvain placed his hand over Felix's to keep him from getting up. "Wait," he blurted out. "I wasn't laughing at you, I just…"

He didn't laugh because it was funny. A simple statement such as "I can't look away from you," held too much meaning to be easily forgotten. He already was quite familiar, since he'd used it to great effect as well. Rarely was it more than a compliment to make his date feel important.

But this wasn't a date. They had just finished discussing trust, and Felix acted uncharacteristically vulnerable — he was not making advances. Besides, with all the sweat, the grime, and the horse smell from a full day's work, Sylvain wasn't in a state to draw anyone's attention unless it was to point out that he needed a bath. He was about to, once more, take the safe option when their eyes met and promptly swallowed the words he was just about to say — some rehashed version of "I won't be dying anytime soon, so stop worrying," — and really looked.

They were sitting closer than he realized. He must have leaned in without realizing. The sour expression on Felix's face had melted away. His eyes kept flickering down… perhaps to Sylvain's mouth, or maybe his open collar.

Making the decision to let go of his infatuation and be a normal friend took a lot of work. Sylvain toed the line a little too often — it was hard not to. And without fatigue or alcohol clouding his thoughts, denying that he wasn't the only one struggling was getting more complicated.

Before he could think about it any further, he asked, "What are you thinking about when you can't look away…?"

Felix didn't say anything, but the question answered itself when he was the first to close his eyes.

Their lips connected. Once, soft and sweet like summer, then a second time, hastier and urgent.

A rush started to bubble up inside Sylvain's body. He knew they needed to stop, but his head was full of nothing but the warm, humid greenhouse air and sweet-smelling nectar and he didn't draw back when Felix chased for the third one. The slightest parting of his lips became an invitation for a deeper kiss. Felix made up for his lack of experience with no small amount of enthusiasm, right away tilting his head to explore Sylvain's mouth more intimately.

His head was swimming. His free hand got busy holding on to the stone ledge they sat on in a desperate attempt to stay anchored to reality. It was hot, slightly rough, and, Sylvain thought, everything he wished his real first kiss would have been like. Close to a decade passed since then, and he didn't remember that girl's name anymore, only that their puppy love fizzled out a week later when her engagement to the son of some other lord was announced.

A shiver traveled down his spine at the intrusion of that memory, and he broke the kiss. "Let's… stop here," he breathed, lips tingling.

"Y-yes," Felix said, and even his voice swayed slightly. Slowly, he emerged from the daze and pulled away.

The intensity left the both of them somewhat off-kilter. They sat quietly, staring at each other for several long seconds. Finally, Sylvain decided to speak. "I-I think I understand what it is you're thinking about," he said, trying to joke, but his voice came out at a higher pitch than intended — and involuntarily gasped as the doors to the greenhouse suddenly opened. If his heart skipped a beat before, then it surely stopped this time. He — no, probably both of them, completely forgot they were in a public place.

The gardener lady entered, accompanied by Dedue. Behind them, Byleth also peered inside and made a simple hand-sign apology. Felix already withdrew his hand and flew back on his feet. Quietly, quickly, he said, "Don't let it get to your head," before marching outside without as much as a word to anyone else.

At a complete loss for whatever else to do with himself, Sylvain stuck around to help the gardener and Dedue, who was courteous enough to not say anything about what he may or may not have seen. As for Felix, he reportedly spent the next few hours distant and irritable but unaware that he still had a flower tucked behind his ear.

Chapter Text

Sylvain woke up feeling like he was still dreaming. He barely remembered getting dressed before leaving his room when he usually headed out for the training grounds with Felix. There was a note pinned to his door.

Sylvain -
Scouting. Back by noon. Train by yourself, and don't slack off.
- Felix

Scouting? He stared at the note, confused. They were all allowed to use their free time however they wanted to, but… it was weird for Felix to disappear on some mission he wasn't commissioned for so close to the march.

Listless, he went to complete his morning routine anyway… or he would have, until he saw Shamir coming from the direction of the gates, dust in her hair and her bow still strung. On a whim, he decided to approach her. She didn't seem interested in engaging with him, but he stubbornly initiated a conversation anyway. When a smile did nothing, matching her energy with short and to-the-point speech did the trick.

Alongside Felix, she and another group set out early — very early — in the morning to investigate reports from travelers about Adrestian soldiers being sighted in a mountain pass in the south, far enough that there was no immediate danger but close enough to warrant caution. Her group found nothing to support the claims, and she seemed sure that the others wouldn't, either. She didn't outright say it was a waste of time, but she didn't not say it, either.

Sylvain decided to wait. It didn't count as slacking off if he could not focus on training in the first place, and the gatekeeper looked like he could use some company anyway. An hour later, the second group returned. They had not been in contact with Felix's and didn't find any sign of the enemy, just some run-of-the-mill brigands who were quickly dispatched.

Some inquiries left him with three key facts. One: The report came in five hours earlier, in the middle of the night. Two: The area they were supposed to search was a seldom-used, neglected mountain road with unstable footing in places. Three: Felix, Shamir, and a handful of Knights of Seiros were the only ones at the Knights' Hall at the time, and the decision was made on the fly.

Considering the terrain, a unit on foot could only move within a certain radius and still make it back within five hours. He consulted a map just to make sure. The pass was only a couple of miles out. Felix gave the generous time limit of "noon", but his group was the only one to not make it back yet. No one else seemed concerned yet. It didn't sit well with him. It might already be too late by the time it was "prudent" to become concerned. Too late for what? He decided he didn't want to find out.

Since time and resources were tight, he didn't expect to find any volunteers to join him on an impromptu patrol but cast out a net anyway. Surprisingly, two St. Cichol Wyvern Company members approached him, entirely amicable about helping out. Apparently, someone put in a good word for him. Who knew? Bernadetta also offered to come along, which was unexpected but very appreciated. Even though she was trembling a bit.

That's when Ingrid found him. She was concerned, saying she heard he was acting irrationally, not quite following his logic. He didn't feel especially irrational, but he might have come across as somewhat irritated when he said to her, "I don't need you getting on my case right now, Ingrid." Instead of arguing further, she also joined them to keep an eye on him. In his eyes, it simply meant he wouldn't have to ask around for a fifth.

Flying turned out to be the best option, as Sylvain thought. They reached and searched the area with swift efficiency, and soon enough, Bernadetta found the scouts with her eagle eyes. Or, rather, she found out why they weren't home yet: a rockslide had taken out a significant part of a cliff — and the road that ran along it. Felix's group appeared to be stranded on the wrong side of it. Debris still tumbled down occasionally, and finding a safe place for the flying mounts to land was a challenge. Sylvain found a good spot and brought his wyvern down with a call of, "Morning, everyone! We've come to pick you up!"

Apparently, they weren't expecting rescue so soon… or at all, because he was met with whoops of relief and improved cheer from four worn and mildly injured scouts. Felix, the fifth, was seated on a rock and didn't rise to meet the flying unit. He had removed his boot and was in the middle of wrapping his ankle.

Unable to stop himself or do much to restrain his smile, Sylvain went straight up to Felix as soon as he dismounted. "Hey there, Felix. Took a tumble?"

Felix watched him, at first with a look of confusion and mild wonder, which turned into a frown. "What are you doing here?"

He said with a light shrug and a smile, "I just missed you so much I couldn't wait all day for you to come limping back." It was the truth, but saying it like that removed any risk of being taken seriously.

"A search party is taking it a bit far— Sylvain?"

He went down on one knee at Felix's feet and removed his gauntlets. "Well, get in line if you want to chew me out about it. I'll fix you up in the meantime," he said and gently took Felix's foot into his hands to look at the damage — getting a peek at his face, first.

Felix appeared to wear his usual aloof look, but his ears turned red. "It's only a sprain," he muttered.

Sylvain smiled. "Looks like it. I'm glad I didn't have to dig you out." He turned his eyes back on Felix's injury as he spoke. "—So, what happened out here? I can pretty much guess, but…" There was some redness, swelling, and the onset of bruising; a simple sprain, as Felix said, but undoubtedly painful. All the willpower he currently possessed went into avoiding planting a kiss on Felix's sore ankle. It was a random impulse, but it was there nonetheless. Only the presence of others prevented him from giving in to temptation. Instead, with as soft a touch as he could manage, he grasped around Felix's ankle and cast a healing spell. It started looking better in moments, and any pain would also be greatly reduced to the point where his ankle was fully functional — but not fully restored yet for maybe six hours or so. Felix let out a barely noticeable sigh and quickly reviewed the events while the spell took effect.

They encountered hostiles, likely from the same band the second group battled. The road collapsed due to an errant spell going off, ending the conflict decisively — the enemy wasn't as good at getting away. Climbing either up or down to a safer elevation may have been possible if they weren't injured… and, Felix added ruefully, they wouldn't still be injured if their potion stock wasn't so frugal.

Quietly, Sylvain said, "No Empire, then…" He set Felix's foot back down, pleased with his work.

"No," Felix said, and his tone was suddenly very curt. The annoyance wasn't directed at Sylvain, however. "Enough gawking! Get ready to move out!"

There was a suspicious lack of activity around them. Sylvain stood and looked around right as eight other people suddenly found something to do. He cleared his throat. "— That's right, pair up, everyone! We're flying you back to the monastery. If anyone else needs healing first, I can take care of that. You don't even have to say please."

A few small wounds and a painfully bruised shoulder required his attention, which earned him pleases and thank yous galore. Once it was time to mount up, nobody — not a soul — questioned whose passenger Felix would be. It took a bit of doing to get him into the saddle without putting too much weight on his foot, which he grumbled about until Sylvain joined him and started strapping them in. Felix's hand rested on Sylvain's hip like it belonged there. Sylvain dared a glance over his shoulder with the excuse of asking if he was comfortable back there, but the spark of… something, in Felix's eyes drove the words from his mind. He quickly turned away, tightened the last buckle, and directed his wyvern to take off.

Skipping all but the requisite cuirass saved time getting ready when they were setting out. In the air, however, his senses were soon getting overwhelmed by Felix's arms tightly wrapped around him, his chest pressed against his back, thighs up against his own, and other dangerous things to think about. Sylvain was sweating, feeling hotter than the hottest pits in Ailell despite the windchill. Being back on the ground was no better. Strictly speaking, Felix didn't need help getting around, but he would heal better and faster staying off his sore ankle.

Sylvain took his time writing his part of the report… and then some of Felix's because he looked so damn tired. Why exactly Felix had been in the Knights' Hall in the middle of the night and not sleeping didn't come up. Still, he agreed almost suspiciously quickly to get some rest afterward. Sylvain suggested borrowing one of the unused first-floor dorm rooms for convenience.

The door clicked closed behind them, and the moment they were alone together in a room with a bed, he was immediately aware of two things: he was sweating again, and Felix's arm curled around his waist for support. 

Felix shifted his body around somewhat, best he could on one foot. "You stay and rest, too," he said. His tone hinted at nothing, but their bodies were touching in so many places.

The bed was the same one-person bed all the dorm rooms had. Stay? The thought was dizzying. Gently, he separated himself from Felix, leaving only enough support to help him sit on the — the chair. Chair was better. "I don't think that's a good idea. It is a snug fit for two people on there…"

"I… know that," Felix said, looking up at him quizzically. "We've shared before."

Sylvain took a step back. "Right, so we're both on the same page there."

"It's just a nap, Sylvain. Why are you so—…" Felix stopped, and he finally seemed to catch on. "A nap," he said with emphasis. "Nothing else."

"I know, I know that's what you meant, and," his mouth kept running. "It's really sweet that you want to do that with me, but I don't think I can be your practice boyfriend…"

Felix just stared at him like he didn't understand the concept of words.

It was hard to keep smiling with his foot firmly lodged in his mouth. "Anyway, I… I'll… see you later." He quickly slipped out and closed the door, immediately stopping to hide his face in his hands and sigh. "Practice boyfriend," he muttered to himself. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. Although he didn't mean to make light of Felix's feelings, which he had no idea how deep or shallow they were in the first place because he didn't bother to ask — stupid! — that kiss really did change everything. It felt right in the moment, but doesn't it always?

It was fun to flirt around, but he never, ever planned to go that far with any friend, regardless of gender. Doing so made him every bit the scumbag people called him behind his back. And Felix deserved a lot better than a scumbag.

Probably best to create some distance for the rest of the day, he figured… an excellent excuse to sequester himself in his room and tackle that unsorted pile of materials and paperwork on his desk. Once that was taken care of, his next task would be picking up a particular gift to hopefully aid in making Felix forgive his careless words.

Later that evening, Sylvain found himself not at the smithy but at a side street pub in town. Despite how lively it was, he occupied a table in the back by his lonesome. Wine was the only company he welcomed, and only because buying a whole bottle meant not having to interact with anyone for refills. That bottle easily lasted him the entire evening so far.

Only about one glass’ worth of wine remained. The closer he got to finishing up, the more tempting he found the idea of sharing a bed for the night. What would Felix think if he asked…? Probably nothing good.

“I thought you liked mead. Aren’t you going to have some?”

A woman sitting across from him pouted her painted lips. Very briefly, he considered finding that not-so-lonesome bed with her since she was pretty, but the reason why he thought so in the first place was too embarrassing to engage with. She had long, black hair in a high ponytail, and he kept thinking about how good that would look on Felix if he let his hair grow out again. On top of that, she acted as if they knew each other. He didn’t remember her at all, not even her name. And why mead? A mystery as well.

 The longer she lingered, the less he wanted to talk.

“I do like mead,” he said with a smile, and she smiled as well, but he resumed people-watching. A while ago, four Ashen Wolves alumni entered the pub. He knew them vaguely — Hapi, the girl with the sighing problem; Balthus, the constant walking shirtless scene; Constance, the mage with the mood swings. And Yuri… the… the one he couldn’t quite figure out, including his gender, at first. Their group hardly ever participated in discussions or meetings, and it was unusual to see them moving openly on the surface in the first place. Yet, they seemed perfectly comfortable, melding in with the other patrons. Almost a little too well. If they noticed him at all or even recognized him, none of them indicated so.

The woman sighed and left her seat. “You’re no fun tonight. What a waste of my time…”

He watched how her ponytail swayed back and forth as she walked to the bar and, in the process, lost track of Yuri completely. Not a trace of him anywhere until—

“Evening, Gautier. Mind if I sit here?” Yuri leaned on the now vacant chair. His long hair spilled over his shoulders, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Sylvain quickly hid his surprise behind another smile. “Go ahead. Can’t say no to some lovely company.”

“I suppose she wasn’t that lovely, then…” Yuri gracefully swept into the chair opposite Sylvain.

“Maybe,” Sylvain said, trying to get a read on his new table-mate. “Aren’t your friends gonna miss you?”

“They’ll be fine. Balthus can drink for two.” Yuri eyed the glass abandoned by the woman. “It doesn’t look like you can, though.”

“Not a drink I asked for.” He shrugged. “Go ahead if you want it. I haven’t touched it.”

Yuri smiled sweetly. He lifted the glass of mead to his lips and took a sip, but moments after the liquid hit his tongue, his expression turned strange. Sparing no finesse or grace, he spat it back into the glass. “Well. I can see why you didn’t drink it,” he said, putting the drink down. His eyes went to the wine glass in Sylvain’s hands, which had been filled by himself and never left his view. “Doesn’t look like you’re as easy a target as the rumors suggest.”

All of a sudden, Sylvain made the connection inside his mind. The choice of drink wasn’t so mysterious anymore. His eyes went to the bar, but the black-haired woman wasn’t there anymore. Well, whoever she was, she probably did it for money. He laughed and shook his head. “… Should I just give up on enjoying sweet things? Can’t even have candy without looking over my shoulder.” He sighed. “You know, bees can make poisonous honey if they get enough nectar and pollen from flowers like… what’s it called, rhododron?”

“Rhododendron,” Yuri corrected.  “I’m aware, but it’s an unusual and time-consuming practice. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it.”

“Had reason to look into it a while back,” Sylvain muttered. He reached across the table to take the glass of mead from Yuri and disdainfully poured it out on the floor. A patron at a nearby table gave him a weird look. He ignored it. “There, that’s where it belongs.”

Yuri chuckled. A hint of pity entered his expression. “Better out than in.”

“Hmm,” Sylvain placed the empty glass down and sighed, staring into his wine. It really was decent wine, but now it seemed so bitter. Slowly, he looked up to meet Yuri’s eye. “… You want mine instead? This one’s fine.” He gave the glass a tentative push forward.

“That’s not as reassuring as you might think, but I’ll take it off your hands.” Yuri reached across the small table for two.

Sylvain was still loosely holding the stem of the glass. Instead of taking it, at first, Yuri’s fingers overlapped his in a light touch.
 
Yuri’s hand was smaller but by no means delicate, as the occasional slight mark or scar marred the skin. He seemed to take good care of his hands, though. Much better than Sylvain ever did. By comparison, Felix — no. He couldn’t think about Felix’s hands while another guy was… was this flirting or some kind of strategy? Either way, he was pretty good, and his motives were unclear. Sylvain surrendered the wine with a smile despite the heat starting to blossom on his face.

“S-so, uh, what’s the real reason you came to talk to me?”

The look on Yuri’s face showed that he didn’t quite expect the reaction. He touched a finger to his chin in a thoughtful way. “… The truth is, I’m doing our dear Byleth a little favor,” he said, leaning forward and gesturing for Sylvain to do the same. “There’s been rumors of someone planning to stir up trouble within the ranks of the army.”

Sylvain rested his chin in his palm. “Oh? Someone you know, Sir Mockingbird?”

“I know you, don’t I, Sylvain?” He smiled, silky smooth. “I’d like to ask about some old associates of your late brother. The ones who made their home in Abyss after you personally eliminated the rest.”

“Hmph,” Any semblance of a smile disappeared from Sylvain’s face. He leaned back and away. “I don’t exactly hang out with those people.”

Yuri quickly adapted to the change in mood between them. His hands rested casually on the tabletop, and he relaxed his shoulders. “Anything you remember helps,” he said, and he briefly looked over to the bar where Hapi was picking up drinks, presumably for herself and the other two. “Of course, I could also ask the woman you ran off.”

Sylvain snorted. He shook his head. “… She’s not one of them.”

With a questioning eyebrow, Yuri asked, “Who are they, then?”

There was a small handful of names he might mention. However, those people all moved on and did something different with their lives — not necessarily anything better, but still different — except for Visca. Erin also qualified as a past “associate” of his brother. However, neither showed any interest in the army as an organization or opposed its goals. What use Yuri might have for that, he didn’t know, but refusing to cooperate at all probably looked bad.

He sighed slowly, staring blankly forward at Yuri. 

“Can’t imagine anything I have to say will be of use, but I don’t feel like giving anything out for free tonight. What’s in it for me?”

Yuri traced the rim of the wine glass with his fingertip. “Quality company,” he said, playful on the surface. “For as long as you’d like.”

This part he knew — the overt, blatant flirting. And he made a little show of actually considering it, giving Yuri a long, appraising look up and down. Sharp-tongued, crass, and calculating, but definitely laying it on at least half as thick as Sylvain did when he was in the mood — and quite honestly… a very sexy guy. Something nice to rest his eyes on, at least.

“… Sure, sounds good to me,” he said, smiling just a little bit again. He nodded to the glass of wine in Yuri’s hand. “I’ll buy you whatever you want to drink when you finish that.”

“Thank you,” Yuri said with a sly smile.

Approximately ten hours later, he woke up sprawled out on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. The late morning sun shone through a gap in the curtains and hit him right in the eye, which did wonders for his aching head. He grunted and rolled over on his side, which, in turn, also did wonders for the mild nausea.

A squinted peek across the room revealed that Yuri already left. It was his idea to continue their conversation someplace more private than an increasingly crowded pub. He paid for the inn — and more drinks, growing increasingly sassy without losing his conversational touch. Sylvain even found it enjoyable at times despite the subject matter.

However, for every name, connection, date, time, or deal he remembered, one small piece of a too-personal sentiment or thought came along with it.

He mentioned that the brickwork and waterways of Abyss reminded him of the bottom of a well. He joked about how easily his brother’s old “friends” dropped their guard because they assumed he was a huge piece of shit too, and who was he to deny it? Later, he mentioned briefly considering playing along with these assessments of his character and using his own body as bait to steal back a letter.

It didn’t take much prodding for him to admit that sensitive correspondence had gone missing from his desk, which he had only noticed some hours ago because other stolen belongings were on his mind. The unease he felt being in his own room, knowing how easily just about anyone could enter, went unmentioned, along with the closeness he wanted from a friend whose feelings he thoughtlessly hurt. Instead, he asked if Yuri intended to return to his friends once they finished talking. It was a simple question, but the tone, his smile, and the tilt of his head implied more.

Yuri, an objectively hot guy, smirked and pushed Sylvain down on the bed, then started climbing on top of him.

It was only fair. Felix would move on eventually, too. Warmth crept up from behind his eyes and blurred his vision. He tried to blink it away, but it persisted. He wasn’t feeling anything he expected to feel — anticipation, excitement, arousal… even trepidation toward possibly sleeping with another man for the first time, an act he wasn’t even fully clear on what it would entail. Instead, he was brought near tears, disappointed that he wasn’t together with the man he fell in love with.

Despite the alcohol, Yuri managed to do something Sylvain very rarely experienced while spending the night with women in the past. Before things went any further — that is to say, went anywhere at all —  his partner-to-be noticed something was off, and cared, and stopped.

“Oh dear,” Yuri said with genuine concern. At first, he seemed at a loss, then gently cupped Sylvain’s cheeks with both hands and said, “Did you pick up the wrong bird tonight?”

Those words, spoken in a tone much softer and kinder than he deserved, made him want to cry even more. Even though he didn’t have to, Yuri made sure he was alright, got him some water, and stayed until he fell asleep, leaving only a note on the nightstand.

Sylvain rubbed his eyes and grabbed it to read, but… it wasn’t a note from Yuri. It was the receipt slip for Felix’s gift, which he only vaguely remembered putting in his pocket the previous day. Hardly a minute after that, he discovered those missing materials and promptly did not report it to anyone, just fled to have a pity party for himself. He folded the receipt back up and saw that, no, he was doubly wrong. There was a message from Yuri written on the back.

Let’s talk again when you’re sure about what you want. -Y

He flopped back down on the bed and groaned. “I’m such an idiot.”

The market street buzzed with life. Sylvain did not. He stared blandly at the empty display shelves and racks at the smithy. The heat leaking from the forge space wasn’t doing his hangover any favors. The only other customer was in no rush at all. Ten minutes already passed, and they were still talking. He rubbed his temple and decided to wait outside instead. Just as he crossed the threshold, ready to enjoy a refreshing summer breeze, someone screamed on the opposite side of the street. The noise jabbed into his brain, and he flinched, stepping aside and squeezing his eyes shut for some reprieve.

People were starting to mutter and mumble at the raised voices. Nothing the guards couldn’t handle, he figured, but the commotion continued. Then a lady passing by said, “That’s the Prince’s entourage, isn’t it? They’ll settle things down.” Sylvain opened his eyes and peered toward the commotion, but the crowd was in the way. Above the heads of the people, however, mounted knights loomed. The lady was right. Those were Dimitri’s guards, and they should be able to calm a fight, but they hadn’t yet, so… he started moving in that direction.

The crowd had condensed but was kept at bay by the guards. Sylvain squeezed in behind a grocer’s stand and was treated to a sight right out of the Blue Lions’ academy days.

Dimitri handed the reins of his horse to his nearest guard, presumably to better argue in the street with Felix. He didn’t need to yell for his voice to be booming.

“Drawing your sword in a busy street is not the way to solve a dispute!”

Felix shot right back, “Dispute?! I was capturing a criminal selling stolen goods! Why the hell are you butting in without knowing anything? Stay in your damn lane!”

The guards looked meek and unsure what to do, but they couldn’t be expected to pacify a fight between two of the highest-ranking nobles in Fódlan. Where was anyone else? Dedue? Byleth? Gilbert? Ingrid? Mercedes? … Sylvain Gautier?

Dimitri’s lip already started to curl in anger. The good Prince was a lot better, but he wasn’t a saint. “What am I doing? You were about to kill a man! How did you even know it was stolen goods?—”

On his way, Sylvain caught the eye of a guard, who, luckily enough, seemed to recognize him and let him through just in time. He grit his teeth and intercepted the response (insult) Felix was about to fling.

“I used my eyes, you half-blind be—”

“—Best not go that far,” Sylvain hastily said, preparing to physically separate them if needed.

Focused on what was in front, Felix elbowed the interloper away and hit him square in the solar plexus. At the same time, Dimitri reacted out of instinct as he was approached on his blind side. His hand flew up and smacked Sylvain in the face. Both hurt like a mother. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not abandon ship and double over on the ground. He stepped in between the two and gave them a light push apart. “Guys, don’t,” he managed to squeeze out.

“Sylv—” Felix looked shocked, saw Sylvain’s strained smile, and, judging by the lingering pain in his face, something else to be angry about — instantly turning on Dimitri, enraged. He practically growled, “That’s it!”

By then, Dimitri realized what happened as well. His look of remorse quickly redirected to meet Felix’s anger with a scowl of his own. “You’re unreasonable…!”

Sylvain palmed the pommel of Felix’s sword to keep it from being drawn and raised his other hand to keep Dimitri from coming any closer. “Okay, that’s enough, both of you!” Finally, it seemed like his friends remembered where they were. Once the immediate tension passed, he felt comfortable lowering his hands and releasing Felix’s sword. Much quieter, he said, “Your Highness, Felix…” He paused, looking from one to the other. “Seriously, how am I the least outrageous person in this market today?”

The last bit of fight withered in Dimitri’s eye, and he swiftly backed down, making a small gesture for his guards to stand down as well. He nodded and fixed his posture. “You’re right. This is no way to behave,” he said, jaw tight. “Felix, I might have disagreed with your actions, but I was wrong to interfere.”

“Hmph.” Although he seemed calmer, Felix still bristled, fists clenched but hanging at his sides away from any swords. “Fine time to admit you’re wrong after you let a criminal get away.”

Instead of rising to the comment, Dimitri turned to Sylvain, raising his hand as though to touch his face. “Sylvain, I didn’t mean to strike you. Are you—”

“Hands off, boar,” Felix cut in, causing Dimitri to freeze and awkwardly let his hand fall to his side.

To kill the awkward, Sylvain cleared his throat. He said a little louder than necessary, “Good to have that misunderstanding straightened out! Right, Your Highness?”

“Y-yes,” Dimitri seemed slightly surprised at first, then his eye quickly swept over the assembled people to address them. “Good people, please forgive this disturbance. This market will continue to be a safe place for everyone. Do not worry and resume your business.”

His words were calming enough. The people lingering around looked at one another, then started to disperse. Dimitri excused himself to rejoin his entourage headed for the monastery.

“So,” Sylvain licked his lips and tasted blood. A minor split, courtesy of the Prince’s backhand. If Felix had actually drawn his weapon… Well, maybe it wouldn’t have escalated quite that badly, but then again, it might have. At least in the eyes of others, that’s what it looked like. The closest stall owners were still discreetly peeking at them. “Should we speak to market authority about that merchant?…”

Felix still appeared to stew, however. Not so much in anger anymore, but evident displeasure nonetheless. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, not looking at Sylvain.

Ouch. Nailed right in the chest… again. But, good friends avoided public embarrassment — twice in five minutes, if they had to. “You probably don’t want to see me right now, huh?… I understand. I’ll get out of your hair. Later, Felix,” he said, intending to leave, but Felix stopped him.

He reached out to touch Sylvain’s arm and immediately drew back. “That isn’t what I meant.”

Sylvain paused, confused now and a little hopeful. “It’s not?”

Felix nodded toward the entrance of an alleyway, farther away from onlookers. He hesitated but ultimately followed.

Shoulders slumped, no longer bristling yet clearly uncomfortable, Felix quietly said, “I’m sorry for hitting you. I was too wound up.”

“Water under the bridge,” Sylvain said with a light shrug.

Up close, all the signs were there. Slivers of dark under his eyes from poor sleep. A chapped, bitten lower lip. Reaching up to tighten a hair tie that was coming undone. The stress of increased responsibilities after his father’s untimely death, on top of having to deal with Sylvain being a bad friend… perhaps it was only a matter of time before he had a row with someone.

But he wasn’t the only one having a look. Felix’s gaze seemed to wander down slowly, and he wore a familiar look on his face. The slight frown, the eyes moving swiftly back and forth, searching for a sign. Some lipstick on the collar, a little wrinkle or tear, a missing button, maybe the vaguely lingering scent of perfume, or, perhaps, the most damning one: a tell-tale mark on his skin. The assumption wasn’t out of line, as he wore his rumpled clothes from yesterday. But that was it. There was nothing to find. He checked before leaving the inn anyway, just in case Yuri decided to play some trick on him or something.

Forget all that, however. Felix didn’t need to know. It was time to enact the plan.

“Do you want to—”

“Sylvain, I have—”

They spoke up at the same time and abruptly quieted at the same time.

“… You go first,” Sylvain said, barely having finished speaking before Felix seized the opportunity.

“Then I’ll ask without reservation,” he said, determined but keeping his voice down. “Sylvain. You kissed me back. I didn’t imagine that, did I?”

“Ah…” There were many other questions bundled together with that one, but the light furrow to Felix’s brow caught his attention first. Honesty slipped out of his mouth on its own. “No, you didn’t imagine it.”

Whatever surface turmoil inside Felix’s eyes seemed to be calmed, and he nodded slowly. Then, before Sylvain could say anything else, he said, “Let’s… go do something.”

Sylvain waited a moment for more to come. “… Huh? What do you mean, do something?”

Felix’s frown had almost faded altogether. “I said I’d spend time with you, and I keep my promises.”

Sylvain sighed, watching the people below from his vantage point at the entrance hall doors. They decided to meet up again two hours later since Felix needed to tie up some unspecified loose ends before they could “do something”. It worked out fine, since he really needed to freshen up and put on some decent clothes — looking nice and smelling nice were important date basics, even though this wasn’t a date, of course — but he still arrived early… maybe a bit too early. His mind wandered and he was overthinking. Was the scented soap and tailored pants too much? …

“I’m here,” Felix said, interrupting his thoughts.

Turning around to greet him with a big smile, Sylvain got a good idea of what those loose ends entailed. It was a less tired and more alert-looking Felix staring back at him, who had traded his well-loved and well-worn coat for a new one. It was sturdy and practical, better suited for the increased time he spent on horseback. It just happened to be a very flattering cut, in a color that suited him well. It was taken in at just the right places around his waist and chest that accentuated them perfectly. The only issue was that the long sleeves hid his arms, but leaving the coat open on a warm afternoon meant his figure-hugging shirt was—

His attention snapped back to Felix’s face, glad his neck didn’t break from the sheer speed. “Hey, long time no see,” he said jokingly, and Felix rolled his eyes. “Is that coat new? It looks great on you.”

Because Sylvain was busy staring, he didn’t notice the flowers in Felix’s hand until they were pushed at him. “Here,” he said casually, like bringing his friends flowers was just something he did sometimes. “Annette was going around giving them out for some reason. I figured you might… accept them.”

“Oh, uh,” Sylvain stared down at the generous handful of delicate daisies in his possession. Felix was watching for his reaction. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. He smiled and said, “Thanks!”

This only seemed to annoy Felix. “Throw them away if you don’t want them. It doesn’t matter either way.”

Fair; the reception was, if unintentionally so, lukewarm. Sylvain was pretty good at giving flowers, but receiving them…? They tended to wilt because he brought them to his room and forgot about them until it was too late to put them in a vase, and then, well, they got thrown away. It was just flowers, and from Annette by proxy, but from Felix’s hands, they seemed a bit too special to forget about.

Luckily, a particular skill he picked up from Mercedes ages ago suited the situation perfectly. The only problem was pulling it off while traversing stairs and a crowd of people was tricky. He slowly trailed behind, and eventually, Felix noticed.

“Am I walking too fast for you?…”

Sylvain grinned and straightened up, triumphantly raising his left arm to show off the brand-new daisy chain bracelet around his left wrist. “What do you think? Does it look good on me?”

At first, Felix looked surprised, but then his expression softened. “… Try to keep up,” he said, then turned and kept walking. Sylvain hurried to his side, unsure if the reaction was good or bad.

They walked and talked, with Sylvain doing most of the talking like usual. Every now and then, Felix would interrupt by buying him some small snack or treat. One time, he caught Felix trying to covertly get a sniff of him, and barely kept himself from laughing. Rosehip was a hit, apparently. Or maybe he was simply hungry. The fourth or fifth time he eyed up a place selling snacks, Sylvain suggested they have something substantial instead of grazing. His eyes lit up most wonderfully at the suggestion. Sylvain intended to pay, but he was firmly instructed to wait, so he let it go and found a bench in a small park area away from the hustle and bustle.

Sending the other party off was an effective strategy to eliminate discussions about who would pay; it was a nice change of pace for a serial dater and unusually sly for a sword nut. It probably wasn’t on purpose.

Felix got them some kind of meat croquette things wrapped in paper for easier eating on the go. The light crunch of biting into the food was mouth-watering by itself. Felix definitely enjoyed it, as he devoured it in only a few bites — and then he looked embarrassed for it, muttering something about skipping lunch. Sylvain jokingly asked if any pigs had flown recently. The question earned him a glare, but he secretly enjoyed how Felix’s ponytail whipped to the side when he turned away.

But this time, he got caught. Observing him with a sidelong glance, Felix said, “I’ll grow it out again in the future.”

A little too eagerly, Sylvain reacted with a smile. “You will?… I mean, I figured you cut it because it got in the way.”

“That’s what hair ties are for,” he said matter-of-factly. “I prefer it longer, but…” He frowned, and his gaze sunk down to his lap.

A troubled quality crept into his expression. The shift was subtle, yet it quickly tugged on Sylvain’s heartstrings. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning over a bit. “You’re looking awfully far away right now. What’s on your mind?”

Felix glanced over briefly, then sighed. “… When I first started growing my hair out, father said there’s no point having long hair if you don’t take care of it. I hated listening to his advice, but he was right.” He crumpled the paper in his hand. “It’s too much work to be worth it right now.”

It was so rare for Felix to bring up his father one might forget the man died a mere month ago. For him to come up in an anecdote about grooming advice was unexpected, yet not surprising. Old Rodrigue always did have nice hair, but he never came across as the preening type. Neither did Felix, to be fair… however, he took seemingly small things very seriously.

“That makes sense.” Sylvain idly spun his flower bracelet around his wrist. Seeing Felix steeped in such gloom brought him back to the night of the funeral. Felix didn’t even cry… at least, not in front of Sylvain. However, he did come into his room and slept in his bed, all without uttering a single word. They slept in late the next day and woke up bathed in gentle sunlight, as Sylvain forgot to draw the curtains. Felix had awful bedhead, and Sylvain’s arm was completely numb. It wasn’t that long ago, and yet — no. He stopped himself from getting more lost in thoughts. Felix was the one who needed a distraction right now.

Meeting his beautiful eyes was all it took for Sylvain to make his decision. It was time to pick up his original plan where he left off. “I just thought of the perfect way to cap this little outing off.”

Felix opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. In the end, he quietly nodded.

This time, the smithy was empty. After exchanging greetings with the clerk and complimenting her eyes without thinking, he finally handed over the receipt. She gave him a bit of a look, seeing how wrinkled and crumpled it had become, but all the vital information was readable. He leaned casually on the counter while she went to retrieve his order, watching Felix through the shop window.

Felix shifted his weight from one foot to the other every few seconds, hands on his hips, probably glaring at the people passing by. Belatedly, Sylvain had noticed the disappointment. Neither of them wanted to end their little “date” so soon, but Felix was the one who decided to wait outside. It was fine. The surprise might be all the sweeter that way.

“Here you are, sir,” the clerk said, returning with a heavy polearm she laid on the counter.

Weapon in hand, he thanked her, paid the remaining amount, and stepped back to give it a brief inspection. The clerk cleared her throat and asked something in a tone much sweeter than she had five minutes ago, but movement at the window grabbed his attention first. Felix had company — a roguish figure with a charming smile.

He watched the unlikely pair. Funny, what could Yuri and Felix possibly have to talk about? Then, the realization hit him like a splash of ice-cold water to the face. Not until that moment did he consider that his and Yuri’s little encounter may get back to Felix somehow. He raised his hand to interrupt the clerk.

“Sorry, I’m busy.” He hurried to the door, rushed back to get the receipt from the clerk, and stuffed it in his pocket, then hurried outside and almost crashed into a couple people coming into the shop. He stepped around them. “Felix, I’m back— oops!”

The toe of his boot caught on a loose stone, and he stumbled forward precariously. He wasn’t in danger of falling, but Felix still reached out to steady him.

“I thought your footwork was supposed to be better than this,” he said, but Sylvain wasn’t listening fully.

Straightened up, he glanced around, still tightly grasping the lance. “—Wasn’t Yuri here just now?”

“Yes,” Felix said, and something about his tone drew Sylvain’s attention right back. “He apologized for upsetting you last night.” His raised eyebrow punctuated the underlying question.

“He did?…” Sylvain went from panic to confusion in moments. He leaned the lance on his shoulder. “He didn’t say anything else? … Did you tell him I was in the shop?”

“No, and I think he knew that already.” 

“Okay… well, it’s not like he hurt me or anything. It’s the opposite, actually,” Sylvain said hastily. “We were talking over drinks, the topic got a bit heavy, and I got… slightly emotional, probably because of the alcohol. Yuri took care of me and even paid for the room. He’s more of a gentleman than I thought…” The flow of words stopped as he noticed Felix’s souring expression.

Flatly, Felix said, “Is that so.”

He still held on to Sylvain’s arm as if he might suddenly faceplant out of nowhere. Held firmly. Very firmly.

“… By the way, you look like you just ate a lemon, Felix. Also, you’re kind of starting to crush my arm.”

Immediately, Felix let go, and Sylvain continued with a small smile. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just figured I’d save it for later so I don’t bring down the mood.”

“I’m not asking you to disclose personal conversations to me,” Felix huffed. “But don’t humor him if he’s walking all over you.”

“It’s not like that,” Sylvain said, his smile widening. Felix was just unbelievably cute. “But let’s put that aside for now. Here you go.” Sylvain passed him the lance he just picked up. “I had it all prettied up for you.”

Felix accepted it out of habit, but it took him a moment to process that it was given to him. “For… me?” He blinked and looked at the weapon more closely, eyes widening. He traced a detail in the wood with his thumb. “Is this… you didn’t…?”

Sylvain grinned, and Felix ripped off the leather cover from the lance tip, staring at the wide, almost leaf-shaped blade with a gentle curve, razor-sharp and gleaming. The lance, crafted by the master artisan Zoltan, had every little detail polished to a shine like it was brand new and had never seen battle before. He held the lance up, turning it over so that the blade caught the setting sun and danced little points of light on the wall behind them. Then he took it in both hands and thumbed the leather binding of the grip, admiring the quality.

He did not need to jump up and down in joy for the almost boyish excitement to be obvious. He turned to Sylvain suddenly. “How — how much did you spend on this? How did you even get your hands on one?…”

“Well…” He shrugged. Between the courier costs, merc fees, transport, repair, and length adjustment to better suit Felix’s height… it cost a lot more than he had ever spent on a gift for anyone before. It was just money, though. Seeing Felix excited like a little kid, that was priceless. “I got a deal through some connections. I don’t think it’s enough to make up for being an ass to you, and it’s not a sword or anything, but… I’m glad you like it anyway.”

“I—…” Felix closed his mouth again, unable to form the words he wanted to say. He looked up at the shiny masterwork of a weapon in his hand, roses on his cheeks blooming beautifully. He shook his head and looked at Sylvain once more. “I like things other than swords, Sylvain.”

“Really? Name one thing,” Sylvain teased, but he wasn’t prepared for the answer.

Felix sighed, looked him in the eye, and said, “You’re unbelievable,” but not without fondness.

Unlike the previous night with Yuri, a fire stirred inside him that he desperately needed an outlet for. Only one thing came to mind, and Felix was quick to agree.

Victorious, numb, and richer for new bruises and scrapes, Sylvain paused to stare forward at the first-floor dorm doors, idly fiddling with the chain of daisies around his wrist.

He wasn’t sure how he won yet — a little step here and there, a lance worth a fortune slicing through the air, a disarming maneuver… His body was so light, like in a dance. His sword — borrowed from Felix — felt like a natural extension of his body. They drew an audience from the folks also at the training grounds. It was a whole thing.

Then suddenly, Felix fell on his ass with a shocked look, and his weapon was in Sylvain’s other hand. Sylvain was surprised, too. It was his first win since their academy days.

Felix got back on his feet. Face flush with exertion and adrenaline, right there in front of everyone, he stepped up to Sylvain and said, “That was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

And Sylvain didn’t know what to do, so he laughed, because who gives a guy flowers, pays his way, and calls him beautiful like that? …

Predictably, he was challenged to a rematch. Holding his own against everything Felix was throwing at him that day, both physically and emotionally, left him exhausted and raw, but also happy. Once their bout ended and people around them started to disperse, he lagged behind and took his time cleaning up, because he knew Felix would do the same.

It wasn’t planned. He didn’t have a plan. Felix went to pick up his handsome new coat he tossed aside without a care earlier. Sylvain picked up the daisy bracelet he laid on top of it with more care and slipped it back onto his wrist. He put his arm around Felix’s shoulder cavalierly, like he did sometimes. Felix looked up at him in mild annoyance like he usually would. Their usual quips didn’t happen, however. Instead, Sylvain quietly said, “Thanks for today.”

“… You’re welcome,” Felix said, with his perfectly formed, kissable lips — a mouth hungry for Sylvain’s. His eyes were definitely wandering down Sylvain’s face.

For the first time in his life, Sylvain seriously doubted his self-control. But he got a hold of himself and, after a moment’s hesitation, bent down to kiss Felix on the cheek. Felix said nothing, but his soft, quick exhale brushed against Sylvain’s lips as he drew back. “Goodnight,” Sylvain whispered. He didn’t stop to check if anyone saw.

Living up to everything Felix represented was a daunting task far beyond what Sylvain thought himself willing and capable of pursuing. And yet, fate finally managed to swindle him into wanting to try.

So, feeling a little anxious… or a lot, he reached for a good, safe starting point and knocked on Dedue’s door. He somewhat regretted being too wrapped up in his own issues to return the favor of an ear or a shoulder — but, this time, he vowed not to just impose on his friend’s good nature and stick around longer to offer the same in return.

It was getting late enough in the evening that the Prince had to be done with his adjutant for the day, and he thought he heard movement inside, but there was no immediate response. After half a minute passed, he knocked again. This time, he clearly heard steps approaching the door. He took a small step back and smiled as the door opened.

Dedue’s shirt was hanging half-open perfectly at eye level. For some reason, the first thing that came to Sylvain’s mind was how smooth the skin was, lacking even a single scar below the collarbone that he could see. The second thing was that he was staring. He quickly looked up, seeing Dedue’s hair suitably tousled to go with the hastily dressed look. “Oh, did I wake you up?”

“I was awake.” Dedue’s face was inscrutable. “Do you need something, Sylvain?”

“Sort of. Well… Can I come in?”

 Dedue frowned slightly. He seemed to hesitate. “Are you in trouble? If so, I’ll—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Sylvain chuckled, and it helped him regain some of his nerve. He glanced around, seeing no one — well, no one close enough to hear anything. “I wanted to tell you something, but I guess it’s fine here too.” Again, he touched his flower bracelet. It helped, too. He forced himself to maintain eye contact. “I’m bisexual.” He paused. “… That’s… that’s everything I had to say. Just… giving it a go, saying it out loud.”

A short silence followed. Dedue looked surprised, but then he nodded. “I can see it took a lot of determination to say it, and I’m honored you would choose to tell me,”  he said evenly. “How… are you feeling now?”

Although he had been nervous, and still was, the supportive reception to his first-ever attempt at coming out turned the anxiety into a genuine smile. “Good… I think. Better than I thought I would. I’m only telling you for now, though,” he said with a small laugh — that died in his throat at a faint sound from inside. Dedue’s gaze briefly flickered to the side.

“… Forgive me,” he said, with a note of guilt in his voice and his expression. “I know you didn’t mean to be overheard,” he started saying, but Sylvain’s brain appeared to blank for a second. Rather than shutting down, however, curiosity took over.

“You have someone over…?” He craned his neck to try and see past Dedue.

“Sylvain, wait,” Dedue said, slightly alarmed at his behavior, but he stood up on his tippy-toes and just barely saw—

In his underclothes, Dimitri sat on the edge of Dedue’s bed, clutching a hastily grabbed shirt to his chest, wide-eyed.

Sylvain lowered himself down to his heels again. It wasn’t a surprise; who else could it have been? — but it was awkward as hell. Dedue appeared to be quietly mortified. Sylvain scratched the back of his head, unsure what to say.

Inside the room, Dimitri cleared his throat and said, “… I believe it’s best if the three of us have a talk… if you’ll wait a minute for me to get decent first.”

Chapter Text

It was Imperial Year 1177, the year following the death of Glenn Fraldarius.

After a bitter fight with his father, Felix was sent to Gautier over the summer to calm down. It was obvious, even though no one said those exact words. He didn’t particularly care so long as there was food to eat and room to practice without being bothered. His wish had already been granted on the first day. The Gautiers were split in their attention from the moment he arrived. The margrave was the farthest, of course, at the northern border. The margravine welcomed him and asked about the trip, but she soon had to return to her duties. The oldest son was… around, offering little more than an acknowledgment of Felix’s presence, which was fine.

Which left the youngest son of the house. Felix kept steeling himself at every corner, but it was all for nothing. Sylvain wasn’t anywhere. Not wanting to seem like he actually missed him, Felix avoided asking anyone and found his own corner on the practice field, where he remained most of the day. No one in the household said anything until then, including the servants, so assuming the infamous skirt-chaser was out chasing skirts as usual made sense. So Felix waited(although he would never admit to doing so), intending to drag Sylvain into being a sparring partner once he came home.

His patience started running out by the time dinner rolled around. The margravine noticed his sullen attitude at the table and sighed.

“One of the maids saw Sylvain sneak out last night to go Goddess knows where. I suppose he’s not back yet,” she said, her lips pursed in displeasure. “He knew you were coming today, and yet…”

“I didn’t come here to see him,” Felix said, staring at his plate. He was picking at his food, not feeling very hungry at all. Listening to the substance-free, stilted conversation between the margravine and Miklan was absolutely dreadful. Eventually, it died out entirely, and Felix decided enough was enough. He left his half-eaten meal with the excuse that he didn’t feel well.

While rounding the table, he passed behind Miklan, who muttered, “You won’t see him.”

Shivers went down Felix’s spine. He left quickly but wasn’t sure where to go. He ended up in Sylvain’s room, although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps to find some hint on what girlfriend of the month he was so enamored with. There wasn’t so much as a trace, of course. His room was unusually neat, except for the unmade bed and the pile of books on it. Felix picked up one of them, realized it was about theatre or dance or something, and put it back down. Right then, movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention to the windows. Miklan was out in the courtyard, preparing his horse. It felt… not right. Felix went straight outside and was met with a sneer. Gruffly, Miklan asked, “Weren’t you going to bed?”

Almost like he was in the way.

Feeling a bit bolder, Felix asked, “I never said that. Where are you going?”

Miklan huffed. “It’s rabbit season. I’m checking traps,” he said and got up on his horse. Then he smiled in a particularly unpleasant way and continued, “I’ll let you know if my useless little brother somehow got stuck in one of them.”

Watching Miklan ride off after that comment, Felix started feeling actually sick. His heart was pounding. He recalled an incident the winter before last — Miklan returning alone from the mountains, leaving his “lost” brother behind. The story passed around was that they were separated in an altercation with their target, and Miklan thought Sylvain got scared and ran home first. Felix heard about it months later and, for the longest time, wondered why it was treated so lightly, even though it was obvious that Sylvain’s horse was missing and there was no way he could have gotten away on his own. Eventually, he realized that it was apathy. Everyone knew Miklan despised his younger half-brother, but no one truly believed he would go as far as leaving him to die — including Felix, up until that point. He figured Miklan simply was the type to refuse to help, except… if he was willing to stoop that low, it wasn’t a stretch to think he might actively try to end his younger brother’s life.

He considered going back to the margravine and telling her about it… but she didn’t even seem worried in the first place, so why would she believe the angry kid who got kicked out of his own home? His instincts told him that convincing her would be a waste of time. So he tightly held on to his sword and went after Miklan by himself, defying the creeping dusk.

Going on foot seemed stupid at first. A teen boy tired far quicker than a horse. However, Miklan kept looking back every few minutes to see if he was followed, and hiding a whole horse would have been a lot more difficult. Felix persisted even as the distance between them grew, even knowing he wouldn’t be able to see once the sun went down. But then… Miklan lit a lantern because, of course, he couldn’t see either. It made the pursuit easier until he deviated from the road into the woods.

Felix decided to abandon caution and started to run. If he wasn’t seen, he was definitely heard rushing through the undergrowth and into a clearing with the ruins of an old house. Breathing heavily, he paused for only a second to take in the scene.

Miklan stood at the edge of the property by an old well, one foot on its crumbling stone wall. In his hands, he held a spear with the point ready to plunge into the depths below. His eyes were wide with surprise and briefly flickered to the well. He was caught, and he knew it. Caught checking traps. The whole scene was illuminated by the lantern hanging from his horse’s saddle. “You little rat, you followed—” was all he managed to say before Felix tackled him. The spear went flying into the bushes as they crashed to the ground.

“Get off me!” Miklan yelled and pushed Felix off too easily, practically tossing him to the side.

Felix cursed his smaller stature but refused to back down even a little. He got back on his feet and drew his sword, positioning himself between Miklan and the well to shout, “Get the hell away from here! I’ll kill you!”

Armed with nothing but the contempt on his face, Miklan appeared to weigh his options. He didn’t fight, said not a word, and took off on his horse. Felix was still taking heaving breaths from the run and the exertion when he finally heard it.

A scratchy and weak but hopeful voice called out from within the well. “Felix?… Felix?! I’m down here!”

He dropped his sword and ran over to the well. It wasn’t too deep, only twenty feet or so, as the crumbling brickwork created a floor where Sylvain was sitting. He was holding a small flickering Fire in his palms, the only light source between them. There was a wound on his leg and bruises on his face, but he looked so happy — so relieved — that anything Felix wanted to say got stuck in his throat. It was the last time he cried that he could remember, and Sylvain was the one who had to comfort him instead of the other way around.

The distance seemed insurmountable. There was nothing he could do to safely rescue Sylvain without leaving him all alone, which he refused to even consider. He even briefly thought about jumping down the well himself, but Sylvain stopped him and calmly said it wouldn’t be long until someone came for them. Felix was skeptical. In the end, Sylvain was right, however. Rescue came in the form of a couple of servants, a house guard — and Miklan. Felix nearly lost it seeing that smug face again so soon, but to his shock, the knights were trying to keep him away from Sylvain once they pulled him out of the well, not Miklan.

This time, the story was that Felix went to find and “punish” Sylvain for his frivolous ways and threatened Miklan as well. Sylvain wouldn’t have one word of it and almost swung at him — only the weakness of his ordeal kept him down. Instead, he let him have it verbally with all the strength he had left.

“You pushed me,” he screamed at his brother, the first and last time he ever bothered. “You dragged me here, beat me, pushed me down there, and came back to finish the job! Don’t you dare try to pin any of that on Felix, you pathetic excuse for a human!”

Finally, everything — the whole truth — was coming out. The margrave was en route home in a hurry to deal with the situation. Sylvain took several days to fully recover, even with magic to heal the injuries, most of which were spent laying in bed. While he acted like he enjoyed not being expected to do anything or go anywhere, he frequently asked Felix to visit.

Felix disliked seeing him so weak but mostly obliged, just to ask the same question each time he visited: “Why did you go with Miklan into the woods?”

After receiving many bad, flimsy reasons that made no sense, he had enough. He leaped onto the bed and caught Sylvain in a headlock, a maneuver he had chosen beforehand because it wouldn’t aggravate any injuries. Through clenched teeth, he hissed, “I’m not letting go until you give me a real answer! I know you never trusted him, so why?!”

“Ow! Hey, Felix, I’m injured here!” Sylvain struggled feebly as Felix was a bit stronger physically even back then, but he wasn’t trying very hard to free himself and soon gave up. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you!” Upon his release, he sighed. “You used to be so cute and sweet when we were little…” He flinched back from the glare and grinned, but the mood quickly turned serious again. “So, here’s what happened…”

Sylvain described how he was hanging out in his room the day before Felix’s arrival when Miklan barged in, wanting to “talk”. He claimed to have seen Sylvain “being inappropriate” with a man during an event — which was quickly clarified to Felix that it never happened, and who knows why Miklan would make something like that up. Miklan said that if it got out, Sylvain would be proven to be useless to their family, and he’d be thrown out. He’d threatened to tell their parents about it unless Sylvain went out to meet him at that spot in the woods.

“… I know it’s stupid, but I guess I got scared. I mean, think about it. It’s not like I really flirt with every woman I talk to. I mean, mostly not… I’m not that serious about it,” he rambled on. “But if enough people thought I was like that with everyone, no one would put up with me anymore. Not even you, I bet,” he said with a laugh.

Felix sat on the edge of the bed, mulling it over after listening to the whole story, and then brought up something that only very, very recently started bothering him. “If I liked men, would you stop “putting up” with me?”

Sylvain’s answer was almost immediate. “I’m not putting up with you, Felix! I like you, I promise,” he said with a laugh, and then he looked so calm, saying the next part, “No one would care if you were gay. You’re not like me at all, so you’d be fine. It's not like you would ever start hitting on me… I guess I’d take it as a compliment, but…”

Felix rolled his eyes and never mentioned how he felt about the topic. He wasn’t the one suffering. But he did allow himself to be roped into playing a board game for the rest of the evening. The game continued until Sylvain fell asleep and knocked all the pieces over.

He woke with a start to the sound of knocking.

On the day of the march, Felix overslept. Strangely intense dreams held him tightly under the covers for a long enough time that Ingrid came knocking at his door because she was worried. He jumped out of bed to rush through his morning routine, parting those long, lonely roads of his dreams like curtains in a summer storm. 

A crowd of soldiers blocked the quickest way to the stables, so he cut through the courtyard gardens. As he rounded the dining hall corner, Sylvain exited the doors, yawning.

The thing about curtains in a storm is that they eventually come together again once the wind dies down. Felix would have run straight up to him, but he hesitated. A piece from an old board rattled around in his subconscious, costing him the opportunity.

Yuri slipped out from the opposite side of the gardens and walked up to Sylvain. The two greeted each other and seemed to start an amicable conversation. Then, out of nowhere, Yuri threw a knowing little smile over his shoulder at Felix and swiftly turned forward again. Worse, he put his hand on the small of Sylvain’s back and steered him away toward the old classrooms. “What the hell,” Felix muttered in disbelief.

Sylvain described Yuri as considerate and caring the previous day — a gentleman, even. Then again, he did say they were drinking, and even a mop in a suit would look like a gentleman to an emotional drunk. What was Yuri even after? He never said. The whole situation smelled fishy, and Felix did not like the idea of those two being alone together. If acting on his feelings came off as jealousy, then so be it.

But a few steps into following, he could already make some observations. From behind, he could see that Sylvain’s gestures and posture were all the same, except they lacked confidence. His elbows were tucked in slightly closer to his body than usual, his strides a mite shorter, his head bowed slightly forward as though his gaze was too heavy to lift entirely off the ground. Yuri removed his hand once they were about to leave the gardens, and Sylvain didn’t chase it or reciprocate any touches.

For the first time in his life, Felix decided to decline a challenge. He marched across the gardens without looking back, trying to put it out of his mind, and crossed paths with a group of Knights of Seiros coming out of the Knights’ Hall, headed south. The leader of the troupe greeted him with a simple “Sir,” and Felix nodded in kind, letting them pass first. A pair of them lagged behind, too caught up in their conversation. The mention of a certain name caught Felix’s attention.

“From what I hear, that’s not all Gautier’s up to recently,” one of them, another Seiros knight, said. “My buddy knows a lady who runs an inn in town, and he definitely got a room with a man at her inn the other night.”

But his friend was not a Seiros knight. He entered knighthood and swore his fealty to house Fraldarius not two weeks prior.

“You can’t be serious,” his subordinate replied, incredulous.

“Completely serious! I guess kissing up to the new duke so much expanded his horizons a bit.”

“Oh, but I heard he’s been parading a new girlfriend around lately. Didn’t he drag out a whole flight patrol just to give her a ride?”

“No, no, that wasn’t a girlfriend, that was—”

It wasn’t the first time rumors with their facts all twisted around graced Felix’s ears. Usually, he would simply leave it be because that was what Sylvain seemed to prefer. Perhaps that would be the smarter thing to do here as well. But before he knew it, he already closed the ten or so feet of distance and scruffed both knights.

“Ow—” The Seiros knight paled. “F-Fraldarius…?!”

If they saw their deaths reflected in Felix’s eyes, he would not have discouraged that idea. They were young, but age or experience would not have deterred him much. He stared them both down — he did not need to say anything, as they clearly realized he overheard and were practically squirming in his hands.

“Sir,” his subordinate blurted out. “—We were just joking around!”

Felix’s glare snapped to him. Although he reined himself in a bit, he still raised his voice to bark, “If you have the time to joke around, start making yourselves useful and don’t stop until you know the meaning of humility!”

“Y-yes, sir,” the Fraldarius knight said meekly. The other knight was quiet, but he nodded along.

It was taking all of Felix’s willpower not to knock them down, but he practiced some self-restraint and released them. To his subordinate, he said, “Get to the rally point before I do, or I’ll drag you behind my horse the rest of the way. Now go.”

The young knight took off with a rush of speed and newfound mortality. The other stared back with a bit of flickering defiance. “You… you can’t treat me that way just because you’re a noble! I’ll be talking to my commander about this!”

Felix scoffed. “What, you mean Alois? Do you honestly believe he would defend the slander you’re laughing about? Don’t be a fool.” He lowered his voice, eyes narrowed. “If I hear another peep about that tripe being spread around, I’m going to make an assumption about the source and put an end to it permanently! Do you understand?”

The Seiros knight’s face had gone from white to bright red. He nodded, wide-eyed.

“Good. Now get out of here and pray I don’t change my mind.”

They scurried off like frightened rabbits, and Felix kept walking toward the stables, his hand still firmly on his sword.

What would his father have done? … He shook his head, annoyed at himself.

“Felix!” Sylvain’s voice cut through his thoughts. He startled and whipped around to see the man of the hour hurrying over, minus one Yuri Leclerc. He was smiling, but his eyes were questioning.

“That looked tense! What happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Felix kept walking as Sylvain jogged up to him and started walking alongside.

“I don’t know, but there’s no need to get so riled up this early in the morning, is there?” Sylvain’s smile widened. It seemed true that he didn’t know. He lacked that defiant, almost chilly demeanor that crept out when especially crude rumors came up. Instead, his eyes were… soft and warm with a natural smile. 

Most of Felix’s irritation melted away, but not all of it. “Hmm.” While he still was not convinced that Yuri was any kind of gentleman, his intervention likely kept Sylvain from having to listen to that drivel. The Knights of Seiros, he didn’t care about, but having one of his own people participate in the gossip meant he needed to be a lot stricter going forward. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your unit?”

Sylvain’s smile stiffened a bit, making him regret his tone. “Well, I wanted to see your face first,” he said, a bit quieter, making him regret his tone even more.

“Right, I,” Felix started, sighed, staring forward. “… I don’t mind seeing your face,” he conceded. There was no need to look over to see the smile on Sylvain’s face. He could feel it.

“Oh, that’s right, I just remembered,” Sylvain kept going without a care. “I promised to tell you about that conversation I had with Yuri. I can’t bring it up in public, though,” Sylvain said, hastily adding, “Not for any reason like that!… Let’s talk tonight.”

“Fine, as long as you actually do tell me,” Felix said as he entered the stables, with Sylvain following close behind. He approached his horse’s stall and undid the latch. He tried to focus on the present first and not think about that scene of Yuri putting his hands on Sylvain and leading him away, but to little avail. Sylvain just had to remind him of it, and of their supposed innocent hangout.

An odd silence settled between them, made even more obvious by the lack of other people inside the stable. Unbidden silences were never good portents from people who usually couldn’t shut up to save their lives. Slowly, he turned around, not sure what to expect.

Sylvain met his gaze from beneath auburn eyelashes. His smile at this point was more of a subtle curve to the edges of his mouth.

“Uh, I want to ask something that can’t wait, though…” Sylvain’s eyes flickered nervously around them before returning to Felix. He leaned over a little to the point where Felix expected to have an arm around him at any moment. To have Sylvain’s face move in even closer, close enough to smell his hair and whatever scent was on him. To feel the tickle of his breath as he spoke in his ear. But his fantasy got way ahead of them both, and Sylvain’s quiet voice startled him back to reality. “About yesterday… it kind of seemed like a date to me. I’ve been on a lot of dates, so you could say I’m slightly familiar with these things. What do you think?”

“A date,” Felix muttered after a few too many seconds of quietly staring back. What was the point of denying a challenge if he was still dwelling on it later?… He needed to somehow remove it from his mind to tackle the present.

He reached out for Sylvain, unable to still his hand. The noise of people outside gave him no pause, only spurred his determination further, and he pushed Sylvain into the open stall. There, they were better concealed from all prying eyes — and although his horse barely spared them a look, Felix knew better than to compete with a large, powerful animal for limited space. Maybe thinking the same, Sylvain seemed to be flattening himself against the wall.

“I think,” Felix said, placing himself next to Sylvain, also putting his back to the wall. “If it looked like a date to a dating veteran like you, then maybe it was,” he said, but with less confidence behind it than he intended.

Sylvain seemed a bit confused at first, but he still looked happy for some reason. “You’re so cute, Felix,” he said without shame. 

“Who the hell are you calling cute?” Felix bristled, and Sylvain chuckled, brimming with audacity.

“You don’t like it? Well, there are words that suit you better. What about…” Sylvain pretended to think about it, letting his gaze wander before finally settling back on Felix — and Felix watched in silence, suddenly and strangely interested to hear what he might come up with, especially if he was going to be the least bit serious. It was normal to be a little bit curious.

Time and circumstance were not on his side. Sylvain’s attention was caught by some slight movement outside the stall, and then the horse softly nickered as if it offered a fair warning. People were coming, which was to be expected, of course… and yet, Felix felt nothing but deep dissatisfaction.

“… I guess I should go before my officers start looking for me,” Sylvain said, and Felix simply nodded, taking a step back to let him pass. Sylvain put a finger to his lips and whispered, “Best not tell anyone about that date, or your reputation will be dragged through the mud, too.”

That got Felix’s attention. He looked up to see that same calm, warm smile as before. 

“Try not to get in any more fights on my behalf, Felix.”

Others were entering through the door already, but Felix’s attention was still squarely on the retreating Sylvain. “Wait,” he hissed, not sure why he was suddenly feeling so anxious. “Sylvain, did you— hey!”

“I’ll catch you later, okay?” Sylvain let out a small laugh on his way out of the stall. He happily greeted several of their friends while dashing off at a half-jog.

They would be speaking later, Felix reminded himself. He had already overslept and needed to focus on his own tasks.

The saddle nearly went on backward. After fixing his mistake, he pulled all the straps wrong and kept blanking on what he was doing. His horse, a well-trained, brave, and usually patient animal, grew agitated. Ashe was sort of hovering nearby, keeping an eye on him, probably out of concern. He stopped what he was doing to try collecting his thoughts.

Like most flesh and blood humans, he felt attraction and desires — he was sure of his own sexuality at least since his teens — though he mostly ignored it. Romance and relationships were not and never had been a part of his plans for the future. He fought with himself about being one of Sylvain’s passing fancies, especially after they shared a kiss.

Usually, Sylvain lost interest after a while. There were signs, and Felix was confident he knew them after so many years of knowing each other. Those signs were missing. In fact, he seemed to be quite devoted to…

Felix dropped the horse tack and brushed past Ashe, leaving without saying a word. By the time he reached the market, his march had progressed into a run, but it was already so crowded with soldiers and wagons being loaded that he was forced to slow down almost immediately. Navigating to the opposite side took close to ten minutes. He stopped to catch his breath underneath the arches of the great gate. Staring down the road with all of the myriad people occupying it, he quickly realized that finding a single person in all of that would take the kind of time he didn’t have. 

In the periphery of his vision, someone approached with intent. He turned around to see — Mercedes, still rumpled by sleep but kindly as always. She was wearing a new pair of earrings. They looked expensive.

“Good morning, Felix. I saw you come running. Is something the matter?”

“I—…” Felix stopped, growing equally disappointed and embarrassed with himself. What, exactly, was the matter? He ran all the way there with no plan. He shook his head. “I have to go.”

Defeated, he retreated to the stables.

The army made its first stop past the foothills of the mountains. People and animals were watered and fed. Some battalions stationed elsewhere trickled in, increasing their numbers and the chaos. Felix kept an eye out for a familiar head of red, and when he finally spotted it, he was struck by a sudden urge to run. It made absolutely no sense. He wrestled the impulse aside, set his jaw, and planted his feet firmly to meet Sylvain. He said he was there to check in, although he did so with two meals in hand. They spoke and ate in Felix’s tent — or rather, Felix ate, and Sylvain spoke, going over the facts he promised. If he noticed the tension, he didn’t mention it.

Sylvain talked about a woman who pretended to know him and about spiked mead — no reason to think Yuri lied, he said — and how it could be a coincidence that some random woman simply decided to target him for her own nefarious purposes… but he didn’t look like he really believed it. While Felix quietly stewed over nearly having to deal with another poisoning incident, Sylvain mentioned, almost like it was a funny anecdote, the actual reason he decided to go drinking that night. Not only did he leave highly compromising letters that could easily land him in trouble on his desk, but he didn’t notice they had been removed, nor had he any real idea when it happened. Because of the costume, Felix filled in mentally, and his mood soured further, remembering the deep hurt in Sylvain’s eyes that day.

And the stolen letters weren’t even the “fun” kind of compromising. It was mostly business negotiations that involved a lot of money. The letters explicitly never mentioned the war, politics, or even geography — except for one point. “I never detailed it in writing, but I wanted unaffiliated mercenaries for a particular job for once we’ve taken back Fhirdiad.” He paused, his gaze very far away. “I planned on having them escort Erin and Gavin back home. It had to be someone who wouldn’t be influenced by her. Money can work a lot of magic, but you can’t pay off a grudge, after all.”

So far, it was all making sense to Felix. He wouldn’t have to wait very long for the twist.

“… There’s only one small thing,” Sylvain continued with a rueful smile. “We were writing back and forth in the Sreng language. Only a small handful of people in Fódlan, including myself and my father, would be able to read any of the letters to verify the contents.”

It was never stated outright, but Felix had suspected that a certain mercenary captain was, in fact, the very same Ósrenn from that one summer incident. He never brought it up because all that mattered to him was their skills, and now he felt somewhat of a fool for it. It would also explain the “connections” used to obtain a particular gift. Sylvain didn’t deny it when asked, only smiled.

Explaining any further wasn’t necessary. Under the circumstances mentioned, an unspecified “special job” for mercenaries who were by all appearances foreign nationals, put mildly, left Sylvain in a very awkward position. All the extra reading he was doing made sense now, but his lingering bad habit of hiding his hard work was starting to give Felix a headache. Still, there was only one thing to be said, and it required no thought. “What do you need me to do?”

Sylvain shrugged lightly. “Don’t worry about it for now. For all I know, she never stole anything, and those papers flew out the window and landed in the pond. Or maybe she’s just trying to mess with my head. I don’t actually know either way. We need to focus on the things we can actually control, right? But, to be honest, Felix…” He paused to just look at Felix for a few seconds. “You’re doing a lot for me by letting me see your face. It gets me through the day no matter what.”

“… Idiot.” The indignant (and perhaps a bit embarrassed) Felix used too much force trying to stab a piece of chicken with his fork and accidentally knocked it off his plate. He cursed under his breath. Sylvain offered some of his instead. Thinking nothing of it then, Felix ate it off his fork, which made him laugh. The levity was brief. He wanted it to continue, but meals don’t last forever, and they were both pulled in different directions. At a whim, he asked Sylvain to stay in his tent that night and received a non-committal answer — “I’ll see if I can,” which set a particular trend for the coming days of the march.

Sylvain was, seemingly, always with someone — usually several someones — checking in, going over plans, or sharing a meal while doing either of those things. Furthermore, he seemed to take it upon himself to solve any minor disputes and problems he came across in camp; nothing concerning, simply the types of issues that tend to pop up when many vastly different people are made to spend a lot of time in close quarters. And his subordinates notoriously stayed out of trouble themselves.

In other words, he acted like everyone around them always said they wished he would. Everyone except for Felix, as it was the opposite of what he wanted. Never was there a moment for them to be alone. A short chat here, a brief touch there, and Sylvain left with a wink and a smile every time. While frustrating, it was far from the only issue.

One muggy evening, with Fhirdiad a mere day away, Felix walked across camp like oncoming thunder. People stepped aside and out of his way without being asked.

Visca was still out there plotting, and he was nearing his limit of tolerating Sylvain's apparent dismissal of what may become accusations of conspiracy and treason. But even more so, he was cross with himself for his lack of power. He was too young, too inexperienced, too weak, too little of… everything. Being the bearer of a major crest meant nothing. Sylvain must have seen it, too, or he would not have brushed aside an offer of help so quickly.

Focus on the things we can actually control, Sylvain had said a week prior. So, that's what he decided to do. It took a tremendous amount of effort to introspect that far, and he swore never to reveal how hard he thought about it to anyone ever.

 As thousands of people and beasts settled for the evening, the bustle and noise droned out the rumbling inside his mind until, finally, the proverbial clouds parted to let him see clearly. Despite being out of practice by his own admission, Sylvain's movements were fluid as a dance, and he avoided walking in anyone's path without missing a step. The sunset painted him in warm colors that further brought out his — his beauty; in Felix's pragmatic mind bereft of a poet's eloquence, "beautiful" was the best he could manage. His damnable (contagious) smile as he greeted and good-eved seemed to lighten up his entire face and being. The curve and outline of the body he spent weeks building back up and improving on was fully appreciable in a short-sleeved shirt with a neckline that teasingly hinted at what went on below.

Felix made an abrupt halt in his approach. The week straight of armor and arming coats somehow got his mind wandering a lot faster than his own two feet — and once both ends of him stopped moving out of nowhere, he became an obstacle for others to walk into. Right away, he was bumped into by a presence he hadn't even heard until it was too late.

He whipped his head to the side, hand instinctively on the hilt of his sword, until he saw who it was.

"Sorry," Yuri said and stepped beside him, letting his hood down. "Didn't see you." He looked tired, with dust on his boots and the hem of his cloak. There were some suspicious dark spots on his gloves.

"Oh, it's you," Felix said, forcing the tension out of his body and straightening his back. "Be careful about sneaking around camp like that. Someone might take you for an enemy."

Yuri gave him a quiet, thoughtful look before finally offering a thin smile. "Thank you for the warning," he said, but then he turned his gaze forward and nodded. "I'm reasonably sure you can't participate in a meeting from this far away."

Over by the command tent, the boar prince had stepped outside among ordinary soldiers and stopped to look up at the darkening sky like he had no care in the world. Dedue and Gideon were flanking him, and plenty more were to come. Sylvain was already making his approach.

"… Don't you command a battalion as well?" He turned back to Yuri.

"Technically, yes, but we're just reserves. It's not our place." He cocked his eyebrow in a way Felix really did not like. "Regardless, I didn't bump into you for a chat." He pulled a velvety cloth pouch out of some inner pocket of his coat. Something metallic clinked softly inside. "Here," he said, offering it to a skeptical Felix. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to give it to you, courtesy of that merchant you almost cut down."

Felix swiftly snatched it from him and emptied it in his other hand. A pendant on a chain with smaller effects landed in his palm. It was the necklace Sylvain wore with his dancing clothes. That merchant had displayed it, along with a few other pieces of the jewelry set, and Felix failed to apprehend him due to Dimitri's ill-timed righteousness. He had been so angry and too ashamed to even mention it to Sylvain. "Why are you giving this to me?"

Yuri gently arched his eyebrow. "Would you rather have his shorts? Honestly, with the way you were staring, it seems like you do."

After a few incredulous seconds, Felix's expression and voice both flattened. "If this is you admitting to carrying his— his shorts around this whole time, I will kill you on the spot."

"Calm down, I'm not quite that deviant," Yuri smirked. "That is the only piece I was able to… liberate, unfortunately. Think of it as an apology for the other day."

"An apology?…" He frowned at Yuri. "If you're going to apologize to anyone, apologize to Sylvain for using him to get whatever you're after." He returned the necklace to the pouch and pushed it into Yuri's hands.

Yuri took it back with a small smile. "Oh? You want me to talk to him? And here I was sure you'd be much more territorial than that."

Felix crossed his arms. He wasn't about to fall for such basic goading.

In response, Yuri's expression softened somewhat, to the point where he might even look a bit remorseful. He didn't drop the act entirely, however. "Perhaps I will seek him out later tonight. You've got your work cut out for you, Fraldarius," he said, his face smoothing back into his usual smile. Having ended their conversation, Yuri effortlessly disappeared into the crowd.

While it was true that he didn't particularly like the idea of those two talking, he wasn't so petty and jealous he would try to restrict who Sylvain could interact with… well, there was one small exception. He turned on his heel and went to take his place beside Sylvain. Sensing a smile directed his way, he quickly looked up at Sylvain's face, then forward. Dimitri was in the middle of speaking.

"—It's difficult enough to keep everyone fed and well with what we already have. We can't simply leave it behind. Are there no spare wagons at all?" Dimitri regarded the boxes and barrels piled up near the command tent.

Gideon spoke next. "There are some we can use, but the problem is that we'll need additional horses to pull them as well." Gideon was proverbially scratching his head already. "Would Gautier be able to spare some?"

Sylvain shrugged lightly. "Yes… I wouldn't recommend it, though. Horses used for labor will be tired when we arrive at the capital, and their riders won't be happy, either. Considering the fact that my forces are exclusively cavalry…"

"That's true. We will need you at your best," Dimitri said, dour as usual, when his eye landed on Felix. He hesitated, then nodded in acknowledgment of his presence. "What are your thoughts, Felix?…"

Felix had little interest in the distribution of the extra food supplies donated by a few nearby villages. It was a bit of a problem already the day before, and he was not very keen on it remaining on the agenda for the meeting when there were important things to discuss, such as war. And battle. And other pressing issues that were not logistics-related. He would have loved to argue that they were no longer at a level where discussion was productive; someone needed to make a decision, but Sylvain lightly nudged his elbow.

This would be his and Dimitri's first direct exchange of words since their encounter in the marketplace. Although he was reluctant to play along, sharing the first idea that came to mind may let Sylvain's knights keep their horses where they were supposed to be — away from wagons. "… We are one army under the same banner. Let everyone take a piece, and it won't be as big of a burden. Distribute the goods out box by box if need be. It will be shared in the end, so it doesn't matter where it goes initially."

It was quickly agreed that his proposal was the most practical one for reasons that would become evident during the meeting. Reaffirming positions and movements in the upcoming battle became somewhat complicated due to recent news. The army's approach seemed to be stirring unrest among the populace, and no one counted on Cornelia to be particularly lenient or merciful. Some changes needed to be made to limit casualties as much as possible.

Sylvain's cavalry was often chosen for small but important positions requiring high battlefield mobility. He didn't shy away from the front lines, far from it, but rarely did he start out there. The pressure was wholly different — especially as it was applied with little warning. Galatea would be taking his place in working together with Bernadetta, while Gautier's cavalry would be placed in the front next to Fraldarius. The suggestion was made by Byleth and accepted by Dimitri suspiciously quickly. Almost like it was already decided some time ago. No one had any objections because there wasn't much to say about it other than that it made sense; fliers moved more freely in a city environment, after all.

At first, Sylvain had a nearly blank look on his face except for a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. His reaction was fleeting, and soon he treated it with the same casual ease he accepted everything else thrown at him, as if a hail of arrows was just another kind of weather to expect. Felix had thoughts on the matter, but he chose not to voice them in the presence of others. However, once the meeting ended, he grabbed Sylvain out of the crowd. Without a word, he started leading him to Fraldarius' side. No one was surprised; it made sense for them to coordinate their efforts, but Felix's motivation was primarily selfish.

"So," Sylvain started, casually breaking the silence. "It's been a while since we fought literally side by side, huh? Is it weird that I'm kind of looking forward to it?"

"Yes," Felix said curtly, although he felt the same way. The last time was in Ailell while Sylvain was refusing to talk to him, and still, they managed to be a force to be reckoned with, commanding their troops in tandem and supporting each other, letting no enemies past them.

Sylvain whispered, "Shame I can't dance for you this time." He sighed as though he completely forgot that their "dance" had been a literal fight.

Felix paused at the entrance of his tent to look over his shoulder and say, "I'm not stopping you."

They stared quietly at each other until Sylvain's mild surprise turned into a little smile. "But dancing alone isn't as fun," he said quietly. Felix turned back around and mumbled for him to just come inside.

As soon as he entered the tent, Sylvain whistled. "Oh, you're going all out, huh? Are you sure this is enough?"

All of Felix's gear was set up on stands and holders. His heavier set of armor that he had just about gotten used to, his various arms and side arms were all sharp and polished to a sheen, and of course, the Aegis Shield on a rack that was practically groaning under its weight, both physical and metaphorical. He also decided to bring out a bow as backup, although a squire would carry it for him, a role he also had in his teenage years.

He walked past the weapons and armor to stand before his shield. His inheritance, as the new head of the Fraldarius ducal house.

Sylvain came up behind him. "Felix?… You're being awfully quiet. Are you… maybe… mad at me? I swear I haven't been avoiding you on purpose," he went on. "It's just that I've been thinking about something, and…"

Felix shook his head, which made him go quiet. "I've been thinking too, Sylvain. I'll hear you out in a minute." He placed a hand on the rim of the Aegis Shield, then turned to face Sylvain. "I'll lend it to you for this battle."

"Huh?" Taken aback, Sylvain stopped mid-step, apparently in the middle of following Felix. "You don't have to do that, I—"

"—No. I have to," he said firmly. "All I want in return is that you don't die."

"No, no, I won't die! But," Sylvain hastily waved it off. He wasn't taking it seriously. "It's your family's relic. I'll just make it look bad," he paused, seeing Felix's unimpressed face. "Come on, you know I will!… Plus, it'll be wasted on me, anyway. It won't protect me half as well as it does you. You know that."

Unable to stop himself, Felix took the missing half a step between them to fill the space with himself and grabbed the front of Sylvain's shirt with both hands. "Don't you understand anything? I don't need a shield, Sylvain! I need you!"

There was only a thin layer of canvas between them and the camp outside. Sounds of people filtered in unhindered from all directions. Naturally, that would mean anyone close enough to listen in would do so whether they wanted to or not. Felix's face was growing hotter at the speed of his pulse while Sylvain stared back at him with big, brown, shiny eyes, like he was about to cry. But then his whole face broke into a grin, and it was a look Felix knew all too well. Before the smart comment he knew was on the tip of Sylvain's tongue came his way, he let go and continued, "No, I'm not going to say it again!" 

Sylvain laughed and made his move — he pulled Felix into a tight hug.

Muffled against Sylvain's chest, he mumbled, "Ugh, you're so…"

He raised his hands to push away but stopped mid-movement, unsure what to do. The close proximity confirmed what he had already suspected: somehow, even out on the road, Sylvain still smelled good. Fresh, even, while most people struggled to wipe themselves down at the end of the day. Felix decided against washing his hair the previous night in favor of some extra sleep. Now, he sorely regretted it because, despite those ridiculous self-conscious thoughts, he didn't want to break the contact between them at all. He knew what his body wanted to do, and he knew what his mind wanted to do. He wanted to run his hands over everything his eyes drank in earlier. In flustered compromise, he returned the hug, but in the moment it was as though his arms just up and forgot what an embrace was, just slowly snaking around Sylvain's waist.

Teasingly, Sylvain whispered, "I'm so what…?"

His fingertips rested right at the nape of Felix's neck and slowly slid down to the middle of his back instead. To distract himself from it (and, possibly, to keep Sylvain distracted as well), his fingers traced their way up Sylvain's back to a spot where he knew there was a scar, one he'd seen himself one snowy night when it was still fresh. And then he found another one a few inches higher, on the shoulder blade. Another on the inside of his left arm, and with his other hand, he traced up to the one on the right shoulder as well.

There were many more. Felix had scars as well, of course, but his collection was far smaller. He loosened his grip and pulled back just enough to rest his hand over the only one he had inflicted himself. On the left side of Sylvain's chest, between the collarbone and the heart.

Up until then, Sylvain had been quietly letting it happen. He took Felix's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'll take the shield. But, don't forget that our promise goes both ways. I need you, too."

His chest was already fit to burst at any moment, and Sylvain was the culprit behind his life plans derailing so spectacularly. Truly, honestly, he had never felt that strongly about anyone else before, to the point where he found that he didn't mind anymore; he just wanted to be close. "Sylvain, we ride out tomorrow. I want you to st—"

Sylvain silenced his words by putting a hand to his mouth. He just stared as Sylvain removed his hand with an apologetic look. He took a step back.

"Can you… wait for me a little longer?" With the faintest tremble in his voice, he continued, "It's just that, well, I have something really important to tell you, but I don't think I can do that until the war is over. Sorry, I know I'm being really unfair and selfish…"

Felix closed his eyes. He had been so close to dragging them both right over to his cot, and he might have given in to temptation despite being surrounded by subordinates moving about outside the tent, idly chatting about nothing while they passed by on their way to handle some task.

There was supposed to be a certain order to things, and still, he was about to place the cart before the horse without even making it to the starting line first. Disgraceful. Sylvain explicitly said he trusted Felix to listen and not take things too far. Right before they started making out, but still. Since then, he received a kiss on the cheek and a retroactive suggestion that they maybe went on a date.

"… Er, Felix?"

When he opened his eyes again, his tongue formed the words on its own. "I'll wait," he said finally. Waiting or not waiting would not change anything in his eyes. But Sylvain seemed relieved and calm when hearing those words. "I won't ask you to stay overnight, but would it kill you to not run off as soon as we're done talking? I'm not going to roast you on a spit and eat you."

Sylvain's expression turned a bit strange, and he seemed to be struggling with something. "N-no, I imagine that would be hard to do by yourself—… never mind," Sylvain choked back a laugh and cleared his throat. "Sure, I'll hang around for a bit. Want to get something to eat and play a game? I brought a few portable ones…"

Felix agreed, but only because there was a new, invisible line he simply couldn't cross. The idea popped into his head to ask Sylvain to teach him a few steps so he wouldn't make a fool of himself at whatever celebrations happened after they won the war… but after that embrace and those words, they seemed to have come to an unspoken mutual agreement about keeping the touching to a minimum. Even so, some five minutes after Sylvain had to leave, Felix went to dunk his head in his horse's water trough.

When he straightened up sopping wet, a small velvety pouch fell out of his pocket. After swearing inwardly at Yuri, he thought deeply about it. The next morning, he made the decision to personally deliver one item to Gautier — the Aegis Shield.

Status was not something Felix put much stock into. However, he recognized that it had a use, and anything with a use also had value. Though he did not consider the Aegis Shield worthy of guarding someone's life, at the very least, it could be seen and recognized by others.

Riding through the soon-to-be disassembling war camp, fully armed and armored, drew a lot of curious looks. It was early enough that most were still rolling out of their blankets, and he was polished to a shine. His face stayed neutral, not showing discomfort with that Shield on his arm. Its true weight was irrelevant; it was still very, very heavy to bear so soon after his father's death.

Sylvain came to meet him and relieve him of the burden with only half his armor strapped on yet. A hapless page trailed after him, carrying the back of his cuirass. Wordlessly, Felix waved off the page and took his place. The young man looked stressed to the max and only protested the amount required for courtesy before slinking off. It was a finicky job after he had it altered to be more conducive to casting; more options are always better, he had said, but the fact remained that the composition of it became more complex. 

Once the armor was sorted, Felix stepped back to take it all in. Everything was, of course, fitted perfectly. The dark colors went a bit too well with his handsomely tousled hair. "You're a sight," he muttered under his breath.

"Is that a good thing?" Sylvain laughed. "Forget about me, though. Felix, you look…"

He stiffened, expecting to hear another comment about how he looked just like his father, but the comparison never came. Shamelessly, Sylvain continued, "Gorgeous… No? What about dreamy?" He hummed in thought. "Ever been called a hunk before?" Felix couldn't help but snort. While he took a moment to compose himself, Sylvain smiled, victorious.

Felix defied the rule they set the previous night and reached up to take Sylvain's face into his hands, watching him grow noticeably redder, his eyes a bit wider,  like he was waiting for Felix to do something. To him.

For once, Felix could not at all tell if the anticipation he saw was good or bad, but he was not planning to break any promises that day. "We enter and leave the battlefield together, you incorrigible fool."

He truly was a sight on the battlefield that day, drawing so many eyes as he rode out with the Aegis Shield on his arm and an air of easy confidence about him. Felix recalled it clearly. However, the memories of the rest of that day grew increasingly hazy.

The Imperial army was a powerful opponent to face, and Cornelia proved to be every bit as dangerous as predicted, but even so, it wasn't long before the castle walls were breached. The battle was not won yet — far from it, but he wasn't about to pause for a breather. Soon, Sylvain's forces, alongside his own, locked down their position. He faced the enemy commander. Hand-picked and strong, as well as familiar. Sentiment was never going to win out. An enemy was an enemy, even if they used to spar and compete in the past. For this one, he readied the lance of Zoltan. No half-measures.

The rest came back in bits and pieces later on. Caspar charged, fully determined. They clashed while their soldiers did the same. But there was something… someone, above them, on a balcony above the courtyard. There was a white face, a sensation like lightning coursed through his body, and then the floor crumbled under his feet.

Felix wasn't afraid. The entire battle, he was not afraid. But as he fell into darkness, he was afraid to be apart.

He tried to sit up, and pain shot down his shoulder and arm, but he persisted. An opposing force pushed him back down.

“Felix, please be calm,” Flayn said, and her voice sounded like it came from far away. A soothing sensation he recognized as a healing spell soon dulled the pain. “You must not move yet; you will hurt yourself.”

There was a lot of noise around them. People calling out, heavy footsteps, armor clanging. He was on the floor, he determined, and his injuries were being tended to, obviously. None of that was important. “Where…” His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Flayn entered his field of vision again. She had a cut on her forehead, and her vibrant green hair was a mess, but she looked determined.

“This is a temporary infirmary set up inside the castle walls,” she said while conscientiously fixing the bandages around his head — that would explain the headache — but he was not trying to ask about his location.

He tried to turn his head, but she stopped him. “Please, be still.”

“Where is Sylvain,” he demanded, with as much strength as he could muster… which wasn’t much at the moment.

After a moment, she replied, smiling slightly. “Sylvain brought you here. He is fine, I swear it.”

With that, he finally relaxed a bit and closed his eyes. Flayn wasn’t the lying type, so if she said Sylvain was fine, he surely was. Her voice slowly grew more distant again as his condition started taking its toll. However, he looked at her once again before he was completely gone. “You have to tell him,” he squeezed out. “… I saw her.”

Some unknown amount of time later, he woke up alone in a new location. The sound of voices poured into his mind slowly like syrup.

“—misfire. It was deliberate.”

His limbs were heavy, his brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and dull ache throbbed in his head, neck, and shoulder.

“… a serious accusation. How will you prove this?”

He fought to open his eyes. There wasn’t much he could see from his prone position. He was on a bed in a small room. Stone walls, a tiny slit of a window, an unoccupied bed across the room, and a chair placed between the beds.

“Both Linhardt and Caspar say they saw the same thing.”

Two people were standing just outside a door left half open. His eyes were still somewhat blurred, but he recognized the voices, and…

“Sylvain, I know you’re upset, but you must understand that I cannot take the enemy’s word for it…”

He tried to push himself upright, just a little bit, ignoring the ache intensifying into pain. He breathed out a single word, “Sylvain.”

The conversation outside went quiet in an instant. Sylvain came rushing inside, and, once again, he was gently guided back down. “Hey, it’s okay, Felix, just relax. I’m here, it’s alright…” Sylvain looked exactly like he’d been through a long battle and its aftermath. He had unkempt hair, stubble on his chin, and eyes that were notably red at the edges. His left wrist was bandaged, but that was it. Felix breathed a sigh of relief and let himself be tucked back in.

“I’ll let Flayn know he’s awake,” Seteth said from the doorway. He seemed relieved as well, yet almost offensively put together.

“No, let her sleep. I’ll take care of it,” Sylvain smiled over his shoulder. “I’ll put together a report of everything later.”

Seteth agreed to both points and pushed the door closed after a moment of thought before walking away.

Felix frowned, unable to figure out why his body was responding so poorly, but there still was some strength in him. He reached out but couldn’t quite aim it right, and his hand ended up flat against Sylvain’s face.

His hands were rough, but in that moment, they were unreasonably sensitive. The grain of Sylvain’s stubble. The slight movement of his facial muscles as he smiled. The warmth of his skin. The tickle of his ruffled hair. The soft breath against his skin that came with a little laugh. Although it was an accident, he quietly reveled in it. He did not have enough presence of mind to feel ashamed or embarrassed about anything — not even the kiss against his palm before Sylvain gently moved his hand to the side of the face instead.

“You just can't stay still, huh,” Sylvain said, touching the hand that was touching his face. There was an edge to his voice under the amusement. “I heard you almost gave Flayn a black eye after I dropped you off." With his free hand, Sylvain reached out to brush Felix’s hair out of his face. At the same time, the gentle glow of a healing spell started shining from his palm.

"Huh…?" Last thing he remembered was Flayn looking after him. He certainly wasn't fighting her.

“… Flayn told me,” Sylvain said quietly. “You said you saw ‘her’? Felix, who did you see?”

“I said…?” He tried to think back, but it was all a fog. Sylvain's healing hand slowly swept down toward his shoulder, soothing the pain there down to nothing. It was really hard to focus. “I… I don’t know…”

"Hey, it's alright. Don't worry about it anymore," Sylvain said, then he sighed. "That was a big fall, Felix. You really scared me.”

As the pain continued to fade, he steadily grew more tired again. Was that normal?… But one thing stood out very clearly in his muddled mind: a thought that ejected him halfway across Garreg Mach before he could fully put words to it. It seemed so simple in hindsight. Inconsequential, even. Not worth agonizing over. Perhaps he would regret it later on when Sylvain inevitably found someone else, but for the time being, the words slipped out so easily. “Sylvain… Don’t be scared,” he mumbled, no longer resisting his heavy eyelids. “… I’m yours.”

The spell ended abruptly. He heard — and felt, under his fingers — Sylvain’s little laugh of confusion. “You’re with me, you mean?… Right?”