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Ashe realizes Dedue is in love with Sylvain one chilly autumn morning a year into their marriage.
They’re outside their inn, hanging freshly damp clothes on the line to dry as Ashe wonders aloud about inviting old friends to stay with them for a while, if anyone has the time. While Dedue regularly travels, Ashe hasn’t seen many of his old companions since their wedding. He suggests several names, those who might have a minute to spare, and Dedue hums along, only listening until he suddenly pauses in his work. Ashe watches curiously as Dedue bites his lip, deliberating, a habit he’s seemed to have picked up from Ashe. He hesitates a second more before:
“Sylvain?” he asks in a low voice.
“Of course!” agrees Ashe. “I should have thought of him first!” He says, even though Sylvain was the first name he thought of. Dedue smiles tenderly, and that’s all it takes for the realization to strike Ashe like a bolt of Thoron.
It’s obvious, isn’t it? Dedue feels something for Sylvain. Ashe suddenly feels silly for not piecing it together before now. Just a smile isn’t enough to prove Dedue is in love, of course, but Ashe remembers the two of them as students, as well. Sylvain hovered around Dedue, distantly watching over him as he did all his friends (pestered him, as Dedue sometimes reminisces fondly). He was one of the few that made Dedue laugh with startling consistency with both his quick wit and sharp observations. And despite Sylvain’s best efforts, Dedue saw straight through Sylvain’s shit from the very start, unlike Ashe who held judgments and reservations.
(Ashe knows now he was both right and wrong. Sylvain is… complex, both a nuisance at best and a complete ass at worst. Yet somehow, he is one of the most genuine souls Ashe has met.)
(Ashe wants to understand that complexity better.)
Syl is also exceedingly good-looking. Unfairly so. The last time Ashe saw him, a year ago at the wedding, Sylvain had…ah. He wasn’t wearing his armor, for once, instead, donning formal clothes to watch the ceremony. It was… nice. Though Ashe barely saw him that day, the times he did, Syl looked… not relaxed, but something adjacent to it. Ashe isn’t sure how Sylvain has changed since then, but he can imagine. So, if Ashe thinks that Syl is handsome, Dedue must as well. Ashe and Dedue share similar tastes in other people, passing knowing looks to each other when a particularly attractive guest stays the night. Ashe knows Dedue’s type (besides Ashe himself).
And, well, that’s the most damning piece of evidence: Ashe and Dedue have always had far more in common than most others realize.
See, it’s not that Ashe is worried Dedue loves Syl. No, no. It’s not worry making him fret. It’s hope. Hope that he’s right. Hope that their desires are aligned. Because if he’s right, and they are once again on the same page, then…
Well, then, they would have plenty to discuss, wouldn’t they?
Ashe needs to tell his husband everything. Every little thought he’s had about Syl, every flickering feeling, quivering like a candle’s light waiting to be snuffed out or coaxed to flame. And he needs to do it soon, before he burns from the inside out.
Ashe considers the best way to approach this. Dedue is the one Ashe loves and trusts the most. He probably won’t be offended. Not if Ashe asks tactfully and avoids accusation.
“So, uh, starlight,” Ashe starts. That’s a good start, right? Right. Maybe he can handle this. “You’re, um, completely in love with Sylvain, right?”
He catches up to the words right as the question crosses his lips. Ashe freezes, bringing in the undershirt he holds to his chest. That was not a good start. Not a good start at all. A bad start, even. A terrible start.
“I wouldn’t say completely.”
Ashe looks at Dedue.
Dedue looks at Ashe.
Ashe opens his mouth, closes it. Opens it again—
“Are we finally talking about this?” Dedue asks.
“Talking about what?” says Ashe as if he hadn’t just laid out the opening gambit. Not a war, he reminds himself. You’re fine. It’s just a talk with the love of your life about the other love of his life.
“That you’re also in love with Sy—” Ashe flies forward, dropping laundry to the ground, and Dedue mumbles discontentedly at it, eyes wide. Or maybe Ashe’s hands over his mouth cause the mumbling. Ashe steps away, chuckling nervously.
“Sorry. Sorry! I panicked. But. Dedue! You can’t just say that! What if someone hears you?” He tries to convey through his eyes alone the seriousness of this all.
Dedue, cocking a brow, looks left. Ashe follows his gaze. Nothing but their inn, Ashe and Dedue’s together, standing tall and proud.
Dedue looks right. Their garden, full of flowers and vegetables, cultivated by their own hands.
Up. There is a flock of birds flying overhead. Ashe does not trust them to keep secrets.
And back down, to meet Ashe’s gaze. Dedue dips down, pulls Ashe close and plants a kiss on his forehead. Ashe closes his eyes, relishing in Dedue’s soft touch.
“No one is here, my dear heart.” Ashe’s eyes flutter open to Dedue’s sunrise smile. Dedue smooths down Ashe’s hair, fingers tangling in the silver locks. “Let’s talk about how we’re in love with the same man.”
“I…” Ashe trails off. “I thought you couldn’t tell. Am I really so obvious?”
“Of course not, dear.” Ashe frowns at the placation, to which Dedue smirks. “Maybe a little. I’ve suspected for a while. You’re easy to read.”
“I had a huge crush on him in the Academy. Always running around, just so irresponsible, causing so much trouble, but still, he… he has a kind heart. Even if he does… make mistakes,” Ashe says with a grimace. In the Academy, when Ashe struggled with his studies and training, Syl would be there with advice (not always great advice, but the concern was there nonetheless). During the war, Sylvain saved Ashe more than once. And, when they could, they talked. About duty, about responsibility. Syl hides his true self because he’s frightened that he can’t live up to others’ expectations. But Syl wants to be better. He’s a good person even if he doesn’t believe it himself. An entirely separate matter, that. “He might have his faults, but he wanted to change. I want to support him, if he’ll let us.”
“He saw through me back then,” Dedue mumbles. “Both of you did.”
“But you and I reached out for each other, and that made all the difference.” Ashe hums. “Say, if it had been Syl—”
“Then he and I would have this conversation about you.”
“And he and I for you. We’d go to Fhirdiad for you.” He chuckles. “Can you imagine? Me, journeying with Sylvain to win your affection.” He winks. “Sounds quite knightly, if I do say so myself.”
He lets the idea simmer a moment. That’s an interesting fantasy thought he’s never considered. He shakes his head. Later.
“I wouldn’t be easy to woo, you know.”
“Wouldn’t be?” Ashe says. “You weren’t. You are a stubborn man. But I have your heart now, and I’m not letting it go. Don’t let go of mine, either.” Ashe takes Dedue’s hand, kisses his knuckles. He considers his next words carefully. “Do you think he… I mean, he’s not talked to either of us much lately…”
“Do I think he what?”
“At the wedding, I caught him staring at you a few too many times. I chalked it up to how handsome you were. How handsome you are now.” Ashe grins sheepishly as Dedue runs his thumb over Ashe’s cheek bone. Ashe leans into the touch.
“I saw the same for you. You were, and are, beautiful. I only caught him by luck. I could barely take my eyes from you.” Dedue breathes deeply. “He’s hiding something from us.”
“He has feelings for us, doesn’t he? Or he did, at one point.” Ashe sighs, the truth fully settling. “We broke his heart.”
Dedue brushes his thumb over the earring Ashe wears. “We’ll need to approach him carefully. He might run if we’re too brash.”
Ashe grins. “I’ll try, but you can’t spell brash without Ashe.”
“That’s not how you spell brash, my dearest.”
“I’ll rewrite this entire language if I have to, starlight.” Ashe huffs. “The point is, sure, we need to be careful, but we need to be bold, too.”
“Not too bold, I hope.”
Ashe chuckles. “You know me. It’ll be fine.” Dedue’s brow furrows. Ashe stands on tiptoes to kiss his lips. “I love you, you know. I love every piece of you.”
“And I love you,” answers Dedue without hesitation.
“And we both love Sylvain, apparently.” Ashe frowns. “How do we woo him? How do you woo someone like Syl?”
“We’ll figure it out together. Later, though.” Dedue points to the abandoned shirts on the ground. “We still have this to do.”
Ashe sighs. “Right.”
-----
Letter correspondence between the three begins to wane as if Sylvain overheard their conversation.
(Ashe knew he couldn’t trust the birds.)
Maybe they put too much of themselves into their letters. Sylvain has always been able to read between the lines. He might suspect already, knowing him. And, knowing Syl, if he thinks he’s getting in the way of something, of Ashe and Dedue, he is going to pull away before Ashe and Dedue even have a chance.
“I could go to him,” Dedue offers one evening as they sit together by the fire, the smell of their teas and the burning wood lulling Ashe into a sleepy haze, curled into Dedue’s side.
He pulls himself awake enough to answer Dedue, closing his book he hadn’t realized was even still open. “No way are you going to Gautier,” says Ashe, muffled, not bothering to lift his head. “That’s far off your route and besides, I don’t see you enough as it is. I’m selfish.”
Ashe going with Dedue is out of the question. He watches the inn alone most nights. His siblings visit sometimes, slowly, slowly learning how to run the inn. Just in case. But usually, it’s only Ashe.
“Indeed you are,” Dedue teases, pulling Ashe closer. “But if you are, I am, too.”
Regardless, with every day that passes without word from Sylvain, unease grows in Ashe. When Dedue travels between Fhirdiad and Duscur, he stops home, but no more than a few days at a time. It’s not permanent, Ashe knows, and Ashe is fiercely proud of Dedue, but the nights Ashe watches the inn by himself are lonely.
(He wonders if Dedue will ever ask him to come along.)
They fall silent, Ashe staring into the flames in between long blinks of darkness.
“We’ll give it time,” says Dedue.
“Right,” answers Ashe. He reopens his book, but the warmth of his husband and the crackle of the fire has him asleep before he can even finish the page he’s on. He dreams of birds, and of Sylvain, his back to Ashe, fading into the distance, and of two knights going on a long journey to woo their beloved.
-----
A year passes. Another half.
And then, one day, Ashe gets a letter from Ingrid, revealing some surprising, and unnerving, details about Sylvain. Details, and a suggestion that becomes a plan, simple in words, complex in execution: show Sylvain they care for him. Show him he’s worth caring for. Convince him, somehow, without scaring him off. Easier said than done, but for Syl, they have to try.
Sylvain is leaving, for good, though they’re not meant to know. The next time they see Syl might be their last chance to win his heart. It has to count. Their plan has to work.
-----
(And, unknown to Dedue, Ashe has a plan of his own.)
(…)
(The bookshelf should be tall enough, right…?)
-----
The day has arrived, and Ashe can’t settle down. His guests from last night have left (after listening to Ashe chatter nervously for too long), so there’s nothing stopping Ashe from fretting.
Ashe and Dedue decided the best way to not overwhelm Sylvain is to split up, at least at first. Dedue isn’t home, nor does Sylvain even know he will be. Maybe it’s a little cruel to surprise him like that, but it’s better than Sylvain ditching last second. Plus, Dedue did actually have some business to take care of with His Majesty, so really, it worked out.
So, it’s okay. It’s okay that Ashe is first to try and win Sylvain over. That’s fine. He can do this. He can do this.
Ashe sighs. Really, they’d fare better if Dedue was the first line of attack was the first to talk with Syl. He’s calming and convincing in a way that Ashe, with his fraying nerves, is not. Syl would have more incentive to stay and not just turn tail at the stairs. Ashe is just… Ashe. There’s nothing particularly note-worthy or impressive about him, not compared to Dedue or Sylvain—
He shakes his head. No, no. Stop that. He has plenty of good qualities. He’s honest, loyal, genuine. Even when he can’t think well of himself, he can remember that Dedue loves him for everything he is, good and bad. Ashe hopes Sylvain sees what Dedue does.
Dedue has unwavering confidence in Ashe to pull Syl in. Dedue thinks Ashe can just bat his eyelashes and make Syl’s heart flutter. Like it’s that easy. The nerve of him!
(Ashe will never admit how flattered he is that Dedue finds him so attractive.)
(Ashe will also never agree.)
(Ashe adjusts his shirt collar despite the marks from Dedue's very convincing argument having long faded.)
Dedue should be home soon, fleeting as his time here will be. Ashe has to do his own part now. Get Sylvain comfortable. Get Sylvain inside. Lock the doors. Let him know he’s safe. Cared for.
Dedue could do that, sure, and will contribute to the cause when he arrives. But Ashe is the one here now, Ashe is the one that exudes sunshine and friendliness and—
… “has those Wyvern rider thighs,” he grumbles to himself, deepening his voice to emulate Dedue’s bass.
…
This had better work.
Ashe peeks out the window, again, and is surprised to actually see Sylvain. He’s stopped, taking a deep breath after dismounting from his horse. He’s tense, like he might still bolt.
Tense as well, Ashe takes deep breaths, in, and out, letting go of his worries with them. Okay. Okay. They’re friends, first and foremost, regardless of any plots Ashe and Dedue has. He just has to enjoy the visit. Be himself. That’s all.
It’ll be okay. It’s Syl. With Syl, everything has always turned out well, somehow or another. He’s been there for Ashe, and now, Ashe wants to be here for him. Ashe wants him.
He opens the door to Sylvain’s wild, shocked expression, all bright honey-brown eyes and perfectly, carelessly tousled red locks. Freckles dot his cheeks, slightly pink from the sun. Goddess, he’s beautiful. He has a bit of rough stubble that Ashe hopes he doesn’t shave off while he’s here. Ashe can’t wait for Dedue to arrive, to see Sylvain, too. He can’t wait for the two of them to talk about it, to gossip about and take stock of all the little changes. The feelings Ashe has are silly, and warm, and joyful. And even better, he shares them with his husband. Ashe struggles to pull himself together. Now that Sylvain is here, in front of Ashe and their home, all those feelings well up, full force. Ashe is about three seconds away from ruining the whole thing.
Deep breaths. Calm feelings. Relax. Draw him in. Bright eyes. Starlight freckles. Sunshine smile. Wyvern rider hips.
“Sylvain! I thought I heard you walk up!”
Sylvain’s expression falls, resigned, despite the mask he quickly adorns. That mask is old, tired, and worn, and Ashe has witnessed it enough to see the truth peeking through the cracks. But Sylvain can’t know that Ashe sees. Not yet.
Ashe pulls Syl into an embrace, revels in his solid, muscled warmth, hands loosely gripping Sylvain’s rough travel clothes. Under the scent of the road still clinging to him, Sylvain has the same woodsy pine smell that he always carries. He’s different, but still the same as always. As Sylvain reluctantly returns the gesture, Ashe wonders how this is going to go. He squeezes tighter, praying that Sylvain understands.
He can only hope he and Dedue can catch Sylvain’s affections before Sylvain catches on to their plan.
(…)
(…and Ashe hopes Sylvain catches him later, too.)