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Every time she’s made to dress in aristocratic finery, Byleth wonders how she ever got here in the first place.
It’s not like she’s of noble birth. The only outstanding thing about her is that she’s the only child of Jeralt, the Blade Breaker.
But once she had been blessed by the goddess, Sothis, and the whole of Fódlan heard the news, it’s as if she were polished like the fine marble floors of an estate.
Jeralt never wanted this for her. But when she couldn’t decide, he reasoned marrying a noble from Faerghus was the best option. Only because he’s a Kingdom native himself. He knows a few things about Kingdom politics for that reason. He could help her that much, at least. And as she essentially ‘belonged’ to the church being goddess-blessed, the nobility of Faerghus would, at minimum, treat her better than nobles from either Adrestia or Leicester.
She got some say in it, of course. Someone her age. She absolutely refused any offers made by men old enough to be Jeralt’s age, or even beyond Hanneman’s. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave her with too many options.
The only one within her parameters—who wasn’t already married—was the youngest heir of House Gautier, Sylvain.
Byleth’s never liked nobles, and philandering ones, even less. All that power makes them think they can do whatever they want and get away with it because of money and connections. Sylvain isn’t particularly fond of her outside her looks—she can tell. He still steals glances at other beautiful women, but whether he notices her catching him in the act, she’s not sure. She doesn’t care to let him know either. (And that’s why she’s refused any ‘suggestions’ from his parents to lay with him. For the purpose of heirs specifically, she’s sure.) One lapse of vulnerability a month after their marriage, he let it slip he hated this as much as she did.
Good. At least they’re on the same page.
Makes sleeping in the same bed as him easier when there’s no love involved, one-sided or otherwise.
But it does make things difficult when she must pretend to at least be content with their marriage at formal events. Like tonight. At a ball held in Fhirdiad Castle, in honor of Prince Dimitri’s twenty-fourth birthday.
Aside from introductory pleasantries and making a show of hanging off Sylvain’s arm like a pretty piece of jewelry (she’s not ignorant to the stares she gets at her low cut dress that brings too much attention to her already bold chest), she’s left to her lonesome.
A part of her wishes she’d at least have found somebody in Leicester nobility to be married to. It’s much warmer and the environments are a lot lusher than the almost perpetual winter of Faerghus. But she’s always been a practical person. Needs over wants.
Byleth rubs her fingers along the neck of the wine glass in her hand, taking a few sips as she stares out from a balcony. A good quiet place for time alone, just down the hall from the grand ballroom. The gardens she can see from here are frosted in the fluffy white glitter of the evening snow. The night sky is clear with the moon shining brightly. She can see her warm breath in puffs as she sighs.
“Ah, there’s my wife. People were asking for you.”
“Why? To hope that I give enough of a damn about their afternoon tea or their jousting tournaments?” she replies, taking a bigger sip from her glass.
“Y’know, you can at least pretend to be interested. Not like a lot of them will realize you’re bored to death with how much they like hearing themselves talk.”
Sylvain stands beside her. She glances up at him, though he’s not looking at her, but instead at the moon. From his profile, he’s very handsome. But from the front too, the quarter, and even from the back, he cuts a striking figure. From his face down to his feet.
Maybe it’s her weariness of the evening, but she wonders idly if there will ever be a point in the future that she could see the real him, and maybe care about him deeper than what’s expected of her on the surface.
“Used to play in the gardens a lot,” he starts randomly, “when we were kids. Me, Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid. Hide-and-seek was our favorite.”
Right. He’s… trying. To be conversational. Get to know her. And Byleth would rather be pleasant company today instead of her usual stoic self. (Or maybe it’s the wine.)
“Did you ever get lost?”
“Plenty of times,” he says with a light smile. “You ever play hide-and-seek when you were a kid?”
“No. I was a mercenary for as long as I can remember. And I was ever the only kid in our company. Didn’t have others my age to play with. Even if I did, they wouldn’t want to because of how I unnerved everyone, children and adults alike. Plus, our company was always moving around; no time for making friends. So, any ‘games’ I might’ve played as a kid were somehow related to honing my skills with a sword or ingraining survival tactics into my thought process.”
That came out of nowhere, and talking about her life before the monastery isn’t something she enjoys sharing. Saying it aloud makes it sound depressing. Sylvain is quiet now, and Byleth probably disrupted whatever flow was starting to build there. She sighs internally to herself as she takes another sip of her beverage.
This is why people don’t talk with her. She has nothing noteworthy to say. She can’t relate to their experiences. Before being a training mentor at Garreg Mach, all she’s ever known is the sword. Friendship, socializing, falling in love—all normal human things she has very little experience in, and absolutely zero of the last one. Were it not for her looks, she’d likely blend into the background.
“Then it’s your turn,” Sylvain finally says.
Byleth glances up at him. “What?”
“To hide.”
“Um…”
He takes the wine glass from her grip and sets it on the balustrade. “I’ll count to ten—no, maybe twenty, since this place is pretty big. Should give you enough time to find a good spot.”
“Sylvain, I—”
“One,” he closes his eyes, and even covers them with his hands, “two—”
Byleth, in a rare moment of flustered confusion, rushes away from the balcony and down the hall, looking for the nearest room. Maybe it’s her fight or flight instincts kicking in? Possibly. She only has twenty seconds to find a hiding spot, but Sylvain has several childhood years of knowledge on his belt of all the nooks and crannies of the castle.
She’s at a major disadvantage.
Still, she opts for a wardrobe because her dress is too fluffy to squeeze herself under the bed. He’d see the fabric poking out immediately.
Quieting her breath, it’s silent for a short while until a door opens and she hears footsteps. Goddess, she hopes it’s Sylvain and not a couple trying to find a place to get some alone time in the many vacancies of the massive estate.
“Not under the bed,” comes her husband’s familiar voice. There’s a teasing tone laced within it. “You wouldn’t go for something so obvious, would you? Maybe behind the curtain…?”
From a crack in between the wardrobe’s doors, she sees him pull the curtain back quickly with an “Ah-ha! Oh.” He even slouches like he’s disappointed and Byleth smiles.
Sylvain stands still, before he turns in the direction of the wardrobe.
Ah, crap. Byleth covers her mouth with both hands. Did she really giggle instead of smile? She gave herself away. Had this been a mission to hide from an enemy, she’d be wounded or dead if she couldn’t get rid of her assailant first.
But of course, this is a party. A celebration of merriment. In a well-guarded castle. Where she actually, willingly, decided to play some childish game with her husband.
Who is now grinning down at her from the open wardrobe doors.
“Found you. Really thought you’d pick a better hiding spot, Byleth. This one is so cliché.”
“You only gave me twenty seconds to hide in a place with a layout I’m unfamiliar with!” but there’s no frustration there. Either because she still feels the smile on her face, or the amusement seeping into the wider grin of her spouse makes her feel… something. Warm, maybe.
“Well, it’s my turn to hide now. Twenty seconds.”
“Unfair. You know this castle more than I do.”
“I thought you liked a challenge? To think you of all people—a great warrior—would cower at the thought of losing hide-and-seek.”
Oh, he’s going to get it. He will be found.
“One,” she starts, and he immediately flees from the room. “Two. Three…”
Byleth counts all the way to twenty, and then begins to search for him. He’s not in the room she was just in. And there isn’t anywhere to hide in the hallways. Additionally, she still doesn’t know Sylvain all that well, so she can’t even begin to start checking off places where he might be hiding.
In order she goes through the rooms lined on both sides of the wall. He’s a tall guy, and with a strong frame, so there aren’t many places he can hide. The beds are either too low to the ground, or don’t have dressing, so she can easily see its vacancy by simply walking into the room. The curtains around aren’t long enough either to completely cover one’s feet. No shoes in sight.
Aside from spare guest bedrooms, there are also utility closets and doors leading to what are likely the servants’ quarters. Some rooms won’t open, so she assumes those are occupied. And others have not-so-mysterious moaning coming from behind them, so those are definitely out.
She sees a maid carrying a stack of clean linen. Byleth picks up her skirts and walks over to her. “Excuse me.”
“Ah! Lady Gautier, how may I be of service?”
Byleth blinks. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to being addressed like that now. “I was wondering if you’ve seen my husband. He might’ve bounded past here.”
“Oh yes, I did! He went down the staircase. The one leading to the gardens.”
Byleth thanks her and hurries away. How did Sylvain even move that quickly? He must’ve sprinted like mad to get here.
The garden is empty at this time of evening. She sees fresh footprints and follows them. What an awful area to hide in. At this rate, she’ll find him in no time.
She yelps when she feels a snowball poof against her sleeved arm.
“What the—,” but no one is around as far as her eyes can see. Byleth hurries in the direction she assumes it came from, and as she turns the corner of a finely trimmed hedge, another snowball narrowly misses her and lands on the ground beside her boot.
“Sylvain,” she says out into the gardens, “I thought we were playing hide-and-seek.”
“I’m not Sylvain,” says the ‘disembodied’ voice who sounds suspiciously like her husband.
Rolling her eyes, Byleth walks in the direction of the voice. She makes a snowball in her gloved hands, just in case. She turns another corner of the hedge but sees nothing.
And then there’s a flash of fiery red from her peripheral vision.
Turning sharply on her heel, she tosses the snowball and is rewarded with a shout.
“You could’ve killed me!” Sylvain whines, coming out from behind a tall planter. He dusts off the snow particles from his sleeve. “That’s some arm you have….”
“That’s not enough to kill you,” she says, walking up to him. “Only bruise.”
“Ah, that makes everything better. Seriously, how’d you find me that fast? You cheated, didn’t you?”
“No. You didn’t establish any rules other than count to twenty. So, I didn’t cheat; I was merely being resourceful and asked around.”
“Leave it to you to find a loophole,” he replies lightly.
“Hmm, did I, though? That lone maid just happened to walk by the hallway I was at when all the staff are supposed to be resting in their chambers? Seems a little suspicious. And I know underneath that nonchalant façade you’re a lot cleverer than you let on.”
Byleth pokes him in the chest. “You wanted to be found.”
Sylvain grins at her. “Did I?”
She lightly shakes her head at him. “Come on. Let’s get going before it starts to snow.”
As she turns, he takes her hand, catching her by surprise. She looks up at him, and his expression is relaxed. The distant sound from the orchestra in the nearby ballroom flows from the higher story. He’s giving her a strange look, one that warms her from inside out.
“A dance, milady, just to ourselves? Without anyone watching.” He smiles again. “You could use the practice.”
“Oh, really now?” but other than that, she doesn’t protest.
Perhaps it’s because his hand feels warm in her own, while the other is secured at her waist. Maybe it’s the clear night sky with the moon shining bright, making the serene garden sparkle with its blanket of fallen snow. Or it’s the soft humming of the music instead of the blaring noise all around her that makes her flow into step with him. He guides her in gentle circles around the vacant garden. Near the frosted rose bush and the adjacent fountain with a lion as its centerpiece.
The moon highlights the edges of his silhouette, and he’s still looking at her. What he’s trying to find, she doesn’t know. But their eyes meet as they sway, and Byleth misses the moment of realization. Too caught up in his focused gaze, or maybe it’s the wine again, or the warmth he provides against the chilly night.
His lips are warmer still when they meet her own, and she doesn’t pull away.
It’s the first time he’s kissed her since their wedding, some months ago. She has no words and can only offer a surprised look back at him. He says nothing in response, and Byleth stops them before they can move again. A hand on his chest, and his comes to rest over hers. Another dip to meet her for another kiss.
A thing she didn’t know she wanted again. Or a third time. And a fourth.
When he kisses her for the fifth, taking her into a warm embrace, she thinks of the moon. A beacon in the vast night sky, guiding those lost through the cold to the nearest shelter. One in which a hearth is burning idly, warming its guests to a state of comfort.
The warmth she feels here, now, feels like that. Maybe her future with this man, the one she calls her husband, will endure the cold like that shelter, with a hearth burning ever gently in its center.