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Sylvain knew he shouldn’t be upset that his brother was dead.
Miklan had been an awful person all of his life. The Lance of Ruin sat lifelessly against the wall, a pale shell of what it had been when Sylvain held it. It seemed to fuse with him in a strange way, lighting up with a sickly orange the minute he made contact. It had throbbed, matching the pulse in his hand, giving Sylvain the feeling of a pit in his stomach. It felt alive .
Although he wouldn’t admit it, he was forever grateful he had not been the one to kill his brother. Even though the Professor had dealt the killing blow on Miklan, Sylvain fully placed the blame on the Lance of Ruin and the overwhelming expectations that came along with it. If Miklan had been born with a crest, he wouldn’t have taken out his anger on Sylvain. If he hadn’t thrown Sylvain down the well out of sheer childish spite and jealousy, he wouldn’t have been disowned, and he would probably still be here. It was all because of these stupid Crests and these disgusting Heroes’ Relics.
If their roles had been reversed and Sylvain was born without the Crest, he wondered if he would have ended up as hateful as his older brother. Even though he was a child at the time, he had always felt the gnawing of guilt eating at his stomach every time Miklan was punished after getting caught bullying his younger brother. After all, Sylvain being born was the reason Miklan’s life was ruined.
“Sylvain?” A sudden knock at his door ripped his gaze away from the relic and he rolled over in bed, covering his head with the covers. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands covering his face. It never worked when he was little, but it felt like if he couldn’t see or hear anyone, maybe they wouldn’t find him this time, “It’s Dorothea. Ingrid’s worried about you. I am, too.” She said the last part quietly.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that Ingrid would try to recruit others into checking on him; Ingrid had always acted as the sibling he wished he had instead of Miklan. He had fully anticipated the visits from Felix, Ingrid, and Dimitri. They were obligated to, after all, as his oldest friends. They all tried different tactics, fully fitting to their personalities: Felix had been blunt and to the point, telling him he’d be in the training grounds if Sylvain wanted to spar; Ingrid had been maternal and had been bringing him food like clockwork three times a day; Dimitri visited every morning before classes to check on him.
He had expected the visits from them, but he most certainly hadn’t expected Dorothea to visit them. He considered them friendly acquaintances, but he definitely would not have thought she considered him a friend. Not enough for her to be at his door like this.
He was in no shape to see anyone. His hair was limp and unwashed, his eyes red-rimmed from tears. He had been in the same clothes for the last three days. The Professor had given him the week off from classes, and he had the intention to take full advantage of it.
“I… can’t say I know how you feel, but I’m here if you need me. I won’t leave you,” She said, and he heard her back slide down his door. Sylvain felt a fresh set of tears line his eyes, and he quickly blinked them back. He had to stay strong. He was always the chipper, goofy friend and that is what Dorothea would expect from him. He certainly couldn’t disappoint a beautiful woman, he thought almost bitterly.
He shakily stood, pressing his hand against the headboard to stabilize himself. He shuffled to the door, sitting down at the base of it. He leaned his head back against the wood, one of his fake smiles spreading to his face even though no one was there to see it. The words that left his lips sounded flat, even to his own ears, “If I knew a lovely flower like you was coming to cheer me up, I would have tidied up.”
“Sylvain, you know you don’t have to be okay, right? Your brother just died, you’re allowed to have feelings about it.” She said gently, as if she hadn’t just delivered a suckerpunch right to his gut. He almost felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. It seemed simple enough, but he legitimately had never considered that as an option.
After the Tragedy of Duscur, he was the only one of his friend group that had made it out relatively unscathed. Ingrid and Felix would never be the same after the death of Glenn Fraldarius. Ingrid threw herself into becoming the perfect knight like Glenn had been, and Felix threw himself into becoming stronger so he would never face the same fate. Dimitri hadn’t seemed completely stable since the death of his father. Sylvain had vowed then that he would be a rock for his friends. If he wasn’t okay, he would make himself be okay for them.
He knew he had been sitting there in silence for a while, but Dorothea hadn’t said anything else. He felt another flood of tears come to his eyes, but this time, he allowed them to fall down his cheeks, “Do you want to know the worst thing, Thea? I feel relieved that he’s dead. Do you think that makes me a bad person?”
“No, I don’t,” She said simply, the finality of her words reassuring. Even though she knew nothing of what Miklan had put Sylvain through, she still did not judge him. It was a freeing feeling, and one Sylvain was not used to.
“Would you like to come in? I promise I won’t try anything,” Sylvain promised, almost holding his breath in anticipation. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, it was just a friendly invitation. He expected that her seeing him like this would make sure he was solidly out of the running as her future love interest, but he was okay with that. It would be more than enough for him to have a friend like her.
“I’d like that,” She answered immediately, no hesitation in her voice.