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They say that the winters of Faerghus helped shape the mentality of the country. That their hardiness in battlefield and unyielding devotion is partly a result of their harsh winters, with icy winds blowing from the north and crops that struggle to thrive in such trying conditions. The landscape as far as the eye can see is awash with white, the trees glittering with frost and lakes frozen solid. It’s beautiful, in a brutal kind of way.
Personally, you have decided that you hate Faerghus.
Okay, maybe that's a bit unfair. You did't have much basis for comparison yet, since this was the first time you'd actually set foot in the Holy Kingdom, but you're really wishing someone had told you that it was this cold. The Blue Lions have all dressed accordingly, but there’s a difference between being told to dress warmly and mentally preparing for the coldest you’ve ever been in your life. The Leicester Alliance has winter, of course, but this just isn't the same.
It’s times like this that you really wished you’d learned to ride a horse, then you wouldn’t be the one with numb toes. You exhaled in annoyance as your foot slid yet again into another frozen puddle, the ice splintering beneath you, nearly filling your boot with freezing water if you hadn't yanked it out just in time before it oozed over the hem, hissing curses under your breath.
Nobody else seemed to be struggling the way you were, so you sourly kept schtum about it, since you didn't want to be accused of whining (looking at you, Felix). Besides, you keep hoping that Dimitri or Byleth would announce you're nearly at your destination soon, but each time you glanced at them at the head of the group, they seemed to be talking amongst themselves.
No such luck thus far.
An icy wind swept in from the left, blowing your hair over your face and making you stumble, landing on your knees in the snow that a squawk that is muffled by the hair that's somehow gotten into your mouth.
"Ghhf-!"
"Oh no!" Annette cried, hurrying over to you, and a brief, irrational spike of jealousy speared you at how easily the natives of Faerghus are able to move over the snow - it's like they've been blessed by Sothis herself not to slip and fall. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you lied, even though your knee had scraped something rough beneath the layer of snow, which had not only ripped the leg of your pants but also you could feel blood seeping over the split fabric, which is probably the only warmth you've felt for a while now.
You accepted Annette’s arm and got gingerly to your feet, giving her a strained smile. You knew soon this would be over and hopefully, maybe, you’d have won back Fhirdiad by the end of this. Not only would you have won back the capital city and struck a devastating blow against the stranglehold the Adrestian Empire has on the country, but you might finally feel warm for the first time in days.
“Thanks, Annette.”
“No problem!” she chirped, and kept on ahead, her job done. Mercedes gave you a sympathetic smile as she glanced your way. You were quietly surprised that Annette hadn’t fallen down as well in trying to help you, to be honest – her clumsiness was infamous at the monastery.
You sighed and pushed your hair out of your way.
"You know," a familiar voice said, sounding amused. "That's the…fourth time you've fallen down today."
You turned and shot a baleful look up at Sylvain, who looked annoyingly cosy from atop his horse. He was properly attired for the unforgiving Faerghus winter, of course, you could see that nearly everything he had on was lined with fur - his boots, gloves and even the collar of his armour was sporting some of the stuff. His nose held the slightest tint of pink to it, but on Sylvain it somehow managed to look charming. You were aware you were shivering and had to keep using a handkerchief to wipe discreetly beneath your nose whenever a strong gust of wind battered at your little group.
"Been watching me suffer, have you?" you asked in a stony tone of voice. You weren’t in the mood to be teased at the moment.
"Hey, hey, don't get mad.” Sylvain said, holding his hands up as if to ward off an impending blow, no doubt a habit he’s picked up from being friends with Ingrid. "It's not my fault we're marching on Fhirdiad in a snowstorm. And anyway, I might be able to offer a solution."
"Which is what?" you asked, cocking your head.
Sylvain was all smiles as he patted the front of his saddle and you blinked in surprise.
"You could come sit up here with me."
You stared at him and even though it's Sylvain, who flirted seemingly every time he drew breath, a blush rose to your face at his tone. Typical that even adverse weather conditions don't seem to damper his urge to sweet talk.
"What?" you blurted out, like a fool.
He tilted his head in a winsome way, the red of his hair a stark contrast to the world of white around you.
"Hey, you'll be far warmer up here than down there and you’re not going to trip over something else on horseback. Anyway, I certainly don't have a problem with snuggling."
He’s fine with far more than that, if the rumours that followed Sylvain everywhere are to be believed. You’d be a filthy liar if you said you couldn’t see the appeal – a tall, charming, witty redhead with a nice voice and the son and heir to a great noble house? He was a catch by anyone’s standards, but you also knew he was no fairytale prince with a charmed life. Sylvain had left a trail of broken hearts in his wake in his time at Garrag Mach, and you weren’t one to stick your hand in a trap knowing it would shut on you. You’d give him credit that he seemed to have calmed down since five years ago, but that wariness around him still made you hesitate.
“I’ll be fine.” you said, looking away.
He shrugged, breezy as usual, unruffled by your rejection.
"Suit yourself."
You watched his horse trotting ahead, tail swishing, and thanks to the fluff around its hooves, unbothered by the snow. You wiped your face on your sleeve and kept walking, even though the cut on your knee stung more and more with each step. You hoped you’d be able to get the blood off the inside of your breeches. The snow was falling more heavily now, blanketing the place in an unsettling silence that only Dimitri's army are around to break.
The hill grew steeper, and your insides seemed to plummet as you looked up the incline.
Oh, no...
You froze, metaphorically, in place, as the others headed uphill with a kind of grim confidence that must embody the Faerghus spirit of continuing on no matter how bleak things seemed. But you could already imagine your thighs cramping as you walked, the ache from trying to stay upright and deal with the lack of traction…
Before you knew it, most of the others had continued their relentless march forward and you startled back to earth, realising you were still just standing there in a daze.
"Hey, don't fall behind!" Sylvain called over to you, his voice just audible over the wind. "If you get lost here, you'll probably turn into an icicle!"
"Funny…" you muttered through chattering teeth.
"C'mon." Sylvain said, his tone gentler as he approached on his horse, which kicked up snow as it went, holding out a hand to you. "Offer still stands, sweetheart."
You peered up at him through the haze and his face was surprisingly earnest as he looked down at you. Was that concern you can see in those honey-coloured eyes of his? The thought made you feel unfairly warm inside, like someone's lit kindling deep in the pit of your stomach.
"Oh...all right," you said, unable to keep the note of gratitude out of your voice, reaching out and putting your hand in his.
"That's my girl."
Before you could respond to that, Sylvain easily tugged you up, fingers curling around your hand and you could practically hear the soles of your feet sighing in relief that you didn't have to walk anymore. You settled awkwardly on the saddle in front of Sylvain, trying to get your bearings and hyperaware of the fact your ass was probably brushing up against him.
"Jeez, you weren't kidding when you said you weren't used to Faerghus weather," Sylvain remarked, resting a hand on your arm for a moment before drawing it back. "You’re freezing. And - hey! You're bleeding! Did you do that when you fell?"
"It's not a big deal," you said, wishing he'd keep his voice down.
Sylvain clicked his tongue.
“The tough act is cute, but do you really think now’s the time for it?” he asked you, not exactly disapproving but losing some of that breeziness in his voice you’re so used to hearing. “We can’t afford to have anybody dropping from an infection at this crucial hour, you know.”
You made a face, feeling a little indignant at being chided by Sylvain, of all people, but you’re not so stubborn you can’t admit that he’s right. Even a small cut can turn nasty if left untreated, so it’s a good thing that you’re on your way to somewhere that should have a decent medical bay – even if Fhirdiad itself is in Empire clutches, the people there still yearn for Prince Dimitri to come back and fight for them. The army will have support for the upcoming battle, make no mistake.
“I have some vulnerary’s but I was saving them in case we get ambushed on the way here,” you admitted. “I’ll get it looked at when we stop.”
“Hold on just a sec,” Sylvain said. “Take the reins for me, will you?”
You blinked, surprised by the request, but you did as instructed, fumbling a bit with your gloves while Sylvain reached into a pocket sewn into the inner lining of his cloak. He stuffed something into your hand – a little tub of healing salve. Of course, Sylvain would be smart enough to carry this kind of thing around. He’s friends with Dimitri and Felix, he knows how handy stuff like this can be in a pinch.
“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling a little humbled. First, he’s pulling you out of a snowdrift and now giving you healing salve. For all your suspicions about his true motives, he really does have his comrade’s best interests at heart.
You carefully unscrewed the lid of the salve and dabbed some of it onto your cut. It stung a bit, but you can tell it’s doing some good. Hopefully it might have scabbed over by tomorrow, so you don’t have to worry about it during the battle. You’re also pleasantly surprised to note the salve smells kind of nice, like somebody crushed some flowers into it.
“Sylvain?” you asked.
“Mmm-hmm?” he responded in a low hum.
“Do you really think we can win against the Empire?” you asked him in hushed tones, like you’re speaking in a church or library. “I know the Faerghus noble families have been resisting their forces for five years now, but everyone is running out of supplies and energy. This feels like it’s the final big push, you know?”
He takes a second to consider before answering you.
“Hmm…the way I see it, it’s not so much a question of ‘if’.” Sylvain replied, his tone unusually somber. “It’s more like, we have to. We can’t look at it with the possibility of ‘what if’ in our heads. I agree with you, with resources stretched so thin up here, this is the moment that might completely change things. So we have to act like winning is inevitable and fight accordingly. At least, that’s how I look at it. Save the doubting for when we have the luxury.”
It’s a simple enough philosophy, but you’re struck by how sure he sounds. Of course, you know Sylvain is aware as well as anyone that losing is a very real possibility, that everything is riding on Byleth’s shoulders right now. But seeing this battle as a victory you have to work hard to grasp, instead of a potential looming defeat, definitely seems like the better mindset. He’s good at compartmentalising, you’ll give him that much.
“Who knew you could be so profound?” you teased him, with a playful nudge.
“Hey, you know what they say. Ladies love a brooding intellectual.” Sylvain replied with a soft chuckle. Of course, he’s always far more at ease with playful banter than anything too serious. “Hey, you’re still shivering. Honestly, you guys from the Leicester Alliance have no real grasp of the cold, do you?”
“Excuse me for coming from a warmer climate.” You responded, now more amused than frustrated. “I don’t know how you guys stand this every year. You must sleep in about five layers of clothing in your drafty castles.”
“Absolutely. Though if need be, I can get by without any at all,” Sylvain said, to which you predictably blushed, before he grinned. “Here, this should help.”
Grabbing the bottom of his cloak, he swung it around so it was covering you, and the furry lining brushed over your skin, soft and gentle and such a startling contrast to the bitingly cold air. You instinctively pulled it tighter around yourself, snuggling back into Sylvain’s chest (which sounded nice in theory, but thanks to his breastplate it wasn’t quite as comfortable as you would have liked). You didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smirking, you could easily picture the expression in your head, the smug curve of his lip on his handsome face.
“Do you know how much longer we have to go?” you asked instead, the fur of Sylvain’s cloak tickling your chin as you spoke.
“Mm…probably another forty-five minutes, if the horses can keep up this pace,” Sylvain said. “Man, it’s been a while since I’ve even seen Fhirdiad. I get the feeling it’s going to need a lot of repairs.”
“So did Garrag Mach when we first returned,” you pointed out. “But it’s like you said, we do what we can and keep looking forward.”
“Did I say that? I just meant I don’t want to think about what happens if we lose,” Sylvain said, but he didn’t sound like he was arguing with you, more like he was reluctant to take credit for the words. “But you’re right. All we can do is keep moving. Metaphorically and, you know, literally.”
You couldn’t stop the snort that escaped you. Sylvain had a way of stating even dire situations with a brand of gallows humour you appreciated, if only because he was one of the few people you knew who could get away with it. You could dimly make something out in the snow, some grey thing looming in the distance, but it was difficult to make out and could easily just be the jutting edge of a cliff.
You didn’t mean for it to happen, but soon your eyes started to slide shut, the rhythmic sway of the horse and the warm cloak draped over you helping to lull you into a more relaxed state than you strictly should have been. But evidently Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to wake you, because the next moment you knew, the horse had stopped.
Blearily you looked around, only to see the basecamp around you. Tomorrow you’d be at the gates of Fhirdiad itself. Now all you could do was rest up for tomorrow.
“Thanks for this,” you said as you slid off the horse, immediately wincing as icy air ghosted over your skin, which had been pleasantly warm only moments ago. You feel like you just got out of a nice, warm bed. You passed the salve into Sylvain’s gloved palm. “I probably don’t need to have it checked out now.”
“Yeah, that medical bay is going to be busy tomorrow,” Sylvain agreed, getting down smoothly from his mount, and some stablehands came to take it away, swift and smooth as shadows. Sylvain gave the horse a fond pat, then turned back to you.
“You hungry? The food at camp’s never great, but it’s always nicer to eat with company.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself. He really was far too charming for his own good.
“Sure, why not? I need to talk about some last-minute strategy with Annette and the other mages before tomorrow, but I’ll probably be a bit more coherent if I eat first.”
Sylvain grinned and was about to enter the food tent, pleasant scents wafting from it, when you impulsively tapped him on the shoulder, heard hammering in your chest. When Sylvain glanced over his shoulder, an inquisitive expression on his face, you stood up on tiptoe and pressed your chilled lips to his, which are pleasingly soft to the touch. His hand instinctively found your waist, steadying you as well as pulling you in closer.
You’re the first to break the kiss, looking away with a stupid little smile tugging at your mouth. But Sylvain is smiling as well, and this one does reach his eyes.
“What was that for?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“A thanks,” you said. “For letting me ride with you. And for the cloak.”
“Hey, saving fair maidens from peril is what we Faerghus knights are meant to do,” Sylvain replied in an affected, pompous tone that made you giggle – he sounded like Lorenz. “But just say the word if you’re still cold later. I can think of a few ways to keep you warm.”
You bit your lip to stop yourself grinning, giving his shoulder a playful shove as you both headed inside.
“Oh, I just bet you can.”