Chapter Text
Sylvain had been writing string quartets since he was seven. Ever since Dimitri and Felix were old enough to hold a violin, they began to play. It was harsh, out of tune nonsense for Sylvain’s delicate ears, but he listened to them regardless. It wasn’t until Ingrid joined them with her oversized viola did their parents have a strike of brilliance: a string quartet.
They became known as the Faerghus Four, playing for friends and relatives. Sylvain’s Sonata for String Quartet No. 1 was written for them. Back then, Dimitri’s playing was gentle and meek, Felix’s was tender. Ingrid was a surprise powerhouse, a backbone of harmony. As for Sylvain? He loved showing off, so most of the solos went to the cello. This caused bickering between himself and Ingrid, but Sylvain was a composer and Ingrid was not, so the matter settled at that.
At age twelve, Sylvain discovered Beethoven. A composer from some backwater town in Adrestia who rose to fame centuries ago. He wrote the most beautiful and robust string quartets. But he clearly had favouritism towards the violins. That was when Felix became competitive.
“I should play the violin I part.” Felix would whine. “My family’s more musical.” He was referring to his father and brother of course. Both of whom were talented musicians. Glenn was training to become a concert pianist at Garreg Mach, and Mr. Fraldarius was the concert master at the Fhirdiad Philharmonic. Dimitri, on the other hand, had only his maestro of a father.
“Don’t forget, Dimitri’s father was a talented violin player back in his day too.” Ingrid had gotten into the habit of lecturing them.
But when Dimitri relented and gave Felix the first part, Felix would cry when he couldn’t get the intonation right. Sometimes he would blame Sylvain.
“Why are you blaming me?” Sylvain would ask, all indignant.
“You’re older and you’re the cello. If I can’t play my notes, it’s probably your fault.”
Thus began a long tradition of Felix blaming Sylvain for every little thing.
In the end, everyone would return to their normal parts. Dimitri leading the way with his budding musicality. Felix following and challenging him with his tongue and his strings. Ingrid being the mediator in tone and harmony. And Sylvain couldn’t help but feel a little left behind.
“You should focus more.” Gustave, their strings instructor, would sometimes speak behind Sylvain. “If you don’t, you may become like Miklan.” That was a regular refrain. Miklan was Sylvain’s older brother. He played the cello for many years but turned to petty theft and general delinquency once Sylvain was shown to be the superior musician. It was not a great loss for Sylvain, as his brother often tormented him. The one downside was that when people saw Sylvain, they couldn’t help but see his older brother, a once-talented musician, now a waste of potential.
For a while, Sylvain threw himself into practising the cello and nothing else. Then, puberty hit. It must have been some family gene, but he could not focus on his studies at all. He was distracted at all hours by the thought of beautiful women, sometimes men too. Thus, he squandered away most of his touring days with the Faerghus Four. Then, the Tragedy of Duscur happened and Felix never touched the violin again.
Sylvain was now nineteen, starting his first year of undergrad at the Garreg Mach School of Music. It was an unusual set-up. The school began at grade ten and reached into the echelons of doctorate degrees. As a result, despite being nineteen, Sylvain shared a few of his theory classes with high schoolers.
Felix bristled whenever Sylvain complained about it. “So what? You could have just enrolled straight from high school like the rest of us.”
“And be separated from the rest of you again?” Sylvain put a hand upon his chest, feigning hurt feelings.
Ingrid stepped in, this being the third time in the first week that Sylvain complained. “Lushka, at this point you’re just being rude. You know Vasha was working hard on his craft during those years.”
“Not only that, but I was waiting for my babies to grow up.” Sylvain attempted to pet Felix on the head but withdrew his hand when the shorter man nearly hissed.
“And Vasha.” Ingrid turned her stern gaze onto Sylvain. “Stop complaining. We appreciate you being here, but now it’s just getting annoying.”
“Alright, alright.” Sylvain smiled sheepishly. Ingrid always found a way to put him in his place. He didn’t know what he’d do without her.
Sylvain applied to be in a string quartet. It was just his luck that he was in one with Ingrid and Dimitri. Unfortunately, Felix was not on that list. The hissy man did deign to accompany Sylvain and Ingrid to their first rehearsal.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us, Lushka?” Sylvain winked.
“Shut up.”
Ingrid gave Sylvain a look.
“I’m just saying, it’ll be like old times.”
“How? I don’t play a stringed instrument.” The “anymore” hung silently in the air.
If Sylvain could just convince Felix to play with them as a quartet again, he was sure that it would solve everything. Or, most things. It wouldn’t bring Glenn back, sure, but it would at least snap Felix out of his grieving. He was a talented violinist, why waste the gift?
“Boar.” Felix growled as Dimitri joined them. Dedue followed close by, looking like a protective giant with the tuba strapped onto his back.
Oh yeah, and maybe once Felix played with them again, he’ll remember how much he liked Dimitri. Those two were always in competition, but they were the closest members in some ways too.
“Felix.” Dimitri looked stunned. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“What.” Felix spat. He didn’t have time to continue, however.
“Hello, everyone!” A cheery voice rang out as they entered the rehearsal space. It was a girl with curly green hair.
“Oh hey,” Sylvain grinned. Perfect, a cute girl to take his mind off of drama.
Ingrid must have been shooting him one of those looks, for Sylvain felt a chill run down his spine. Sylvain had to discard that theory, as the violist strode up confidently and introduced herself with nary a sideways glance at Sylvain. So what was up with the chill?
When Sylvain looked back, it was Felix whose eyes were burning with jealousy. He was eyeing the violin case in the green haired girl’s hands. It was then that an idea sprang into Sylvain’s mind. It was only partially formed, as all of Sylvain’s plans were, but he had a general idea. If he could just get this girl to quit the small ensemble course, then Felix would have to step in. Even if it was only temporary, Sylvain was sure that if Felix merely performed with them again, he would see that the violin was where his heart was.
Sylvain didn’t want to be rude. At least, he wanted to limit his rudeness if he could. So he was courteous to the interloper. Her name was Flayn, and to be honest, she was not the best violin player he had ever heard. Oh, her intonation was perfect, and her phrasing sublime, but her playing lacked that certain bite which was necessary for any violin II. The second violin usually got lost in the shuffle of a string quartet, so it needed an assertive player filled with personality. Flayn had personality in spades, but assertive she was not.
“Ah, Flayn, you have to phrase that opening more confidently.” Sylvain said in a casual tone of voice while they took a break. “Just because Dimitri is playing an octave above you doesn’t mean you should hide behind him. You should challenge him! Dare him to play a little louder.”
Flayn blinked. “But the dynamic Britten has written is piano, is it not?”
“Composers don’t know what they want! Take it from a composer. I’d rather have the performers make the piece their own any day than listen to my stuffy suggestions.”
“Vasha, don’t corrupt the poor girl.” Ingrid glared at Sylvain impatiently.
“Oh, I did not think—” Flayn was quick to jump to Sylvain’s defense. It almost made Sylvain feel bad for what he planned to do.
“Don’t encourage him.” Ingrid said sternly. “Sylvain loves to stir up trouble so he could end up being the diva. Isn’t that right, Vasha?”
“Inka…” Sylvain smiled, helpless.
“Ingrid, I am sure Sylvain did not mean it that way. You were merely trying to encourage Flayn, so she could improve, isn’t that right, Sylvain?”
“Of course, Maestro.” Sylvain grinned. Dimitri still flinched whenever Sylvain called him that. But what else was proper when Dimitri really was the maestro of the student-run orchestra?
“You’re right, Maestro. I was projecting my own issues with Sylvain—which is plentiful regardless—onto a situation involving another. I apologize, Flayn.” Ingrid wiped her hand errantly over the cloth on her shoulder.
“It is really all right.” Flayn piped, still fearless. “I will attempt to be a better support for the first violin. Thank you for your advice, Sylvain.”
Sylvain gave a helpless hum. This was not at all how he hoped the situation would play out. He would have to try a different angle next time.
Sylvain spent most of his days in the practice rooms. It came as a bit of a surprise that he didn’t spend them in his dorm with other women, but seeing as his roommate was Dimitri, it was far more productive to meet the women where they lodged instead of bringing them back and risking Dimitri’s wrath. And seeing as most people in the area had roommates, he didn’t have much occasion to visit them anyways. Not only that, but Sylvain had the terrible handicap of being unable to compose without a piano nearby.
He was writing another string quartet. Oh sure, he would compose for other groups if he had to, but it was the string quartets that drew him back time and again. This time, however, Sylvain was writing the next great masterpiece for the Faerghus Four. The opening melody was soaring with a biting countermelody from the second violin. The second melody was gentle and warm, given to the viola of course. The development section was a perfect marriage of the two melodies. It was not harmonically complex, but he was working on it. By the time he reached the recap, he realized he was writing a love letter to his string quartet, his Faerghus Four. Not just what they were, but what they would be again.
Sylvain set his pencil down, satisfied with the first draft of his String Quartet No. 12. More than ever, he knew he had to get Felix back on the violin. The part Sylvain had written could only be played by Felix. The acetic bite of staccatos, the aggression even in long slurred lines. Only Felix could bring out such a quality on the violin. It had been years, sure, but Felix had done it then, as a young pipsqueak. He could do it again now, as a maturing musician.