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“Sylvain, don’t do this,” Felix sighed as he entered the tent.
“Aw, Felix. Don’t tell me you’re worried about me?” Sylvain turned and smirked at Felix as he finished buckling up his breastplate. He reached down to grab his greaves to begin attaching those as well. He ignored the faint sore twinge in his back, still unhappy about their recent long ride to Almyra. He also ignored how “faintly sore” was becoming more of a default state of being these days.
Felix barely resisted kicking the metal guards out of Sylvain’s reach in petty defiance. “I thought that stupid king canceled this event when Ingrid injured her knee.”
“And I told His Majesty not to - I’m perfectly capable of stepping in. Besides, I thought it’d be a cute surprise for you to see your husband back in action.”
“What, cute to see you get your ass beat? You won’t stand a chance against this child who is twenty years younger than you.”
“Excuse you, I am a very spry 38-year-old. I keep up with youngins all the time.”
“Training the new recruits who don’t even know how to hold a weapon doesn’t count. And I tell you every other day that you should’ve kept up with your training better.”
“I don’t hear you complaining about my fitness levels most nights,” Sylvain looked up to waggle his eyebrows at his husband.
Felix remained unmoved and unimpressed. “You complained just this morning that your back was still locking up from the carriage ride out here.”
Ah, nothing could get past his dear husband, could it? “Oh?” Sylvain said as he stood up, doing his best to make it look like a very natural movement from someone who had worn armor sometime in the last decade. He sauntered over to Felix, head cocked to the side, “Is this your way of offering to help me stretch? To get limber?” He let the last word roll lasciviously off his tongue.
“Sylvain!” Felix whined as he swatted at his husband’s head, “I’m serious!”
“Felix, you worry too much! It’s a friendly spar, we’re using blunted weapons! What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, we can’t let these kids think our generation has gone soft, can we? I can still keep up.” Sylvain put on what he liked to think of as his most reassuring smile, honed for maximum effectiveness over the last 15 years of marriage.
Alas, it didn’t seem to have any effect on his adoring husband though. Felix glared at him for a moment and then turned around, marching out of the preparation tent without another word.
— ✽ —
It was almost a year ago now that Claude, or rather King Khalid, came to King Dimitri with an idea. There had been various skirmishes and a few isolated battles across Fodlan after what had been titled the War of Unification. Sweeping out the remaining Empire forces that refused to disband, routing bandits and mercenaries trying to take advantage of any post-war reconstruction unrest, and the like kept them all from hanging up their weapons on a shelf for years after the majority of the fighting was done. Although the graduates of the Blue Lion house may have passed off most of the direct fighting responsibilities a while ago.
All the same, Claude proposed a plan. “Listen, you can’t have a bunch of highly-trained warriors who were needed for battle for years and now just have nothing for them to do. That’s a recipe for discontent. So - we’ll give them a way to put their skills to use.”
Which was how the Almyran-Foldlani Martial Tournament came to be. The idea was to hold the event annually, with hosting duties alternating between the two countries. There’d be a series of friendly competitions from one-on-one duels, riding events, and more.
A few of their former classmates had volunteered for different events. Ashe was participating in the archery competition and Raphael in the hand-to-hand wrestling. They’d even managed to rope Hilda into helping to organize a marketplace outside of the tournament grounds. Sylvian figured it was good to have a wide range of fighters on the roster, not just the young soldiers on both sides who were eager for a venue to prove themselves without the theater of war. Maybe lend the event some prestige as a war veteran, show some buy-in from Whatever that actually meant.
All this in the name of fostering cooperation and goodwill not only between the two nations, but between each nation and its own people as well. Both countries were still only recently reborn and reshaped by the vision of their young idealistic rulers. There was no guarantee that this tenuous peace would last.
Sylvain waited as Claude and Dimitri took turns saying their very official lines about celebrating the continuing friendship between the nations of Almyra and Fodlan, as well as peace prospering across their continents. As Sylvain patiently waited through the appropriate pageantry, he thought to himself that Felix may have had a point - that unlike their still nascent governments, they themselves were not quite so young. Sylvain wasn’t even wearing the full plate armor he used to sport for days on end back in the war, but he still felt the added weight pull on him as he walked to present himself before the dais of rulers and diplomats.
Each king then introduced their champions with their proper titles and descriptions of their various feats of valor. Sylvain jauntily waved to the crowd as Dimitri announced him. He then turned his attention to his opponent standing next to him - a preeminent young soldier from Almyra, a woman named Farah.
Word of this impressive fighter had reached all the way to Fodlan even before they begin talking about any tournaments. She was a skilled lance user and had quickly risen up through the ranks of the Almyran army, where she was selected by Claude to become part of his personal guard. She was around the age they were when they were all at the Officers Academy. Which wasn’t by no means young enough to call her a girl, but all the same Sylvain was surprised by how quickly that age had become to seem impossibly young to him. It was also likely that she wasn’t quite battle-tested in the same way they were at her age. Had to become by her age. Which Sylvain supposed was a good thing.
Scratch that - definitely a good thing.
As Claude began to close his introduction of Farah, Sylvain’s eyes wandered over to Felix. He was seated on the dais just behind Dimitri as one of his retainers and highest ranking nobles in Faerghus. Felix’s gaze was directed elsewhere - a bit too pointedly to be a coincidence.
Sylvain never did know when to let it go.
“Your majesties, before we begin…” Sylvain interrupted before Claude could direct them to take their places. “I was hoping that I may be graced with a favor, for luck? Maybe from a beautiful maiden? Or possibly from the Duke Fraldarius?”
When Felix finally dragged his eyes to look at him, Sylvain winked. Felix’s expression remained unmoved as he answered, “Stop dallying and get on with it already.”
Claude laughed. “Sorry, Margrave Gautier. You’ll have to make do with whatever luck you already have.”
Sylvain managed to hold Felix’s eye as he fished for the fine chain around his neck. He pulled his wedding ring out from under his breastplate and kissed it, winking at his husband for good measure. Felix’s face was caught in an impressive impasse between glaring and exasperation. Angry and apathetic all in one go.
Sylvain turned his focus to the match at hand and took up his spot across from the Almyran soldier. Farah quickly settled into her ready stance, bouncing on the balls of her feet and twirling her lance to test the weight of the blunted training weapon.
He may be stiffer than he used to be, but Sylvain hadn’t been completely idle these past years. Felix dragged him out to their training grounds at least once a week and Sylvain had started drilling young Fraldarius and Gautier recruits.
As Claude briefly laid out the parameters of the spar - to the first touch - Sylvain dropped into position. Just because this was a friendly match didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try his best to win.
He gripped the blunted lance and waited for Claude’s call to begin.
— ✽ —
Sylvain decidedly did not win.
This much he knew as soon as he woke up horizontal in a bed. It probably wasn’t a great sign that Sylvain wasn’t quite sure where he was. Or the full sequence of events leading up to waking up in said bed.
Or how to get rid of the clarion ring painfully ricocheting through his head.
Sylvain blinked up at the ceiling, eyes slowly adjusting to the fading light in the room which was all the same too bright for his taste right now. He squeezed his eyes shut on reflex but even that much movement set off more waves of pain.
After a few moments of breathing through the ache, Sylvain made a few more tentative tries at opening his eyes. Eventually, he caught some quiet sounds of movement next to him, just out of sight. He did his best to try slowly turning his head so he could see who was there. Sylvain’s eyes landed first on a vase filled with small, delicate white flowers before he registered who was there fiddling with the arrangement.
Sylvain tried to say his name, but the word “Felix” definitely came out as a throaty mumble rather than anything coherent. It was still enough to catch the attention of his husband.
Felix’s eyes snapped from the flowers to the bed. He moved to lean over Sylvain saying, “Hold still.” Sylvain then felt a cold wet cloth press against the side of his head and the sensation helped his thoughts focus just slightly. Felix scanned Sylvain’s face with a worried look, then brushed a lock of hair from his husband’s head. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said through gritted teeth.
Sylvain gave another throaty hum, something that passed between a laugh and agreement. “What happened?” He mustered himself up to ask, his voice unpleasantly sending echoes around his own head.
“What happened is that you took the dumbest hit to the head. But you managed to stay on your feet and Claude quickly called the match for Almyra. You then stumbled off the field into the participants’ tent and I got in there just in time to see you crash straight to the ground like felled lumber. You’re lucky Marianne was close by. She looked you over and said you’d be fine with rest.”
Ah. The rest of the match started coming back to Sylvain after that. Farah deserved every bit of acclaim she’d received. She reminded Sylvain so much of a younger Ingrid, but with a touch of creativity and opportunistic improvisation where Ingrid always stuck close to the stricter styles of Faerghus knights. The Almyran soldier’s style was unexpected, almost like it was set to an internal rhythm. Combat was already a certain kind of choreographed dance, but her strikes almost added an audible musicality to that. In the moment, Sylvain noted to himself to ask her more about it later and that it was fascinating to see up close.
Until it wasn’t.
He remembered going to dodge away from a high strike, but of course Felix was right. Sylvain’s brain may have known what to do, know where exactly in space he was wanting to move to, but his body’s reaction time certainly wasn’t the same as it was during the war decades ago. His reaction was just a few seconds too slow and the brush of air from the lance sweeping past him instead became the visceral crack of wood against skull, which Sylvain experienced as much as a sound as he did a physical feeling.
And that’s where it all starts to get fuzzy.
Another note to himself, Sylvain thought. As soon as he and Felix got back to Fraldarius - helmets. Helmets for everyone, from the moment they stepped onto the training grounds.
“How’s the girl? She okay?” Sylvain asked.
Felix scoffed, a sharp noise. “Worry about yourself first. Yeah, she’s fine. Looked stunned that the hit actually landed. And then looked downright terrified when you toppled afterward. She probably thought she’d just killed a member of the Fodlani court, so much for a friendly sporting event in that case.”
Felix pulled the cloth away from Sylvain’s head and set it on the bedside table before crossing his arms. Sylvain could see Felix’s grip pulling at the fabric of his sleeves, threatening to rip them apart. Felix’s voice was low and he kept his gaze down when he started talking again.
“You’re not 25 anymore, Sylvain. You can’t just do things like this. And you can’t decide something like this without talking to me first! Saints, how long have we been married for. I thought you’d learned better than to throw yourself head first into every dangerous situation, that I wouldn’t have to constantly worry about you and watch you.” Felix had started off slow but the more he talked, the more agitated he got and his voice grew in volume.
Sylvain was used to this - once Felix got started when he was angry, it was hard to get him to stop. Better to let him work it through his system. Besides, Sylvain supposed, he deserved this and owed Felix to let him vent out his feelings.
Felix stopped for a moment to catch his breath before continuing, a bit softer now, “I don’t miss this. You always did wind up in the infirmary far more often than you should have. I would’ve preferred to never see you in one again.”
“I will keep that in mind,” Sylvain replied.
Felix moved to rest one of his hands lightly on Sylvain’s chest, just above his heart. Sylvain brought his hand up to twine their fingers together. Felix kept his eyes locked on their hands.
Finally, Sylvain spoke up, “I’m sorry. I really am. I never meant to worry you. And I guess you were right.”
Beyond the constant pulsing throb of his headache already making stringing thoughts together a challenge, Sylvain didn’t know if he was up for lingering on the idea that he couldn’t rely on his body the same way he had assumed he could. The same way he had for years through the war, trusting it to move like it should. Trusting it to be able to keep his loved ones safe.
“Of course I was,” Felix unknowingly interrupted Sylvain’s train of thought. “All the same,” Felix finally looked up and met Sylvain’s eye, “there’s little comfort in being right about this, even if my husband is a fool.” Felix’s fingers roved the plains of Sylvain’s face, careful to skim the edges of the bandages wrapped around his head. Sylvain closed his eyes and relished in the cool touch. Sylvain could feel himself begin to drift off to sleep.
“Although I suppose that I am not completely blameless.”
That sent Sylvain’s eyes flying wide open, a movement that sent another surge of pain through his head. But he grit down on his teeth until it passed and looked back to Felix, “You are?” Sylvain let his head fall back down to the pillow with a thump, “Just how hard did I hit my head? Can concussions cause hallucinations?”
Felix pinched Sylvain’s cheek, enough to feel but nothing close to his usual admonishing swats. “There, now you know you’re not dreaming.”
“Hallucinating is different, Fe,” Sylvain said, turning to nuzzle his cheek into Felix’s hand.
Felix scoffed as he twisted away from the bed and stretched his arm out. Sylvain saw that he was reaching toward the bouquet of flowers. Felix pinched off a sprig of blossoms from the arrangement and turned back to gently tuck the flowers behind Sylvain’s ear. “It’s my fault that I let you fight without giving you my favor, for luck.” He leaned in to softly press his lips to Sylvain’s, a chaste kiss.
As Felix pulled away, Sylvain caught the smell of the flower. It was subtle enough to not make his throbbing headache any worse than it already was. Jasmine, his brain distantly supplied. Similar to one of Felix’s favorite shampoos. Not that Felix would admit to having a preference.
“Who brought the flowers?” Sylvain asked. Felix blushed. “Aww, for me? They’re beautiful, thank you.” He took another breath in to catch the scent. “Where did you get them from?”
“Dimitri made me get out of the room for some air,” Felix answered. Sylvain was certain that it required more than a polite ask to get his husband to leave his side. He began imagining what His Majesty had to do to get Felix out of the room, when his husband continued talking, “So, I walked around and ended up in Claude’s gardens. I picked them there.”
Sylvain’s imaginings were immediately derailed. “You… you picked flowers from the King of Almyra’s personal gardens? And no one tried to stop you?”
Felix met Sylvain’s baffled gaze with a nonplussed look, “What? It’s the least he could do. He owes me - his retainer injured my husband. He’s lucky I’m not starting an entire damn international war over this.”
Sylvain couldn’t help himself - he started laughing, somehow managing to fall in love with his husband all over again.
His foolish, silly, fierce, absolutely lovely husband huffed at Sylvain’s amusement as he stood and pulled up the corner of the blankets on the plush bed. “Now, hurry up and scoot over.”
“So bossy!” Sylvain protested even as he slowly moved over to make room.
“Of course. My inconsiderate husband gave me quite a scare today,” Felix said as he toed off his boots before sliding underneath the covers.
In the face of such a compelling argument, what could Sylvain do but oblige? He lifted his arms so Felix could claim the place that had belong to him for the last twenty-some years, that had always truly only ever belonged to him, and that would only ever belong to him until they saw their promise through. Felix tucked himself under Sylvain’s arm and laid his head on his chest, ear directly over Sylvain’s heartbeat.
His body may be aging, may not be the same that he was used to and wouldn’t be again, but Sylvain supposed that as long as he was able to use it to hold the love of his life close to him like this, then there wasn’t too much else that he needed.