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When Sylvain announced that he was going to the river, Dimitri had stood also, ready to join him.
Sylvain had stiffened, an excuse already on his lips as to why Dimitri could not come; It was too dangerous, he wasn’t going to be long, dinner was just about ready to be served, any other number of reasons he could have claimed, yet Sylvain said none of these. He was tired, more tired than he would like to admit, so he let his shoulders drop and he simply told Dimitri the truth.
“Felix would not want to see you right now.” Sylvain said.
“Oh,” Dimitri’s hands twitched. “Right. Of course. I, uh, I’ll watch the fire then.”
Dimitri did not sit back down. He made no attempt, just like how Sylvain had not moved an inch from his spot near the fire. Neither of them were looking at each other and yet it was like they were stuck in a stalemate all the same, unable to move until the other moved first.
But what was there even to say? Sylvain could use every word in the universe and it would not convey every single thing that was swirling around his head right now. It was better to just leave everything unsaid, at least then Sylvain wouldn’t have to be the first one to break.
It seemed that Dimitri did not agree with that sentiment as he opened his mouth, ready to speak the words that Sylvain could not. Nothing came out and he closed his mouth again, gaze focusing on his scarred hands.
So maybe Sylvain had to be the one to break the ice after all, he couldn’t spend the rest of his life dancing around whatever this was meant to be.
“Your Highness,” Dedue’s voice rumbled. “I require your assistance in preparing the meal.”
Dimitri shot into action, nearly stumbling over the fire in his haste to get to Dedue, and Sylvain took the chance to leave the tension behind as he ran a hand through his hair, setting off towards the river.
Sylvain would have to thank Dedue later yet the very idea of acknowledging that he had needed saving just now made his skin crawl. He always knew the right thing to say, always knew how to deflect whatever emotions were trying to control him, yet without Dedue Sylvain would have probably kept not staring at Dimitri, stuck forever in their cycle of not addressing what had happened today.
The river wasn’t too far away from the camp yet Sylvain’s legs still felt like lead as he continued down the path. It must have been some twisted combination of physical and emotional fatigue because every step became harder and as Sylvain at last heard the flowing water, he had half a mind to turn back and return to the awkwardness that was a conversation with Dimitri if only it meant he would be able to sit down.
Sylvain could not turn around. Not now, not yet. He trudged on, forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly. He had to be calm and focused. It would not help anyone if he went to the river like this, like some immature brat who was scared that they had nearly lost their best friend today.
Just like Sylvain had expected, Felix was still by the river. The swordsman was crouched, his back towards the camp, washing his hands just like he had said he was going to. Except he said that over an hour ago and as Sylvain came closer he saw that there was no blood mixing with the water.
Felix’s hands were clean and probably had been for a while now yet Felix was still scrubbing them as if they had been permanently stained.
Sylvain cleared his throat.
Felix scrubbed harder, getting under his finger nails.
“Fe.”
There was a slight tremor in Felix’s shoulders but his hands kept moving, rubbing against each other with a fervour that Felix usually reserved for battle. Sylvain could not leave him like this, he was obviously upset about what had happened.
“Felix.” Sylvain said. “Come on, talk to me.”
Felix did not turn. He did not acknowledge that Sylvain was even there, he just kept scrubbing.
Sylvain reached out to touch Felix’s shoulder but he hesitated. If Felix was genuinely unaware that he was there and wasn’t simply ignoring him then one wrong move and Sylvain could get a sword to the gut. He should try to call to him again, maybe then-
Wait a minute.
There was no sword at Felix’s hip, nor had he put it down next to him to more comfortably wash his hands. Even at the academy, even in class, Felix was never without his weapon.
“Where’s your sword?” Sylvain asked.
Felix whipped around, his whole body jolting.
“Felix, are you-“
Sylvain’s voice broke off. Felix did not launch himself towards Sylvain, he did not pull a sword out of nowhere, he simply turned back to the river and went back to scrubbing at his hands as if Sylvain hadn’t seen the tears streaming down his face.
“Fuck, Felix,” Sylvain breathed. “What do I do?”
It was strange to realise that Sylvain would have been more comfortable seeing Felix covered in blood than crying but it was true. Felix never cries, not since he was a kid and even then he had only cried when Dimitri ignored him. Despite the tears, Felix was completely silent as if his world was void of sound and if anything that just freaked Sylvain out more.
“Are you injured?” He asked dumbly.
Even saying that Sylvain knew the truth. No, he wasn’t injured, but he was hurting and Sylvain didn’t know if there was anything he could do to make him feel better.
“About your Dad… I’m sorry.” Sylvain said. “I should have moved faster. I should have… I should been able to save him.”
Felix kept scrubbing his hands.
“Fe, please, talk to me. Yell at me, I don’t care. Just show me that you can hear me.”
Felix lifted his hands from the water. He inspected them for a long moment, twisting them this way and that. He dunked them back into the river, cleaning them ever more fervently.
Sylvain put his hand back onto Felix’s shoulder but this time Felix gave no reaction. Sylvain twisted him around, forcing Felix to face him. The silent tears were still falling but Felix did not look at him. He did not look at anything, his gaze empty.
“Felix,” Sylvain said tightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
The fact that Felix spoke at all made Sylvain’s heart soar but then he realised that Felix’s tone was off. It was too monotone, no hint of sarcasm or anger. It wasn’t just off, it was wrong.
“He was your Dad.” Sylvain said.
“He was a soldier who died.” Felix said. “It happens every battle.”
“Oh Fe…” Sylvain whispered.
Sylvain reached up, wiping away a silent tear only for another one to replace it. Felix’s shoulders shook but he still made no sound, made no other movement, he just sat there as the tears fell harder.
“I can’t get his blood off.” Felix whispered.
Sylvain took his hands and held them tightly. There was no blood, not even under the fingernails. They were raw from being washed so much, Felix’s fingers trembling, but there was no blood.
Moving slowly, forecasting everything and giving Felix every chance to move away, Sylvain took Felix into his arms. For a moment Felix just stiffened. He had never been one for touch, at least not since Glenn had died, so maybe it had been a mistake to hold him like this. All at once the tension left Felix and he buried his head into Sylvain’s chest. He did not sob, he did not wail, he simply sank into Sylvain’s arms as if the weight of the entire world was on his shoulders.
And now that he was a Duke, Sylvain supposed that maybe it was.
Sylvain held him, giving Felix all the time that he needed. The mere thought of having seen his own father die the way that Rodrigue had today sent a shiver down Sylvain’s spine. It was a war, yes, but nobody wants to bury their own kin least of all their father.
They stayed there even after Felix’s shoulders stopped trembling. He took in a deep breath, and then another, but Sylvain did not let him go until Felix himself pulled away. Felix wasn’t looking at Sylvain but it was obvious that he was more with it now.
“Let’s get your hands fixed up.” Sylvain said. “There should be another vulnerary at camp.”
Felix tensed but did not say anything.
“Fe,” Sylvain said gently. “Look at them.”
Felix glanced down at his raw hands. They shook a little, obviously painful, but Felix buried them into his lap.
“I couldn’t get the blood off…” Felix whispered. “It still… It’s still there.”
Sylvain didn’t know if Felix would ever be able to look at his hands again without seeing his Fathers blood so he did not even attempt to lie and say that it’ll disappear by morning. After all, while there was no blood on Sylvain’s hands either he could still see it all the same. Rodrigue was dead because Sylvain had not moved fast enough. Rodrigue was dead because like Miklan had always said, Sylvain was a good for nothing bastard who failed in everything he did.
No amount of washing in a river could ever change that.
Sylvain stood slowly, reaching out a blood soaked hand towards Felix.
“Dinner should be ready soon. Dedue’s cooking, so you know it’ll be good. But, then again, Dimitri was going to help too so it might just be the worst meal you’ve ever had.”
Felix did not accept Sylvain’s hand nor did he attempt to stand by himself.
“Syl,” He said.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For trying to save him.”
Sylvain’s chest hurt but he forced a smile.
“Of course.” Sylvain said.
Felix at last took Sylvain’s hand but he hissed, his own hands sensitive. Sylvain moved so that he was holding Felix’s elbow instead, helping him up. Felix wobbled for a moment, exhausted, but Sylvain stayed by him like he always had.