Chapter Text
Blue Sea Moon 1199
Sreng
Sylvain fights the urge to bang his forehead against a wall.
Ten months. For ten months, civil war raged throughout Sreng’s borders in the south, dipping into neighboring Fódlan. As the primary defenders of the north, the Gautier forces stepped in to protect the borders until a ceasefire implemented. The warring parties have finally reached the negotiation stage with the head of the Gautier family acting as a mediator on behalf of Chief Leif.
A fist slams on the table and acts as a reminder that, unfortunately, negotiations are the hardest part of war.
Why is the whole ‘killing each other'' the easiest part, Sylvain puzzles grimly. A clear objective with an enemy in front of you; no wonder fighting feels like the easiest option. Clear right and wrong, at least in a soldier’s eyes. The peace talks afterwards, well, everyone has different ideas on what counts as peace. They’ve been in talks for three weeks and still no closer to a solution.
For some, peace comes as coexisting with individual differences and for others, peace requires uniformity with complete subjugation. It’s like walking into a den of snakes, each side waiting to spring.
Each tribe is striving to achieve the best deal for their groups, sometimes in cut-throat ways. The losers resent the winners and scheme their way back up. The winners, on the other hand, forget how easy it is to lose and delude themselves into thinking they “earned” their position in life. The politics outside of Fódlan serve their own additional challenge.
Sreng is such a strange land. Parts of the country are buried in snow, where the people utilize thick furs to survive the freezing winds and yet other parts are empty deserts. And some places have the worse of both worlds: icy deserts.
The Sreng region typically consists of multiple tribes, separated by miles of ice or desert. People migrate more during the summer but otherwise, everyone stays in their agreed territories. Communication between the different territories are scarce and slow, with the cold weather blocking most carrier owls and horses.
Luckily, summer this year has been remarkably pleasant, allowing the tribe leaders to meet up with Sylvain. Based on his reports, the whole Sreng affair began when one tribe leader in the East launched an attack on the other tribes, interfering with the trade in Fódlan. Some tribes agreed with his radical sentiments against Fódlan and attacked the other tribes that aligned with their Fódlan neighbors.
Sylvain led the charge to defend their allied tribes and convinced the neutral tribes to turn against the upstarts and end the fighting- a slow, arduous process. The people of Sreng did not trust anyone from Fódlan easily. Sylvain couldn't blame them. The Sreng have led incursions on and off the Kingdom for over 200 years. It wasn’t until King Lambert annexed the territory, with the support of the Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea families, that most of the main fighting ceased.
Sreng is a harsh, unforgiving place; millions of Kingdom soldiers died in the 200 years of fighting. Sylvain’s family acted as the mainline defense against the North for generations, granting them a cushy position within the Kingdom. With the strength of their Crests and their Hero’s Relic, House Gautier endured generations of conflict. That fact’s been etched into his mind since the moment he picked up a training sword. The family’s Lance of Ruin protects their people from the savages of the North. A few swings from the Lance and his enemies would be annihilated.
He witnessed the Lance of Ruin’s awesome display of power during the Unification War, when the Empire utilized demonic beasts and Hero’s Relics against the Kingdom. The Lance pulsed in his hands, unleashing devastating destruction against his enemies, yet his Lance was one of the weaker weapons on the field. The Emperor’s Ax was so powerful she plowed through an entire battlefield of soldiers single-handed. The Sword of the Creator and the King’s lance, Areadbhar, displayed even more power against their enemies.
Here, the circumstances are different. The people of Sreng used ordinary weapons, environment, and tactics to fight. From his conversations with the tribal leaders, the battles between Sreng and Fódlan have historically favored only one side- the side that holds Hero’s Relics. He's dreamed of breaking that cycle.
If there is one thing Sylvain holds talent in, it’s being persistent.
Whether it’s with his studies or pursuing the ladies, Sylvain carries an unrelenting spirit. After learning of his family’s history, he studied Sreng in spare time- travel logs and historical documents on the region and customs. Sreng is so different from how his father described it- harsh, yes, but varied and full of life. The Gautier’s intel on the region was lacking and that lack of knowledge made the region seem more dangerous than reality dictates. All those years of goofing off and flirting seemed to sharpen his people skills, especially when he needed to make nice with the tribal leaders’ wives and mothers over tea in order to curry the favor of the leaders.
Now it’s a matter of getting the two sides to agree with each other. His plan to approach the situation is similar to the Kingdom’s angle with Duscur- give the people more autonomy over their territory in exchange for the safety of Fódlan traders. After all, the rough terrain makes it difficult for them to do trade with anyone else. It would be to their determent if they cut themselves off completely from Fódlan. Without the threat of violence, the people of Sreng might be more receptive to opening up more with Fódlan.
Of course, Fódlan cannot take the role of full pacifist; otherwise the insurgents will never back off from the border. Sylvain had to bluff with an army. The soldiers from the Gautier territory assisted him with maintaining order on the border but their numbers alone were too small to put up a sufficient threat. He put in a request for more soldiers from the Kingdom and the King complied, much to his gratitude. He owes His Majesty a great debt for lending him the aid- without it, he would have been forced to use the Lance of Ruin against these people.
Another slamming fist catches his attention.
“It’s impossible! We’re never going to agree on anything!”
“A wolf always bares its fangs when cornered,” rebukes the Northern tribe leader. “You have no right demanding our cooperation.”
“A coward wants to lecture us on our practices?” The general from the East mocks. “While we defended our lands, your lot ran from Acrata.”
The various tribal leaders grow more passionate and the arguing grows more heated.
Ugh, this is just going to dissolve into more pointless bickering. Sylvain rises up and beckons the attention of a nearby page. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. This is a round table discussion. We’ve all had a long and tiring day. How about we refresh ourselves with a shot of brandy?”
The page travels around the table, pouring drinks. The general from the East frowns. “Pfft- Fódlan spirits are hardly a drink suited to Sreng leaders!”
“Fódlan? Oh no, you’re mistaken General. This is a bottle from Duscur. A good friend of mine recommended it to me. You may find that it has a lot in common with the spirits native to Sreng.”
That tidbit puts the tribe leaders at ease. As they partake in drinking, one leader nods in approval. “Hmm… this brandy does taste similar.”
Sylvain chuckles, smiling towards the General. “You may find that there are many things Duscur, Sreng, and Fódlan have in common, General.”
“And much that is not in common,” he counters, his brow furrowing.
“An opportunity to learn about one another,” Sylvain salvages, not missing a beat. “Once we’ve put this conflict to rest.”
A Western tribal leader interjects. “You speak the language of diplomacy very well, Margrave Gautier but you’re hardly the first from your nation to try. How do we know you’ll keep the peace between our borders?”
“Peace takes time and trust,” Sylvain informs, raising his glass. “Two things that aren’t easily earned or gained. But we have that opportunity to take that first step and in all honesty, I’m going to take this opportunity, if only so that I may have a chance to try these famous Sreng spirits you’ve mentioned.”
A general bursts out in laughter. “Now that’s a suggestion I can agree with!”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, growing less stifling and the conversation turns jovial. Sylvain suppresses a smile.
The meeting proceeds smoothly with some progress on negotiations and the tribal leaders break for the day. Finally, a light at the end of the tunnel. Sylvain needs to alert his generals of the meeting and begin preparations to move their soldiers back to Fódlan. Ten long months away from his wife and children. He’s homesick just thinking about it.
A scream breaks his attention.
A commotion breaks out near the mess tent, soldiers yelling as crates topple over and break. Nurses rush over to the scene and Sylvain follows them to investigate the racket.
The soldiers surround a small figure, pinning it to the ground. The small figure screams and kicks, doing everything it can to claw and get away. From the yelping, Sylvain assumed they had captured a large cat; much to his shock, it was a small boy covered rags.
“Whoa! What’s going on?” He demands. A solider with her sword drawn, answers him.
“Milord! We caught this boy trying to raid supplies. We were just about to execute the little thief.”
“Execute!?” He winches, but regains his composure. “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“Milord, he’s an enemy combatant. He already stabbed two of my men before we able to disarm him.”
Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “He stabbed two fully armed soldiers?”
He looks down at the kid. On initial inspection, he looks about maybe 6 or 7 but judging from his small malnourished size, he could be even older. Based on his vicious demeanor, he’s most likely a child soldier.
A second solider chimes in. “Aye, he was trying to steal food and supplies. When he was spotted, he attacked the guards with a makeshift knife.”
Sylvain rubs his chin. “Are the men he stabbed still alive?”
“Yes Milord, they’re being treated in the medical tent.”
“Good,” he nods, satisfied with the answer. “Then there’s no need to execute the boy. Let him go. If he’s not a murderer, we don’t have to enact punishment.”
“B-But Milord-!”
“Don’t worry,” he assures. “I have this under control.”
Reluctantly, the knights release the boy. The boy examines his surroundings and bolts towards the crowd. Sylvain swoops down and picks him up, taking the boy off his feet. The boy’s short legs kick at empty air as he chomps down on Sylvain’s gloved hand to escape. Judging from the pressure on his glove, the kid’s got quite a bite.
“Lord Gautier!”
“Haha! Relax, I’ve dealt with my fair share of roughhousing kids before. He’ll tire himself out eventually. Send a letter to Chief Leif. We’ll see if we can find a safe place for him in the morning. Maybe locate his family. In the meantime, let’s see if we can find a place for him to spend the night. Go easy on him.”
The knight runs off to send off the letter, leaving Sylvain and the boy alone with the nurses. Sure enough, the boy loses stamina and his willpower weakens. Eventually, he figures out that no one is trying to kill him anymore and his grip loosens. The nurses grab hold of him and he weakly tries to scratch them off as they take him to the medical tent.
A nurse tries to attend to Sylvain but he assures her that he’s unharmed from the scuffle. His pain’s nothing compared to how roughed up the kid is. Sylvain frowns.
There’s been increased sightings of child soldiers from the Sreng army. According to one of the generals, some of the smaller militia groups gather war orphans and use them for combat. They starve the kids and push them onto dangerous missions under the assumption that the kids won’t last long. The main military force of Sreng outlaws the use of child soldiers but desperate times bring out the worst in people. Many end up falling through the cracks.
The fact that this kid survived this far into an enemy camp… that’s some tenacity, he assesses grim-faced. Now that the war is over, what’s left for a kid like that?
Evening rolls around and Sylvain retreats to his tent, wrapping up his letters to the Kingdom. There’s a lot of moving parts to consider with the return home: which soldiers to send back first, what supplies they need for travel and what parts of their cargo can be discarded, the future proceedings with relations to Sreng. It’s enough to make his head spin but if he can get these letters delivered by morning, he can expect to return home before the end of this year.
A captain asks for permission to enter his tent and Sylvain grants it, finding a flustered officer.
“Milord. Forgive me, but the nurses sent me this way. The boy from earlier has gotten out of hand. The nurses tried to clean him up for the evening and he lashed out at them, scratching and biting. They refuse to let him back into their tent. The other knights want nothing to do with him as well and we have no idea where to put him.”
“So he’ll have no place to sleep then,” Sylvain concludes. He sighs. “Well I guess if no one else is going to volunteer, I’ll have to take him in myself.”
“Milord! Is that wise? What if he tries to attack you in your sleep? He could be an enemy spy.”
“He’s a kid,” Sylvain shrugs, amused at the assumption. “If we remove all the weapons and sharp objects in my room, the worst he’ll be able to do is try to bite me again.”
The captain reluctantly concedes and assists in clearing out the tent. With just his bedsheets and his desk, the kid shouldn’t be able to harm anyone. Well, unless he tries to jab a quill into his eye but Sylvain is just going to keep the mighty pen on his person this evening, just in case.
Despite his orders to go easy on the boy, the captain drags the kid inside, the boy kicking like an uncooperative wild animal. From the looks of it, kid’s been dragged all over the place. Sylvain dismisses the captain from his tent and the little boy immediately tries to bolt out. Sylvain grabs him by his shirt collar.
“Whoa there!” He orders, scooping the kid up in his arms. “No running off. We got bears near these parts of the woods. If you leave the camp, one might attack you. Better to stick around where there’s food, light, and people.”
The boy’s kicks slow, probably realizing the same thing. Sylvain sets the kid down on his makeshift cot and the boy immediately jumps off to explore the room. His large cat-like eyes narrow on the small pile of books near his bed and the boy knocks the books off, one at a time.
Sylvain laughs. Tate used to do the exact same thing growing up; as a toddler, she kept testing her strength against different objects at home to see what would break and what wouldn’t. They lost a lot of valuable plates but thank the Goddess, Tate never hurt herself.
After the kid almost knocks down the lantern, Sylvain picks him back up. “Now behave. This is your place to sleep tonight. I’m going to do some more work so you can rest.”
Sylvain places him back on the cot and returns to his desk. He has one more letter to write to House Gautier; surely his darling Mercedes is waiting with fated breath to hear about his return home. As he starts his letter, he notices a pair of eyes watching him.
The kid stares at him with those huge cat-like eyes of his, assessing Sylvain. Not that he can really blame the kid. In just one day, the soldiers who were threatening to kill him decide to take him in; who wouldn’t be suspicious of that?
He writes on, ignoring the kid’s piercing gaze. Sylvain only rises up when dinner is delivered to their tent. He hands the boy his plate and the kid scarfs down his meal.
“Hey now, your food’s not going to walk away. Slow down.”
The boy shoots him a weird look but slows down regardless. Sylvain softens.
“We haven’t really had a chance to talk, have we? What’s your name, little guy?”
The boy doesn’t respond, stuffing his face with more food. Given his age, the kid might have trouble with speech. Depending on how long he’s been on the battlefield, it’s possible that all his social interactions were limited to violence. He’s pretty thin too; he likely hasn’t eaten since separating from his troop. No wonder he was so desperate as to steal from an enemy camp.
His parents must be worried about him. Are they even still alive?
“That’s fine. You seem really hungry. Here,” he consoles, pushing his own plate closer to the kid. “Have my meal too.”
The camp’s food is not great; one of the downsides of fighting is going back to war rations. With their size too, there isn’t too much extra to go around but it’s nothing Sylvain’s going to miss. The boy rushes to gobble the food and Sylvain goes back to his letter. Should he tell Mercedes about this kid…?
“Saza.”
“Hm?” Sylvain turns around. The boy’s second plate is empty and he’s staring Sylvain, his gaze wavering.
“My name is… Saza,” the boy answers, his words clumsy. Sylvain smiles, leaning in to build rapport with the boy.
“Really? It’s good to meet you Saza. Where are you from?”
The boy looks down, deep in thought. “… the Lorka tribe.”
“I see,” Sylvain replies solemnly. The Lorka tribe was one of the first tribes the uprising ravaged. According to his reports, the residents are either dead or scattered all across the Sreng countryside.
“Are your parents still alive?”
The boy doesn’t answer, his eyes looking down, confirming Sylvain’s suspicions. He is a war orphan after all.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to help you find a new home. Until then, you can sleep on this cot in my tent, ok? If you stick around, you’ll get breakfast tomorrow.”
The boy glares, attempting vigilance in his new surroundings but the the droopiness in his eyes show the struggle is in vain.
“Well you do whatever you want," Sylvain assure. “I’m going to go back and write my letter, ok?” Saza doesn’t reply, keeping his eyes on Sylvain’s back but Sylvain pays it no mind. Weirdly, the kid reminds him of Felix: fighting dirty, hyper-vigilant, trying hard to hide his vulnerabilities. Felix’d probably laugh if he knew he had a mini doppelgänger up in Sreng.
Oh well. The worst the kid can do is run, but given how desperate he was for food, it’s unlikely he’ll miss out on his next free meal. After some internal debate, he decides to tell Mercedes about the kid. She has a lot of experiences working with the orphanages in Faerghus and her guidance is invaluable to him. She’s even given him advice on how to assist with the orphanages up here in Sreng.
The Gautier estate is one of the wealthier territories in the Kingdom; their comfortable position within the Kingdom and their ongoing war with Sreng managed to net a tidy profit for their territory over the generations. His aides argue against his more ‘charitable’ endeavors, of course, for in their eyes, the money is meant to defend the Gautier territory. In terms of strategy, however, charity can serve as a sign of good-will; hopefully, one that can convince Sreng to remain aligned with Gautier family.
The Gautier money finally has a use for something, he smirks. He’ll probably reach out to His Majesty and see if it’s possible to submit Kingdom funds to the orphans in the North as well.
As he wraps up the letter, he turns and sees Saza asleep, sitting up on the cot. The little guy’s trying way too hard to be tough. Sylvain’s chair creaks as he gets up and he gently guides the boy down to the cot. The last thing he wants is for Saza to wake up, angry and scared. The kid’s in such deep sleep, he doesn’t even notice. It makes Sylvain’s heart heavy in more ways than one.
His allies from Sreng help locate a local orphanage and Saza’s quickly transferred. He doesn’t have much of a reaction, his eyes stoically gazing onward, but Sylvain gets the distinct impression that the kid really doesn’t want to go. Not much he can really do about it though. They can’t keep a kid in their camp, especially one who’s prone to fighting the guards. It’s better for him to be around kids his own age.
Yet Sylvain can’t shake this nagging feeling. Is Saza going to get along with the other kids? Sreng’s orphanages aren’t known for their quality, even with his funding it was going to take years before they see real change.
One day on whim he decides to pay a visit to the local orphanage. With all the wrap-up, the camp has extra supplies that they need to donate before they go to waste. It’s a convenient excuse to drop by and check in on Saza.
Sure enough, it’s just like he imagines. The orphanage is overcrowded; it looks like the in-fighting left a lot of children displaced. They look happy for the most part, but the damages run deep. He searches the grounds for Saza and finds him hiding alone behind a tree. According to the nuns running the orphanage, Saza hasn’t adjusted too well with the other children. He turns violent pretty quick, escalating into fights, and he steals from the kitchens almost daily, getting him in trouble with the staff.
When Saza spots Sylvain, much to his surprise, the boy runs up and wraps himself around his leg, squeezing tightly. Sylvain chuckles and tries to ease him off, but Saza refuses, grabbing tighter. Sylvain awkwardly walks, hoping to loosen his grip, but concedes to his loss while resting on the tree. Kid’ll tire himself out eventually.
He didn’t think Saza would get so attached after one night. It’s going to be painful letting him go.
The months pass and Sylvain pays a visit to the orphanage whenever he has a free day. The children run up, enthusiastic for extra supplies and treats, while Saza sits, eyeing Sylvain. He’s a lot more cleaned up and better behaved once Sylvain started making consistent visits. When Sylvain finds a moment alone, Saza walks up to him and sits at his side, hardly saying a word, in a manner that feels more protective than indifferent.
When Saza did feel like talking, he’d ask about horses, much to Sylvain’s amusement. Saza is too scared to go to the horses up close himself but he liked watching them from afar. Sylvain teases him about his fears and he’ll cling tightly against his pant leg. Aside from horses, the kid knows his basic colors and numbers, but he stumbles over his words a lot. Perhaps that’s the reason he dislikes talking.
As he spends more time with him, Sylvain finds himself growing more and more attached to Saza. He’s always gravitated towards kids but there was something about Saza that’s special. A little natural, even. But pretty soon he’ll be heading back to Fódlan; his Sreng visits will be few and far between. How is he going to explain to this kid that he’s not going to be able to come back anymore? He still wasn’t getting along with the other kids, even with his improved attitude. So if he leaves, the kid might…
He’s consulted Mercedes these past few weeks; asking for her advice on how to break the news to the kid. She’s so natural at delivering hard news in a pleasant way, but letters from Fódlan are slow this time of year. There’s a part of him that almost wants to take the kid back home with him, but he can’t force that on Mercedes. She already has her hands full with their four children; he can’t ask everyone to adjust their lives on his whim.
When he returns to camp, his captain informs him of the incoming letters from the homeland addressed to him requiring his attention. Inside his tent, he sorts through the mail and finds one from his wife. He unseals the envelop to find a surprisingly short letter inside.
Dear Sylvain,
I wanted to get this letter out as soon as possible. From what you’ve described, it sounds like you’ve gotten quite close to Saza. In truth, I wish to meet him too. He sounds like a sweet boy. If you’re worried about leaving him behind, why not bring him back to Fódlan with us?
We’ve talked about adoption before in the past. I’m sure he’ll get along just fine. We have plenty of space and the children don’t mind; I already asked. Emile was just excited to have another boy in the house. He’s really taken on a lot of responsibility in your absence, dear. I’m sure you’ll be very proud when you speak with him again.
Until then, may the Goddess bless you on your journey home.
With love,
Mercie
He smiles. That woman. She always knows how to read his mind.