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The end of Verdant Rain Moon brought the last throes of summer, but though the season had started to wind down, the sweltering heat had not. At least, that was what Sylvain thought as he walked through Garreg Mach’s courtyard toward the training grounds.
In his sweaty grip, he held a wooden lance, perfect for practice strikes. He did not know what he was preparing for, though. Their victory in Enbarr may have been only a handful of days previously, but their victory also meant the war had ended. What could he possibly be preparing for other than his return to Fhirdiad and the coronation of Dimitri as king of a united Fódlan? He stepped over the threshold, minding his step as the gravel crunched under his boots. When he was met with the sight of his king and their professor slashing their blades at each other in the center of a cheering crowd, he remembered.
He weaseled his way into an empty spot near the front and moaned. He barely stopped himself from smacking his face.
Clearly, he was preparing for the king to do something so utterly stupid that Sylvain would have to step in and defend him.
Dimitri had the most smitten look on his face complete with a goo-goo-eyed grin.
Sylvain chuckled under his breath. With the way his laugh cracked into a high-pitched note that sounded like he was an adolescent going through puberty again, he knew how hysterical it must have sounded.
“Honestly, keep that ghastly noise to yourself,” remarked Lorenz. He appeared next to Sylvain, (or was he always there?), and raised a dainty eyebrow. “You’d think a mare was complaining about a lost carrot.”
From the corner of his eye, Sylvain watched as Byleth dodged a glancing blow from Dimitri’s training lance. He could have sworn that her lips quirked into a smirk as she did so.
“They’re flirting,” Sylvain said incredulously instead of acknowledging Lorenz’s comment.
Lorenz huffed. He flipped his overly shampooed hair over his shoulder in an important gesture. “You’ve only just noticed? You are not quite as observant as I thought you were.”
Byleth danced around Dimitri, gliding like a swan on a lake. She skimmed the hand not holding her sword across his waist, and it looked like she was avoiding him by circling him. It only served to distract Dimitri and his face blushed redder than a tomato.
“It’s not that I haven’t noticed that they’re interested in each other. It’s just now it looks—”
“Like they don’t know they’re doing it.”
Sylvain’s eyes widened. He stared at Lorenz for a moment and then grinned. “It looks like you and I think alike.”
Lorenz hid his mouth behind his hand. “Unfortunately, my noble eyes can spot a pathetic scene from a long distance.”
Byleth launched backward, her sword winding behind her, and Dimitri who had spent a second too long in one place, stumbled into retaliation against her incoming swing.
“Glad I don’t have to tell you to get your eyes checked,” replied Sylvain drily.
Though Dimitri blocked with the shaft of his lance, Byleth’s sword bit into the wood, and the force of it shoved him up against the wall. Dirt churned around them in a cloud but did not hide the two of them from view.
Dimitri and Byleth stood there locked in a stalemate, breaths intermingling as they panted for air mere inches from each other. Sweat trickling down their lips, pupils blown wide…eugh. He had seen enough. He did not peg Dimitri as a skirt chaser, but Sylvain had never considered exhibitionism.
Sylvain wished beyond anything else that they would get a room.
Lorenz on the other hand—
“Truly! Is this the proper way to treat a lady? Letting this scandalous thing occur in public? Shame on His Majesty, indeed. The Professor deserves a greater form of respect than this.”
Sylvain groaned. When Lorenz nitpicked, it grated on his nerves.
He watched the two lovebirds jump apart. Dimitri was a mess and Byleth, oddly enough, was stoic beyond measure. She brushed herself off and went to drink from her flask.
“All right!” she shouted into the bustling crowd. “Who’s next? Felix?”
The man in question burst out from the throng of people with a ready sword. Really, Sylvain should not have been surprised that Felix had waited on the sidelines for his chance at a mock battle.
Sylvain glanced at Dimitri who was recovering from whatever kind of ridiculous waltz he had been performing and heard him sputter some nonsense about going ahead to eat breakfast in the dining hall when in fact, he had eaten right before all of this.
Eventually, Sylvain got his turn. He fought and lost against Byleth because of course he did, but at least he broke a sweat doing it.
The whole time it looked like she had not been bothered by the morning’s events at all.
Drenched in sweat, Sylvain decided that it would be a good idea to hit the bathhouse before continuing with the rest of his day.
He should have known that the stupidity would not stop even if the scenery changed.
“Uh! I really shouldn’t—” Dimitri had been stopped right outside the bathhouse door reserved for the male students at the Officer’s Academy which had been repurposed for soldiers during the war effort. He was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and from the looks of it, they were either visiting nobles who had hitched a ride with their families to Garreg Mach for the festivities or from minor clans who had fought alongside them. And, for the Goddess’s sake, Dimitri had no shirt on.
“Surely, Your Majesty, you have thought of a wife?” spoke a girl wearing obnoxious, fuchsia-colored blush on her cheeks that made her look like a court jester.
“Have you courted anyone yet?” asked another with pigtails curlier than a newborn swine’s.
Dimitri stammered. The towel he clutched in his hand threatened to rip at the seams. “Well, yes I—well…not that I have—”
“Who is this maiden, then?” sputtered the jester girl.
“She is…she is the most—” Dimitri blinked so rapidly that Sylvain was sure a dragonfly would be impressed with the pace of his eyelids. No other words came out of his mouth. He was a gasping fish flip-flopping on land.
Sylvain swung his arm around Dimitri’s shoulders. “And that’s all for today, ladies!” he exclaimed. He dragged Dimitri along with him into the bathhouse. “You heard our Savior King. He’s taken! Dating! Can’t argue with that!”
He could not deny that he felt some kind of perverse satisfaction from yanking his friend out of that situation, especially when it was related to something Sylvain had a vast breadth of knowledge in.
Girls could be vultures when they wanted something like a husband for fame and power and crests—
He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself.
He plopped down at the edge of the communal bathpool while Dimitri followed. His legs sank into the steaming water. Internally, he blessed the mages and priests for magicking the water with fire and heat for a more pleasurable experience. In a stuffy place like the monastery, it was one of the few places he could relax.
Remembering his clothes, he quickly stripped out of them and piled them on a bench before submerging.
He looked up when he heard a splash. Dimitri had joined on the opposite side. There were a few others milling about either scrubbing their backs or soaking.
Sylvain stared at Dimitri’s exposed eye. Even in the communal baths, he never removed his eyepatch. For a moment, he wondered for whom he would.
“Have you told her?” Sylvain asked.
Dimitri did not answer.
“The Professor,” he clarified. “Have you told her you love her?”
Instead of just his face, Dimitri’s whole body seemed to become beet-red from what Sylvain could see. “N-not exactly…” he spluttered.
“Okay…” he tried. He waved a hand in some vague direction. “Have you courted her at least? Gone on a date? You need to if you’re going to make those girls stop.”
The look on Dimitri’s face was enough to tell him what he already knew inside. All the Gautier ancestors were probably rolling in their graves right now.
There was movement to the other side of the pool and, lo and behold, Lorenz appeared like a wild animal about to pounce. Sylvain swiped his hand down his face. Of course, he’d show up here too. He was like a very persistent rash. At least the guy had seen what he had.
“Please,” started Lorenz. He pinched his eyebrows together. Somehow, he smelled of roses and perfume, a feat which was unfathomable to Sylvain when neither of those things were provided in the bathhouse. “His Majesty could not ask a twig on a date if it was named Byleth.”
Dimitri sat up straighter. “I’ll have you know that I have…attempted…with the Professor.”
“Sparring sessions aren’t dates,” deadpanned Sylvain.
“Then meals at the cafeteria—”
“You mean the ones where she invites more than one person at the same time? No.”
Lorenz nodded in agreement, and through the steam, he looked like a grinning, mischievous lemur. “I cannot bear to watch this anymore. Perhaps Sylvain and I can help you.”
And that was how Sylvain and Lorenz formed an alliance for the ages…out of sheer mutual annoyance.
-
Telling Dimitri to start out small should have been easy enough. Except it was not.
Sylvain had been clear. “Give her a gift,” he commanded.
“A simple gift is a gesture of appreciation,” added Lorenz. “Take a flower for example. If you pick the right one, they might have a hidden meaning.”
They had hoped that the nudge in the right direction would lead Dimitri to the greenhouse, or if anything, to Ashe or Dedue who could assist him with picking something.
But Dimitri had never been good at understanding romantic gestures even if one was handed to him on a silver platter.
Sylvain admitted that he attempted to have a little more faith in his friend, but something niggled at the back of his mind.
“Knowing Dimitri,” he said to Lorenz as they rounded the corner together past the dorms on the way to the greenhouse to check if their plan had been properly enacted, “he’s going to give her a dagger.”
A crash interrupted their walk.
Lorenz hid his snort behind his hand, and all the saints above, Sylvain could not fault him.
No, Dimitri had not gifted Byleth with a dagger. Instead, he had gifted her with all the innards of the armory. Lances, swords, axes, bows and arrows, gauntlets—weapons of all shapes and sizes and too many to count. The hallway in front of her quarters was overflowing with them.
Byleth was stuck behind her door, struggling to push it open. Mountains of armor lodged against the wood panels and metal screeched on the cobblestones.
“We’re doomed,” Sylvain said. He rushed forward to help her.
The endeavor ended right before he could assist when Byleth used a white magic spell to force everything out of her way.
The explosion woke the rest of the monastery.
-
So, maybe gifts were not an option, but other tactics had to be. Lorenz devised their next plan, boasting about the magnificence of it all. Poetry was not a thing of the past, he claimed, but of the future.
“Leave poetic notes for her with sweet nothings written in your own hand,” he advised Dimitri. “Noble ladies admire words above all else. Show your true heart and she will know your intentions without misunderstanding.”
Sylvain was inclined to agree. “See, it’s all about sincerity,” he said. “I’ve always been told that I have a way with words. When you sound like you mean it and they sense it, the tryst behind the stable is all yours!”
Dimitri eyed the roll of parchment Lorenz handed him with a grimace. “I suppose the stories say lyrical prose is most beautiful if said with passion.”
Sylvain patted his back and grinned. “That’s the spirit, Your Majesty!”
The first note came with Byleth’s lunch, secreted away into her napkin. Sylvain tried to get a read on her expression, but she had always been rather difficult to understand. He supposed since nothing else blew up, it must have been a success.
The next note came to her during a meeting with Seteth, folded into the papers Sylvain had handed her.
The third arrived on her doorstep. That was when trouble came.
Sylvain and Lorenz watched with terror as she tore up the gatekeeper in the marketplace, fire in her eyes and an avalanche thundering with every step. The poor man did not stand a chance. He only survived because he proved to her that his handwriting was anything but the elegant scrawl the notes presented.
When Lorenz had managed to gather what Dimitri had written to her that night, Sylvain balked.
I see you at the gate
A lady so divine
My blade meets your fate
I wish your spirit mine
Together, the notes formed quite an interesting poem. Too bad it sounded like a threat.
-
“Third time’s the charm,” muttered Sylvain as he glared at Dimitri.
His friend had the decency to look ashamed of himself. However, there was no time to dawdle. Their time left in Garreg Mach before they returned to Fhirdiad was dwindling, and the date to depart was fast approaching. Yet, the girls had not stopped drowning Dimitri in requests for outings. Byleth did not seem to appreciate it either. Regardless of what Sylvain thought of her expressions, there was no denying the dark look that crossed her features whenever she saw a noblewoman corner him.
In the shadow of the pillar haloed by the afternoon sun, Lorenz could not have looked more tired.
“Please, for the sake of all your subjects,” he begged, “Do not be excessive with your desire this time.”
Dimitri rubbed the back of his head. “Right.”
“It’s very simple,” Sylvain said. “Just tell her you love her.”
“Just repeat these words,” said Lorenz. “ʻI love you.’”
Dimitri nodded. “ʻI love you.’”
“Eep!” A squeak interrupted them.
The pigtail girl from the bathhouse stood ramrod straight in the hallway, her cheeks flushing and her hands covering her mouth in surprise. Her eyes darted between Dimitri and Lorenz. She about-faced and ran.
Sylvain slapped his forehead.
Dimitri, with the highest sense of urgency Sylvain had seen since he had discovered he was behind on paperwork that morning, sprinted after her.
Lorenz grabbed Sylvain’s arm. “Well?” he hissed. “Are we going or not?!”
Whatever the hell was happening around them did not matter because this was an emergency. He was sure that he bulldozed over a small child or two. Or three? He heard the angry call of a wandering merchant as he toppled over a cart of goods being pushed into the kitchens. Somebody’s stray cat regurgitated half an Airmid pike onto his shoe.
This girl was fast.
Past a duo of soldiers having a row, they somehow made it into the reception hall.
The pigtail girl skidded to a stop in front of her jester makeup friend, opening her mouth wide and about to babble about the thing she had witnessed.
Dimitri exploded past her, and Sylvain and Lorenz could only follow. Sylvain glanced at Lorenz, and he could see the panic flooding every bit of his being as his too-perfect hair deflated into a sad mop. He could have sworn that the rose on Lorenz’s lapel died.
“BELOVED!” screamed Dimitri. He reached toward the shape of the woman on the other side of the hall speaking with Dedue.
Byleth swiveled around. She dropped the scrolls she was holding. The knights and guests present paused what they were doing.
Dimitri latched onto her shoulder, breathing hard. “I—”
“Ah, wait, Your Majesty, if I may,” interjected Dedue’s quiet voice. He handed him a bouquet of sunflowers. Their golden petals and verdant stems stood out in the drab hall.
Sylvain heard a gasp from the noble girls. He did not want to think too hard on the twist they likely thought this was.
“I think it best if you confess with these. They are joyful flowers. I believe I overheard you speaking with Sylvain and Lorenz about finding the right ones?”
Dimitri stared, then bowed. “R-right, of course,” he replied. He took the flowers in his hands as if holding a baby for the first time. Then, he presented them to Byleth. “For you.”
Without hesitation, she took them. She smiled.
Dimitri’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Sylvain could not believe what he was seeing.
“Perfect,” Byleth said. Her eyes twinkled. “The petals are a great touch to a summer salad. If we blanch the leaves, they make for a good vegetable dish. Have you tried sunflower artichokes? With Duscarian seasoning, I am sure it will be a new delicacy.”
Dimitri looked at her as if she had just cured all the ills in the world. Like an idiot, Sylvain was sure she could if this was what she obtained from this ordeal.
Byleth’s eyes widened mid-sentence. “Oh, yes,” she said matter-of-factly. She tilted her face up and kissed Dimitri’s lips. Leaning away after a second, she began talking about another meal they could make with the sunflowers like nothing else had happened. Dimitri appeared more lovestruck than ever before.
“Sylvain,” Lorenz said through gritted teeth, “Let us never speak of this again.”
Perhaps, it was not all that bad. At the very least, Dimitri and Byleth could start their courtship by bonding over edible plants.
Or something.