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Felix first met Sylvain in Gautier territory.
He was with Glenn and his father on a visit to the north. It was during the summer, so the weather was a bit more pleasant; at least, far more preferable than the biting cold Faerghus usually had to offer.
Felix was merely a child, but his father insisted he come along and get to know the other nobles. While he was rather timid, Felix (at this age) wasn’t the kind to protest. It would be way better than being left behind at home for days, anyway.
“You must be Felix,” a gruff voice spoke to him. Felix looked up and saw Margrave Gautier, a man with strong features and an even stronger presence.
The margrave introduced his two sons who were standing beside him—Miklan, and Sylvain. Miklan scowled like he had better places to be than to entertain guests he had nothing to do with, while Sylvain watched Felix with curiosity.
Sylvain had already met Glenn a few years back, but this was the first time he met Duke Fraldarius’ second son.
“Hello… My name is Felix.” The boy bowed slightly, cheeks a bit flushed over all the attention he seemed to be getting as today’s guest of honor. His father smiled at him encouragingly, and his brother had a hand on his back.
“Nice to meet you, Felix. I’m Sylvain.” He reached out to clasp Felix’s hand in his. Sylvain was just a bit shorter than Glenn, and Felix was told that he was two years his senior.
The warmth from Sylvain’s hands made the corners of Felix’s lips lift, his worries over being in an unfamiliar place and meeting new people slowly melting away.
Their parents had started to talk among themselves, and the two pulled back.
Felix’s attention turned to his father and the margrave’s animated conversation as he watched them speak of things more complex than he can comprehend with his five-year-old mind. At that time, he was unaware of two things: one, that Sylvain would continue to look at him with curiosity the whole time, and two, just how much their fates would be intertwined moving forward.
Felix and Sylvain’s first adventure was at the ages eight and ten, respectively.
“This is all your fault,” Felix grumbled, hanging his head between his knees while sitting down on a large rock. “We lost Ingrid.”
They were walking through a trail in the forest in Charon territory, and got separated from Ingrid. A squirrel had scurried off into the bushes holding something of Sylvain’s. The redhead tried to get it back, while Felix was hot on his heels telling him to drop it and come back.
Felix had even tripped on a tree’s roots while on the chase, scraping his shin with some twig. It made him tear up a bit, but the pain had long subsided by the time they got to the clearing. Neither of them knew any healing magic, and neither of them had any bandages on them, either.
“I’m sorry, okay?” Sylvain’s voice shook. As the older one, he did feel a sense of responsibility, especially now that the younger one got injured due to his carelessness.
“I just can’t believe you’d get distracted by a squirrel. What are you, a dog?” Felix groaned, kicking a pebble beneath his feet, before fixing his eyes on Sylvain lest the copper haired boy run off on his own again.
“N-no, the squirrel ran off with something of mine…” He sighed, his eyes cast downwards in dejection. They had already worn themselves out at this point and the squirrel was nowhere in sight, successfully making off with its loot. “It was my necklace… from my mom. I was crouching earlier and the squirrel just snapped it clean off.”
Now Felix just felt bad. He didn’t know they were looking for something that important. Felix just bolted off on impulse when Sylvain did out of concern.
“Let’s look for it again, maybe its hiding place is just around here somewhere.” Felix shot up, peering at his friend.
Sylvain shook his head, “No, I think we’ll just get even more lost. It’s no big deal, Felix. I’m sure mom would understand. Besides…” He gestured to Felix’s leg wound. They both reluctantly agree to let it go and try to find their way back.
Ingrid had previously reassured them that she had been here numerous times before, so she knows the place like the back of her hand. Which means, Felix and Sylvain were probably free to worry about themselves for now.
It was late afternoon, so they didn’t have much time before it got dark. Sylvain surveyed their surroundings to try and figure out where they came from. If they are able to return to the trail, they could continue from there and find Ingrid or ask for help by the end of it.
“I think we came from that direction.” Sylvain pointed to their right. They walked that way for a bit, and Sylvain’s face lit up all of a sudden. “This tree! We passed by it earlier. I remember it from the strange gash it has on its trunk.”
Felix wondered how Sylvain could even pay attention during the chase, but decided to follow him anyway, watching his steps more carefully this time. They agreed to hold hands the whole way back to make sure one didn’t run off without the other.
Moments later, they would find Ingrid’s golden head poking out behind the trees, her anxious voice calling out to them in the vastness of the woods.
As expected, she tearily scolded them for going off-track, and for causing her to worry, while going off about bandits or wolves as they hurried back to make it before dusk fell.
The two followed behind her, Sylvain sticking his tongue out at Ingrid in defiance behind her back. Felix stifled a laugh and elbowed him, telling the older kid to knock it off.
It would be the first of many times they’d get into trouble together, but Felix thought that wouldn’t be so bad.
They first fought after Glenn died.
“Felix,” Sylvain called to him from outside his room with a few raps on the door.
Duke Fraldarius requested him to visit and check up on his son, after being pushed away one too many times. It has been months since the Tragedy of Duscur, and Felix, shaken by the ordeal, had practically boarded himself up in his room.
“He doesn't even seem to come out for meals,” Sylvain noted to himself. A tray with his empty breakfast plate sat beside the door, waiting to be picked up by one of the maids.
Moments after he didn’t receive a response, Sylvain turned the handle and loudly announced, “Felix, I’m coming in.”
Like a flash, a book hit the wall beside him, missing his head by just a small margin.
“Get out.” Felix glowered, his eyes bloodshot, staring at Sylvain like daggers. Felix looked like he hadn’t been eating much; his cheek bones protruded a bit more than usual, and his frame and demeanor appeared to be smaller, frailer.
“Your father sent me here. We’re worried about you.” Sylvain tentatively stepped in the room, peering at Felix’s face.
Glenn’s death has been hard on everyone who knew him, even more so because of the circumstances that surrounded it. There was much political turmoil following the tragedy. The people were angry—and rightfully so—leaving little room for them to personally grieve as they worked to clean up the mess and placate the masses.
Felix’s grip on his bedding tightened. “That’s rich of him to say,” he spat out.
“What do you mean?” Sylvain was taken aback. He understood why Felix was in such a sour mood; Glenn was dear to him. He knew just how much his older brother meant to him, and how beloved he was by the people around him. What he did not expect was for Felix to hold so much disdain for his father.
“Do you know what he said when he found out Glenn died? He said he died like a true knight. That he was proud.” His words dripped with venom, enunciated with such disgust as if he could barely stomach saying them himself. “He said that. About his own son.”
Felix felt betrayed. He looked up to Glenn more than anyone—respected his father, too. For Rodrigue to take Glenn’s death as a mere symbolism of loyalty and chivalry to another man, like he was not family, not of his own flesh and blood, shattered his father’s image of him in his brain.
“I’m sorry… I know it’s been hard—”
“I doubt you understand.” Felix cut him off with a sneer, looking away. “I told you to go, didn’t I? I’ve got no appetite for this kind of conversation.”
“Are you just going to keep on pushing everyone away, then? Do you just intend to die alone, as if Glenn would be okay with the way you’ve been living right now?!” Sylvain retorted, yanking Felix’s collar to force him to face him. “Pull yourself together, Felix!”
Felix had never seen Sylvain this upset at him, but he was too offended to care.
“Don’t tell me what Glenn would or wouldn’t have wanted! I’m sick of everyone projecting their beliefs onto him,” his voice cracked, “...onto a dead man.”
His lips quivered and hands trembled. Reaching his breaking point, he pushed Sylvain away. The last thing he would have wanted was to be seen crying.
“Go home.”
“Felix—”
“I said leave!” He yelled, his voice reverberating across the walls.
Sylvain flinched. For a moment, Felix caught a glimpse of Sylvain’s sad eyes, before he turned to leave, shutting the door behind him.
Felix sank back onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. Sylvain was right, but he couldn’t find it in himself to face anyone the same way again. Not when they betray Glenn’s memory, romanticizing him to suit their own narrative, to mold their idea of Glenn in the way that comforts them the most.
He felt fury, and then despair. In the silence of his room, Felix bitterly wept.
Sylvain heard the soft sobs and felt his own heart breaking for his friend. He, too, had his face buried between his knees, his back pressed against the door to Felix’s room.
Felix might be right, when he said he probably doesn’t understand. He couldn’t even scratch the surface towards understanding the depth of pain Felix feels upon losing a brother. After all, his own brother, Miklan, had always wanted to see him gone. He’d be lying if he said he’d be choked up the same way.
So, he couldn’t imagine shedding tears for his brother, but for the Fraldariuses… he could. And he did.
He silently cried with Felix, and hoped that one day he’d be able to reach Felix again somehow, remembering the warm outstretched hand he offered on the day they met. For now, the distance between them widens, like a frigid winter evening.
The tragedy marked the end of their childhoods, propelling them toward the reality they will have to face. As nobles, as key members of their own houses and the kingdom, this was one of many losses to come. The death of their innocence as they knew it.
This would be the last time Sylvain would ever hear Felix cry, and the last day Felix would spend holed up in his room. His heart was not any more mended, but he would be filled with a newfound determination—an almost feverish obsession to become strong.
Felix’s first kiss was at the age of twenty-three.
The past few weeks leading up to the former Adrestian Empire’s castle were tense, tension like a rubber band pulled taut they took care not to break.
Once the hard-fought war was won, it was as if a wave of relief swept through the entire army. Arrangements for a feast were made while mages tended to the wounded and injured. For the healers, it was a last spurt before they could truly consider it peacetime again.
“Hey, Felix.” Sylvain ducked to enter Felix’s tent, where he was cleaning his sword.
They both look like they’ve seen better days, but Felix noted to himself that Sylvain hasn’t looked this relaxed since their time in the academy. He fought a smile, not wanting the other to know he was particularly pleased by this visit.
“What do you want?” Felix asked, continuing to work on his blade without looking up.
Sylvain sat across him, legs sprawled across the tent floor. “Take a break and chat with me. War’s over, you know. I’m sure that can wait.” He gestured to the weapon.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Felix scoffed, “Nice to see you’re more carefree than I am, but I’m not going to be caught by some bandit with my pants down on our way back.”
Sylvain raised a brow at that, “Well, would you let me catch you with your pants down instead?”
Felix grimaced. It was hard not to when Sylvain makes one of his little ‘jokes’.
“It’ll do you well to remember that I’m holding a weapon here.”
Sylvain held his hands up in surrender with a laugh. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He didn’t actually fear for his life, though he wondered if Felix could cut him down if he really had to. “Anyway, what are you planning to do after all this?”
“What else is there?” Felix sighed. “Take over House Fraldarius and live a life in service to the king as his right-hand man.” He said with a tone that was half-resigned, half-mocking. “Like my father, and my father’s father, the Pan to Dimitri’s Loog or whatever.”
Rodrigue had died protecting the king from an assassination attempt. After Glenn died, there was no doubt among the nobility that Felix was going to become the next Duke Fraldarius save renouncement, but he didn’t expect it to be this soon. Felix thought would have had more personal freedom after the war.
“Well, I know that much.” Sylvain rolled his eyes. “The question is, is this something you want to do? And… you know life doesn’t end the moment you become Duke. Surely there’s something else?”
Felix sighed and put down the cloth, looking Sylvain in the face. “You and I both know that never mattered. Don’t ask me such useless hypotheticals.”
“I know, I know. I should know better; my responsibility may just be bigger than yours, what with Sreng and all.” Matthias, his father, was still very much alive and kicking, but his inheritance as the only heir to House Gautier and as a Crest-bearer with the responsibility to wield and safeguard the Lance of Ruin was all but set in stone.
He has as much of a say as Felix does in the matter—that is to say, none.
Though Sylvain believed, at the back of his mind that they might be excused, if they asked the king for it. Not that it would be a pleasant or easy conversation, but he would try. He would try, if he could get Felix to conspire with him and get into trouble together again just like old times.
He knew of Felix’s desire to relinquish his title to become a mercenary, even if he didn’t say it out loud. He saw the way Felix would watch their professor in battle. He couldn’t envision Felix swamped with paperwork and all the trappings of being a lord. Felix, who lived by the blade, and probably wanted to die by it.
“Then why ask at all?”
Sylvain shrugged, and grew quiet for a while. The afternoon sun leaked through the tent opening, casting golden light onto his locks. Felix searched his face for an answer; did Sylvain want to give it all up, too? He couldn’t blame him.
The road to the title was fraught with difficulties, and it was a hardship neither of them asked for. A burden thrust upon them by virtue of being born.
Felix knew what Sylvain went through at the hands of his older brother: the days Sylvain showed up with bruises all over, how he would show him a tooth he lost but never quite say how it happened (“It just fell out!”), or turn up to the Fraldarius estate with an arm cast. It filled Felix with indignation, and his only relief is knowing that Miklan is no more.
“Just… having second thoughts. Wondering if I can rope you into running away with me.”
“Are you, now? What if I said yes?”
“I doubt you would.”
“That’s my line. Your sense of responsibility is bigger than mine.”
Sylvain blinked, laughing dryly. He was right, of course. Sylvain would end up inheriting the title of margrave no matter what, even if he felt weak-willed enough about it now to search for a comrade in Felix.
“Then we have no choice but to tough it out together, then. I know you’re not exactly looking forward to it—and neither am I—but if I have you, I think we’ll make it through.”
“Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier,” Felix said out loud, with a tiny smile on his face. “To think it’ll soon refer to two fools like us. It… It’s not so bad.”
“Then I’m glad. Let’s be honest—neither of us know the slightest thing about running a territory. I was too busy flirting with girls, and you were married to your sword. But, I’m with you, Felix. Every step of the way. I’m also glad we both made it through the war.”
“Hah,” Felix’s smile widened, “With how reckless you are, it’s a miracle you’re still around to tell me this.”
“Of course. I’m a man of my word. Remember?” Sylvain grinned, referring to the promise they made as children about sticking together until they die.
Felix’s cheeks slightly grew warm at the childish memory Sylvain likes to bring up every so often. However, if that promise was enough to keep Sylvain around despite his lack of self-preservation, then he can forgive this behavior. It wasn’t like he had any intention of reneging on that promise, either.
“I gotta get going. Ashe asked me to help with the banquet. See you later, Felix.” Sylvain got up and quickly gave Felix a peck on his cheek, stunning him.
“Wha—”
By the time Felix had blinked, Sylvain had already gone.
The celebrations have gone raucous, and the hall reeked with the stench of wine and ale. Everyone was in high spirits, even those as grumpy as Felix, but after a few glasses, Felix’s head started to feel rather heavy.
He excused himself to get some air, stumbling a bit on his way out. His comrades shot concerned looks his way, but none dared to follow.
He found Sylvain standing on the balcony, leaning against the railing to look at the stars.
“Sylvain.”
“Oh. Hey.” Sylvain smiled at him serenely. It was a smile he rarely put on, one of peace and calmness, much unlike the face he showed others when he played coy.
“What was that about?” Felix pointedly asked, glaring at Sylvain.
“What do you mean?” His eyes widened.
“Earlier. In the tent. Don’t play dumb.”
“Oh,” Sylvain laughed nervously, “I… I don’t know. Impulse?”
Felix sighed. His head started to pound, no thanks to all the blood rushing to his head. The stars were starting to look less like dots in the sky and more like small trails of light. He turned to face Sylvain instead, whose features were illuminated by the light of the full moon.
“Did you really mean that?”
“Of course, Felix. I couldn’t play you if I tried. Nor do I want to.”
Love was always just a game to Sylvain, back when he was angrier at the world and needed some sort of release.
Felix was different, though. He could never hurt him—he never wanted to hurt him. And yet, that scared him the most; the possibility of him hurting Felix even if it was never his intention, and the responsibility to ensure it doesn’t happen.
His eyes shifted back to meet Felix’s, only to find them centimeters away from his. Felix’s gaze felt so hot against his skin like they’ll burn holes into him. Both of their inebriated bodies radiated heat, worsening the humidity of the Verdant Rain Moon, stickiness and all.
“I know you’re probably thinking I’m not serious or sincere. I’ve only my past self to blame for that. But, Felix—”
The younger man roughly pulled him in for a kiss, cutting him off as though he didn’t need to hear any more. It was as messy as one might expect from someone without experience. Sylvain tasted like liquor, but of something sweet as well—akin to an answered prayer. Sylvain closed his eyes and held Felix close, losing himself in the moment.
Even after pulling away, he was seeing stars. Breathless, Felix whispered, “I love you.”
Their last would be many years later, in old age.
Duke Fraldarius and Margrave Gautier ceased to be many years ago, when they had adopted children and bequeathed their titles to them. In their sunset years, they were two retired nobles in bliss.
Felix never really got the hang of expressing his emotions, but his family knew how much they meant to him. Sylvain was their pillar, the beacon of light, but even then, he would lean on Felix when it became too much to bear.
In their retirement, Sylvain developed a hobby for collecting art, while Felix helped train new military recruits. Even in old age, his senses had never dulled. He once feared what peaceful times would bring, whether that meant the world would have no need for his sword, or his skills. But the truth was, banditry continued to be a problem, and even border skirmishes across Fódlan required some shows of force to keep at bay.
Sylvain would see his final days after a peculiarly bad bout of pneumonia. Felix sat on the floor next to his sickbed, holding his hand the entire time. Part of him feared, though irrational, that their hands linked together were the last thing that kept him here, with him.
“Fe… I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep our promise…”
“Don’t be stupid,” Felix murmured, not meeting the other’s eye. “I’m here, aren’t I? We’ve stuck together…” He ran his fingers through Sylvain’s graying hair, committing the sensation to memory.
“Yeah, but…” Sylvain’s voice trails off weakly. “You’ll be so sad without me.”
Felix ignored the fact that Sylvain even had the energy to joke at a time like this. “You’re exerting yourself. Please just get some rest.”
Sylvain chuckled, “It might just be my last.” His breaths were shallow, laborious. His eyes were closed shut. Keeping them open must have taken a fair bit of energy. With a voice so soft not even a fly on the wall could hear, he said his last words only meant for Felix’s ears: “Felix, I love you.”
Tears formed in Felix’s eyes, wetting the back of Sylvain’s hand as he held it close. When Sylvain breathed his last, Felix felt the hand in his grow cold. A bell tolled in the distance, and the light of the setting sun shone.
His own heartbeat slowed as though a lifetime of fatigue caught up with him, waiting for this moment.
And so, Felix’s last words were, “I love you, too.”