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Felix’s footsteps reverberate along the stone corridor as he stalks down its narrow passage. Several others follow him, scurrying to match his stride as they whisper an array of irrelevant, uninteresting things.
“Your Grace, please I must insist—” The scowl on his face deepens. Felix stops abruptly just before the bridge to the cathedral, turning his attention to the priest wringing their hands beside him.
“What is it?” He snaps, receiving silence from the elderly man. “Spit it out.”
“We’ve been instructed to allow only a select few into the cathedral at this time,” he says, dipping into a shallow bow.
“By who?” Felix demands flatly. It wasn’t a question so much as a command, he stares down with an impassive gaze.
“His Excellency, Your Grace.” The priest keeps his eyes trained to the ground.
“It’s not a problem then,” Felix says before continuing across the bridge, towards the towering entryway into the nave.
Two weeks ago, Sylvain had supposedly fallen during a skirmish with a group of bandits long suspected to be harboring a vampire amongst their ranks. Villagers and soldiers alike reported the group possessed power that far exceeded their numbers. The Church had been investigating, but both he and Sylvain had felt their response lacked urgency. They’d begun scouting Gautier and Fraldarius territories themselves, hoping to eliminate anything posing a threat to those in their stewardship.
Allegedly, Sylvain and his small company of men were ambushed in a town less than five kilometers from the border and none of them made it out alive. Felix had been the one to request Sylvain deal with it while he was holed up at Castle Fraldarius making an audience with two lesser lords in the midst of a marriage dispute. That made this his fault then, theoretically.
As was custom with suspected vampire attacks, their bodies were immediately taken to Garreg Mach for observation; for confirmation of death. Despite their catacombs overflowing with bodies for months now, not one had ever risen—until now.
The gates swing open, and he can hear muffled conversation as he continues his journey further into the cathedral. There’s no reason to conceal himself; he has every right to be here as the representative of His Majesty, King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. So he takes measured steps that assure his approach is heard.
A middle-aged man with the trademark green hair indicative of one of those blessed by the Goddess, and a broad, young man with messy scarlet curls immediately shift their focus in his direction.
“Duke Fraldarius,” Seteth greets with a brief nod of acknowledgement.
“Felix is fine,” he replies, waving his left hand dismissively while his gloved right one rests on the hilt of the silver blade on his hip.
“I suppose you are here as an agent for His Majesty.”
“Correct,” Felix affirms. “The King has a vested interest in knowing the true nature of our friend's timely resurrection.”
“Insofar as right now, Lord Gautier shows no sign of being corrupted into a ghoul or vampire,” Seteth says, watching Sylvain through the corner of his periphery.
“That sounds promising, how long do you anticipate it will take to know for certain, Your Excellence?”
“Their Eminence Byleth and Right Reverend Flayn wish to perform more assessments to assure that what attacked Lord Gautier and his men wasn’t another beast.” He crosses his arms over his chest as he glances between Felix and Sylvain. “My best estimate is tomorrow by high noon.” Felix nods satisfied with this timeframe.
“What other beasts are you concerned about, if I may ask?” Felix flexes his hand, cracking his knuckles. “Fraldarius and Gautier have oft been subjected to vampire covens. As you know, the long nights and cool climate are more ideal for their kind to remain undetected amongst the living.”
“A lycan perhaps, as the reports only mention a lone individual among humans; we cannot rule out a necromantic fae or druid yet,” Seteth turns, taking several paces towards Sylvain before he stops.
“I will say, there’s traces of something in his blood—but I am not adept enough to comprehend it myself.”
“What say you, Sylvain?” Felix asks him, finally shooting him an unimpressed glance.
Sylvain shakes his head, “I don’t recall anything at all.”
“Spectactular, good to know some things don’t change, and you still can’t be expected to help yourself.” Sylvain brushes his fingers through his mess of hair and gives Felix a crooked smile. “As it stands Seteth, The Kingdom has its own procedures for a situation such as this and I must request a private audience with Gautier. Now.”
“Of course, Felix. You are free to do as you must and may escort him anywhere within the monastery’s walls to facilitate that.”
Felix nods, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Sylvain nervously scratch the nape of his neck. Seteth announces his departure, stepping past the two men and traversing the aisle to the cathedral’s doors.
“Kings quarters.” Are the only words Felix offers Sylvain once the Bishop has disappeared.
“Dima’s royally pissed then,” he surmises, and that wasn’t even the half of it if they didn’t get out of here as quickly as possible.
When they arrive in the Kings quarters; they’re dimly illuminated by the sinking sun breaching the western facing window. Felix spares no time to retrieve a match and light the lanterns before beckoning Sylvain to sit in one of the blue velvet lined chairs. Even inside these walls—Felix doesn’t trust there aren’t any ears.
He retrieves a long silver stiletto from within his cloak, and pulls it from its sheath with his gloved hand. The Crest of Fraldarius is emblazoned on its forte; entrusted to generations of Duke Fraldarius before him to protect the King from those who may seek to thrall him. He hears Sylvain’s breath catch at the sight of it—it’s unsurprising.
“I hate doing this, but you know how some vampires are,” Felix mutters as he approaches Sylvain slowly.
“Yeah…” He exhales and then repeats himself, “Yeah I do.”
“Your left hand.”
Sylvain offers it without protest and Felix grips onto it, lifting the dagger to quickly slice across his palm. He flinches but gives no obvious indication something preternatural has entrapped him. There’s a metallic tang in the air as blood pools in his hand; Felix wipes off the tip of the stiletto with a black cloth. He offers it to Sylvain when he’s finished using it.
“I’m good then?” Sylvain asks as he presses the cloth against his broken skin. Felix stares intently.
“You’re not thralled by anything I’m unable to break.”
He hums in satisfaction, his posture relaxing as he sinks further into the chair. “A miracle from the Goddess then,” Sylvain says and grins, brown eyes reflecting the surrounding candlelight.
It’s believed the dagger has been passed down since the days of Kyphon and Loog. When the two heroes slayed the progenitor vampire their bloodsoaked blades became imbued with its magic—granting them the ability to break through the most potent of demonic thralls. Assuring the safety and protection of the King from any creatures who attempt to embed themselves into his court. And If the story happens to be more complicated, well that’s between the King and his vassal isn’t it?
Morning comes without fanfare, the two of them take breakfast in relative peace. Felix needles him a bit about the attack—it’s a futile attempt to pry memories from the depths of his mind. Before they leave the chambers Felix captures Sylvain’s left hand pulling him back towards him; he obliges almost sleepily.
“Just stay calm, it’ll be over soon,” Felix whispers, breath tickling Sylvain's clavicle. He brings Sylvain’s hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the small scab on his palm.
Sylvain nods slowly and swallows thickly, “yeah… I know,” he answers and they exit the King's quarters without another word and make their way back to the cathedral.
“You were satisfied with your findings?” Seteth inquires as they walk down the aisle towards the sanctuary of the cathedral where Byleth and Flayn have joined him.
“I have no reason to believe Lord Gautier is ensnared by a monster.”
“Excellent,” Seteth says, nodding. “Then the Church shall proceed with our assessment and you will be free to go should everything prove unremarkable.”
Felix leans against a pillar whilst the ecclesiastic’s fret over Sylvain. Checking his now healed wounds, uttering incantations, and tracing sigils along his skin. Byleth’s face remains stoic as always, not revealing the inner workings of their mind; Flayn however frowns increasingly deeper as the hourglass runs dry and time slips away.
This was wholly a waste in Felix’s opinion. Whilst the church was occupying itself with concerns of lone supernatural entities roaming the Fraldarius wilds with a pack of humans, the people of Fraldarius and Gautier were without their Duke and one of their captains respectively. It was foolish because a lycan or fae would never make it that deep into Fraldarius territory before being torn to shreds. It could only ever be Vampires north of Galatea.
His vision flicks towards Byleth as they clear their throat—in Rhea’s extended absence—they’re the highest ranking member of the Church, meaning Sylvain’s fate is of their choosing. And in spite of everything, Felix finds he respects Byleth and considers their decisions fair.
“I can find nothing of concern,” they began, glancing towards Felix with all the iciness of a Faerghus winter. “The traces you found on him yesterday, do appear vampiric in origin—however given Northern Faerghus’ history with vampire covens and how imperceptible it is, I have no reason to believe it couldn’t have occurred by happenstance.”
Felix’s lips curl upwards at the corner as he let his stare wander from Byleth to Sylvain. “Truly then, a miracle from the Goddess herself, I should hope he does not squander it.”
“I should hope so as well,” Byleth agrees, their own lips twitching upwards.
The two of them depart as soon as supplies are procured and their horses prepared. If they ride hard until nightfall they can easily reach a well populated settlement in Charon before they need to rest. Sylvain’s hair shines in the high sun as they trot along the northern roadway. He becomes much more cheery once they’d crossed the border out of Garreg Mach; whistling a mix of tunes Felix was familiar with and not. It’s a comfortable trip, with Sylvain filling the silence with mindless chatter and silly stories.
“So was I thralled?” He asks when they make it into their shared room in one of the town's inns.
“You know you were.”
“Suppose I did.” Sylvain laughs loudly, “those pesky bloodsuckers that can evade even the Church huh?”
“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” Felix says, glancing at Sylvain from where he’s settled on his bed.
“Mhmmm,” Sylvain slides out of his coat and saunters towards Felix, stopping only when he’s standing between his legs. “And am I going to be thralled again?”
“Suppose that depends on if you intend to get yourself killed again.”
“Now, if I remember correctly—you’re the one who sent me out there in the first place, Your Grace.” Sylvain’s fingers found their way into Felix’s hair, loosening his hair tie.
“Not to die and end up remarkably rising from the dead in the crypts of Garreg Mach, surely,” he says dryly, leaning into Sylvain’s touch.
“Goddess, how pissed is Dima about that?”
“He won't be when the messenger I sent makes it to Fhirdiad and tells him I’ve got you.”
“Sorry for being a bother,” Sylvain mutters, keeping his focus set on his fingers working their way through Felix’s tresses.
“Stop it. You’re not.” Felix snaps at him, grabbing onto his tunic and pulling him into his lap. “I sent you to get information—and you did—whether you remember it or not.”
“Mmmmm, gonna get that information out of me, Fe?”
Felix huffs, “I’ve never met a man so eager to be bitten in my life.”
“Yes well, Felix Hugo Fraldarius—if that even is your real name—turns out I’m completely bewitched by your miserable personality, and shitty attitude.”
“Oh fuck off,” Felix grumbles as Sylvain’s hands roam from their place in his hair to cup his face.
Sylvain’s grinning when he leans in to give Felix a chaste peck on the lips. “You know you want to~,” he teases.
It’s true the dagger was passed down from Kyphon to generations of Fraldarius men. Of course only those of exceptional naivety would think a centuries old blood enchantment could linger on a weapon—or that Kyphon and Loog ever slayed the progenitor vampire—or that the progenitor vampire was ever an enemy to Blaiddyd at all.
“You’re insatiable,” Felix hisses but it has the bite of a baby kitten. Sylvain leans in until his exposed throat is lined up to Felix’s face.
The church knew of vampires as undead creatures who consumed blood as a necessity and reproduced by turning humans into their kind. They knew to look for dead eyes, pallor skin, and the absence of a heart beat; to hone in on the sickly sweet smell of death that emanated from their pores.
“Only for you.” Sylvain winces when he feels Felix’s teeth pierce his neck at the junction.
They didn’t know of the ones that bore the disposition from birth. Whose need for blood was only to enhance their powers and who could thrall humans with their taste of their own blood. His ancestors had discovered that the thrall possessed an interesting side effect—the vampiric blood in their veins would heal lethal wounds—leaving them inexplicably alive.
When Felix withdraws his teeth from the wound he gently lavs the mark with his tongue, coaxing it to heal. Sylvain exhales a shaky as his fingers dig into Felix’s scalp and upper back.
“Did you get your information?” Sylvain asks, voice muffled by Felix’s hair.
“Of course I did, what do you take me for?” he scoffs but slowly brings his hands to rest on Sylvain’s back and keeps him steady.
“…Do I get a treat for being good?”
The two of them had been searching for this vampire for months; it didn’t belong to Fraldarius and it didn’t respect their customs. It razed towns and gorged blood, bleeding its victims dry—and Felix needed it dead before the Church came knocking on their door and learned northern Faerghus had more than just a little vampire problem. Before he’d let Sylvain loose however he’d made a split second decision to thrall him. Keep him safe from death; keep the secrets of the monster in his blood for Felix to uncover later.
Problem is, he didn’t expect Sylvain to like it so damn much.
“I’m not thralling you again,” Felix snaps at him and he can feel the pout against his scalp. Sylvain pulls away and looks at him like he’s a puppy that’s just been punted down a flight of stairs. Felix sighs and dips his fingers under Sylvain’s shirt, idly tracing the divots of his spine. “But if you drop it—I’ll give you something else instead.”
“Oh.” He continues his lazy exploration of Sylvain’s back and the man shudders; his pupils dilating until the whole eye is nearly black. “Yeah… let's do that instead.”
Felix thanks the Goddess that humans have such simple priorities.