Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Had I told the sea

What I felt for you,

It would have left its shores,

Its shells,

Its fish,

And followed me.

Nizar Qabbani

Filling the night with its quiet lullaby, the whispers of the North’s wind slip swiftly between the pine trees, painting the forest with more brushes of pure white. Shielding his face with the fur hood of his cloak, Sylvain inhales deeply, his lungs burning pleasantly from the biting cold. Caught in the light of the lantern slowly swaying on his horse’s saddle, snowflakes glimmer around him like frozen stars plucked out of the winter night sky.

When Sylvain exhales, his breath crystallizes in a shimmering mist under his nostalgic gaze. The last clouds drift away ; the last stars fall on the road in perfect stillness. In the silent hush of the sleeping forest, moonlight finally adorns the white blanket draping the woods with silver glitter.

As he peacefully rides through the dark woods to the Fraldarius' duchy, catching a glimpse of their residence in the distance above the treetops, he muses how he deeply missed Faerghus.

Although he grew accustomed to Sreng’s dry air, its slapping winds and monotonous landscapes, Sylvain can’t say he grew to like it. Tolerate would be just appropriate enough to express how he feels towards these rocky wastelands. He has to put up with it. And that’s about it.

Nothing compares to the dark green of pine trees ; the dazzling white of fresh snow ; the blue glimmer of frozen lakes. Here, each color is much more striking, much more vivid ; each sound life speaks in Faerghus much more vigorous, and crisp and home to his ears than Sreng’s, where they get lost to the vast plains of nothingness.

Home is Faerghus’ invigorating sharp and biting cold ; its brisk, stinging gusts that prickles at his skin ; its shimmering coat of snow under the low, red sun of a quiet morning, all drowning the noise of the world away in calm and peace- and he cherishes it. 

Unlike Sreng’s oppressing, heavy rug of low grey clouds, Faerghus’ clear and infinite skies make Sylvain feel like he can actually breathe. Like he can clearly think. Like he is alive.

How he misses it ; how he longs to come back to its reassuring arms, whenever he spends too much time away.

The metallic clatter of a sword clinks to the rhythm of his horse's hooves, propagating a single note that breaks through the silence of the dormant woods. It spreads in the crispy air, its clear ring bouncing between the trees music to his ears.

It’s late in the evening of the 20th of the Pegasus Moon.

Usually, Sylvain would come back later from his annual trip to Sreng. He tries to depart to these lands when winter is settled, as the cold usually deters thieves and enemies from going after him and his men in the wild. And also, because Sylvain actually enjoys travelling in cold weather ; embraced by his heavy cloak, his face protected by his fur hood, he has nothing else to do but chat with his men while his mount guide them to their next warm meal. Well, he can confidently say that now- the first years after all were... obviously quite different. 

Anyway. This year though, there is a particular reason for his earlier return.

A reason that justifies his late visit, that explains the thick beard eating away half of his face, and answers for the weapon resting against his hip, adding to the spear tucked on his back.

Another burst of freezing wind blows snow from the trees, adorning Sylvain’s hood with glacial nacre. Between the swaying pine needles and entanglement of frozen, unwavering oak branches scattered in the forest, he discerns the high fence surrounding the residence. Fraldarius’ mansion is coming closer into view.

Unhurriedly, he follows the familiar road to the domain's entrance, looking up slightly to catch sight of which rooms are used, trying to determine whether his friend is still awake at this hour. Knowing him, he must be.

A few windows on the ground floor are lit, witnesses of servants’ late work around the mansion.

Above, on the first floor, one single reddish light flickers through the study’s windows. At such an hour, it is expected that his friend would be reading next to a warm fire, sat on the armchair Sylvain sent him from Sreng a few years ago. His hand must be on a book he’s barely paying attention to, his eyes absentmindedly looking through the window, peaking through the slightly open curtains to silently look over his lands, as a diligent warden making sure nothing is to be feared for the night.

A shadow suddenly appears behind the window, a blur in the distance that makes his eyebrow twitch slightly. His horse stops at once. Only when Sylvain relaxes his hands on the reins does his steed resumes its peaceful walk, ears perking up when his master gently strokes its neck.

" We’re good, my boy. Go on. "

With no need for guidance on his part, knowing the path they walked by heart, his mount steadily carries Sylvain to the edge of the forest. The trees become scarce, until there is no more around, until only the Fraldarius’ residence faces him.

The wide sky opens above him, revealing clear and icy shimmering dots nursed in its embrace. They glow coldly on the deep blue and velvet purple cloak of the crisp night. Snowflakes lifted by a stinging gust melt on his face as he loses himself to a sight he dreamed to see so many nights. From the corner of his eyes, he catches a glimpse of a swift movement.

Through the window he looked over a few moments ago, the curtains pulled apart by a hand, a silhouette with long hair falling over their shoulder is looking in his direction. It only takes them a few seconds to assess what they are seeing.

As soon as they made sure of who exactly is outside, the silhouette leaves the room in such a hurry they forget to close the windows behind them. Sylvain doesn’t look away. A smile spreads on his face as they trace their steps back and close the windows to keep the freezing cold of the night out. A small chuckle escapes him over catching his friend commit such a silly mistake.

Under him, his steed tries to pick up pace ; he stops him. There is no haste.

Slowly, several other rooms lighten up while the time separating them shortens. Sylvain is not sure how many minutes are still keeping them apart. 

Some more pine trees covered in a light layer of fresh snow pass them by. Along the clung of hooves breaking through the muffled silence, a tall silhouette trudging through the snow spreads the tingle of keys in the night. A warm light swings in their hand and allows Sylvain to see the face of an old servant coming to greet him. Once he advanced close enough, he puts the key in the lock, and shows him a courteous smile. The gigantic gate opens in a spectacular creak, awakening nearby birds who fly away in a flurried flap of wings.

Sylvain takes the hem of his hood between his fingers, but the man gestures to him not to bother.

" It’s okay, Margrave Gautier. " The old man pleasantly says, hands marked by the passing of time reaching for his steed and scratching behind his horse’s ears. " Keep it on ; it is particularly cold tonight. "

Sylvain scoffs at the name he’s given. It’s been some times he asked people around here to not call him like that, as most of them has known him since he was a kid. But he was told clearly that there was some etiquette that they ought to follow in the Fraldarius’ domain under the most recent Duke’s authority. So he doesn’t fight it anymore.

" Hi Arthur. It’s good to see you. Sorry for making you come out so late. "

" Please, you know you’re as much home here that you are in your own lands, Margrave. " Arthur answers solemnly while he guides his horse towards the recently lightened up stable " It’s always a pleasure to welcome you. No matter how early or late you may arrive. " he adds, no teasing smile in his voice, words genuine and heartwarming.

Sylvain smirks as he dismounts his horse. " You're kind, but I think your master would beg to differ. "

" My master, " Arthur says, arching an eyebrow " asked for your bedroom to be prepared, for a hot bath to be ready as soon as you’ll set foot inside, and for a warm meal to be served once you’ll be properly rested from your journey, Margrave. "

The old servant’s eyes twinkle with amusement. Tilting his head, carefully avoiding wandering the path Arthur's opened for him, Sylvain forces a chuckle as he walks alongside the old man, the frozen blanket of snow creaking under his heavy boots.

" I’m giving you a lot of work, aren’t I ? "

" You are. " Arthur’s lips stretch in a warm smile. " But it’s work we are glad to do, as always, Margrave. "

On these words, Arthur bows lightly, and opens the residence’s main door for him. Shadows take him back, and he disappears the moment Sylvain goes in. It’s alone he’s gonna confront the master of the house.

Inside, a comfortable warmth and familiar, relaxing smell of burning incense immediately welcome him. He closes his eyes, and breathes deeply in. Now the threatening bite of the cold is away, he finally takes off his heavy hood, scattering iridescent snowflakes around him. Then, he stands still, taking some seconds to listen to the clear rustle of human activity filling the mansion.

Among the stream of water and the distant clatter of pots and chatter from the kitchens, he hears him.

Light and fast, rushing like a wild torrent, surging from above, so clearly distinct from the rest it gradually tunes out everything else.

Footsteps resonate through the corridors, hasten in the stairs, cascade louder and louder- and Sylvain stands, listening to their familiar, tumultuous melody. It comes to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the stairs. Sylvain braces himself. 

" Do you have any idea what time is it ? "

The sharp and biting voice slaps him like a harsh winter gust. Vivid, piercing amber eyes pine him up in place. Sylvain wavers a little, but even such eyes can't perceive the beat of an heart. 

The corner of his lips quirks with a smile. 

" Hey Felix ! It’s been a while- " 

" Don’t hey me. " Felix grunts, but he uncrosses his arms, and his voice goes softer. " Did something happen ? "

" Everything’s fine. " Sylvain says softly, his gaze involuntarily darting to evade the apparent worry in Felix’s eyes. " I’ve come back from Sreng early and thought I’d pay a visit. " 

" Pay a visit ? " Felix repeats slowly. " That’s it ? "

" Exactly. What, is it so hard to imagine I have missed you, my dear friend ? "

Felix’s deeply unimpressed look as he very openly and severely judges Sylvain doesn’t make him ashamed in the slightest. Quite the contrary.

With a deep sigh, Felix rubs the frown between his eyebrows. " And I suppose this couldn’t have waited for more appropriate hours ? "

Sylvain shakes his head. " Absolutely. It couldn’t. I’ll make it up to everyone later. I promise. "

" Have you caught something in Sreng ? I knew there'd be a day where you'd come back with a mysterious illness from this place. " Felix glares in the distance as if silently cursing the place from where he stands.

Even though Sylvain successfully established trade agreements between their countries, there's still a lot of work to be done when it came to unlearning everything they've been taught about Sreng, every story they've been fed so they'd feel no hesitation when the time to plunder their blade through those savages's hearts would come. Sylvain was doing his best, but his words, no matter how beautifully threaded, could not so easily change Felix's mind. Especially when, each time he came back, his friend would powerlessly witness just how long it took him to recover from these journeys.

" I’m not sick, " Sylvain shakes his head with a sigh, " it’s just- "

He almost spills it. After all, it’s been the same, years after years. They always have to do it- coming and reminding him such a day deserves to be celebrated. This year is a particular one ; Sylvain wanted to do things right. He doesn’t say anything, but his thoughts might lightly spread across his face, given how Felix narrows his eyes at him.

" So there is a real reason for this visit you’re just not willing to tell yet. "

" Well- "

" It’s fine. We’ll talk about this later. "

Turning his back on him, Felix nods for Sylvain to follow him. He obliges, and walks after him, climbing the flight of stairs, hoping the clink of the sword against his hip isn’t so audible Felix will get suspicious over it.

" For now, go clean yourself up while we get your room ready. "

" Am I that dirty ? "

" You didn’t even shave. " Felix says too flatly for it to be truly a reproach of any kind.

Sylvain reaches for his beard, and strokes it a little pensively " I grew used to it. I know it ages me up, but you’d be amazed how much of an help it is, especially when I’m away in Sreng. Though I’ll admit I let my hair grow a little too long, it’s getting in the way. " he adds, catching some strands brushing against his cheeks.

" I’ll ask Arthur to refresh it tomorrow morning. "

" Thanks, that’ll be a great help. "

While they discuss, Felix guides him to the bathroom closest to Sylvain’s bedroom, though Sylvain could have went by himself, really. He knows the way by now.

When his friend opens the door, a cloud of steam wrap them up with a pleasant waft of lavender and peppermint. When Sylvain follows Felix inside, his eyes go to the large immaculate bathtub filled with steaming hot water coloured with a variety of herbs and flowers on the surface, the most striking to his eyes red ones he identifies as poppies. Flowers that don’t grow in Faerghus. 

On a small shelf, all necessary supplies- soaps, balms and a variety of ointments were already disposed neatly for Sylvain to bathe properly. Clean clothes for the night lay just next to the fresh towels hanging on the rack like it had always been there, waiting for him.

" Aren’t you too tired from your ride ? Would you like to have dinner after your bath ? Or would you rather go to sleep right away ? "

" Goddess, I know the beard makes it hard not too, but let’s not treat me as a grandpa. " Sylvain’s shoulders shake with a laugh as he puts a hand on his hip. " I’m fine, really. Haven’t I been trekking for months in Sreng for the past few years ? Also, Arthur told me everything was already on its way, so I’ll gladly eat whatever Martha comes up with. "

" I’ll tell them to bring it to the study, if you don’t mind eating there. "

" Of course not, I won’t ask them to attend to me in the dining room at such an hour. "

" I’ll wait for you to be done then. And you’ll have some explaining to do. "

" Sure I will. Thanks Felix, I don’t know what I did to deserve all this. "

" I’m not sure myself as well. " Felix rolls his eyes, causing Sylvain’s shoulders to shake with a laugh once again. " I’ll see you later. "

" Hm. See you later. "

Only when Felix closes the door does Sylvain allow his shoulders to drop ; his back to hunch ; his smile, to fade.

Goddess. He is so, so sore from the long hours of ride he did the past few days.

Slowly, he takes off his heavy cloak, unclasps his weapons from his belt, and puts a hand over his stiff right shoulder he massages for a minute. When he catches his own, tired reflection looking back at him, he can’t help but wince.

Although the beard hides it away partially, the mirror shows him he looks drained from the journey, the dark circles under his eyes and pale complexion witnesses of how little rest he got since he came back from Sreng. No wonder Felix sounded worried. There’s a painful tug in his chest when he imagines how he’d react if Felix appeared at his own house presenting himself in such a way. Of course he’d never think of the true reason why Sylvain showed up so suddenly.

After taking a time he’s ashamed of to remove his clothes, Sylvain folds them neatly for Arthur to take care of later, and feels the steam embrace his exposed skin, its comfortable touch and refreshing herbal scent already alleviating some of his stiffness.

First, he quickly washes himself next to the bathtub, scrubbing his skin as conscientiously as the giant ache that his body currently is allows him to. Once he’s done rinsing his hair, that is definitely way too long, he notices as it sticks up to his neck, he finally soaks up in the steaming water.

Letting it wrap his entire body in its soothing embrace, he closes his eyes, breathing out a relieved sigh. Damn, it really hits the spot. All the different scents of flowers and herbs along the muted light make his body relax quickly enough he knows he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed a little too long. His memories of the rudimentary and rare baths he took in Sreng help enjoy this one all the more.

After all, as hard as he had worked to earn the respect he was shown there by Sreng’s people, Sylvain was still considered as a simple Faerghus’ representative for commercial purposes that didn’t give him rights to any kind of special treatment. During all his travels, he was used to sleep in modest rooms, tents even, and to have restricted access to the usual utilities he had at home.

It wasn’t so different from his younger days at Garreg Mach and during the war against the Adrestian Empire. It was rare for any of them to still go through that, even more willingly, but such were the responsibilities of the Margrave Gautier. He could have made it easier on himself, of course. Just pursue what every Margrave had done before ; keep an eye on Sreng and condemn any of its people trying to cross the border in an attempt to seek a better life.

He wanted to try something different.

With all the good intentions in the world, Sylvain had decided to pacify and improve their relationship with their neighbor. Yet, the first time he went to Sreng was easily one of the worst times he had in his entire life ; times where this, he thinks, reaching for his stalled, rigid right shoulder, happened to him. His thumb hovers over the eternally swollen and butchered flesh, close enough he can feel heat emanates from it, but leaving a small space so he never actually touches it.

Under the uneven, hazardously scarred tissue running over his shoulder blade, the painful pull of his aching muscles spread an angry fire under his skin. Sucks it happens each time he doesn’t get enough rest, and each time, without fail, he comes back from Sreng. If everything goes well, the herbal bath and ointments along the rest should be enough to tame the angry fire cleaving his shoulder.

With his other hand, Sylvain catches a dried poppy floating close to him. He brings it to his eyes, and mindfully studies the familiar red petals.

Really, just how much Felix guessed about all of this ? He never told him anything, never showed him anything. But everything in this room tells him he noticed, despite Sylvain doing his utmost for him not to.

The thought is nothing but humiliating. It only means Felix is aware that Sylvain was too careless to avoid such an injury ; that he wasn’t around anyone willing to properly heal it. It carries so much failure, both in his own judgement and physical abilities- that Felix might have realized this is already enough of a disgrace.

But it’s no use thinking about it anymore. What’s done is done. The unsightly scar is now just another add to all the previous, cleaner ones. Although, does he even have a right to feel distraught about this ? With everything he already put his body through, all the ways it was already used and stained in the past ; this, now, can’t possibly be something he’s allowed to feel embarrassed about.

Besides, it is only but a small misshap in all the many commercial opportunities, precious relationships and financial trades his journeys to Sreng occasioned for both countries. So really, there’s no need to feel sorry for himself. He doesn’t get to act like he’s not used to it ; like he’s not even responsible of what his body ended up becoming. It’s too late to deplore something his holy, crested blood would have never allowed him in the first place.

When he emerges from his thoughts, he notices the water considerably cooled down during the time he’d visited his memories. Sylvain grabs a towel, and gets out, his body way lighter than when he got in. While he’s applying the ointments on his scarred shoulder, his eyes falls on a blade left here for him to shave if he felt the need to.

Once more, he watches his reflection in the mirror. After the bath, he looks much more presentable, almost rested enough he could manage a genuine smile. Although, the beard does age him up a lot. The pain doesn’t help alleviating the impression he’s much older than he is. But he’ll ask Arthur to take care of everything the next day ; he already made Felix wait long enough as it is.

Weapons hidden away behind his back, Sylvain makes sure Felix isn’t around first, and goes to his bedroom. It used to be a simple guest room, but given the amount of times Sylvain came unannounced only to end up staying a few days, this room had officially became his.

The giant mahogany bed stands in the middle of the room, ready to welcome Sylvain in its firm mattress to make his nights serene, his sleep, untroubled. The thick red carpet keeps him from making any noise that would wake Felix up, especially when he’d walk around, reading books stored in the numeral shelves against the walls or consulting registers he’d brought with him until late at night under the orange light of the lamp on his desk. In his old oak wardrobe, he knows he’ll find his clothes cleaned and ironed the next morning. The velvet curtains that had already been closed kept the cold away from the room Sylvain finds exactly the way he had left it a few months ago.

Carefully, Sylvain puts the two weapons in the corner of the room, just beside the wardrobe, so Felix won’t involuntarily lay his eyes on them before Sylvain intends him to. Once he’s done, he goes to the study, just like they had agreed with Felix.

When he pushes open the door, Sylvain is met with a similar picture to the one he had thought of earlier, while he was still looking at the room from outside. Similar, yet flawed compared to reality. 

Framed by the burgundy curtains behind him, sat in an armchair upholstered with deep red velvet and gold embroideries, Felix is quietly reading next to the fireplace, still and seemingly eternal as a statue carved in the purest marble. Crackling flames fondle the left side of his face, adding a radiant glow to his pale skin, enhancing the length of his lowered eyelashes.

Flames weave a reddened gold in the darkness of his hair. The black, silky river running on his shoulders trickles down lower on his chest than Sylvain remembers. Only the almost unnoticeable, imperceptible movement of his slender fingers going over the edge of a page, cornering the thin paper breaks the illusion of the painting he almost convinced himself he was watching.

" I thought I’d fell asleep before you’d be done with your bath. " Felix’s biting words and clear eyes make Sylvain jump when they unexpectedly lift from his book. " What are you standing here for ? Come and eat before it gets even colder. "

Cursing himself for getting startled like that, Sylvain quickly recovers, and walks towards his friend. On the table, somewhere he omitted to look at, a plate under a silver bell is waiting for him with a glass and a crystal pitcher full of fresh water. Sylvain takes a look at the clock ; there is a little less than an hour before midnight. He is still on time.

Delicately, he takes off the bell, and smiles when he sees a few generous slices of sauteed pheasant accompanied by shredded cabbage and scrambled eggs that smell like a balanced healthy and spicy meal. It seems that, if the master of the house himself forgot what day today happens to be, the servants around here didn’t.

Breathing in the odorant scent, Sylvain takes a fork. Felix leans closer and watches for a few seconds without saying anything, fingers drumming on the cover of his book.

" How was your journey to Sreng ? Are you finally gonna say what happened for you to be here now ? " Felix impatiently asks, eyes fixated so intensely on him Sylvain almost tells everything on the spot.

" It was alright, the usual. Nothing terrible happened, I swear. "

" You’ve lost weight, Sylvain. "

" You know I always do when I go there. " Sylvain sighs.

Felix’s eyes travel everywhere on Sylvain’s face ; he can actually see the way they trace the shape of his jaw and follow the lines of his neck, a little unhappy with what they're seeing " Still. This isn’t healthy. "

" Felix, I promise, everything’s fine. I’ve been going there for what- five years ? I’m used to this, just as much as people are used to me. Well, " Sylvain corrects when Felix arches an eyebrow at him " this is not entirely true, I admit, but this is only getting better and better. Let me tell you about it. "

And so, Sylvain finally relates his whole journey.

He talks about the friendly merchants he and his men met again and shared drinks with across Sreng ; their kids they saw grow over the years that now joined their conversations ; the curious wanderers listening to the stories they told, ears leaning towards them with no regards to whether they could be noticed or not ; an attitude that always made Sylvain speak a little louder.

He doesn’t skip the less friendly townsfolk who badmouthed them with some slang Sylvain had picked up over the years ; the rooms and food they were obviously paying more than anyone else when they weren’t drove out in the first place, though it happened less and less now he had built some relationships there. Although he may have lessened the number of times he had truly been lied to about the availability of rooms in inns to avoid upsetting Felix.

His words bring to life the warm fires of the blacksmiths and bright colors of the fabrics on the merchants’ stalls ; they paint their beautiful embroidered chairs and comfortable sofas, their sparkly, polished jewels, treasures carved from the endless supplies of Sreng’s mines, the carefully crafted rings and all the marvelous weapons he had witnessed in the various forges he encountered throughout his journey through Sreng’s rocky territory.

" The blacksmiths still absolutely refuse to conclude any trade or to take any apprentice from Faergus though. They truly do not want to share their knowledge with us. "

" That’s a pity, but it’s understandable. "

" Yeah, I know, this knowledge is worth more than money can buy, but… Keeping everything to themselves only mean it’d be lost if something happen to them. "

" Maybe it’s better this way. The world is not always ready to be in possession of such precious knowledge and craft. "

" I know the world isn’t. But I am. " Sylvain broods a little.

" Of course. Because you wouldn’t do anything with this knowledge yourself. "

" I don’t know what you’re talking about. "

Felix gives his best look of Are you kidding me ? and Sylvain scoffs. Guilty.

" Alright, alright, you’re right. You know me too well. "

His eyes goes to the clock. The two hands had fortunately still hadn’t passed midnight, though they were very close to. He grins wildly to his friend.

" But, well, it has been thirty years, after all. "

" Thirty years ? What are- "

Felix frowns, blinks a few times, and the look he gives Sylvain as he suddenly realizes is one of such stupor he can’t help the laugh that wells up in his throat.

" Sylvain, did you- "

" Wait ! Wait a sec, I’ll be back. "

Sylvain springs from his chair and flies to his bedroom, grabbing the weapon and making sure he hides it well enough behind him on his way back. Inside, Felix stares at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension that makes Sylvain chuckle.

" It didn’t even cross your mind ? "

" It didn’t. " Felix sighs, rubbing his forehead with a sarcastic smile. " You know I don’t really pay attention to that usually. "

" I know, that’s what friends are here for. "

Then, slowly, he brings out his gift from behind his back, and grins.

" Happy birthday Felix ! You’re officially an old man now. Glad to welcome you to this side of humanity. "

Felix doesn’t answer. Drawn in by the sword, he finally stands up, and walks closer, eyes glued to the weapon between Sylvain’s hands.

It seems simple, almost crudely plain from the outside. There is nothing fancy about a black sheath ; anyone else would have felt offended to be offered such a dull present for their birthday. But for Felix’s trained eyes, the true worth of the small seal engraved into the thick leather next to the pommel is clear. The flames in the fireplace make the dots of light in his eyes shine more vividly as he watches, speechless, lips slightly parted in astonishment at the sword Sylvain hands him.

" Sylvain, this is- "

" Take it. It’s yours. "

As if to make sure he’s serious, Felix takes a good look at him.

When he sees how sincere Sylvain is, he reaches for the sword, so slowly it might as well be an ancient, sacred relic Sylvain is actually giving him. Carefully, he closes his fingers around the sheath, and brings it closer to his face. Sylvain watches as Felix slowly unsheathes the blade, and scoffs when he gasps the moment he recognizes the sword, eyes so wide Sylvain cannot help the smile tugging the corner of his lips.

" Sylvain, this is- " Felix's eyes don't know whether to look at Sylvain or the sword ; don't know whether each one of them is actually real and not just an elaborated dream he'll have to wake up from later. " Where did you find it ?! "

" Well, Zoltan is a native of Sreng, isn’t he ? "

His own elated voice bubbles out of his throat, and Sylvain feels red creeping on his neck at the delighted sound. Shit. He clears his throat, purposefully lowering his voice when he pursues.

" I’ve been keeping my eyes open, but it’s only the first time I actually found something he made. " he explains calmly, crossing his arms on his chest as he observes Felix’s eyes travelling all the way over the spotless silver blade.

" I- A sword from Zoltan I’ve never heard about before- But I recognize- "

With the uncharacteristic excitement of a child, Felix trips over his words, quickly but carefully turning the sword in his hands to look at it from all angles possible. Adoration ripples in glimmering waves in the sea of his amber eyes. Sylvain can’t look away.

" I’ve appraised it, of course, as if I’ll give you any counterfeit. " Sylvain waves his hand dismissively. " I hope you like it. "

Once again, Felix raises his gaze to look at him. The corner of his eyes stippled with a pleased, soft blush that catches Sylvain off guard, he smiles warmly " I do, truly. This sword is incredible. I will take good care of it. Thank you, Sylvain. "

This look is for the sword. Only for the sword.

" My pleasure. "

Whatever is trying to struggle its way out and rise through his chest, Sylvain silences it as soon as he perceives it. He cocks his head to the side, and watches as Felix began to twirl the sword in his hands, already trying to gauge its weight and guess its reach.

When he sees him getting ready to thrust it with all his might, Sylvain takes a step back, just to be safe.

" Let’s- wait to be out of here before you do that, alright ? " he nervously laughs. " You’ll have all the time in the world to test it tomorrow, won’t you ? "

" I want to test it now. Come spar with me. "

To be honest, he knew Felix would be so excited he’d want to try it right away. But for Sylvain to be a part of this ; this is not something he got ready for. The light but still present throb in his shoulder tells him he’s absolutely not ready for this.

" I am not getting stabbed tonight, even by a Zoltan sword, thank you very much. "

" I’ll do it alone if you’re too tired then. Good night Sylvain. "

" Goddess, Felix- wait ! I’ll come with you at least ! "

Snatching a lantern from the wall, he runs after him, because Felix is already speed walking to his training hall, eyes not leaving the blade for a single second. It might seem a little rude, but it tells Sylvain just how much Felix loves his gift. It was worth every trouble he went through to acquire it and safely keep it all the way here. Every one of them.

On the barely lit up training grounds, they spend time Sylvain lose count of chatting about Zoltan’s craft, Sylvain sharing what little he learned about the man during his time in Sreng while Felix praises his fine craftsman’s abilities. All this time, Felix continuously tests the sword, elegantly twirling it around him, thrusting it forward, hair flowing around him like a fresh water spring, slashing through the air so powerfully that Sylvain can’t help but wonder.

" Felix, when was the last time you fou- "

" My lords. "

A low, unexpected but familiar voice makes them both freeze in place.

" It is getting awfully late, and Margrave Gautier has been on the road until late at night. May I suggest you rest for today and resume your training later ? "

Like two teenagers found out while they were sneaking out in the middle of the night, Sylvain and Felix look at each other with shared stupor in their widened eyes. Slowly, they turn their head, and acknowledge the third man behind them.

By the door, Arthur is staring at them, a lantern held up in front of his tired face. They hadn’t heard him coming in.

" I’ll plan everything for a hunt tomorrow afternoon if you want, Duke. " Arthur kindly offers as a way to make his request more easy for Felix to agree to.

" … I’d appreciate it. Thank you, Arthur. "

" Of course. I’ll let you both go back to your respective rooms. Have a good night, and rest well, my lords. "

Arthur disappears, leaving the both of them hanging there in silence for a few seconds. Sylvain glances at Felix again. Their eyes meet, and they both scoff the more quietly they manage to.

" Guess I’ll have to make it up to them later too. " Felix sighs while he sheathes his sword.

Sylvain grabs the lantern they used to light up the room, and together, they quietly make their way back to their rooms, whispers between them barely breaching the silent veil of the night.

" You bet. Look at yourself, all disheveled like that and out of bed at such an hour. Aren’t you supposed to become wiser the older you get, Duke Fraldarius ? "

" I don’t want to hear that from someone who showed up late at night just to call me an old man. "

" Don’t say it like you’re not happy I did. "

Sylvain stops in front of his room. Felix, who is again staring at the blade, doesn’t see him standing there, and bumps into him. It’s light- so light Sylvain barely feels it.

The cold seeping through his shirt as Felix immediately lay his hand on his shoulder is much, much more striking to him.

" You’re alright ? "

If Sylvain hadn’t understood before that Felix knew ; now wouldn’t have been a more perfect occasion to realize.

" What, do I look like that underweight to you that I might fly away if you bump into me ? " Slowly, he extends his arm, and reaches for Felix’s hand.

Sylvain knows they wouldn’t break so easily ; he still graze at his fingers like he would on the petals of a snowdrop he wishes to admire closer. Careful not to severe it from its stem ; gently, so it can barely remember the strain of his touch. In the warmth of his own hand, Felix’s icy fingers feel like fresh snow on a winter morning.

" Your hands are so cold they might actually freeze me to death though. Get them away from me. " Sylvain scoffs a little mischievously, cursing the light tingle of the lingering touch on his skin.

" … Sorry. "

His fingers slip out of Sylvain’s hold, leaving Sylvain a little surprised at how he didn’t even try to fight his quip.

" Have a good night, Sylvain. Rest well. And thank you again, for the sword. "

Though Felix’s voice got colder, there’s still a veil of care which pains Sylvain. But he doesn’t know what else to say.

" … It’s alright. Night, Felix. "

Sylvain shares a nod with his friend, and they go their separate ways.

Once he’s inside, safe in his own room, Sylvain breathes in relief. He walks to his bed and finally, allows himself to crash. Both his exhausted body and mind feel so heavy, so muddy he struggles to even bury himself under the sheets.

But exhaustion is good. It keeps the thoughts away.

When he successfully gets under the cover, the marvelous embrace of both soft and fresh linen as well as the comfy pillows under his head allow him to fall into a deep, instantaneous, and well needed slumber.

The next day, Sylvain is woke up from his dreamless sleep by light suddenly pouring into his dark room. He groans and tosses in his sheets, burying his face into his pillow to spare his eyes from the blinding grey light of a cloudy winter day.

" My apologies, Margrave. " Arthur says courteously, tying the curtains back on the windows’ sides. " It’s almost half past ten and Duke Fraldarius thinks you will end up with a headache if you sleep too much. What’s more, he wants you to be ready to go with him on the hunt I’ve planned this afternoon. He also talked about giving you a haircut- "

" Goddess, Arthur, a minute, please ? " Sylvain grunts, voice thick with sleep as he rubs his eyes.

Slowly, he emerges from under the blanket, feeling heavy as a log. Arthur might have muttered something about a spectacular bedhead, but he’s too drowsy to really take it to heart.

" When you’ll be awake enough, breakfast will be waiting for you in the living room, Margrave. "

" Did Felix already eat ? " Sylvain asks with a yawn.

" Duke Fraldarius is very pleased with the sword you’ve gifted him. He’s already out there in the woods to, how did he say, get a real feel for it. "

" So he didn’t even wait for the hunt this afternoon. " Sylvain notes with a tired smile.

" You know how he is. " Arthur agrees with a nod. " On behalf of everyone here in the Fraldarius’ house, we wanted to thank you for- "

" Come on, there's need to thank me. " Sylvain interrupts abruptly. 

" Of course, Margrave. You’ve always been a good friend to the Duke, so we were not surprised to see you here. It is not unusual. What we wanted to thank you for was for always making sure he knows he’s- "

" You’re making this sound way more dramatic than this is, Arthur. I didn't remember you being of that kind. " Sylvain forces a chuckle in an attempt not to sound as cold and displeased as his words suggest.

Arthur immediately withdraws : he bows deeply to Sylvain, a hand over his heart, all paternal warmth gone from his voice " I present to you my sincerest apologies, Margrave. I temporarily lost myself to emotion, and overstepped your boundaries. It won’t happen again. "

Now Sylvain understands. He’s grateful that Felix asked the servants not to call them by their names. As much as they believe they know them, watching over them grow through the years and tragedies that made their lives what they were now, the truth is, they don’t. And if they did someday, they simply don’t anymore. It was good Arthur had caught up on his clear warning. It was for the best.

" As long as you understand. "

" Clear as day, Margrave. " Arthur walks backwards, putting some distance between him and Sylvain, his usually graceful and confident voice now small and submissive. " We’ll wait for you to be ready downstairs. Please, call me if you need anything. "

" Thank you, Arthur. You can leave now. " Sylvain states coldly, watching through the windows to avoid looking at the guilt he spread on this old man's face.

" Very well Margrave. "

The lock of his door clinks lightly, and Arthur is gone. Letting out a deep sigh, Sylvain runs his hands through his hair, pushing the long red locks out of his face. What a great way for this day to begin.

Couldn’t Arthur just- wake him up like any other day ? What had compelled such a dramatic speech ? Such words, that suggested- anything he doesn't want to think about. They truly weren't needed.

When he steps out of his bed, Sylvain notices the painful tension in his shoulder is gone. Maybe he could even spar a little with Felix today. Not for long, but just enough to give him a worthy opponent to go all out with his new sword. It might trigger pain again if it gets too intense, but surely, with everything he has access to here, it will be manageable.

Just as he guessed, his clothes from the previous day were hung in his wardrobe, clean and freshly ironed. Once he’s properly dressed, he heads to the living room, where he knows his breakfast is waiting for him. He’s not necessarily hungry, but he knows Martha must have made too much of everything again, as she always does when he pops up, and can’t dishonor the hard work that went into it. Steadying himself, he enters the room where both the plump woman and Arthur are waiting for him, quietly chatting while standing in front of the large windows of the dining room.

Outside, a new, fresh blanket of snow fell during the night blurs the earth and the sky into shades of grey and white that look perfectly still. As he approaches, Arthur seems to be the one to notice him first. Martha needs one more second to see him ; her confused gaze tells him she needs one more to recognize the face under the beard and longer hair that she’s used to.

" Margrave Gautier, is that you ?! Goddess, you scared me ! " she says with a hand on her heart, but a pleased smile on her face. " I was wondering if Duke Fraldarius had another distinguished guest I’ve never heard of before ! It’s good to finally see you. Please, sit down and enjoy your breakfast. "

Between them, spread on the table to no ends, colorful fruits, generous slices of crispy bread that smell and look fresh out of the oven, a generous piece of butter, jars of luscious jam and honey, various cheese and slices of ham, a plate with several parts of pies that all looked more appetizing than the others to go with fragrant bergamote tea. A small jug of milk, a pot with cubes of sugar and a large cup of what looked like fresh juice added to the rest and made the table look actually small.

" You are aware I am not going to eat all of that by myself Martha, right ? " Sylvain smiles nervously, a little stunned in front of such a large breakfast that could easily feed three or four people.

" Well, I was told you needed to eat. " Martha replies with a serious look and fists on her hips, making it sound like she was given a particularly important mission. " And I’m sure Duke Fraldarius will be hungry when he’ll come back from his usual hours of roaming around in the woods. Either way, it’s only too much if both of you don’t feed yourself properly. Now Margrave, please, enjoy your breakfast. "

" Alright, alright. Thank you Martha. How about joining me and letting me entertain you with the tale of my journey to Sreng as a way to show my gratitude ? " he gallantly offers while sitting in a chair, letting Arthur pour him a cup of tea.

" Oh Margrave, do you even need to ask ? You know I love those ! " Martha giggles, though she makes no move to sit, already busy with peeling and cutting fruits for Sylvain.

While the two servants busy themselves around him, attending to his every single need, Sylvain recounts for them his trip to the neighboring country.

Once more, now trained in the arts of making memories come alive with only the sound of his voice, he conjures Sreng’s rocky, arid lands, assembles the tents and caravans for them to see, portrays the variety of people he came across, shared drinks and laughs with, casts light on the sparkling jewels and colorful cloths he saw across all the markets he visited, and immerses them so fully in the recollection of a particularly stubborn blacksmith who hit his anvil harder each time Sylvain tried to talk to him both Martha and Arthur seem startled to find themselves sat on each of his side when his story comes to an end.

" My, Margrave, each trip makes you a better storyteller ! It feels like being read a bedtime story. " Martha chuckles, standing up to clean up the dishes. She doesn’t say anything about how Sylvain didn’t eat half of what was served to him.

" Martha is right, it was truly a delight, Margrave. " Arthur nods solemnly. " Now that you’re done with your breakfast, would you care for a haircut ? "

" Please. You can shave the beard too. "

" As you wish. "

" Oh, but it suits you so well ! " Martha interjects. " Are you sure, Margrave ? It gives you such a wise, composed air ! Isn’t it exactly what you need to find someone to settle with- "

" Martha. " Arthur warns faster than Sylvain does.

" Sorry, I know it’s not my place to say so, but after two cancelled engagements- "

" I believe there are dishes that are waiting to be washed up in the kitchen, Martha. " Arthur says, his low voice asking for something very different than his words do.

" … Understood. "

Not without a very loud sigh, Martha unenthusiastically nods towards the both of them and walks out.

" Please, forgive Martha for her words. " Arthur hurriedly asks, worry barely veiled in his demand. " I will speak to her afterwards. You have my word. "

The fear he hears in Arthur’s voice tells him how serious he is about this commitment.

Sylvain doesn’t want to be angry against Martha. She is a sweet middle aged woman who is, with Arthur, the closest thing Felix has to family members around here. People who nags at him when he forgets to eat and writes to Sylvain to tell him when Felix’s sick. Bringing up this topic is probably the worst move she could make (he’s pretty sure Felix told them not to say a word about this), but he doesn’t want to be angry against Martha. As long as Arthur appropriately fears his reaction, he’ll let it slide.

" I’ll count on you then, Arthur. "

" You have my gratitude, Margrave. " Arthur’s shoulders visibly relax. " Now, should I just trim your beard or do you want everything gone ? "

" Wipe everything from my face. " The beard and the wise air.

" And about your hair ? "

" The usual. "

" Very well. Let us begin then. "

Scrapes of a blade and snips of scissors fill the silence while Sylvain is thrown into reminiscences. He hoped he could have avoided it ; that he wouldn’t have to go through this anymore. The same memories clog his mind all over again with words of kindness he did not deserve-

" I can tell you’re not happy with me, Sylvain. I do not know what it is that you seek, but I can tell it is not days by my side. So, as much as I’d like to, let’s not do this. I love you, honey, and I do not wish to see the one I love suffer every day away from his true happiness. Promise me you’ll introduce me when you’ll find it, alright ? "

- it flashes behind his eyes looks of betrayal he can never forget.

" You knew I was coming back. You knew I would be there to see this. Why didn’t you just tell me, Sylvain ? Isn’t hard conversations something adults are supposed to be mature enough to have ? This will stay between you and me, until you’re ready to tell the world. Let’s say we did not feel ready, as a way to not cover both our families in shame. I wish you to find peace, so you won’t make anyone else go through that ever again. Because, no matter what everyone else told me about you, I truly decided to give you a chance. I don’t regret it. But there will be no second one. "

Sylvain wishes those women were cruel, heartless. He wishes they had trampled all over his feelings and shred his soul to pieces so he could have a noble reason to explain why he felt like he needed to be fixed.

They did not.

The cruel, heartless one was no one else but him. The pitiful one who had nothing to offer was, ultimately, just him.

It all rises to the surface, and he tries, he tries to push it all down. The memories come flooding back, blackening his vision, drowning the world arou-

Tempestuous footsteps rushing like a furious river come thundering through the door and forcibly yanks Sylvain out of his thoughts.

" Goddess, " Arthur breathes just a little startled enough Sylvain worries about the scissors he suddenly hears close to his right ear " Did something happen, sir, for you to be returned this early ? " The older servant inquires while he diligently touches up Sylvain’s hair he just finished cutting.

" I’ve met a messenger from Fhirdiad in the woods. "

" From Fhirdiad ? " Sylvain asks spontaneously, the name making him equally curious and worried.

Without sparing a look in his direction, Felix plops in the chair next to him, carrying with him the invigorating smell of fresh air and frozen woods, and shoves the letter in his hands " Dimitri has a request for us. "

For them ?

Sylvain lowers his eyes to the creased paper.

" To Felix Fraldarius,

An envoy from Baron Mateus came to Fhirdiad yesterday night seeking help for an arduous situation they came across in the vicinity of their lands. For two weeks, villagers found whole groups of thieves’ corpses laying in the mountains of the Sacred Gwenwhyvar, and they still do up to this day . Someone unidentified is killing them, townspeople are getting agitated about the beasts it attracts, and the Baron’s men have been unable to discover anything about the killer until now.

As I myself am unable to go, and as I know I can trust your strengths on such a task, I am asking you to come to Fhirdiad without delay to take care of this matter. Take Sylvain with you, as I am quite certain he is by your side right now. He’ll certainly help in regards to everything that has to do with conversing with Baron Mateus’ people to investigate this case. My apologies for forgetting about your birthday, Byleth and I had neither the time to pay attention to dates, lately. I know this request will act as a present you’ll appreciate whatsoever.

We’re waiting for your prompt arrival. Be safe on your way here, both of you.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. "

Under the impressively neat handwriting, the royal seal of the Blaiddyd family crest attested the identity of the one who had wrote this letter.

Despite reigning over such a large kingdom, Dimitri truly never stopped treating them like friends. Although he knows about the power he holds over them, the care in his words shows that he still think fondly of them all. Sylvain can’t resist the smile spreading on his face, picturing their holy, beloved king, sleep deprived and bags under his eyes because he refuses to let Byleth alone, less any nurse, take care of their second child. Just as he did for their first one.

" We’ll leave tomorrow at dawn. "

" Very well Sir. I’ll make sure everything is attended to and enough supplies are packed to make your journey to Fhirdiad safe. "

Sylvain scoffs when he sees Felix eagerly scrawling a short, single sentence answer at the end of the letter he handed him back. " Dimitri’s right, you are quite thrilled about it. "

Arching an eyebrow, Felix asks without raising his eyes " Meaning you’re not ? "

" I’m... not sure I’m that excited about going all the way there to look for someone who’ve been slaughtering bandits in the mountains. " This time, Felix looks at him, narrows his eyes in his direction, and Sylvain feels like he has to rectify himself " Okay, I’ll admit it : there is something that I find intriguing in this letter. "

Felix leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, regarding Sylvain through keen eyes " I’m listening. "

" Dimitri did omit to say why bandits were found in the Sacred Gwenwhyvar to begin with, didn’t he ? Surely he asked what exactly people like this are looking for in such a place, and surely he has an answer. Otherwise, he would have mentioned we need to find about that too. But he didn’t. "

Felix grins " Exactly. So there’s a reason he can’t say anything about it and tried to direct minds away from it with all the sentimental, useless part about my birthday, in case anyone happened to intercept this letter. It can only mean one thing. "

" A lot, lot of trouble. " Sylvain sighs.

To be absolutely honest, Sylvain almost wants to decline. Though he can’t actually out right refuse a request from his King, he’s ready to make up a few reasons why he won’t be able to go.

His journey to Sreng was really draining. He caught a terrible sickness there and can't stay too far from home for long. He… Well, those are ridiculous, aren’t they ? Why would he even be reluctant about going there with Felix anyway ? Didn't he already see worse than that ?  What is it gonna change ?

Deep in thoughts, he doesn’t notice the hand slowly coming closer to his face.

Moreover, investigating who is killing those thieves will only hone their senses put to sleep by years of peace. It will give them new stories to tell, memories to reminisce of when they'll get older. New exploits to thrive by, and who knows, new people to meet they could welcome into their lives. After all, they've never been to those lands before. Never had an occasion to. So what is there to be averse about such a trip ? Nothing. There's absolutely nothing to fe-

Fingers lightly brush his shortened hair away from his forehead. 

" Ah, " he scoffs with a smile that gives charming the sense it was born for, " you suddenly look ten years younger. It's better this way. "

When Sylvain will think back of this moment behind the closed door of his own room this night, he'll need, once more, a few minutes for the wild beat of his heart to calm down.

He ignores what Felix saw on his face then. But whatever it was, it immediately urged his friend to withdraw his hand, charming fading from the corner of his lips.

" Right. Sorry. "

The remorse that seeped through his voice ; the flash of something too fugitive to be entirely caught in his eyes ; it will keep Sylvain up until late at night, until he's too exhausted to think. 

In the blur of dark, late night hours, he'll eventually make peace with this.

Isn't it exactly how it should be ? Having clear boundaries. Keeping himself out of reach. Maintaining things the exact way they are supposed to be. It all makes perfect sense.

So there's really no reason to overthink this.

Everything's alright. He'll be fine.

Because he doesn't feel anything for Felix.

He never did.

And he never will.