#and that sticks in Sylvain and Miklan too

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

platonic relationship things to consider: family/found family.

ready go.

[cielenruine]

"Our resources consist of things that are only useful in times of conflict... What we lack in soil, we make up for in metals. Weapons and armor, the strict regimens that allow our smaller forces to gain the upper hand. Where the land allows, cattle that happily find their homes there. But such things are limited when it comes to trade, we must sustain ourselves while not depleting what little we do have in the name of it." He gave a soft smile. "Often times it is our soldiers whom we trust with such matters, to form bonds and trust where simple material would be a weaker offer." For as much as he wished it, all he truly had to offer were his horses and the soldiers he had made sure to train personally. Of course, the Western Lords would always hold sway over what ends they could provide more luxurious spoils. In the end, there had to be agreement lest things sour anymore than they already were. "Smarts are hardly anything to do with that. It's a matter of pride above all else. Your willingness to acknowledge your own faults in front of another does one better in the long term. It lends to learning more." The apology had been cut off. It was neither apprehension nor acceptance that he was met with. More and more he wondered just why things had turned out like this. Unbeknownst to him, there was a line that he was blurring now. He went quiet for a moment and on instinct pulled the boy closer. "I remember what I called you on the beach." The words were riddled with guilt despite how calm he seemed otherwise. "That you'd answer to the name of a man you don't know, even go so far as to make sure an opponent was taken care of properly...it seems we both have been looking at things through a lens only known to us." He paused and his eyes focused only on the snow. "I would rather be clear with you now than have it cause....issues later." Matthias was glad he could tell Lukas was warming up but even once he was warmed, he knew he would not have the heart to let go. "Miklan...is the name of my first son. In spite of how I felt about him, I've had to disown him yet even that...was a decision I made too late." Lukas wasn't from Faerghus nor Fodlan at all. It would make no difference at all if he knew of his houses troubles or not. "When he was younger, he pushed his younger brother into a well. He thought it was deeper, more filled with water but...it was a liability. The winter months bring with it poor visibility so far north, if someone fell, should the well even be slightly filled there'd be no time at all to rescue them." The memory frustrated him. Sylvain should have died then. The more he remembered that, the tighter he had held onto the cold man in his arms. "I couldn't even recall why I had gone out. A feeling? A sense that something was off? No one had noticed at all." Not a maid nor soldier nor knight. It was simply another quiet day in Gautier, even Miklan had simply been in his room, studying as he should. "When I found him he was in far worse condition than you. Wet clothes stick you and when they're frozen over, it's all the more dire." His arms had loosened. He couldn't squeeze Lukas any tighter, he was already tensed, he didn't want to make it worse. He wasn't Sylvain. This wasn't something he had asked for. Nor was it something he wanted. "You remind me of them...both of them. It's an assumption on my part, but your parents didn't praise you much, did they? Despite your capabilities, you downplay them...more than that...you'd sooner hide a failing of yours to someone you put in that position until called out on it." He had practically let go. Matthias wouldn't hold him there, simply be an option for warmth should he want it. "Is that why you played along?" Matthias himself didn't know much what to make of it. Lukas confused him. He confused himself when he was around him. Or at least he told himself that. From all he'd said, he had come to be acutely aware of his own purpose in doing this. "I...apologize. It's unprofessional for me to wrap you up in my own petty familial matters..."

Does the Wall of Ice Shiver?

Anniversary 2024 +1 Heavy Armor

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

I've been reading your thoughts on Margrave Gautier, and I find your perspective absolutely fascinating. But, while he's certainly more complicated then this fandom likes to think, there's the obvious issue of Everything Going On With Sylvain, and sadly the Margrave isn't actually shown ever in the game. Forgive me if I sound a bit obtuse, but what are your thoughts on that?

No problem at all! I just have chronic fic-writer brain, which means that I see a blind spot in canon, and set up a bunch of fanfic-mirrors so that blind spot is now unavoidable.

That being said: I see him as a man that tried to be both a father and the protector of Faerghus' northern border, and ended up having to prioritize one over the other, which leads to him missing literal murder attempts initiated by one son, targeted at his younger son. And, I think he completely inadvertently put the nail in the coffin with Sylvain when he disowned Miklan, because at that point, Sylvain has started to associate his worth with his Crest; I think, because the margrave was absent for all the Shit, when he finally stepped in to prevent his son from being killed, Sylvain's wires have already been crossed from the relentless abuse and he believes his father only wants to protect his legacy. After all, he wasn't worth defending, but he was worth saving.

But, as we know, Sylvain is too smart for his own good. Before he can feel everything he feels, I think, he starts to rationalize himself into his own personal hell. He doesn't blame his father for the choices he made--who's going to spare energy for their still-breathing son when Sreng has come a'knocking?--but he's certainly not eager to give him any leeway. The margrave (I've dubbed him Sygurd Irénée Gautier, because a) he's in my fic, b) the man deserves a fucking name, c) I wanted to name him Sigurd for the etymology but FE4 beat me to it, and d) I like a little irony and gave him a middle name that can be used as a feminine form, because fuck the way Sylvain acts sometimes) knows he's fucked up, but, again, has poured more of himself into defending Faerghus than making sure his son knew he had a father. So, again, he makes the choice to just let Sylvain stew (spoiler: bad choice). It gets to the point where they can only really interact as Margrave and heir, which is my personal headcanon for Sylvain's paralogue. What the margrave thought of as a show of faith (You don't need anyone else, I oversaw your training, these thrives are nothing to you) was nothing but a trial run for the house's future, and a dumb one at that. Sylvain's a chronic slacker; those thieves would have done him in. (...so tempted to do a solo Sylvain run to see if I can actually do it. Don't have the patience though.)

GOD I'M SORRY. All that to say: the margrave Fucked Up by letting his son get abused by Miklan (I think he had an inkling there was tension, and that Sylvain would hide most of it, but it would NOT have been that hard to tell), fucked up again by letting him rot in his own mind after the fact, fucked up a few more times--but he still pretty much exiled Miklan after finding out; still entrusted the Lance of Ruin to Sylvain before he became Margrave Gautier, when I'm sure the warrior population of Sreng would have jumped at the chance to sieze the Faerghan land after getting word of their shiny wiggle stick being at the monastery instead of at the border; still maintained that border and let Sylvain go off searching for their prince instead of making full use of Sylvain where he was probably most needed.

I think, as per the usual Faerghus nonsense, the margrave speaks better in his battle-honed ways than with his. You know. Words. Which is bad when you're trying to raise a human, but nobody's perfect.

[alcor-writessometimes]

Spill Your Thoughts

Sylvain sat on his bed, staring off into space all the while. Perhaps there were things he was meant to be doing, perhaps there were not. If there was anything, it had long left the forefront of his consciousness; and - with the awareness towards his responsibilities gone - he remained in a diaaociative state for what felt like an eternity.

But alas, even eternity was not long enough. With all the things he had to reflect on, it could never be. Three raps at the door, impatient and curt, took him out of his trance with a jolt. Sylvain closed his eyes and shook his head as he got up, collecting himself into what he hoped ro be a coherent being.

He wondered who would be at his door. If it was any of his friends, they would've surely called out to him. Maybe he had not heard them? He was fairly deep in thought, after all.

With one hand on the wall and the other on the handle, Sylvain pulled open the door and made to greet the person on the other side. However, before any words could leave his lips, a sharp pang hit his cheek with a heavy slap. He turned his head to where his assailant would be, but she was already hurrying away, crying into her handkerchief as she did.

Sylvain leaned against his doorframe, a hand caressing his cheek to soothe the pain as he watched the girl disappear down the hall. Briefly, he wondered who - which one - she was before dismissing his line of thought with a sneer.

It didn't matter. She would find a guy that would treat her better and he would be the horrible ex. That was his role - to be the horrible person people thought him to be. The horrible person with no consideration for his partner's feelings, the person that kept causing trouble for those around him, the horrible person that never put in any work, the horrible person that took everything from his older brother.

He breathed in sharply, his sneer turning into a scowl as his thoughts spiraled out of control.

It was fine. He was fine. At least, he tried to convince himself as much as he returned inside. Without meaning to, he shut the door to his room with a bit too much force and sat back down at his previous spot on his bed with more resignation than he intended to show. Sylvain had his head to his knees, his hands scratching overhead in frustration.

He... didn't want to be a horrible person, not purposefully, not anymore. He was tired. Tired of pretending. Sylvain wasn't even sure what he was even pretending as anyway, because he certainly wasn't pretending to be okay.

Sylvain furrowed his. Confronting his demons didn't sound too appealing to him either.

It felt far too awful.

He knew. Of course, he knew. Perhaps not from the beginning, but he'd been hurting the others around him for long enough now that he had to have developed some awareness.

To recognize everything he was doing wrong, to recognize the moments in his life that screwed him over and see how negatively they impacted and yet... be completely unable to stop. The coping mechanisms he had formed to run away from his issues were so... awful

So then, why?

Why was it so hard to stop? Why did he fall back into his awful habits as soon as the opportunity to presented itself? Why couldn't he stick to his promises to do better? To be better?

In a surge of pure frustration, he ran both his hands down his face, grabbed the pillow on his bed and threw it against the wall.

Of course, lashing out would not do any good either. That lesson, he learned when he was still only a child. Miklan made sure of it.

Miklan...

Even if Sylvain wanted to confront his brother, it was impossible. After all, he had killed him with his own hands.

A hollow laugh escaped him as he sunk into his bed. He'd thought that getting rid of what was the main reason for his suffering would've cured him and fixed his head. But neither life nor the goddess were that merciful. If they were... Well, he liked to think he would have had some devotion in him.

Sylvain closed his eyes, as though his intrusive thoughts would go away if he were to not perceive the world. He wasn't ready, not that he knew if he would ever be. To confront his demons would be to come to terms with his entire, good-for-nothing life.

Doing such a thing... Sylvain wasn't sure he ever truly could. Not even despite his awareness.

[candlelight27]

Chapter 6: This Mask That I've Become

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: kissing in a church lol, tresspassing and etc... don't do that, kids

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 7065

AO3: This Mask That I’ve Become

A/N:  Thanks to @galamixx again for being my beta! It's hard, I know lol so I appreciate it a lot!!!

I hope you like this chapter! It was a bit hard cause I'm going into unknown territory, but I hope you enjoy it either way. Comments, likes, whatever is really really appreciated! Thanks for sticking around with this!

My dearest Byleth,

Your letters brighten my days, otherwise dulled by duties. I must ask for your forgiveness again, since I couldn’t answer any text message yet. Seteth is trying to help me, but he’s not well versed in technology either. The world is moving way too quickly for us to catch up…

Please, keep updating me with the news of our dear students. I’m truly happy to see them thrive and prosper in the continuation of their studies. All those stories you tell me remind me of good times, already gone… Times I wish to never forget. It’s a gift of the Goddess to be able to see them again, even though I must stay in the shadows of this lonely cathedral.

I know we mustn’t be seen together, but I long to see you. Please, visit us soon. Seteth wants to have tea with you, too. He’s much more cheerful now that he’s sure Flayn is safe and sound whatever she wishes to do.

The real reason for this letter is to inform you that I arranged an archive to keep all of our memories safe. I know I refused your petition at first, but after long hours of deep thought, I came to the same conclusion as you. It’s our obligation to ensure the safety of the continent and everyone who lived here, and if we lose our memories, we wouldn’t be able to do it. And in case we die… others will take on our legacy. Hopefully, you’ll be able to take a look at them soon, so you can add any necessary information. I’ll send them as soon as they’re finished.

I’m doing as you instructed: I’m writing reports and so are the other Nabateans.

Thank you for your dedication, Byleth. I’ll always be here for you.

Yours sincerely,

Rhea.

Sylvain and you were next to each other, leaning over the table in your kitchen. Your gaze was fixed on the careful strokes of Rhea’s quill. Ingrid wasn’t home, so told her you’d invite Sylvain over to study and finish that project ‒ which you hadn’t touched in months, if you were being honest. Of course, it was just an excuse. Instead of doing homework, you were chatting and conspiring among opened books about matters not related at all with university. Who’d rather do that when you were living a real adventure?

As you went over the letter for an eleventh time, Sylvain called your name expectantly. He had a bright gleam in his eye that screamed trouble.

“Do you know what day it is next Friday?” He asked, a tilted smile on his lips.

“It’s the 21st,” You answered. You took the letter with your index finger and thumb, and slowly placed it back inside the envelope.

“Yes and no, my dear friend. It’s the founding day of the Kingdom of Faerghus”, Sylvain pointed out. You raised your eyebrows, questioning. You already knew that, just as every other student; that day marked the date when lessons were interrupted. Typically, there was a week more to hand over projects and other requirements to pass the subjects, so some students went right back home, yet others stayed behind in their dorms until they were completely finished.

“So what?” You asked.

The redhead breathed deeply as he prepared mentally for what was coming next. He felt the weight of your eyes on him. Were you judging him? No, you weren’t, he was well aware of that, but he couldn’t discard all those doubts that bombarded him at all times. He felt the guilt running through his veins and he was second guessing his next proposition.

“I’ve got a plan,” he managed to say at last. That charming façade of his that made him always get his way had faded away. You tilted your head, unable to make heads or tails of Sylvain and prompting him to explain himself. He cleared his throat and continued. “That evening, a special mass is going to be celebrated, just like every year. It’s the perfect opportunity to sneak a peek of those documents.”

“The perfect opportunity?” You exclaimed, eyes wide open. “Sylvain, it’s going to be crowded!”

“Yes! That way, nobody will notice we’re hiding in the old confessionary booth! You know they barely use it anyways. Then, we get out when everybody’s gone, we go to Rhea’s office, find the documents and run away as far as we can.”

You blinked, once, twice, thrice. Sylvain was impatient to hear your opinion. He was jolting his leg up and down out of nervousness as you bit your lips, deep in thought. He already knew you had said you were in this together, that you'd help him find the truth, yet those were just words, not acts. He needed your reassurance once again, for deep inside his chest, against his wishes, he was expecting you to reject his idea, to ridicule him and leave him behind ‒ just like Miklan, like his parents. Because wasn’t that what always happened? He trusted someone, then they’d betray him for circumstances that he never could understand.

“Are you sure that’s not trespassing?” You frowned.

“Since it’s a religious building, I’m pretty sure it’s not,” he claimed. “There’s a right of devotion, or something like that.”

“You’ve thought of this carefully, haven’t you? It’s a solid plan.” You nod slowly. Solid and stupid. It could work, but it entailed a great risk.

“It is,” Sylvain said. His heart was pounding fast in his chest, waiting for your objections.

“What if somebody catches us?”

“We’ll say we forgot something”, he posed. “My phone, your purse, whatever.”

“Seteth won’t buy it”, you argued.

“But it’s me who you’re going with,” he pointed to his own face. “He’ll just think we’re there to bang. He’ll lecture us and won’t think about it further. My reputation precedes me, after all.”

“Okay, fine”, you yielded easily. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” You stretched your arms, thinking about what you were getting into. However, for some indefinite reason, you weren’t worried about it. You were more worried about him.

Sylvain was relieved but, as always, uneasy with his own actions. Was he asking too much of you? Was he pushing your limits? It was hard to act all cool and mighty around you when he could barely control his own feelings and the messy train of thought that always accompanied him.

“I’ll drive us there,” Sylvain commented when he noticed he had been silent for a while. Even though you nodded and tried to smile, you were worried about Sylvain. You noticed him getting lost in his own thoughts, and it was worse that he had the horrible habit of never telling anyone what tortured him inside. Despite wanting to ease him, you couldn’t do anything but reassure him that the plan will go well. Executing it was the only thing left to do now.

--

Sylvain double parked right in front of your building. He was well dressed to go to the Cathedral, with a white button-up, dress pants and boots. His parents might be there, after all, and he didn’t want to piss them off. Sylvain tapped the wheel with his fingers. It was too early, but he couldn’t wait at home — He was restless, so he had driven to distract himself. Still, that didn’t make him calmer, so he was restless in front of your window instead.

Impatient and anxious, Sylvain grabbed his phone out of his pocket and wrote a message. There was a reason for his uneasiness: he was going to ask you out. Or he was going to reiterate his love for you and see where things would go from there.

Torn between his own actions, his happiness, and if it might make this whole timeline shenanigan more confusing for you, he couldn’t fall asleep and instead dwelled on it for hours. Something had to change. Pitying himself and being a hollow piece of shit to almost everyone only deepened the wound in his soul.  He plucked up the courage and decided he’d do things the right way from then on. And, first, he had to confess to you a couple of things ‒ a sort of declaration of intent.

Sylvain wouldn't ask Ingrid for advice, because she would think this is another one of his dating escapades. She never takes him seriously. Dimitri always understood him, but was clueless. So was Felix, who would be even more unwilling to help. Claude would give him the best piece of advice, but he refused asking the Almyran out of pride. And he was sure Dorothea would tell him to fuck off. So he had only one option. His usual first option, because she knew him like the palm of her hand and always spoke her mind: Mercedes.

Sylvain 15:10 : Mercedes, pls, help me ☹

Mercedes 15:10 : What’s wrong, Sylvain?

Mercedes answered almost immediately. Her attention eased his nerves. Sylvain looked at his watch; he had about twenty minutes left until you’d meet him and sort out his agitation.

Sylvain 15:11 : It’s about you-know-who

Sylvain 15:11 : I need your advice

Mercedes 15:11 : You-know-who finally confessed?

Sylvain 15:12 : No, but I might?

He had finally worded it. A weight lifted off his shoulders. Mercedes would know if it was madness or in fact it would work, right?

Mercedes 15:12 : What are your true intentions?

Sylvain 15:12 : I think I’m in love, for real

Mercedes 15:13 : Oh dear

Mercedes 15:13 : At first I thought you weren’t that serious

He could hear the voice of Mercedes exclaiming, as he had for years. He wasn’t surprised. How many times has he toyed with the idea of love only to discard it? And he had never ever been serious with anyone. If somebody showed the littlest interest in him, he’d dismiss that person and do terrible things to them before they’d do them to him.

Mercedes 15:13 : I told her to be careful around you because you play with women’s feelings

Sylvain 15:13 : I’m not angry, can’t blame you for speaking the truth

Sylvain 15:14 : But you’re the worst wingman ever, tbh

Sylvain 15:14 : Still love you tho <3

Mercedes 15:14 : There is something positive!

Mercedes 15:14 : You-know-who hasn’t run away yet! You two grew closer instead! Most would have run away!

Mercedes 15:15 : I think that’s a good sign

Mercedes 15:15 : She might be in love with you, even if she doesn’t know it

Sylvain 15:16 : I don’t like that might. I’d rather to be sure about it

Mercedes 15:16 : Just remember doubts are natural, but you must persist

Mercedes 15:16 : It’s now or never, confess your love!

Mercedes 15:17 : And don’t play with her feelings, please

Sylvain 15:17 : I know it’s hard to believe, Mercie, but I’m serious

Mercedes 15:18 : Sothis has answered my prayers then 😊

Sylvain 15:18 : Or Byleth. The professor paired us on that damned project.

Mercedes 15:18 : I have to go now. I’ll answer later. Write to me if you need it, ok?

Sylvain 15:19 : Ok, see you! Thanks, Mercedes

He appreciated Mercedes’ honesty. However, she had given Sylvain another headache, for the devout girl had reminded him of something else. He hadn’t gone out with a girl in months. He had uninstalled all his dating apps – which weren’t exactly for dating, obviously, but flings. Even so, years of being a bastard had to catch up with him at some point, and he guessed it’d be soon enough.

A knock on the window of the car startled him. It was you, with a radiant smile.

“You’ve come early!”, he greeted you as he opened the window. Unknowingly, Sylvain hid his mobile phone. “Get in.”

You went around the car, which looked new, but not extravagantly expensive, and opened the door.

“You’re the one who is early!”, you said, fastening your seatbelt. “Did I have you waiting for too long?”

“Not at all!” Sylvain brushed it off.

“I saw your car through the window, that’s why I came earlier”, you smiled.

Without further ado, he started the engine and thus began your two-hour journey to the biggest cathedral in Fódlan, and your old highschool.

--

The nearer you were to Garreg Mach, where you practically lived for years – excluding holidays, of course, when you’d visit your family – the more mountains and nature you’d see through the windows.

Sylvain was suspiciously quiet yet again.

“I thought Dimitri would be coming with us?” You asked to spark a conversation against the unbearable silence.

“He’s going to spend all the break with his father in Faerghus after the mass, so he’s not returning to college afterwards,” Sylvain explained nonchalantly. “Besides, he doesn’t like when others drive. Just an odd habit of his.”

“What about you?” You asked. “How come you aren’t going to Faerghus afterwards too? You’ve finished all your papers.”

“Nah”, he shrugged. “My relationship with my family… is rocky. So I’ll be staying behind until our university closes and I finish all my excuses.”

“I thought Miklan was gone for a long while.”

“Well, it’s not just Miklan...” The redhead added. “My father is not interested in me and my whole being, but rather in my grades and my capacity of managing his businesses and his land. Oh, and he’s also-” Sylvain hesitated. He realized he usually doesn’t open up to others this fast. However, thinking about the past you two share, and how you’re always genuine to him despite everything he’s making you do, he continued. “My father is also constantly trying to auction off my hand to any bigwig’s daughter who might make a big investment for the family. It’s exhausting.”

“Sounds horrible. I’m sorry you have to deal with a family like that.” You commented sympathetically. You wanted to express your compassion, so you caressed his shoulder. However, Sylvain flinched in the slightest manner, which you noticed and retreated your hand.

“Remember those girls in the library long ago?” He wondered.

“Yes.”

“I met them in one of my father’s parties. Two fickle, capricious girls that wanted a good catch to get expensive gifts and an exciting roll in the hay.” His tone was harsh, and you saw his knuckles whiten over the wheel. Suddenly, he changed his register into a lighter one. “I forgot to tell you that Edelgard is going to be there with Dimitri. She usually can’t attend, since Enbarr is too far away. Maybe she’s going to stay with Dimitri in Fhirdiad to… amend their relationship. Who knows. And Hubert will be surely there, being Edelgard’s shadow.”

“Ah, I see. Well, she is Dimitri’s step sister, after all, they ought to be on good terms,” You commented.

“Isn’t she your friend?”

“Not exactly. Well, not like Dorothea. We get along, but we haven’t met that much outside the classroom.” You answered.

“I see.” He nodded slightly.

You took advantage of your position in the co-pilot seat and observed him. His soft hair, dark red in the roots and orangey where the light caressed it, the shape of his straight nose and his outlined jaw... He was objectively handsome. The actions of those girls Sylvain talked about were despicable, but it wasn’t hard to imagine that they thought they had won the lottery: this man was rich, handsome, friendly and extremely seductive. However, they had miscalculated the situation, because they had not been the first nor the last ones to try, and they didn’t know Sylvain hated playing that game.

It saddened you, that he had to live that. But it saddened you even deeper in your heart that you didn’t know what to expect. Nothing could assure you that Sylvain would get over his ex-lovers and stalkers. And yes, you liked him – some would assure you were in love with him – but would you be able to pursue a romantic relationship? Especially in this situation?

Ingrid had voiced her opinion a lot of times: you shouldn’t try it. You knew that whatever you did, she was going to support you, but she had her reservations. Mercedes was wary as well. The only dissonant view was Dorothea’s.

Dorothea had gone to a date with Sylvain back in high school and she concluded he was a pig. You had heard so, sat in your desk right behind hers as she was telling the story to Edelgard. Despite that, Dorothea and Sylvain became allies of some sort – which made you jealous until you finally befriended the star of the Garreg Mach choir. It might have been the common nature of the gossip they both faced, or the fact that most of the high-end parties they attended were frequented by the same dull people. It didn’t matter what it was, but, although Dorothea restated constantly that Sylvain was nauseating, her attitude towards him had changed. It lit a small hope within your heart that your friend, who usually despised a lot of men of his kind, was encouraging you.

“Give him a chance!”, she exclaimed one day while you were having lunch with her and Petra. “I feel it in my gut! You’re made for each other.” Petra agreed, although she didn’t know either of you that much.

Yet, what made you different from all those girls Sylvain hated? That unexplained deep connection? Because, other than that, nobody could tell if your love was more authentic than theirs. You weren’t even sure yourself. Did you like him because he was a pretty face, or because you actually were in love? It was hard to tell.

As if Dorothea had read your mind and your hesitation, your phone vibrated.

Dorothea 15:53 : GO FOR THE KILL

Dorothea 15:53 : Make him suffer a little bit before falling into his arms tho

Dorothea 15:53 : AND tell me ALL the juicy details afterwards 😉

“What’s wrong?” Sylvain glanced over at you with a chuckle.

“What?”

“You just snorted!” He laughed.

“Oh, just Dorothea wishing us good luck,” You tried to sound nonchalant, but you weren’t as good as him. He laughed.

“Is she telling you to avoid me like I’m a pest?”

“Something like that…” You lied.

--

It didn’t matter from which angle you observed it; the Cathedral had always been impressive. The clear stone, bathed in the sunrays, seemed to be pure gold, resplendent in its holiness. The place stirred like a hive with the confluence of people, most of whom you knew. A nostalgic sensation washed over you.

“Could you wait here?” Sylvain asked, moving his head around and narrowing his eyes to figure out the identity of the people around you. “I have to go greet my parents.” He clarified.

“Do you want to go alone?”

“Yes”, he scratched the back of his head. “I’m sure you’ll meet them one day,” He winked, “but not today.”

The redhead faded into the crowd, while you waited in the courtyard right before the hall. You didn’t know what to do, so you sat over one of the low walls. You saw a patch of blonde hair, but you weren’t sure if it was Dimitri, so you didn’t move. Meanwhile, you recognised many of the passers-by, as they were family of your own classmates, but you doubted they’d remember you.

A deep voice called your name from the shadows of a nearby tree. You looked at the source of the sound.

“Hubert?” You blinked several times. That was a surprise.

“Indeed. I’m here to accompany Edelgard. What are you doing here?”, he asked. “I was certain that you didn’t like going to mass, and you have to ties with the Kingdom of Faerghus.”

“I’ve come with Sylvain”, you answered. Hubert’s eerie, yellow eyes were fixed on you, disturbing you.

“I see,” he commented. A small grimace that resembled a smile formed on his lips.

“He’ll come in a moment”, you forced a smile. You didn’t dislike Hubert, but he had an extraordinary ability to put your nerves on edge.

“I wanted to thank you for that favour,” he commented efficiently.

“That thing?”, you made an ‘o’ with your lips. “No need to thank me, Hubert. We’re… friends?”

“I prefer the term strategic partners”, he nodded.

“Okay, that name is fine too.”

“The reason I’m here is that I must inform you that the heir of the Gautier is engaged”, he said with solemnity.

“Excuse me?” Your little world shattered into pieces, broken. What the fuck was Hubert talking about?

“A month ago, his parents engaged him with one of the daughters of Mr. Rowe. Since you’re rather close with him, I thought you should know it.”

“... I see.”, you muttered, still shocked, trying to remain composure.

“I must go now,” he said, but he didn’t move. “I apologise for being the harbinger of bad news.”

“No need to worry, I just was surprised. See you around”, you waved at him, indicating that you’d be okay. Hubbert made a bow and vanished.

That was an unexpected turn of events. Your heartbeat was loud and fast, and you did your best to quickly blink away tears so that no one would notice. Despite the doubts, the second thoughts and all the things against you, you had thought you’d be in control whether you ended up with Sylvain or not. However, just like the rest of your life, it seemed that you were trapped in a book somebody else was writing. And now, in the place where your crush had begun, any hope you harboured had disappeared, just like a flame put out with a bucket of cold water.

You opened and closed your eyes rapidly to make the tears disappear and stood up. You breathed in and out in slow movements. Your body began relaxing.

Where was Sylvain? There was almost nobody else outside. The mass would begin in almost five minutes. He must have been talking with his parents, if what Hubert said was true. How were you in such a deep mess?

As if your thoughts had summoned him, Sylvain appeared from the lateral of the cathedral.

“Hey! You ready?” He sprang to you.

“Yes,” You tried to cover your face. You couldn’t let him see you in vulnerability.

“Okay, remember the plan.” He leaned into you, lowering his voice. “We sit on the back row, and 10 minutes before the end we get out. Then, we enter through the left door and hide in the confessionary booth. You go in first, then I follow you 3 minutes apart.”

You nodded and walked into the cathedral. You couldn’t look at him in the eyes. It was going to be a long evening.

--

The confessional booth was dark inside. There was a separation between the two parts that composed it, so the space was reduced. You sat on the wooden bench, thankful that it didn’t crack at all.

Sylvain had been right: nobody saw you. The confessionary itself, with an entry in the back, blocked the view of the lateral door to any onlooker that could have been there. On the other hand, you could see the people sitting in the left wing of the building through the lattice in a very convenient way. It was an excellent place to hide. The pulpit was far away, yet the voice of Archbishop Rhea was heard everywhere.

In spite of your relative security, this had to be by far the worst idea you had ever agreed on. Everything seemed doomed in that moment. You were sure in that moment that you’d get caught or expelled. You wanted to run away.

But right then, the back door silently opened and Sylvain entered the scene.

Sylvain’s wide shoulders almost didn’t fit through the entrance. You tried to move around to make some space for him, but it was in vain. You were thankful for the shadows, because your cheeks were growing redder and redder by the moment as his presence became more and more noticeable.

You didn’t know how exactly, but you ended up with your legs over his lap, your shoulders touching and your faces way too close for your liking. At least right then, when Hubert’s words were still fresh in your mind.

The choir started singing a tune, which indicated that the mass was approaching its end. Such pure voices were inappropriate for that moment you were sharing with Sylvain.

“I swear this was bigger before...” Sylvain whispered in your ear. It made your hair stand on end.

“Yes, when we were confessing, being 12 and younger, and being alone. Now it’s even more tiny because someone decided to have the both of us in here.” You grunted back, careful of not being heard.

His breath caressed your face, and his warmth radiated from his clothes. He was too comfortable, and you felt like you could be cuddled like this forever, while at the same time you wanted to run away from his touch. It occurred to you that he might have been a sorcerer, and that he had put you in an unavoidable spell. How else would all these feelings be so intense? It couldn’t be just love, right?

“I have something to tell you,” Sylvain said, but he wasn’t looking at you.

Was he going to tell you that he was engaged? Your breathing was erratic once more. You couldn’t flee, much to your dismay.

“What is it?”

“I…”, he cut himself.

“You…?” You were suspenseful, but you weren’t sure for what. Disappointment? Elation? Sylvain turned his head and fixed his pupils on yours.

“Be my girlfriend.” He managed to speak. You had no words. The world was definitely laughing at your face. “I’m in love with you and you’re in love with me. So why not? Isn’t it the logical thing to do?”

“It’s not that easy, Sylvain, despite how much I wish it was.” You sighed, at a loss for better words.

“Why not?” He pressed.

His heart dropped and a thousand thoughts rushed into his mind. He wanted to scream. How could he dare to think someone would genuinely love him? He got hurt, as it always happened. He shouldn’t have let his walls down, not even for you. He shouldn’t seek love, he shouldn’t have bothered. Everytime he considered himself worthy of love, the world around him would start crashing down. ‘You’re set yourself up for failure’, Sylvain kept repeating to himself. That’s what his father always told him when things didn’t turn out well. His father had been right. He was a failure. Even when his intentions were pure, he had already tainted his future. There was no redemption for him, right?

You picked up on the rising panic on Sylvain’s face, and you felt guilt inside your chest.

“I’m scared,” you said, trying to justify yourself. You believed it was the moment to be sincere. “I’m scared that you’re lying to use me. Or that you’d just get bored and throw me away.”

“I’d never do that to you,” he said, horrified by the fact that you wouldn’t accept he was telling the truth. “You’re not like the-”. He interrupted himself. “I see it now. I won’t stop repeating the same sentence, right? Now nobody will believe me.” Sylvain covered his face with his hand. “I cried the wolf way too many times…” He mutters.

“There’s something else,” you whispered.

“Just say it. It’s not gonna get worse at this point.” Sylvain chuckled somberly.

“You’re engaged.”

“It’s not something I chose. And it’s definitely not something I’m happy about.” He stated. Your words felt like a knife on Sylvain’s skin. “I didn’t want to tell you because I thought I’d get my parents to break the engagement first, but it’s taking longer than I’d expected.”

Out of the blue, Sylvain placed his hands around your face.

“Will you be my girlfriend? You didn’t say no. You know that I wouldn’t willingly propose to a girl when you are right here by my side. You haven’t seen me with another girl, have you?” He assured, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

“I don’t want to say no,” you answered, confused. “But- Sylvain, we’re doomed. We’re not meant to be.”

“I don’t care about fate. Does that mean you’d give me a chance?” His eyes were intense, hard and, all the same, warm and comforting, with the colour of liquid caramel. Sylvain threw all his doubts away for once, just wanting to be with you. You were one of the only things keeping him happy.

“I don’t know… Sylvain, I-”

“If you tell me I’ve still got a chance, I’m not going to give up. I love you.” He announced seriously. “Don’t get me wrong, if you really want me out of your life, I will do it, but otherwise…”

“This is a trap. How am I supposed to tell you looking at you in the eye that I don’t want to see you ever again?” You complained.

“I’m not a trickster, but I’m not gonna let you go either. I’ll have to convince you to be mine, then.”

“And how are you going to convince me?”, you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I already did the hardest part, I made you fall for me.” he smirked.

With that, you couldn’t resist the invisible force pulling yourself to him anymore. You crashed your lips against his and sat astride his lap. It was easy; you had already done it before. Sylvain was amazed, but he was not one to lose an opportunity. He kissed you back. Unable to control himself, his hands grabbed your waist, but he didn’t let himself explore. He was unsure of what was happening, but he was glad he’d got to taste your lips a second time.

You pressed your chest against his torso, while trying to hug him closer. His lips were soft and firm, his movements decided, and he knew what he wanted. Sylvain took advantage of a pause you took for breathing and let his tongue slide in. He was voracious and greedy in his attentions, and he did not let a single speck of your mouth untouched.

You were starting to feel dizzy and wanted much more, but you stopped.

“Everybody should be gone by now,” you muttered, his mouth still pressed to yours. He was panting, and you could guess what was on his mind – you could feel his excitement rising in his lap, after all.

“What was that for?”

“I felt like it.” you lovingly took off a lock of his hair from his forehead. “I’m not going to give you my heart just like that, but I swear to the Goddess, I can’t resist you.”

“Well, I’m not going to complain if you do it again, you know.” he smirked, releasing you from his grip. “After all, we have to make up for lost time.” He grabbed your wrist before letting you go completely, and lowered his tone. “But don’t get used to torturing me like this, or I’ll eventually lose my composure.”

“I’ll risk it,” you playfully answered while you distanced yourself.

You exited the booth without a single sound. The church was dark, since there was no light coming from the large windows anymore. The sun was gone. The place was creepy without a single source of brightness, and the stone was grey and cold.

Your steps followed Sylvain as he manoeuvred between the pews and towards the sets of stairs that led to the upper floor. You had not been there frequently, just once or twice to help Seteth move some books after class. Sylvain, however, knew the place like the palm of his hand due to Seteth’s insistence in correcting the mischievous redhead’s nature. Seteth never achieved his ambition, of course, but as a result, Sylvain could go to Rhea’s office with his eyes closed. And to Seteth’s one, to the cleaning supplies stall and many more rooms he had the pleasure to visit in his youth.

“Careful with the stairs, the stone is worn-out, and you can fall down”, Sylvain warned you.

There were bright coloured statues of the saints and Seiros splattered around, along with some old-looking tapestries that needed to wash. You couldn’t admire them for long, because before you could register that you were raiding the empty cathedral at 8 p.m., Sylvain had already stopped before a wooden door.

“It’s here”, he stated solemnly.

“Are you ready?”, you asked.

“More than ever”, he smiled and turned around the doorknob.

Of course, it was closed.

“Fuck”, he said.

“We should have expected that”, you rubbed your temple.

“Do you have a bobby pin?”

“Nope”, you hummed.

“Okay, time to go home I guess”, Sylvain suddenly laughed, and so did you. “It feels like we’ve gone crazy, right?”

“Oh my god, Sylvain, you thought about the confessional booth but it didn’t occur to you that the door might have been locked?”, you giggled.

“Shut up! You could have guessed it, too!”

“Four months ago I thought I’d never speak to you in my life, and look at us now”, you couldn’t help the laughs.

“What’s so fun?”, Seteth’s voice reverberated through the narrow corridor, shutting both your mouths at the same time.

He had appeared from a door right across you ‒ from his own office, you presumed. You were so nervous that you couldn’t say a word. It was surreal. Seteth didn’t look angry, he looked curious instead, something you weren’t used to. The years might have eased his nerves. But that fact didn’t make your position any easier.

“Look, Seteth, we’re not here for any funny business”, Sylvain defended himself and you. He stepped forwards out of habit.

“Because entering Lady Rhea’s office is not suspicious at all”, Seteth calmly replied.

“Okay, it seems suspicious. But it’s not what it seems,” he began scratching the back of his head. “I dragged her here and…”

You had relaxed enough to form coherent words. And you decided it was the moment to come out clean, because lies and secrets were just turning your life upside down. Furthermore, Seteth’s presence ignited an old feeling; the need to rely on a much more mature adult. You cut Sylvain’s words.

“Seteth, we’ve come here looking for some papers that belong to Lady Rhea”, you said loud and clear. “We were going to steal them.”

“What are you doing?” Sylvain asked incredulously.

“Seteth, we’ve been having the weirdest dreams”, you said. “And they won’t stop, to the point they seem real, like memories.” Seteth's disposition changed. He tensed, and his face paled. “We went to Byleth’s office and… we read a letter from the Archbishop. We know that those dreams happened, but we wanted to verify it and learn why everything’s happening. Otherwise, we’ll go mad.”

Seteth’s green eyes went from your figure to Sylvain’s and back to you again. It was visible that he was torn, choosing what to do. The older man sighed, defeated. He had lost from the beginning, because he couldn’t conceal his fear from such an unexpected accusation.

“It’s a long story”, Seteth said. “Come into my office and have some tea.”

He let you in the room, only lit with candles scattered around. You and Sylvain sat on a sofa that was behind the coffee table. Sylvain went to a desk filled with piles of papers, where there was an electric kettle and various wooden boxes.

“I’ve got ginger tea and a four-spice blend. There must be some sweet-apple blend too somewhere here, Flayn’s favourite”, Seteth offered.

“I don’t mind which one”, you said, smiling politely.

“We’ll have whatever you're having, Seteth”, answered Sylvain.

There was a prolonged silence. The only sounds were the boiling water of the kettle and Seteth rummaging in his drawers. A nice aroma of ginger slowly spread through the air.

The man of the church placed three teacups on the table and sat in the armchair right in front of you. You had never noticed, but Seteth was fit, way too much for a man of his profession. It made sense, though, when you remembered his expertise upon a wyvern.

“I’m sorry about the light. I never got around installing lamps, and I like the candles. They remind me of more familiar times…”, Seteth said as he poured you a cup of steaming tea. “Where should I begin?”, he inquired.

“Did those things really happen?”, Sylvain asked first.

“Yes”, Seteth nodded matter-of-factly. “All those memories you’ve recovered have happened in the past. Or… in our other lives, as I like to say.”

“Are those things going to happen again?”, it was your turn to ask, then. Seteth could sense the fear in your voice.

“We hope the war will never repeat itself”, he reassured you. “We don’t really know what the future has in store for us, but we’ve deemed it very unlikely. The events that have happened in this era are completely different from those in the past.”

“Who are ‘we’?” Said Sylvain. “If you don’t mind the questions…”

“The Nabateans,” Seteth answered dryly. He took a sip of his cup of tea. “I’m sure you remember, the Immaculate One back in the battle of Garreg Mach, right?”

“Some things are… vague for me”, Sylvain lamented, because you had told him the story a million of times, but he couldn’t recall the encounter.

“I remember it. It was Lady Rhea, right? I remember Edelgard telling us she was a monster controlling the continent from the shadows.” You explained.

“Yes… So-”

“Wait,” Sylvain interrupted Seteth. “Can you turn into a dragon?”

“Not me,” he denied. “It's been hundreds of years, but that’s not quite the topic of this conversation, is it?” The green-haired man reminded him.

“But how did it happen? How did we end up living so many lives?”, you interceded. “Why didn’t we… just die?”

“It’s Byleth’s doing”, Seteth replied. “Lady Rhea, back when Byleth was born in 1159, placed Sothis’ heart in his, hoping our mother would live again…”

“Sothis… the Goddess? She’s real?” Sylvain was dumbfounded. You looked at your cup of tea, then to Seteth, unable to articulate an answer. You were thankful for Seteth’s patience.

“Yes. This gave him great power, as he became one with the Goddess. Which granted Byleth as well the power of turning back the hands of time.”

“So he’s been turning back the time after the war of Fódlan?”, you exclaimed.

“Byleth wanted to save us all from the tragedy that devastated Fódlan. He kept turning back to the year 1180, yet one way or another, the string of events led to the same. So, at last, Byleth decided he needed to go way back, to the beginning of everything.” He paused, and saw your faces focused on every word that was escaping his mouth. He smiled to himself, remembering those times when you both were younger and listened to his lessons. Your faces might have changed, and your voices and bodies, but the eyes of his pupils were still the same. “Sothis, aware of the future, made her holy sacrifice to prevent Nemesis and his kind to take over. The history of Fódlan changed just enough to give us a rest...”

“So Byleth’s hair will be dark blue forever now?”, Sylvain asked.

“Yes. The professor is no longer the vessel of the Goddess,” Seteth clarified. “There are no longer any crests nor Hero’s relics. Therefore, technology has prospered, and your generation was born later ‒ although we don’t know exactly why this happened.” Seteth paused to sip his tea and hear your questions, but all the information had left you and Sylvain dumbfounded. Therefore, he continued his speech, somewhat relieved that he could finally tell a human all these burdens. “Flayn used to cry a lot, weeping about your absence,” he tenderly recalled. “Lady Rhea and I were sad too. We’ve been through a lot, all of us, after all…”

“I have another question, Seteth…”, Sylvain started. He was in deep thought, just like you. “Why is it that we’ve got our memories back?”

“I honestly have no idea…”, Seteth shook his head from side to side. “It could be because of your previous relationship. Back in the Officers Academy you were on... extremely good terms, as far as I know, so when I was your teacher in this high school it surprised me that you two never coincided. However, you’ve found your way next to each other, so perhaps some things are meant to be…” The older man trailed off, but continued. “Well, I don’t know. I know for us, the kin of Sothis, it’s probably due to our blood. For humans… it’s harder to tell.”

You looked at Sylvain from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t dare to face the ginger.

“Isn’t this a big secret?” you questions, amazed that Seteth ‒ and no other than Seteth himself ‒ was confiding to you such details.

“Yes, it is”, Seteth confirmed, narrowing his eyes.

“Why are you telling us, then?”

“Because, as I said, I appreciate you. Both of you. We’ve fought side by side, you’ve rescued Flayn numerous times”, he crossed his arms over his chest again. “Sylvain risked his life for Flayn numerous times, while you were also close to Byleth. It’s unnatural not to trust you...” Then, Seteth spoke once more. “But I must request that this reunion stays between us. Please. We don’t want any resentment to be born in such a peaceful time as this is. And I’ve broken so many rules right now that I’m frankly scared of what might happen.”

“Okay, we won’t say anything, Seteth”, you nodded. “I promise.”

“You have our word”, Sylvain accepted.

“Not even… Rhea or Byleth. If you don’t mind, this never happened.” Seteth touched his beard.

“Wait, Seteth, I still have Professor Byleth’s letter”, you said, worried. “He must have noticed it went missing…”

“Don’t worry about that, Byleth is a disaster. He came by this morning, I’ll tell him he dropped it and that he should be more careful”, Seteth smiled.

“Thank you, Seteth. For real”, Sylvain said. And you saw for the first time in his eyes the lightest shadow of hope.

[themoomoorn]

It truly adds a new dimension when one realizes that on a grand scale, the one country Fodlan has the most negative relationship with is with Almyra. Brigid being colonized by the Empire is primarily the Empire being the Empire, Sreng is a long standing issue with Faerghus that's being worked on, and prior to Duscur being forcibly annexed into Kleiman territory, they had what appeared to be a neutral relationship at best. The other surrounding areas, though, have mostly positive relationships, namely Morfis and Albinea being trading partners, and Dagda is kind of far off, but there are plenty of food exports you can find in Fodlan from there. Almyra may raid the Alliance most often because they happened to be the country they're joined at the hip at, but the intent is almost *always* to invade all of Fodlan, not just Leicester. And as mentioned time and again, it's always a power play, or a dick waving competition. Time and again, we are shown (albeit with limitations because devs being devs) that Sreng doesn't invade Faerghus for this reason; it's because they're a small-ish ice-desert with arguably even less fertile soil than the bulk of the Kingdom!

One thing Hopes does do well is probably Matthias' character. The backdrop of Sreng's size and Faerghus' invading it is still a tangled yarn ball, but what we do know is that during one Srengese invasion, they butchered civvies, including Matthias' first wife/one true love (and Miklan's mother), who was pregnant with what would've been their second child. He was already cagey and biased against any hopes of reconciliation then, but this incident sealed the deal for good. So when Sylvain, who's optimistic, pragmatic, and cynical all in one, opts to look past biases and really dig into the meat of the situation of this relationship and opt to try for diplomacy for real this time, Matthias, ever the ice king, shuts it down. But he's the heir, and Sylvain is probably the most brilliant of any of the Lions.

(The fact that Sylvie and Mikky are half-siblings also adds more meat to this pile of potatoes too! It embellishes Miklan's hatred and arguably how Matthias behaves around Sylvain even more, and also possibly explain why he let Miklan stick around for so long even knowing he treated Sylvain the way he did - he's the son of his beloved first wife; Sylvain isn't.)

Almyra has none of this.

Also also, to make matters grosser, yes, we have Almyra calling Fodlanese people cowards as their highest insult...but we also have Shahid and his company also call the Fodlanese brutish barbarians and savages. So what does that say about what little of Almyran society that we know of? Throw in how Claude has no dialogue for the Hilda/Cyril Paralogue (where the Almyran invasion is real), but pisses and moans about petty pirates in the Shamir/Alois Paralogue, and really, Claude comes off as not wanting to actually address Almyra's biases.

You can even take it a step further and note how his not-cowardly mother became not-so-cowardly by...becoming violent...

The impression I got from his Byleth support was that Claude was angry at Fodlan for not living up to his expectations. He came to Fodlan seeking to learn something he could use to change Almyra's mindset, believing Fodlan would be more accepting of "outsiders" and when he found Fodlan had a negative view of Almyra he got upset and blamed the Church. Part of his story in Wind is him realizing he jumped to conclusions and blamed the Church without getting to know what they really stood for, being confronted with his own prejudice.

Part of his story in Wind is him realizing he jumped to conclusions and blamed the Church without getting to know what they really stood for, being confronted with his own prejudice.

Imo, he still doesn't totally get over those conclusions and prejudice especially in the Billy S-support :

And I...I want a ruler who can lay down a new set of values for the people. Values that don't exclude anyone for being different.

But yes, in this support, he also mentions having to go to Almyra to change his homeland for the better.

I see which support you're talking about, iirc it's the A support, right?

He confesses he came to Fodlan wanting to prove Almyra that Fodlan people weren't cowards, but ultimately found out people in Fodlan were as biased and prejudiced as the Almyrans are.

So his plan is to bring a "new set of values" to Fodlan and expand them to the rest of the world - so first start to bring his "new set of values" in Fodlan, and then bring them to Almyra to... destroy prejudice existing in Almyra.

Sure, why not, but bar the inherent "sus-ness" of bringing new "set of values" to a place - never once in those supports Claude reveals that the equivalent of Almyran calling Fodlaneses "cowards" is Fodlanese people calling Almyrans "brutes/barbarians" - sure, when he was a kid younger in Almyra, he used his mom as an example of why everyone in Fodlan wasn't a coward - but obviously we don't have in VW any situation where he'd try to tell Hilda and whoever in the Alliance that Almyrans aren't "savages/brutes/barbarians" to fight against their own prejudiced views...

The only sort of situation I can see this happening is apparently, off-screen, when Judith reveals that Holst and Nader got drunk together and became BFFs.

All Almyrans aren't brutes and barbarians - and yet, when we see some acting like the racist stereotypes the Gonerils depict them as, Claude doesn't pop up to say a thing. The best we can have is, iirc, him saying something like "we can let past grudges influence our decisions now" when Lorenz and Hilda are kind of arguing with the intensity of a wet paper against the inclusion of Almyrans in the army - completely oblivious to the fact (or maybe it was an oversight from the devs?) that Hilda's paralogue could be unlocked/played 3 minutes earlier, so we're not talking about past events and a long history of raids that have stopped, but about very present events : those raids exist.

In a nutshell, I agree with anon about the WTF of Claude's plan and general arc in VW - even if he shows progress and lets go, as much as the game allows anyone to do so - his hatred of the CoS - he's basically asking Fodlan, the victim, to stop being so prejudiced against people raiding for funsies and open their borders to the same people raiding them for funsies, and only after this, he will ask the people raiding for funsies to stop raiding for funsies because the people the raiders call "cowards" don't fucking want to die in what is generally seen as a dick measuring context.

Even post VW, Claude is still prejudiced, not as much as he was in the pre TS and ultimately Nopes lol, against Fodlan, expecting to change and have a new set of values "first" before bringing the values of not excluding people because they are different to Almyra.

And IMO, this is even more bonkers when you realise this S-support happens after Rhea's infodump, aka after the infodump where she reveals that the people opposing the war mongering ones with nukes were genocided - you don't ask the randoms/victims to play nice with their abusers, and expect said abusers to play nice too because you ask them.

Maybe it's a bad faith reading, but the ending illustration has Claude try to mediate or sign a treaty between, on one side, people with spears, and on the other side, people with armors (who look resigned, but maybe it's just the artstyle) and no weapons that are heavily implied to be from Fodlan.

And fun fact, now that i'm looking at them - we see Billy - aka the Church - in AM and SS, but we don't see them in CF and VW... We only see Alliance Lords - but no King/Queen Billy of Fodlan in sight.

Did he really change his POV about the Church, or not?

[indigowallbreaker]

Kiss 15 (on the back) wiiiith Ashe/Sylvain! Please! Or not that’s cool, too! Thank you for writing so much rare pair goodness for the fandom regardless!

(thank YOU for being the Conductor of the Rare Pair Train. I am merely a passenger XD hope this satisfies you!)

15. Kiss on the back

The chill that had wound around Garreg Mach for the winter had little to no effect on Sylvain as he made his way to lunch. His afternoon was open; he had no dates lined up, to his memory, or assignments to complete. Maybe he could bug Felix into leaving Ferdinand in the training grounds and actually have a full meal for once. Or he could bug Dimitri and Ingrid.

A long sigh caught Sylvain’s attention and he looked around. Ashe was leaning against the wall beside his dorm room doorway. His back was to Sylvain, and he was rubbing his other shoulder with his head hung low.

Sylvain didn’t hesitate to wander over. With a cheery “hey!” as his only warning, Sylvain wrapped his arms around Ashe’s waist and lifted him off the ground. Ashe gave a yelp. “S-Sylvain!”

“You looked down,” Sylvain explained. He dropped a kiss between Ashe’s shoulder blades. “Wanted to lift you up!”

Ashe laughed even as he gave a halfhearted wiggle. “You didn’t have to--”

“Of course I did. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong! Just tired from chores.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not it.” Sylvain lowered Ashe gently but stood in the open doorway so he couldn’t go hide in his room. “Come on, we’re friends, right? Tell me what’s up.”

Ashe rubbed as his shoulder again absently, eyes on the floorboards. “Uh, well, it was my turn to help with lunch prep. The new head chef is kinda... strict.”

Sylvain already didn’t like where this is headed. “Oh yeah?”

“He was being mean to one of the cooks and I tried to defend her, and he snapped at me to keep working and mind my own business.” Ashe’s eyes narrowed at the memory. 

The urge to cut Ashe off there and storm the kitchens was a powerful one. Only Ashe’s uncharacteristically despondent tone kept Sylvain where he was. “Then he kept talking loudly to the others about my work ethic. When we were finally done, I tried to get away quick so I wouldn’t have to hear him-- but I banged my shoulder on the way out and he started laughing.”

Rage was building in Sylvain. For some reason, the story conjured the image of Miklan laughing as Sylvain dragged his bloodied body away to safety. This new head chef was going to be out of a job the next time Sylvain spoke to the Professor. 

“He asked if I wanted to stick around and help serve but I just... I couldn’t do it.” Abruptly, Ashe picked his head up, eyes full of alarm. “Oh but don’t say anything, okay, Sylvain? If I make a fuss about this, that other cook might get in trouble! And with the ball next month we really need a head chef right now.”

“I won’t say a word,” Sylvain lied. “Is your shoulder okay?”

“It’s fine.” Ashe let out a mirthless chuckle. “Just hurt my pride a bit.”

Sylvain put a hand on his opposite shoulder and began guiding Ashe into the dorm room. “How about you hang here and I get us some lunch? That way you don’t have to even risk seeing this guy.”

“You don’t--”

“I absolutely do.” He pressed another kiss to Ashe’s forehead to cut him off. “I’ll be right back.”

Ashe tilted his head. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” Sylvain said with forced puzzlement. He knew exactly what but this would give him an extra second to form a good answer.

Rubbing his forehead, Ashe said, “Kissing me. That’s the second time you’ve done it today. And you’ve done it a few times before...”

Sylvain aimed a smirk at him. “You’re just so damn kissable, that’s all.”

Ashe turned red and pushed Sylvain back a step. “I’m serious!”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“... No. I guess not.”

“Good! See you in a bit, then.”

“Uh, Sylvain?”

Sylvain turned in the doorway. Those freckles with that blush outta be criminal. “Yeah?”

The picture was complete as Ashe smiled. “Thanks. For listening.”

With a real grin, Sylvain said, “You’re welcome. Put on an extra jacket, okay? You’re shivering.”

Shutting the door against any protest, Sylvain made his way towards the dining hall. He was almost at the entrance when he spotted the Professor leaving the gazebo. “Professor!” He called, changing course. “I have a story I wanna tell you!”

(Give me all the kiss prompts, i want them all) 

[cavalierious-whim]

Whelp (FE3H)

Sylvix | Pre-Game | Canon-Compliant AU | Teen

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate. But Sylvain's not just a wolf, he's also a boy, and all he wants to do is enjoy his youth.

----

A/N: So let's consider this: Crests aren't a boon, they're a curse. What's it like to live with that? This is the first in a collection of stories called 'Of Crests and Curses'. The storyline is that of the game, which is why I've tagged it Canon-Compliant AU. Read here on AO3 for better quality! And follow mere here on Twitter.

----

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate.

A boon, gifted to the bloodline by the Goddess. Nearly feral with rage and born to ravage the battlefield as beasts, the Gautier family see themselves as harbingers of death: if you meet one in battle, then you’ve met your end.

Time wears on and views change. The Gautier blessing is now a blessing only to their own. The rest of the world whispers of a curse instead, carefully concealed behind titles and lordship. Those who carry the burden are nothing but beasts, bred to bring death and destruction upon their foes, relishing it.

The Margrave Philippe Alexandre Gautier has a reputation to uphold. He’d done his duty for King Lambert, loping across enemy lines and battlefronts, and then later, he’d held the North against Sreng. He still holds the North against Sreng.

But, Philippe’s reign of terror is regrettably over; his bones ache a little bit more with every shift, and his nose isn’t good for much nowadays.

Miklan is a disaster. He’s got the bloodlust required of a Gautier but no crest to match it. Phillipe frowns at the mere thought. It’s a pity. Gautier men need that bloodlust, they thrive on it, but the beast is also required to temper it. When left alone, it’s more like gunpowder, prone to exploding when you least expect it. A careful balance is required.

There’s a scream from the other room and his head snaps up, fighting the instinctual urge to go be with his mate. Not quite a man and not quite a wolf, but that deep-seated connection thrums through his heart. The midwife won’t let him in and he does his best to maintain hope.

And so, Phillipe waits, pacing the long corridor of the Gautier fortress. Even in the summer months, Gautier can be frigid, the bitter cold seeping deep into the stones of his home.

Eventually, the screaming stops. The midwife opens the door and Philippe slips in quietly. There isn’t any crying, but his wife doesn’t look distressed. She holds a bundle close to her, her face tired and red and sweating.

When Philippe peeks into the folds of the blanket, he sees fur, wet and sticky, a deep auburn red.

“A crest,” says Philippe to his wife. “Our--” He pauses and waits, looking back to her, his tongue-tied.

“Son,” says his wife, her voice raspy from hours of crying out. “Our son has a crest.”

Pride swells within Philippe as he takes the bundle from her breast. Their son is a small thing, his eyes still closed. His maw is wide open, pink, and toothless gums on display. He’s the most beautiful thing that Philippe has ever seen.

But more importantly, he’s the most useful.

“There are big plans for you,” Philippe says, petting the downy fur at the crown of his son’s head. “Big plans indeed, my precious Sylvain.” Philippe pulls the boy closer so his son can learn his scent.

Yes, incredibly useful indeed.

#

If there’s one thing that Sylvain Jose Gautier can’t resist, it’s a good tail wag.

Well, that’s a lie. He also loves a really good smell, the kind that sticks in your nose all day. Or a really good cut of steak, tender and juicy and more on the raw side than not. Okay, so, there’s a lot of things that Sylvain loves and it’s too hard to pick just one, so he’ll try to enjoy them all, he thinks.

Fraldarius Manor isn’t as large as his home, but it’s busier. Servants bustle to and fro, guards stand here and there, and there’s a massive assortment of sights and smells and noises and--

Sylvain knows that he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, but his foot twitches, ready to explore. Small as the manor is when compared to the Gautier Fortress, there’s not a doubt in his mind that it holds more secrets than he could ever sniff out. He’s excited to try.

There’s just one problem.

Before Sylvain can even turn to him, his father reaches out and grabs the back of his neck firmly. He doesn’t have a scruff in his human form, so Sylvain winces. Not painful but it doesn’t feel great, and Sylvain resists the urge to wiggle out of his father’s grasp like a slippery little snake.

“Sylvain,” says his father in a hiss. “Quit your fidgeting.”

Sylvian whines in response, but it only causes his father to grip a little bit harder. He’s not angry, Sylvain thinks. It’s just a warning, Sylvain tells himself. Sylvain doesn’t get very many warnings.

“Duke Fraldarius is meeting us here at the entrance and he’s bringing his sons. Be on your best behavior.”

“I don’t want to meet his sons,” says Sylvain, lips pulling into a terse frown. He wants to sniff out things, to explore, to get stuck in tight little places. He’s got a sense of adventure that itches to be scratched, nearly as bad as that one time he’d gotten fleas as a toddler.

“You will,” says his father, his grip pinching. Sylvain doesn’t whine this time, his mouth snaps shut in a grimace. It’s better to not show pain, to just put on a brave face and bear it. Finally, his father lets go with a sigh. “There’s plenty of time to satisfy your curiosity later on. Until then, behave. We are Gautiers. Act like one.”

Act like one. Sylvain huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Familiar words that he’s tired of hearing. Sometimes, Sylvain feels as though it’s the only thing that his father knows how to say. Gautier, this, Gautier that. Gautier boys are expected to hold the north and strike down their enemies.

Gautier boys are expected to do a lot of things that Sylvain has no interest in.

He doesn’t want to strike down any enemies, he wants to find that delicious grilled meat whose smell is stuck in his nose. Besides, there aren’t any enemies here at Fraldarius Manor. His father has spoken at length about the Duke and his kin. The Fraldarius family has long since been framed as something to both admire and admonish; their loyalty to the crown is unmatched, but also their downfall.

“Watch them carefully and learn,” said his father one night. “Learn from their drive and then their folly, and combine that with our strength. You will be unstoppable, pup.”

Servants of the Fraldarius household watch him and his father warily, skirting around them with a wide breadth. Their guards aren’t nearly so feared, but then again, they aren’t wolves. Sylvain had once asked his father about it.

“They know what we are, and so, they fear us,” said his Father. “As they should.”

Sylvain doesn’t want to be feared but he’s got little control over it, so he makes do. He’s ten and has other things to worry about, like the way that mud squishes between his paws.

Duke Fraldarius takes his time to greet them, but eventually, the double front doors open wide. The duke is a rat-like looking man, with thick and wavy hair, but a thinning goatee. A tall, slightly gangly teenager treks behind him, and their group is rounded out by a boy who looks younger than Sylvain.

They all have wild, wavy dark hair, but the boys have theirs tied back and out of their faces. The older boy looks tired but stands alert, and the youngest hides behind him, grabbing onto his thighs as he sneaks a peek.

“Philippe,” says the Duke with familiarity. He steps forward and they clasp hands, and for the first time in years, Sylvain sees his father smile the slightest bit. They must be actual friends. Amusing. Sylvain has always thought his father had none.

“Rodrigue,” says Sylvain’s father. “Thank you for having us.”

“Nonsense,” says the Duke. “There’s more than enough room and coming here is easier than traveling to the palace.”

Sylvain’s father nods. “When does his Royal Highness arrive?”

The Duke lets out an annoyed huff. “I have no idea. The King does as he wants, which includes showing up late.”

“So he’s late, then?” The Margrave laughs. “And Count Galatea?”

“Nearly here,” says the Duke. “The Count will be bringing Ingrid of course, to spend time with Glenn.”

Sylvain can’t help the face that he makes when he hears that. He’s never met Glenn or Ingrid, but his father has spoken of their betrothal before. Sylvain risks a glance at the older boy that stands before them. This must be Glenn. Sylvain’s not sure what he expected, but the somber-faced and weary teenager that stands there isn’t it.

He looks boring.

“How is the arrangement going?” asks the Margrave.

“Well, I would think.” There’s a pause as the Duke casts a glance in Sylvain’s direction. “I wish you luck in your efforts, of course.”

At his words, it’s as if his father finally remembers that Sylvain is there. He reaches out and presses his hand against Sylvain’s head, ruffling his hair. “I have no doubt,” says his father. “After all, Sylvain possesses a crest and good breeding.”

The Duke’s little smile twitches slightly at that, but then he nods in agreement. “Let’s lead you inside then and get you settled. We’ll talk about such things later. I’m sure you’d prefer some rest.”

“I’d prefer to explore,” says Sylvain before he can stop himself. His father’s smile slips and Sylvain can nearly smell the annoyance that radiates off of him.

The Duke, however, looks genuinely amused by this and before the Margrave can reprimand Sylvain, he says, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

#

Glenn, as it turns out, isn’t boring at all.

The Duke had asked his sons to give Sylvain a proper tour of the place, but the moment that Rodrigue had turned his back, Glenn cocked his head to the side, gave Sylvain a wide smirk. “I bet that’s not what you want to do at all, is it?”

Sylvain likes to explore and Glenn likes to pull pranks and cause mischief. The two of them together are a hellish pair and they’ve barely begun their antics.

“So, what about your little brother?” asks Sylvain. They’re skirting around the eastern edge of the manner, Sylvain walking atop a parapet with Glenn following alongside below him.

“Felix?” asks Glenn. “What about him?”

“He’s not here?”

Glenn lets out a long and deep laugh straight from his belly. “Felix would never,” says Glenn. “Not unless Father made him. He’s too much of a crybaby.”

“A crybaby?” Sylvain then remembers how Felix had hidden behind Glenn’s legs. “How boring.”

“I pray to the Goddess every day that he’ll grow out of it,” says Glenn. “What’s the point of having a little brother if you can’t wreak havoc together?”

Sylvain can’t imagine. Glenn cares for Felix, something that Sylvain’s never seen in Miklan. Miklan only has curses and balled fists for Sylvain, and he’s learned the hard way that it’s easier to run and hide than try to play.

But then, Sylvain’s reminded of his father’s wish to befriend the boys. He opts to smile wide at Glenn and not think of Miklan. “I’m not your little brother, but I am younger than you.”

Glenn shoots him a smile back, but it’s a little more lopsided and a lot more conniving. “Want to go cause some mischief?”

“Not really,” says Sylvain, “I smelled some grilled meat earlier that I have to find.” He pauses, giving Glenn a knowing look. “But you know, if you want to cause some problems on the way there, I won’t say anything.”

Glenn reaches out to nudge his cheek affectionately. “I knew that I liked you the moment I saw you. Come on then; I’ll show you where Meryl’s stall is.”

“Meryl?” asks Sylvain.

“Meryl,” confirms Glenn. “Only the best cook in this entire complex. No doubt it’s her food that you caught a whiff of.”

Glenn leads him along the western side of the grounds. It’s not like the Gautier Fortress which is all cold stone and even colder weather. Fraldarius Manor is warmer and brighter, part stone and part wood, and bustling with activity. It’s like two different worlds, but Sylvain already loves it here because there’s too much to see in just one day.

And Miklan isn’t there, which is a bonus.

“You said that you’d smelled it,” says Glenn. They’re watching the stall from afar, leaning against a column. Trying to look inconspicuous. Glenn succeeds rather well, but Sylvain fails to capture his ease, looking awkward instead. The servants find it cute, giggling softly as they walk by.

“Smelled what?”

“The meat.” Glenn waves to the stand. “We’re not exactly near the entrance gate.”

Sylvain’s mouth parts slightly. “Oh, that.” He shrugs. “It’s part of being a wolf, I guess. I have a really good sense of smell.”

“Wait, the wolf thing is literal?”

“Haven’t you read the histories?” Sylvain frowns. His father’s made him practically memorize entire books; centuries of stories about Gautier men and women leveling the battlefield as Death incarnate.

You know, typical bedtime stories.

Glenn watches him for a moment, hand on his chin, thinking. Then he says, “I’ve always assumed that it was more of a metaphorical thing.”

“What’s metaphorical ?” asks Sylvain. Glenn laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, pup,” says Glenn in jest.

Sylvain makes a face. “Ew, no, don’t call me that. That’s what my father calls me.”

“All right, all right.” Then, Glenn gives him a mischievous grin. “Hey, I know how good your nose is, but how good are your stalking skills? You know, getting down low and sneaking up on prey?”

“As good as any wolf’s,” Sylvain says, sticking out his chest haughtily. It’s a lie. Sylvain hasn’t gotten a lot of practice in, but he wants to impress Glenn.

“I’ll distract Meryl while you sneak up and grab a couple of meat sticks grilling over the coals.”

“Wouldn’t she just give them to you, if you asked?” Glenn is the Duke’s son. There’s no way that the vendor wouldn’t just comply with his request.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Sylvain shoots Glenn a conspiratorial glance in return. He decides right then and there that he likes Glenn, and wishes he were his big brother instead. Maybe Felix will want to be his brother too.

#

Sylvain hasn’t met a lot of girls in his short life, but he’s fairly certain that most aren’t like Ingrid.

He’s read books, both fiction and non-fiction. Girls and women have their place within packs. Sylvain thinks of his mother, lovely and demure, always dressed nice and smelling like flowers. Quiet unless she’s spoken to, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The only person that his father genuinely loves, most like.

And then there’s Ingrid, a wild child covered in dirt and dust, smells like sweat, and whose eyes gleam with a challenge. She wears trousers like a boy, she wields a wooden lance, and she curses like a sailor when Glenn knocks it from her grip.

Sylvain’s mouth falls open in surprise. Ingrid’s only a year younger than him and at nine, she shouldn’t say such things. But Glenn doesn’t mind, shooting her a menacing little wink, and Sylvain is certain that he’s figured out who she learned such words from.

It’s not that women in the Gautier family don’t fight, only the wolves do. And there hasn’t been a female crest bearer in the Gautier line for decades. Ingrid isn’t a wolf, therefore seeing her in the training grounds with the rest of them is a bit of an adjustment.

Sylvain learns that he likes things that are a little different, though. His father drones on and on about propriety and the way that things are supposed to be, but Sylvain only finds expectations to be confining. He longs for the freedom to be himself and do what he wants.

He knows he won’t have long to enjoy it.

“What’s he staring at?” asks Ingrid rudely, and Sylvain realizes that she’s talking about him.

“You,” says Glenn, unapologetically. “And all those sticks in your hair.”

Ingrid gasps, running her hands through her blonde locks, but when there are no sticks, she lets out an annoyed shriek, throwing a rock at Glenn. Glenn throws his hands up and runs the length of the training yard, Ingrid chasing after him.

Not for the first time over the last few days, Sylvain wonders what it’d be like to have a brother like Glenn in his life.

And then, Sylvain thinks of Felix. Glenn had told him that Felix was a crybaby and scared of everything. Sylvian’s barely seen the boy-- once or twice, and the moment they lock eyes, Felix hides away again. Behind Glenn’s legs, behind their father, around a corner or even running from the room entirely.

Sylvain frowns. Crybaby indeed.

“Ridiculous, chasing each other around like that.” Sylvain turns to his father who stands beside him. The Duke is on his other side.

“Philippe, it’s harmless,” says the Duke. “They’re children.”

“It’s never too soon to learn manners.” Sylvain’s father gives him a pointed look. “Take Sylvain for instance. Always properly behaved. Always an example.”

Sylvain hides a smile behind a cleverly placed cough. The Duke smiles at him, just a little quirk of his mouth. So, maybe he hadn’t hidden his smile well enough. Rodrigue then gives Sylvain’s father a disappointed tut. “I’ll say it again: they’re children. Let them enjoy themselves. Eventually, they’ll answer the call of duty and they’ll never have time for fun again.”

Sylvain’s father huffs at that. “There’s no room for fun when you’re a lord.”

“There’s a little bit of room for it,” says the Duke, measuring a small gap between his fingers.

“You sound like his Royal Highness.” The Margrave sighs wearily. “That’s not surprising though.”

“His Royal Highness knows how to balance work and family.”

“Speaking of family, where is Felix?” asks the Margrave.

“Ah, Felix,” says the Duke. “Off hiding, no doubt.”

“Hiding--”

“It’s nothing, really,” says Rodrigue. “He’s young yet and he’s shy. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sylvain used to be shy.”

“Used to be?”

“We fixed it.”

Sylvain’s not smiling anymore. Instead, Sylvain’s thinking of kneeling on his knees for hours on end during his father’s meetings, listening to political talk. He’s thinking of reciting lines and missed meals when he’d cowered before another adult. Not really in fear, but overwhelmed by smells and sights and sounds.

He’s not overwhelmed anymore. Sylvain’s learned to tune things like that out.

Sylvain thinks about what his father likes to say.

“It’s not a matter of whether you want to, it’s that you will. Until then, it’s on your knees.”

Sylvain tells himself that his father isn’t cruel, that this is just the way of the wolf, but the older gets the less he believes. Just like Miklan. Sylvain knows that it’s not normal to throw fisticuffs at a boy half your size and age.

But if he tells himself that it is, it’s easier to pretend.

The Duke’s gaze slides from his father to him, and his lips tug downward slightly. Sylvain thinks that Rodrigue is good at reading people, and maybe he sees more of Sylvain than Sylvain wants him to.

“I’ve been thinking,” says the Duke, “What if Sylvain came to stay with us during the summer? He would be exposed to a different part of the court and different advisors. He could spar with Glenn, and perhaps even Dimitri. Spread his legs, as it were. And, it would give you and Amelie a break; I daresay you haven’t had one since your boy was born.”

The Margrave considers this for a moment so long, that the Duke continues.

“It might be good for Felix. He has no one else his age aside from the prince. And I know that you’re all about opportunities.”

“Perhaps Felix can come to the Fortress and spend winter with us, then. We’ll make it an exchange.”

The Duke considers and then nods. “I’m amenable to that.” They shake on it, a strange gesture that Sylvain’s come to learn as a show of good faith.

Except, anything that concerns his father is rarely in good faith.

“Sylvain,” says the Duke, snapping him back to attention. “Why don’t you go off with Glenn and Ingrid? I’m sure that you can learn something.”

Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the mention of Ingrid, mostly because girls are gross and Ingrid is the grossest of them all, but anywhere is better than being here. So, he scampers off.

#

Sometimes, Sylvain forgets how natural it feels to be a wolf. He spends so much time as a boy walking awkwardly on two feet, that he forgets the relief of sinking his paws into the soft earth.

And you know, claws are pretty neat too.

“Sylvain?” hisses Glenn when Sylvian pads around the corner. Glenn had told him to sneak out from his room half-past ten for some late-night fun. He hadn’t been expecting Sylvain to show up like this.

Sylvain runs a circle around Glenn’s legs. He’s the size of a large pup, not fully grown into his paws. Long and lanky legs, massive pads, and a head that’s just a little bit too large for the rest of his frame. He’s got growing left to do. His tongue lolls out the side of his mouth as he beams at Glenn.

“Are you smiling? I think you’re smiling. Oh, that’s a little weird.” Then Glenn pauses, pointing down the corridor. “I’ve already got Ingrid waiting around the corner.”

Ingrid doesn’t like dogs, Sylvain learns, but she’s not afraid of them. It’s just that she prefers horses. Ingrid relaxes a little when Glenn explains that he’s Sylvain, and then her eyes narrow as though she realizes how odd it is that he’s a shape-shifting werewolf.

She keeps a solid three feet between the two of them at all times.

Glenn doesn’t have much of a plan aside from wandering the manor grounds. “Even though it’s been nearly a week, there’s still a lot that I want to show you,” says Glenn as they round a corner.

“Glenn?” The three of them freeze at the sound of Felix’s voice, and Glenn shoots Sylvain a panicked look.

“Change!” hisses Glenn, shaking his hand at Sylvain. “Change back!”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Felix must be afraid of dogs. Or animals. Or anything, really. And, while his wolf form feels as natural as the moon high above them, he hasn’t quite mastered shifting back.

Sylvain had once asked his father if they were human or if they were a wolf, and his father had only laughed, citing that it was a ridiculous question. They were human, of course, gifted the boon of Death. Sylvain had told him that being a wolf had felt better, and his father had given him a weird look before a feral smile covered his face entirely.

Then, Sylvain’s father had quoted some archaic Gautier family motto and promised him the Lance of Ruin upon adulthood.

Sylvain snaps to attention, trying to pull his human side forward. He imagines standing on two feet, unbalanced and awkward. He thinks of blunted teeth and a shorter tongue, and a dull sense of smell. He blinks, pulling forth those feelings, urging his body to shift back into place. His bones creak and he pants.

It’s not a fun transition and it’s slow going.

“Sylvain,” warns Glenn, which spurs him into action.

Sylvain’s a boy again the moment that Felix rounds the corner. He’s wearing a loose shirt, half-tucked into a pair of trousers. His hair is tousled but his eyes are awake and alert.

“You’re playing without me,” accuses Felix, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed right at Glenn.

“Felix, it’s late,” says Glenn, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. He shoots Sylvain a look that’s half relief and half worry.

“Ingrid’s here. We’re the same age.” Felix pouts and Sylvain finds it adorable. Not that’d he’d ever tell him that; Felix might be a scaredy-cat, but being perceived as one is his biggest fear. He tries to bluff, playing it cool. Especially around Glenn.

“Ingrid is--” But Glenn doesn’t finish, because Ingrid kicks him in the shin.

“If you say that I’m special, I’ll kick you again.”

“But you are--”

Ingrid kicks Glenn again and Glenn lets out a groan of pain. Sylvain winces because he knows that she packs a punch, even with her tiny size. Not that Sylvain’s much bigger. Felix rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“A brute, isn’t she?” asks Sylvain in jest, leaning toward Felix.

Felix moves toward Glenn in response, half hiding behind his leg. Sylvain sighs. Felix knows Ingrid, he’s used to her because of her betrothal to Glenn. Sylvain’s still new to him and Felix is a boy that likes the well-familiar. He doesn’t like change.

Glenn sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I wasn’t planning on babysitting tonight--”

“You said you wanted to play,” says Sylvain.

“And I do, but three against one? That’s a little unfair.”

“Then we’ll just explore,” says Sylvain. “That’s what I wanted to do anyway.”

Glenn thumbs his chin and then cracks a smile. He ruffles Felix’s hair, and then Sylvain’s, and then he presses a dainty little kiss against Ingrid’s knuckles. She makes a face and mimics vomiting in response.

“Exploring it is then,” says Glenn. Then he leans over slightly, his tone pitching soft. “It’s too late to be out of bed though, so we’ll need to keep quiet, alright?”

Ingrid’s eyes flash at that. “Beyond the gate then?”

Glenn shoots her an impish smile. “Beyond the gate,” he confirms. “Just a bit. Should be fine if we all stick together.”

Felix is the one that looks troubled. “Glenn, we’re not supposed too--”

“That’s the point, little brother.” Glenn gives Felix a steady look, brows raised. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to go back to bed.”

“No!” The three of them shoot Felix a look after his outburst, and Felix fidgets behind Glenn’s leg. “I’ll be fine,” he then says bravely, face held high and pert little nose in the air.

Glenn shuffles them to the front gate, a finger held to his lips. He’s on good terms with the gatekeeper, chatting a few friendly words and then slipping a few gold coins into his palm. Then the gatekeeper winks at the kids before turning a blind eye.

Ingrid and Sylvain bounce on their heels, but Felix walks rigidly beside Glenn.

“There’s nothing out here to be concerned about. We’re close to the manor,” says Glenn, ruffling Felix’s hair once more.

“It’s--”

“Spooky,” cuts in Ingrid, a delightful little grin spreading across her face.

“I was going to say that I wasn’t scared.”

“It’s alright, you know,” says Ingrid, matter-of-factly. “Glenn will protect us.”

Glenn does, not that it’s hard. The three of them are eager to enjoy their outing, so they play by the rules and keep close to his side. They don’t go far, barely dipping into the trees. They chase each other around, digging underneath rocks and even climb low-hanging limbs.

Even with his dulled senses, Sylvain follows the smells of the wild, his heart beating wildly. He’s entirely unused to the freedom of exploring. While his father actively encourages his wolf, he also keeps him on a tight leash. Ingrid inches closer to him, seemingly having forgotten that he’s more wolf than man, asking him what it is that’s caught his attention.

Felix still shies away when Sylvain tries to engage, albeit with a brave and determined face. He even meets Sylvain’s gaze head-on.

“Glenn’s read me the stories, you know,” Felix says. “I know all about your family.”

“Our fathers think we should be friends.” Sylvain nearly laughs at the way that Felix’s nose crinkles in response. “They are friends themselves.”

“Ugh. Who’d want to be friends with my father?”

Sylvain does laugh this time. “Who indeed?” Rodrigue seems nice at a glance, so different than his own. Sylvain can’t imagine the Margrave with a friend; he barely sees him with his mother. Felix doesn’t come closer or say anything else, but he doesn’t go to hide behind Glenn either.

When they slip back through the front gate, the Duke and the Margrave are waiting for them. Rodrigue stands with his hands clasped behind his back, but there’s a soft hint of a smile on his face, amused.

The Margrave isn’t amused. He stands there tall, arms crossed over his chest and his face hardened into a frown. Sylvain winces at the sight; his father had already been in a sour mood and this will only worsen it.

Glenn stands tall and says, “Father--”

Rodrigue holds up a hand. “Out late I see, and with the others in tow. I hope that your little adventure was fun?”

Glenn’s mouth snaps shut and he nods. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ve played my share of games when I was younger,” Rodrigue says, “but never the night before Royalty is due to visit. I usually waited until Lambert was here.” A pause. “Are you trying to get out of your duty tomorrow?”

“Of course not,” says Glenn.

Rodrigue watches him for a long moment and then sighs. “Phillippe,” says the Duke, turning towards Sylvain’s father. “What are we to do? Extra training? Perhaps a proper spar with Dimitri?”

Glenn turns a little pale at the suggestion and Sylvain doesn’t understand the hesitation. Training with the crown prince doesn’t seem like a too-terrible punishment. Sylvain thinks of worse ones, looking to his father.

He’d rather a bout with the prince.

“You can handle your sons,” the Margrave says, leveling Sylvain with a stern gaze. “I’ll handle mine.”

“They were only having fun. Nothing too egregious, surely.”

“Propriety is still expected,” says Sylvain’s father. “There’s much to be expected from the heir of the Gautier line.”

“Phillippe,” says the Duke quietly, “perhaps--”

“I will handle it,” repeats the Margrave.

Rodrigue drops the subject and nods. “Of course. I didn’t mean to impose.” There’s a pause before he continues with, “My boys will extra rounds in the field tomorrow with Dimitri. You should send Sylvain.”

“Rodrigue,” warns Sylvain’s father.

The Duke turns to Glenn. “Boys, off to bed. Ingrid, you too. I’ll speak to your father in the morning.” He turns to take his leave but then stops to give one last look at Sylvain. Hesitating. But, in the end, all he does is big them a good night.

The moment they’re alone, Sylvain’s father lashes out and grabs the back of his neck roughly, like he would his scruff. Then he tugs Sylvain along, back to the rooms where they’re staying.

His father loves him, Sylvain tells himself. He tries to think of those good moments; being taught how to shift. How to sift through scents and recognize a pack. How to track your prey.

The worse memories always weed their way in, though. Punishments that bend the will, but don’t entirely break it. Just enough to crack the slightest bit under pressure. Like Sylvain kneeling against raw grains of rice.

Or throwing him into the ring with Miklan and coming out with bruises instead. Miklan likes to hit and Sylvain isn’t quite fast enough to always avoid him.

Eventually, his father deems the lesson learned and Sylvain rises on tired limbs. He brushes the rice from his knees as his father calls a servant to come to sweep them up. Sylvain goes to bed, legs aching, but not nearly as busted as he feels.

Your father loves you, he thinks. Your father cares. This is how he teaches.

The older he gets though, the emptier the words feel.

#

Dimitri is a short little thing with blonde hair styled into the world’s worst square-cut bob. He stands there in the training grounds, feet shuffling awkwardly as he holds a wooden training lance in his hands. Glenn reaches out to ruffle his hair.

Sylvain shoots the crown prince a smile and a wave, and Dimitri returns the gesture, a small smile on his lips. He’s the same age as Felix and a few years younger than Sylvain, but unlike the youngest Fraldarius boy, Dimitri isn’t terrified of everything.

He’s just reticent about sparring.

“Glenn,” says the Prince, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“I agree,” says Glenn bluntly. “The last time we sparred with each other, you broke my rib. I’d prefer the dummies just as much as you.”

Sylvain gapes at the idea that Dimitri could have landed such a hit on Glenn. Dimiri is smaller and slim when compared to the wiry muscle of Glenn. And it’s not that the elder Fraldarius boy is that much older or larger, but he’s more honed in his ability.

Not to mention it’s Glenn’s job to protect Dimitri, not the other way around.

Felix watches the lot of them, standing closer than usual. He and the prince seem to get along well. Ingrid, on the other hand, watches Dimitri through narrowly slitted eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re holding it wrong,” says Ingrid, pointing to the lance.

“Oh,” breathes Dimitri, changing his grip on the practice weapon, fingers tightening just the slightest bit. There’s a sudden crack as the wood splits between his palms, and Dimitri’s left holding to splintered pieces of teakwood in each hand.

Sylvain’s mouth drops open in surprise, but everyone else seems to have expected it.

Glenn sighs. “Well, better the lance than me this time around, right?”

“This is why I prefer the dummies,” says Dimitri, resigned. He motions for a new lance.

“Glenn, put him in the ground,” says Ingrid none-too-lightly. She’s always rooting for Glenn and Sylvain suspects that she doesn’t find their betrothal as gross as she likes to pretend.

“He’s the prince,” hisses Felix, leveling her with a disgusted look.

Ingrid sniffs. “Put him in the ground, please,” she amends. Then she rolls her eyes. “It’s your job to follow him loyally. I’ll talk about him however I like.”

“Ingrid,” says Glenn, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Your highness--” starts Sylvain.

“Dimitri, please,” says the prince. Then he looks at Glenn. “Glenn, do we have to?”

Glenn winces, looking off to the side where his father sits in the shadows. Sylvain’s father is there too, sharing a pot of tea, his dark gaze penetrating as he watches on. Waiting. Expecting. Sylvain swallows thickly.

“It’s a punishment,” sighs Glenn. He rubs at the back of his neck. “We snuck out last night.”

Dimitri looks a little put-out. “You couldn’t wait until I arrived?”

“Well, the plan was to sneak out again, but I think that’s been speared in the foot.” Glenn pauses, eyeing the new lance in Dimitri’s hands warily. “Just keep it below the neck and above the belt, okay?”

Sylvain snorts out a laugh, Felix turns bright red in the face, and Ingrid looks between them utterly confused. Girls, Sylvain thinks.

Sylvain and Felix stand off to the side, watching Glenn and Dimitri stand opposite each other in the center of the field. Glenn isn’t afraid, but he’s hesitant, and once the match is started Sylvain sees why.

Dimitri hits hard without meaning to, seemingly unable to hold back his strength. Sylvain’s watched Glenn spar with others over the last few days, but never quite like this. Glenn usually charges into the fight, blade raised and mind focused, calculating several moves ahead.

With the prince, however, he’s on the defensive, dodging to the side and trying to avoid a glancing blow. You broke my rib, Glenn had said earlier. There’s power behind Dimitri’s sloppy swings and now Sylvain can see just how he’d managed it the last time he and Glenn sparred.

Ingrid looks annoyed that Glenn is only blocking hits instead of giving them, her mouth tugged into a disapproving frown. Felix watches, enraptured. Sylvain knows that he wants to be a knight just like his father and brother. And, just like Felix who’s read about the Gautier family, Sylvain’s read about his in turn.

The Fraldarius’ are born and bred to protect the crown. Felix is no exception.

Finally, Glenn sees an opening and lashes out. Dimitri skids to the side, barely avoiding a glancing blow. He retaliates, sweeping his lance to the side in an arc-- and entirely misjudges his move.

Dimitri trips over his own feet, stumbling slightly. His lance swings wide, flinging towards Sylvain and Felix. He doesn’t see the two of them, preoccupied with finding his footing and narrowly avoiding Glenn.

Sylvain doesn’t think as he feels his bones shift and change, as instinctive as the rough howl he lets loose. One moment he’s a boy and the next he’s a wolf, his coarse fur ruddy under the midmorning sun. He darts forward and grabs Felix by the hem of his shirt and yanks him back with his teeth.

Felix tumbles overtop Sylvain. Everyone in the training yard freezes: Glenn’s eyes are glued to Sylvain. Dimitri stumbles in the opposite direction upon the sight of Sylvain as a wolf. Ingrid stands before Glenn, high-alert like she’s the one who’s going to protect him instead.

And then there’s Rodrigue and Sylvain’s father, the Duke pulled to the edge of his seat, mouth parted as his gaze flashes to Felix, worried. Because he knows that above all, Felix is a crybaby and scared of everything. A ticking bomb, really.

Sylvain’s father doesn’t seem angry, he seems proud, smug even, like the speed of Sylvain’s shift had pleased him. It’d been second nature, Sylvain acting entirely out of instinct.

He sits back on his haunches, heaving heavy breaths. Waiting for Felix’s inevitable yowling. But it never comes. Felix sits up and regards Sylvain with bright eyes and pinking cheeks. He looks at him with a strange mixture of awe and wonder.

Glenn is the first to seem confused.

Then, Felix stands and ambles over to Sylvain. Sylvain barks, tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleased that he’s at least prevented a terrible head wound. Or a fatal one, considering Dimitri’s apparent strength.

Felix rushes forward and wraps his arms around Sylvain’s neck. “Puppy,” he breathes, incredulously. “You’re a puppy.”

Sylvain wants to take offense to that, but he doesn’t. It’s the closest that Felix has gotten to him over the week and all it’d taken was for him to just be himself. Felix’s hands tighten in his fur, scritching over his skin and Sylvain just can’t help the way that his leg kicks at the touch.

Rodrigue looks utterly baffled. Sylvain’s father looks like he’s eaten a lemon and Sylvain can already hear the monotonous speech about how wolves are proud creatures, not pets. But, at that moment, Sylvain rather likes being like a pet, his lineage be damned. His father talks a lot about his future and legacy, but this is the first time that he’s felt like he means something.

“I’ve never been able to have a dog,” says Felix into his fur. “But I guess a wolf as a friend is even better.”

Sylvain licks the side of his face and instead of cringing, Felix laughs, a soft sound like a calm breeze on a warm summer morning.

That’s when Sylvain falls in love, even if he doesn’t yet realize it.

[thepandapopo]

Weak - Sylvix Week Day 2: PDA

Sylvain and Felix embark on the road to becoming a couple in typical Sylvain and Felix fashion – completely backwards and embarrassingly obvious.

OR

Felix is weak for Sylvain.

OR

Four times Sylvain initiates PDA and the one time that Felix does instead.

i.

Felix really should have known better.

He should have known that this joke, this mockery of his pent-up feelings, would become more than a one-off thing. But he is weak; so very weak to Sylvain and even if he could, Felix doesn’t think that he would have put a stop to it anyways because despite all his hissing and cursing, he really is touched starved for the fool.

Yet here they are again, about to ride off into yet another battle – because that’s what war is; just a never ending string of blood and death and loss – and Sylvain is leaning down from atop his warhorse, looking every bit the intimidating Dark Knight that he is with his black armor shining boldly in the afternoon sun, and threading one large hand between the inky strands of Felix’s hair to bring his face closer to his prize.

Felix has lost count how many kisses Sylvain has bestowed upon him in the calm before the storm. It’s a testament to just how many battles they have gone through together, how many wordless promises they have made to each other to come back alive and whole after the blood has finished soaking into the earth beneath their feet.

However, no matter how many times Sylvain brings his warm, soft lips to Felix’s own rough, chapped ones, Felix still feels the strength drain from his legs and all his senses hone in on the heat of lips on lips, sliding easily over each other with practiced movements slicked with spit.

“Come back to me alive, yeah?” The words are murmured so close to him that Felix can feel the brush of Sylvain’s lips even as the hot air escapes between them, flushing both of their faces with soft crimson.

Felix scoffs – a typical Felix response – and that’s more than enough of a promise for Sylvain who straightens back on his horse and gives his lance a practice twirl with a grace that belied his fierce strength.

“I always do. You’re the one who needs to be careful, what with your dismal training regimen.”

And it’s true. Felix always keeps his promise and comes back to Sylvain. After all, he thinks to himself, he still has yet to confess his feelings for his childhood friend and Felix knows, just as he knows that the sky is blue and that Sylvain’s hair is more beautiful than any sunset will ever be, that he will always come home; home to Sylvain.

How else will he get another kiss?

ii.

Felix is weak for Sylvain.

But then again, that was something that Felix had already established early on in his life – even before they had made what Ingrid liked to call their ‘morbid childhood death pact’.

Not many could say that they could annoy the Fraldarius heir to the point of sputtering without making an immediate acquaintance with the sharp end of a blade. Even fewer could get away with initiating physical contact with Felix outside of training, much less casually throwing an entire arm around his shoulders and then proceeding to whine like a child about anything and everything.

But the most telling sign of Felix’s softness towards Sylvain is the fact that the Gautier heir is the only person who is allowed to touch his hair.

“Tilt your head down a little.” A calloused broad hand cradles the back of his head gently and pushes Felix’s forehead to meet the warm muscle of Sylvain’s shoulder. They must make an intimate picture, Felix thinks to himself as he inhales the warm citrusy scent of bergamot and honey that he has come to associate with his childhood friend. They are in Felix’s room behind closed doors and it is still early morning. Were anyone to enter his room, the sight of Sylvain kneeled at the edge of the bed between Felix’s legs with his hands buried in raven locks and Felix with his face in Sylvain’s shoulders would have invited more than a few salacious rumors to the monastery grounds.

“Ow. Be careful.” Felix hisses at the not-so-gentle snag of fingers against a tangle.

“Sorry, Fe.” The puff of hot air grazes the back of his neck and sends shivers down his spine.

In the back of his mind, Felix recognizes that it’s probably a colossally stupid idea to let Sylvain tie his hair up every morning while he is recovering from a broken arm. The fact that the Fraldarius heir allows himself to indulge in their pre-battle kisses is already torture enough; but letting Sylvain run his long fingers through his raven strands to pull and tame them into his customary ponytail?

It isn’t an exaggeration to say that Felix’s nights have since gotten more restless.

“Your hair is longer now.”

It’s a plain statement. Neutral grounds in terms of speech, but the sinful way Sylvain tugs his hair, landing a little on the side of deliciously hard, makes the words drip with suggestion and invitation.

Felix must be going crazy if he thinks he can hear anything other than plain, factual observation in Sylvain’s tone. But if it is the madness that conjures images of the Gautier heir yanking his hair to expose the expanse of his neck and suck his claim… then he decides that insanity must not be half bad.

It is both an eternity and not long enough when Sylvain finally announces that he is done with a breathy whisper. Reluctantly, Felix pulls back and reaches his good arm up to pat the neatly tied strands under the pretense of checking Sylvain’s work. If Felix secretly revels in brushing his fingers along the lingering warmth clinging to his hair, then that is his own business.

A familiar strip of leather lays on the desk to the side.

“You didn’t use my normal hair tie.”

Sylvain smiles as him just a little too wide. Wide enough that Felix is suspicious.

“Yeah. I figured it was starting to get really old so I got you a new one.” Sylvain says very matter-of-fact. The sincerity in his voice sends Felix’s heart thumping wildly in his chest and he feels the heat in his cheeks even as he scowls.

“I am perfectly capable of buying my own hair ties.”

As usual, Sylvain is an expert in understanding Felix-speech and simply laughs. You’re welcome rolls off his tongue with ease born from years of enduring harsh words and learning to read the subtext behind barbs.

Even as they walk through the monastery hallways together down to the dining hall, Sylvain rolls with the punches and their conversation doesn’t so much as falter for even a moment, instead slipping into a familiar and achingly comfortable banter that hides years of unspoken emotions.

No one mentions anything about how Sylvain seems to stick more closely to Felix now that his arm is in a sling.

No one mentions the bright Gautier-red leather strip that stands out so glaringly obvious against the dark canvas of Felix’s hair.

No one mentions anything when Felix hands Sylvain that same hair tie the next morning to complete their new morning ritual, the unspoken subtext wrapping soothingly around them as Felix once again bows his head in the only surrender he will ever acquiesce.

I’m yours.

iii.

“Felix!”

Pain. Screaming. Panic. Sylvain.

Where is Sylvain?

“Fe! Fe, stay with me. Don’t you dare die, you stubborn asshole!”

The part of his mind that is still rational and conscious tries to cajole the rest of his body into letting out an indelicate snort, but all that comes out is a wet cough that sends pain and blood spilling out his mouth.

“Mercie? Lin? Marianne? Healer, please, anyone! I need a healer!”

Felix’s arms feel more like dead weight than limbs at this point given the numbness of his extremities, but that doesn’t stop an agonizing lance of pain from shooting through him as he feels his body lifting up and being cradled against a cold metal chest plate.

A low moan manages to slip its way unbidden past his chapped lips.

“I know, Fe.” Warm honeyed words wash over him. Even in his half unconscious and delirious state, Felix can hear the unbridled fear that lurks beneath the forced calm. “You’ll be okay. I’m gonna get you to Mercie and she’ll fix you right up, okay? Stay with me.”

Sylvain’s voice cracks at the end along with Felix’s heart.

He doesn’t like it when Sylvain is in pain.

With herculean effort, Felix manages to pry his eyelids open just enough to look at the underside of Sylvain’s clenched jaw.

Huh. When did he get on a horse?

“Are you… okay?” The words are harder to wheeze out than Felix is comfortable with, but he forces his lungs to work with him because above the pain and fear for his own life looms the overwhelming need to make sure that Sylvain is unhurt.

Otherwise the axe he took to the side would have been for nothing.

Sylvain lets out a choked laugh, “yeah. Yeah, of course I’m alright. Fuck Felix, you shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way like that.”

You should have trained more, is what Felix wants to reply, however his mind and body are no longer working in tandem and somewhere along the line his heart decides to step in instead.

“Don’t…cry, Syl…”

In all their years together, Felix can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Sylvain cry; most of them in their childhood before Glenn dies. The last time Sylvain had allowed his emotions to bubble up to the surface was the day he shoved his lance into Miklan’s chest in an attempt to give him a merciful ending rather than living on as a demonic beast.

But none of those times can compare to the wrecked look and unending rush of tears that are carving their way through the grime and gore on Sylvain’s cheeks.

Felix doesn’t hear the reply that Sylvain gives, but knows that he must have said something given the comforting rumbling he feels against his cheek.

The world is dark now. There is nothing but a large black pool of nothingness and Felix can feel himself slowly sinking down, down into the depths.

He does not know how much time passes, but through the empty void Felix can hear fragments of words from someone he knows is important, but for the world cannot seem to remember.

Stay with me, sweetheart.

Don’t leave me, please. I can’t do this without you.

I love you.

Come back to me, Fe. My heart.

Felix clings to those words and the warmth that they bring. It takes an eternity, and slowly but surely, he manages to pull himself from the darkness and into the light.

When he wakes, he wakes with a full body ache and in the familiar arms of his crush, who apparently is still dripping salty tears on him and refusing to let him go despite Mercedes insisting that he’s fine. Of course that idiot is too busy sniffling to notice that he’s no longer unconscious.

“I told you to stop crying, didn’t I?” Felix croaks, bringing both Mercedes’ and Sylvain’s attention to him.

A new batch of tears well up in his favourite honey brown eyes and piercing relief crumples Sylvain’s expression like a house of cards in the wind.

“Fuck, Felix. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” Sylvain’s voice wobbles as he clutches at Felix just a little tighter, pressing his head to his chest as if trying to hide him away from the world.

The rapid staccato thumping against his cheek stays Felix’s hand and he lets himself (in what is starting to become a concerningly frequent habit) indulge in the physical display of affection, not caring that the rest of the world inside the infirmary can see them.

Right now, there is only Felix, Sylvain, and their beating hearts. And if that’s what Sylvain needs to chase away his fears, then Felix will happily concede because there is nothing that he wouldn’t do to protect Sylvain from the world and his own demons.

iv.

For a person born in the second coldest region of Faerghus, Felix does not do well when the temperature plummets.

Although his regular outfit consists of at least three separate layers - one of which is fur lined, for crying out loud – the cold somehow still manages to seep its way into his bones, rattling his entire core with shivers.

“Shitty night to not have a tent, huh?” Sylvain laughs humorlessly from where he is huddled up beside him, his long legs folded up as close as possible to his chest to conserve heat; his Gautier crest emblazoned cloak is thrown of his shoulders as are two more thin blankets that also cover Felix as well. Their sides are pressed together like two halves of a whole and on a regular day, Felix would have spontaneously ignited at their close proximity, but right now the heat that is radiating off of Sylvain is the only thing that keeps his body from succumbing to the cold. At their backs, Sylvain’s trusty warhorse acts as a third source of heat and also as a sturdy wall to lean against.

“Fucking bandits just had to torch our shit.” If they weren’t already lying six feet under buried in a shoddy, half assed grave, Felix would have personally saw to it that every single one of them died a horrible and painful death by his blade.

All around them their friends and comrades sat in huddled pairs, much like him and Sylvain. The sad, dismal fire they had managed to start did little to stave off the chill, but when literally everything around you is wet with sleet, it is already a small miracle that there is any fire at all.

“At least we’re together and alive though, right?” Sylvain smiles at him and it’s the small genuine one that Felix recognizes is specially for him; the one where burnt sienna glows molten and the corners of his eye crinkle with rarely used crow’s feet. “It was a pretty nasty ambush and we’re honestly pretty lucky that we had a small enough unit to quickly mobilize and pivot.”

Felix scoffs but it comes out as more of a pathetic chattering of teeth.

He doesn’t know when it happens, but he and Sylvain have become closer over the last few weeks. Close enough that Sylvain’s eyes no longer hold a shadow of doubt whenever he leans in for his pre-battle kiss, as if he now knows that Felix will give into him even as obligatory protests escape his lips. Close enough that Sylvain doesn’t even ask for permission anymore, but instead just silently reaches over to play with stray locks of hair that have escaped his updo after a long day.

Close enough that Sylvain now just takes whatever he wants from Felix because there is a mutual, silent understanding that no matter how much Felix protests, Sylvain just needs to look into his golden irises and find all the consent he needs from there.

“Come here, Fe.”

Felix often forgets that despite his awful training schedule, Sylvain is still a soldier through and through and is much stronger than Felix thinks. Such strength Sylvain currently demonstrates as he is quickly lifted like he is no more than a sack of potatoes, and gently deposited in a very warm lap.

If it weren’t for the cold, Felix would have run his childhood friend through with a sword for his audacity.

Of course, it’s only because of the darned cold that Felix’s hands slip under the outer layer of Sylvain’s armor to fist themselves in the fabric of his undershirt.

And it’s only because of the darned cold that Felix instinctively cuddles up to the human furnace next to him and presses his nose into the warm divot at the base of Sylvain’s throat, causing the older man to shiver at the hot puffs of air against his neck.

Yes. It’s only because of the darned cold.

“Better?” Sylvain’s voice is rough even as his words smooth over Felix like a balm. The one hand that isn’t curled around Felix’s back and supporting him reaches over to pull the two blankets around them so that they are swaddled in a little cocoon of warmth, leaving only their heads visible above the swathes of fabric.

Although a large part of his brain is screaming that this is wrong, dangerous, and too close; Felix cannot stop his body from betraying him as the shivers slowly subside and he begins to melt into Sylvain. Underneath the blankets and hidden away from the world, a gloved hand moves to settle near his upper thigh and rubs hot little circles that sends heat of a different kind flushing through him.

It’s unfair how his heart and body have decided to stage a mutiny against his mind.

Fuck Sylvain and his stupidly beautiful smile and his stupid velvet voice.

“Yeah.” Felix mutters, squeezing his eyes tight against the orange glow of the fire.

He practices counting his breaths using the meditation technique Glenn taught him back when he was only ten years old and manages to wrangle his heartrate into less of a sprint and more of a steady gallop. Whether Sylvain notices or not, he makes no indication that he can feel Felix’s heart trying to escape his chest, though Felix is pretty sure he can tell based on their proximity.

Instead, Sylvain lets his body curl loosely around Felix’s until his chin rests on the crown of midnight hair, barely disturbing the tresses even as his breath evens out and he falls to the persistent clutches of sleep.

Of course, it’s because of the darned cold that eventually Felix also lets himself be dragged under into dreams of memories long past when he never used to be fear being touched.

v.

It was quite well known that Margrave Gautier was not a patient man.

It has not even been three moons since the fall of Enbarr when a letter arrives at the Fhirdiad castle sealed shut with ink the color of crimson and emblazoned with the Gautier crest.

“Father wants me to return home to meet a potential suitor.”

The teacup clatters loudly against the table, spilling Almyran pine over the dainty white tablecloth. In the pits of his stomach, Felix can feel the claws of jealousy and anger sink into his gut and travel up into his throat.

Perhaps it is because his mind is still in a daze trying to process the fact that the war is finally over, or maybe it is because Felix is half delirious from lack of sleep (no one had told him how much more exhausting cleaning up after a war would be than actually fighting it) that the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“I’ll go with you.”

And fuck if Sylvain doesn’t light up like he was just told it’s his birthday, the millennium festival, and Valentines day all in one.

Felix is weak for Sylvain.

No matter how many times Felix repeats it in his mind, that statement has gone far beyond simple fact now into the realm of absolute truth. And it is exactly because it is an absolute truth that Felix rides with Sylvain non stop through the night all the way back to Gautier castle, and it is because it is an absolute truth that Felix finds himself eavesdropping outside the large oaken doors leading to Margrave Gautier’s study where he is introducing some noble girl to Sylvain who looks like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Olivia here is the daughter of a minor lord from the Gideon territory. Their family has done well with managing their lands and they have also made a name for themselves through the war.”

The margrave prattles on, completely ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable look on Sylvain’s face even as he tries his best to plaster on his signature fake smile.

From his position, Felix can only see Sylvain and his father through the tiny gap where the door sits ajar, but thankfully he does not need to strain to hear the conversation.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Gautier.”

Of course her voice sounds like wind chimes. She’s also probably fucking beautiful too given the Margrave’s tastes. It makes Felix want to dry heave just listening to this and he can’t imagine how Sylvain must feel having lived this exact situation hundreds of times.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Sylvain replies without missing a beat even though his voice comes out a bit strangled.

“The war has been rather unfortunate with our people and crops this year, but Olivia’s father has mentioned that their lands have an overabundance of yield that he has agreed to share with us should the wedding take place before the first snowfall.”

“What?” For the first time, Sylvain’s mask falters and there is an abject look of horror in his eyes.

“Preparations will need to be made immediately, but –“

“Father, this is too sudden. I cannot –“

“You will hold your tongue and stay silent. I have given you time to find your own wife, but you have done nothing but squander my generosity. This is no longer a choice you get to make.” Venom coats his words and the poison seeps into Sylvain’s veins as his mind automatically falls back to the terrified little boy who could never disobey his father.

Sylvain is pale and shaking, his eyes darting around frantically looking for, at the very least, a physical escape from this hell that he has walked into.

“As I was saying, preparations will need to be made immediately. I have already sent for a caravan to retrieve the dowry, but when it arrives, you will need to accompany them to ensure that they return safely. I expect that you will inform his highness of your engagement prior to your departure so that he has ample time to ensure his attendance.”

“I… no – this… I don’t…”

“Shut up, boy. I am your father and you will do as I say.”

“Like fucking hell he will.”

The door slams loudly against the wall and all three occupants jump at the sound. They whip around to stare in various expressions of shock as Felix stomps up to them burning with a fury that he has never felt before.

His heart is pounding out of his chest like it wants to escape, but the only thing Felix can focus on right now is trying to stifle the overwhelming urge to draw his sword and cut down the Margrave where he stands.

“Fraldarius.” Like the reptile that he is, Margrave Gautier hisses his surname and spits it out like venom.

“That’s Duke Fraldarius to you.”

Sylvain chokes on his own spit.

“Duke Fraldarius-” ugh, just hearing his voice makes Felix’s hand twitch for the hilt of his sword. “-I would implore you to keep your nose out of business that isn’t yours. This is highly improper to interrupt-“

“I don’t fucking care if it’s improper.” Shifting slightly, Felix positions himself closer to Sylvain while engaging in a stare down with his father. Eye contact be damned, Felix will not let himself lose this silent battle of wills even though all he wants to do is look away. “Sylvain is not marrying this girl.”

“Oh? You dare to come to my home and tell me what I can and cannot do with my son?”

His blood is boiling and images flash across his mind, filling his head with memories of a younger Sylvain looking so scared and sad every time the summers came to a close and he has to return home.

No. Never again. Felix will never let Sylvain go back to a life where he is shackled and beaten into submission by a family that only conditionally tolerates him and uses him for their own benefit.

“Sylvain is not marrying this girl,” Felix repeats adamantly.

“And why not?”

This is the moment.

Felix can feel the tension in the air; he can feel the Margrave’s furious and challenging glare on him, daring him to speak and make a fool of himself; he can feel Sylvain standing rigidly next to him, barely a hair breadth’s away watching with wide, fearful eyes (Nonono Fe, stop it please, I can’t let him hurt you too. Never you).

It might be 26 years late, but Felix finally figures out how he can give Sylvain the home that he has always deserved.

“Because…”

Confidence blooms in his chest and Felix is proud when the gloved hand he extends to tangle in the collar of Sylvain’s jacket does not shake nor tremble under the weight of what he is about to do.

“…he’s mine.”

Felix yanks and tilts his head up to catch Sylvain’s lips as he stumbles forward, their noses slotting against each other like two puzzle pieces and their lips meeting in the same practiced way they’ve done hundreds of times.

The kiss lasts only for a moment, but when they part, Sylvain is gasping for breath like Felix has stolen all the air from his lungs. Honey brown irises are nearly eclipsed by blown out pupils and the strong jaw that Felix so desperately wants to nibble is hanging agape in shock.

Felix doesn’t wait around for the aftermath of his actions. Immediately locking his fingers with Sylvain’s, his cloak flutters around him as he spins on his heels and proceeds to walk out the door with a shell-shocked Gautier in tow.

Later, it occurs to Felix that he didn’t even spare a look at the girl, so he will never really be able to confirm whether or not she was beautiful.

Not that it matters.

Right now, as Felix makes a beeline for his guest room to retrieve his belongings, the only thing that matters is getting Sylvain out of this wretched place and back to Fraldarius where he will never have to deal with that pathetic excuse of a father ever again.

“Felix, wait. Felix!” Sylvain tugs on his hand forcing him to turn around when they are finally behind the safety of closed doors. “Holy shit. What the… holy shit.” Reluctantly, Sylvain releases Felix and instead settles one hand in his own hair, tugging on it as if trying to ground himself with the pain.

“Go pack your things, Sylvain. You’re not staying here with that pathetic waste of space anymore.”

“What? But where are we going?”

For the first time in years, Felix allows the walls around his heart to come down as he looks as Sylvain. He has wasted too much time already punishing himself by depriving himself of the one thing he thought he could never have, but after five years at war with only stolen moments to motivate and push him towards survival, Felix would be a fool to ignore this bond between them any longer.

“What do you mean, where are we going? We’re going home, idiot. Back to Fraldarius.”

Sylvain freezes for a second as if he has misheard, but when auburn eyes detect no hint of a lie, the smile that blooms on his face is one that Felix has never seen before. It is radiant and genuine and everything beautiful that Felix knows is Sylvain.

And just like that, Felix is falling for him all over again.

“Hey Fe?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“…I love you too, you idiot. Now go pack.”

 BONUS:

Halfway to Fraldarius territory, Sylvain hums thoughtfully and turns to his now-boyfriend.

“Hey Fe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I be your trophy husband?”

“Shut up.”

[crestbound]

❰❰ CRY ❱❱ [[ check out how hard i can cry bro ]]

ask meme | receiving!

❰❰ CRY ❱❱ sender cries in front of receiver.

When Felix cries, he comes running. It's a minor miracle that he manages to hold in his tears until he comes barreling into Sylvain, wailing about Glenn or Dimitri, losing or fighting.

When Dimitri cries, he hides—never somewhere impossible to find, but somewhere dark nonetheless, as if subconsciously, he cannot decide if he wants to conceal his misery or reach out to someone who might comfort him. He's just a child, after all, and all children yearn to be held and loved when they cry.

Being a prince doesn't change that.

Sylvain finds him this time hidden behind a curtain, sniffling and hiccupping. He's making these strangled little sounds when he tries to hold back his tears, and it's making his face all red. Sylvain doesn't see it, not until he pulls the curtain aside, but he knows it all the same.

"...Hey, Your Highness," he says, and smiles when Dimitri doesn't immediately try to run. "Aw, c'mon... you're gonna get all stuffy again if you keep crying."

He doesn't have his handkerchief with him. He always forgets, even though his mother always presses it into his pockets and tells him that a proper noble always carries one around. He doesn't like it, though. It's soft and it has his initials embroidered on it in gold lettering. Miklan's is in silver.

Sylvain pulls his sleeve over his hand and reaches to dab at Dimitri's tears. It's a little cute; the prince's hair is a mess, sticking out because the curtain had rubbed it left and right every time he'd hiccupped through his tears. His cheeks are ruddy and wet, and his nose is unsurprisingly a mess, too. It's what Sylvain wipes at next.

"You fought with Felix, right?" he asks, even though he knows. Felix came running to him first. "Hehe... he was crying, too. He didn't mean any of what he said, and you didn't either, did you?"

Of course not. Dimitri and Felix are best friends. Inseparable. Loog and Kyphon.

It must be nice.

"He's sorry," Sylvain relays, even though Felix hadn't said those exact words. "And I know you are, too. But if you go to him and apologize like this, he's not gonna understand what you say, 'cause your nose is so stuffed." He laughs, because he can't not. He uses his other sleeve to dab away at Dimitri's cheeks.

"Now, c'mon, Your Highness. Just two more minutes, and then we'll go and talk to Felix together. Okay?"

[pastelsapphy]

Why does Sylvian hates himself?

(This ended up being really long whoops)

*cracks knuckles* time to talk about my boy

[All quotes taken from the Fire Emblem Fandom Wiki, so there may be some slight inaccuracies]

Okay so first off Sylvain grew up in a shitty environment, to say the absolute least, and that fucks with your head.

First: his brother. He attempted to kill Sylvain on multiple occasions as kids because Sylvain had a Crest. And Sylvain just like, accepts that??? You can see that a lot in his A support with Byleth. He talked about being shoved in a well and being left on a mountain in winter by his brother, and almost immediately followed up with “I have no right to complain” because he, in theory, got lucky: he got the Crest.

And you figure, he would’ve grown up apologizing and made to feel guilty just for existing. You can see in his dialogue against Miklan, in chapter five:

Miklan: Hmph! Hurry up and die already. If not for you… If it hadn’t been for you…

Sylvain: Shut up! I’m so tired of hearing that. You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault.

He’s definitely been saying that since they were kids. That kinda stuff really fucks with your sense of self-worth after a while.

Then we have the rest of his family. We don’t hear anything about his mother, or much about his father, but we can infer some things about the latter: Margrave Gautier disowned, abandoned, and cast aside his first son in favor of the one with a Crest. Considering the dialogue about “everything being taken away” from Miklan, it’s possible that he was being raised to be the next Margrave, because someone had to inherit–with Crests becoming less common, who knows how long it would’ve taken to get a kid with one, if they got one at all? They needed a backup plan. And then Sylvain came along, with the minor Crest of Gautier, and suddenly Miklan didn’t exist. That’s fucked up, and it shows how little Margrave Gautier cared about his kids. I honestly doubt he showed Sylvain any kind of affection or attention growing up, and probably only interacted with him for inheritance- and Crest-related reasons. To him, Sylvain was a walking Crest, not a person (Sylvain’s fear of people only ever wanting him for his Crest, and not as a person in any respect, had to come from somewhere).

(And, if I can add a bit of an aside, I feel like this is the root of his philandering. Makes me think of the whole “even negative attention is better than nothing” kinda thing. You figure, Little Sylvain would have been incredibly touch-starved and desperate for attention. Humans are a social species and we literally need attention and affection to live well. I mean, he flirted with Ingrid’s grandmother when he was eight. I can only imagine what he said/did if Ingrid remembered it, considering she would have been five or six at the time. And kids that young don’t really know any better yet. Poor kid probably just wanted attention.)

(Additional aside that came to mind while writing this: I wonder if seeing the arrangement between Ingrid and Glenn affected this at all? Like yeah marriages in that kind of setting were purely political and such, but Ingrid was engaged to Glenn because (a) House Fraldarius was a powerful, well-to-do noble family and House Galatea really needed the resources, and (b) Ingrid was desirable as a wife because she had a Crest. Of course, we don’t know the exact circumstances of the arrangement, but we can infer from her other prospects. Sylvain still would have essentially seen Ingrid being used for leverage because of her Crest.)

So long before the events of the game, Sylvain is already pretty fucked up, emotionally. Trauma does that to you, especially when you have an “everyone else has it worse and I, actually, got lucky, so it doesn’t count and I’m not allowed to feel bad about it” complex. Survivor’s guilt is a hell of a drug lemme tell you. Sylvain has already internalized that,

He’s only good for his Crest

Any negative feelings about his Crest don’t matter, because those without have it worse.

No one will ever truly see him as a person–he’s just a Crest.

Already, that’s a pretty fucked up view of oneself.

By the time he gets to Garreg Mach, he has a carefully crafted persona set up: He’s an asshole, a liar, a serial flirt and cheater, dumb as a box of rocks, and a self-proclaimed “good-for-nothing.” In his B support with Dedue, you hear that people describe him as “indefensibly worthless,” which is followed by,

Sylvain: Indefensibly? Heh, that’s a bit harsh.

Dedue: I already knew your reputation concerning women. But these new rumors deprive you of all redemption. I did try to correct them. But I doubt I was believed.

Sylvain: Well, thank you all the same. Listen. You don’t need to worry what people think about me. As you well know, it’s not easy to correct misunderstandings or change people’s minds. And if I’m going to behave so badly, it seems misunderstandings are inevitable.

He doesn’t even argue, just kinda brushes it off and accepts that’s just How He Is (listen, Sylvain can definitely be an asshole at times, but I have to agree with that being harsh). He doesn’t want people to expect anything from him (well, not anything good). In his supports with Annette, he’s shown to be pretty smart, but admits he hides it because the pressure it puts on him is suffocating. He kinda goes out of his way to hide his more redeeming qualities like that. Also on that point, we have this bit from his B support with Ashe,

Sylvain: […] My advice on the whole thing is just to follow your instincts. That’s what I do. If someone’s in trouble, I help them. You don’t need to be a valiant knight to know that. Doesn’t matter if the person is an ugly old man or the cutest girl you’ve ever seen, you help ‘em.

Ashe: So, you’re saying…

Sylvain: Everybody’s the same, deep down. It’s our job to help anyone who needs it.

Ashe: Ah!

Sylvain: What? You’re looking at me funny. Did I say something wrong?

Ashe: No! No. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’re actually a much better person than I thought.

“You’re actually a much better person than I thought.” Several of his supports have some variation of this line. Usually after he does something kind. And I mean, Sylvain is a kind person, under the philandering. Most of his supports involve him helping others out somehow.

He helps Dimitri with the girl situation (he kinda got him into it in the first place but I digress)

His whole C with Dedue is pretty much “racism is stupid and I’m going to be your friend, fuck what everyone else says.”

In his supports with Felix and Ashe, he helps them out in battle, at a detriment to himself (You can also throw Byleth in here, during their A support, but he was a jerk in their C and B).

In his Annette supports, she calls him out for going easy on her during training. He admits he was, but only because he didn’t want her to feel bad because she puts so much effort into her work while he “sorta gets by on [his] wits”

Okay I need to say how much I love his supports with Bernadetta???? He does genuinely try to compliment her work, and when he sees speaking to Bernie face-to-face won’t work, he goes out of his way to write a nice and well-worded review (a fairly lengthy one, according to Bernie) and compliment of her work–which Bernadetta takes to much better than she did talking in person. And this is one of the few supports where he doesn’t try to flirt. He’s just trying to give her genuine compliments on her writing and goes out of his way to do it without upsetting her.

His support with Hilda could go a few ways, but he did return the books for her and he did apparently get yelled at for something he didn’t do and didn’t even try to deflect that. And it seems that’s not even why he confronts her later: it’s because of how her actions were detrimental to other people (”And those books you left in your room for so long? Teachers and classmates needed those. So stop lying, and maybe stop being quite as selfish too.”). It’s not until she asks if the librarian said anything that he’s like “Oh, yeah, they yelled at me.”

And a fair amount of people still see him as “indefensibly worthless.” Sylvain often goes out of his way to help people, but he tends to brush it off and keep it lowkey.

I got a little off track here, but my point for this is Sylvain projects an outward appearance of being a really shitty, deplorable person. Almost everyone he has supports with is GENUINELY surprised when they realize that no, he’s not as bad as all the rumors about him imply. Sylvain just doesn’t really want people to know. And, as much as he plays it off like he doesn’t care, that kind thing gets to you after a while. So everyone except a handful of close friends seeing him in such a negative light? It filters in eventually, even if you’re not already emotionally fucked up.

Another thing I want to point out: A lot of times, it seems like Sylvain does not give a shit about what happens to him. A few of his support conversations involve him taking a blow in battle to protect someone else (and his attitude afterward is “better me than them”). Reading his A+ with Felix, “…protecting me like that. You’re so weak and yet you always… always…” this is definitely something Sylvain has a habit of doing. Additionally, we have one of his goal requests: “The best way to impress people is to save them by diving into harm’s way. That’s what a Great Knight does, yeah?” In true Sylvain style he covers it with “I just want to impress people” but he’s still devoting his training to being the guy who jumps in front of everyone else to tank the hit. Fully committing to that kind of thing takes more than just a shallow want to “impress people.” Then there’s his Monastery line to Byleth, toward the end of Verdant Wind I believe?, where he says he fights like he wants to die. Which…. yeah.

Another line of his that sticks with me: “burn until we meet again,” after defeating an enemy post-time skip. A friend of mine pointed out it might just be dramatic, but I think about that a lot. Does he think he’s going to the 3h equivalent of hell??? Does he think he’s that terrible of a person??

Uh this turned out to be a lot longer than i thought. So I guess to sum up:

Sylvain grew up internalizing the idea that he doesn’t have any worth as a person. Everything he is and has is related to his Crest. Everything that people feel towards him is related to his Crest and not who he is as a person.

He internalized the idea that because he has a Crest, that he’s not allowed to be upset about any of this, because he got lucky.

Growing up with Miklan’s abuse, he was definitely made to feel guilty about simply daring to exist. So he grows up hating himself.

He developed an outward persona that only reinforced these ideas–he makes and lets people believe he’s a piece of shit.

His attitude in battle shows how little he seems to care about himself.

tl;dr: Sylvain grew up without any love or affection, and was severely emotionally fucked up by his family, which complicated his relationships with other people and his view of himself as a person and his worth. He purposely projected an image of himself to support this, letting people believe he’s a shit person and doesn’t argue back because he feels it’s well-deserved. He doesn’t seem to think he’s actually worth anything. Sylvain, of course, like all people, has negative traits–that’s just part of being human. But his sense of self has been so warped and twisted over the years that he can’t seem to do anything but hate himself.

[houseguest]

FE3H ATLA au

Okay, so this is going to be entirely self indulgent and probably really wordy but I really love atla and just started re-watching it for the umpteenth time so here we go! (BIG SPOILERS FOR FE3H AND ATLA!!! also if anyone wants to know more or if there are any specific questions about the plot changes or my interpretation of this au then please feel free to ask)

So first off, I just want to say that I’m basing everyone’s bending on where they were born, where their house name was established, their story-line and/or whether they have a crest, so some of their bending types may not match their personality or “style” but I feel like it’s a little more realistic

 I’m gonna start with Byleth, the Avatar themself!

Jeralt is a non-bender so this was a surprise to him, he was a little overwhelmed... he had a little experience with Airbending because he used to work at the Church but the other elements were a lost cause to him, he doesn’t get the whole “spirituality” thing

Byleth is not a master of all the elements by the time they get to the church, but they do know some very specialized moves they learned from wandering teachers and benders that were part of the mercenary group

They didn’t necessarily “start” as any particular bender since they aren’t really part of the other nations/territories, but Sothis is the Avatar spirit (this world’s version of Raava)

Their bending style is very rough, and usually involve other weapons, so they are very skilled in non-bender fighting techniques and hardly uses their bending during mercenary work so most people don’t even know they are the Avatar

On to the Fire Empire! 

Edelgard is a Firebender naturally, but due to the experiments, she became an artificial combustion-bender (with eye markings on hands not forehead, just to hide them) The stress of this new power turned her hair white

Hubert is a non-bender, but is trained in all manor of Firebending fighting styles and techniques. He fights with long-distance weapons like throwing knives and kusarigama (chain scythe)

Dorothea is a non-bender and still wants to be a singer, BUT she is a chi blocker too, and learned the technique in order to defend herself from stalkers and aggressive fans

Ferdinand is a Firebender and tries to compete with Edelgard in Agni Kai all the time. He’s actually a really good bender, but has trouble adjusting to other bending styles because he doesn’t want to stray from his family’s noble bending techniques

Bernadetta is a Firebender and she hates it. She is terrified of fire, and usually sticks strictly to bows. Her backstory is the same, but now we have the added trauma of her father being a Firebender too...

Caspar is a non-bender that is good at close-combat. He finds bending really cool and loves learning the movements, but is very dedicated to showing everyone how powerful non-benders can be

Petra is also a non-bender, but she was taught extremely specialized moves from her country, she’s a lot like the Kyoshi warriors in the atla series, but she is also an experienced chi-blocker and teaches Dorothea a lot of moves

Linhardt is, sadly, a Firebender. He doesn’t really like it, because he sees it as very violent and he hates blood and I would also assume burning flesh. He loves studying bending variations though! He’s one of the first to figure out lightning redirection

The Water Kingdom!

Dimitri is a Waterbender but he has a very aggressive, Firebender-like fighting style when let loose due to practicing in that way with Edelgard as kids. He tries to suppress it with calmer movements. He is good at finding water in tough environments and knows how to take it from the air

Dedue is a non-bender and specializes in brawling and close-combat. Bending is just a normal part of his day, so he doesn’t really care much about it and actually knows a lot of moves to counter other’s bending

Felix is a Waterbender and was taught much of what he knows from Glenn. After his brother’s death, he became closed off from everyone and trained his Waterbending all the time to catch up to his late brother. He is the best Ice-bender among them

Mercedes is, surprisingly, a Firebender. Since she was born in empire territory but fled to the kingdom, she had a hard time finding someone to teach her. She resorted to having lessons from Waterbenders, which developed a very unique Firebending style

Ashe is a non-bender. He always wanted to be a knight, but worried they wouldn’t accept him due to being a non-bender and his criminal past. He was even more passionate when he discovered an official kingdom group of non-bender warriors established by one of previous Avatars, Loog

Annette is a Waterbender and is extremely clumsy with bending ice. She is determined to perfect her bending, and attended the same bending school as Mercedes, so she learned some Firebender moves too

Sylvain is a Waterbender, but is just terrible at it. He usually sticks to weapons like spears, but still uses it sometimes for tricks. He thinks people only care about how he is a bender, so he hates bending in general. Miklan was a non-bender and was replaced as heir because of that

Ingrid is an Earthbender. Since house Galatea was split from house Daphnel which is in the Earth Alliance, Ingrid inherited Earthbending after years of non-benders in the family. She is very good at keeping Sylvain’s flirtations at bay with her powerful attacks. The betrothal necklace Glenn gave her is very special to her 

The Earth Alliance!

Claude, despite being the leader of the Earth Alliance, is an Airbender. This makes many people suspicious, but he dismisses it as much as possible, saying that one of his parents was a wandering Air Nomad or sometimes saying they were a member of the Air Churches

Lorenz is an Earthbender despite how strange that sounds. He is very formal about it, and argues why an Airbender is the leader of the Earth Alliance in order to raise his position. He later becomes a Metal-bender

Hilda is an Earthbender along with her brother Holst. She doesn’t like to Earthbend though because she thinks it’s too much work and too dirty. She is very good at it though, super skilled

Raphael is a non-bender that uses a lot of close-combat weapons. He doesn’t care too much about bending in general, but he thinks Earthbenders are pretty cool, mostly just because a lot are strong

Lysithea is a natural Earthbender, but due to the experiments she became an artificial Lava-bender. Because only certain Earthbenders can Lava-bend, Lysithea’s body was not made to bend it, often burning her skin without even touching the lava. The stress and experiments shortened her lifespan and whitened her hair

Ignatz is a non-bender and is a talented bowman. He finds bending to be beautiful and he loves to paint benders doing their thing. He doesn’t have much experience with benders, so he is very interested in what they do

Marianne is a Waterbender; a descendant of Maurice who was an infamous Waterbender that discovered and mastered Blood-bending. She can blood-bend as well, but never does as she sees the ability to do so as a curse. She hides her ancestry because of this

Leonie is a non-bender and looks up to powerful non-benders like Jeralt. She takes every opportunity she can to one up benders with her non-bending skills; she thinks a lot of benders feel entitled just because they can bend so she wants to prove that non-benders are just as powerful

The Air Churches!

Rhea is the high priestess of the Air Churches, and is a master Airbender. She is the daughter of the Avatar spirit, Sothis. Sothis was a spirit so she conceived immortal half-spirits. Nemesis (who is like Vaatu here) had killed Sothis’s physical form so Sothis kept jumping to different people, thus beginning the Avatar cycle. 

Rhea encouraged bending to be the highest social standing in Fodlan as she wanted to create an Avatar to carry on Sothis, so many houses tried forceful infusions of bending in order to gain status. There are only two living examples of this forceful infusion: Edelgard and Lysithea

Seteth and Flayn are both Airbenders and are also immortal half-spirits. They both take to hiding and reinventing themselves after every one hundred years or so to not gain suspicion

The only other benders in the Church are Catherine, who is an Earthbender, and Hanneman who is a Firebender. Catherine is the inventor of Metal-bending, and very well known and praised for discovering it

[grimalkenkid]

Miklan, The Demon’s Shield

So, continuing off of my “Jeralt adopts Miklan” AU, the Academy Phase...

Part 3

One morning, right before they’re about to head into the Kingdom for work, three kids approach Jeralt in a rush, asking for help with a bandit group that’s after them.

Dimitri recognizes Miklan instantly and wants nothing to do with this mercenary band, but there’s no time and no other options, so he settles for keeping a very close eye on the ex-Gautier.

For his part, Miklan is worried Dimitri will spill the beans about how he attempted to murder his little brother to the rest of Jeralt’s mercs. He doesn’t want the past four years of camaraderie to be undone by the prince’s accusations. Thankfully, no one has time for that while they’re under attack, and Miklan’s got his hands full watching Byleth’s back. She’d been under the weather the past few days, after all, so he wants to make sure she’s safe.

After the battle, this guy called Alois basically drags Jeralt and his mercenary company to Garreg Mach. Miklan keeps out of Dimitri’s way, but the prince avoids him right back. Dimitri saw how protective Miklan was of Byleth, and he’s starting to become fond of the stony-faced girl as well. Dimitri decides to keep watching, wondering if this Miklan is different than the one he knew.

Once at the monastery, the company is then suddenly left without a leader, as Jeralt is conscripted back into the Knights of Seiros, and Byleth is made a professor seemingly on a whim. Most of the mercs decide to stick around and keep helping Jeralt, but Miklan’s at a loss. He really doesn’t want to stick around where people will recognize him; he doesn’t want to be “the Crestless, ex-Gautier kid” or “the jealous older brother” anymore. He wants to be Miklan, the mercenary. He’s considering striking out on his own -- despite how he hates to leave his found family -- when Jeralt takes him aside.

“Kid,” the old merc starts out, “I know you’re not comfortable here, and I’m not too keen on being here either, but I’ve got a request. Keep an eye on my daughter. Rhea’s up to something, but she’s already sending me out on missions that’ll take me far from here. I can’t watch Byleth myself, so I managed to convince Rhea to let one of my mercs be Byleth’s ‘bodyguard.’ And there’s no one I trust more with my daughter’s safety than you.”

So, of course Miklan agrees. The older mercs haven’t started calling him The Demon’s Shield for no reason, after all.

He’s given a spare room in the servants’ quarters which he’s hardly ever in. Jeralt told him to protect Byleth, and dammit that’s what he’s gonna do! Miklan sticks to her like glue unless she asks to be left alone. During classes, he’s sitting in the corner, watching everyone for signs of funny business.

Now, if only she hadn’t chosen to teach the Blue Lion House... because, besides Dimitri, he also has to deal with Ingrid and Felix...

And Sylvain.

Of course, Sylvain ain’t doing too hot, either. He can barely focus on the lectures, knowing that the man who tried to kill him multiple times is sitting in the same room. His grades start take an immediate nosedive, he’s always on-edge, and Dimitri’s constantly checking up on him, asking if he’s really okay with Miklan being at Garreg Mach. Sylvain tries to play it cool, because he may want his brother to leave, but he wants to get him kicked out even less. Goddess knows Miklan already has enough reasons to hate his guts.

So Dimitri enlists the help of Ingrid, Felix, and Dedue to make Sylvain feel safer. They’ll try to keep Miklan from entering a room Sylvain’s in, place themselves between the two brothers when they have to be in the same location, and make sure that Sylvain never sits by himself in class. It works okay, for a little while.

But one time Sylvain’s heading to the training grounds with Felix, and he’s not watching where he’s going. He walks straight into someone leaving the training grounds, and as he goes to apologize, he realizes just who he ran into. Miklan’s more surprised than angry, but Sylvain can’t tell the difference as his eyes are on the spear Miklan has resting on his shoulder. Sylvain panics and just books it for the dorms. He’s never run faster in his life. He doesn’t even realize where he is until he’s pounding on someone’s door, and Dimitri answers it.

“Can I hide here?” he begs the prince.

And Dimitri lets him. Because he knows the difference between Sylvain hiding from a girl and Sylvain hiding from Miklan.

But that was the last straw for Dimitri. He goes straight to Seteth, telling him all about the history between the Gautier brothers, and demands that Miklan be thrown out of Garreg Mach Monastery, at the very least. Dimitri actually would prefer Miklan be executed, but he doesn’t want to hurt Byleth by being responsible for her best friend’s death. Seteth listens to Dimitri’s concerns -- and agrees that Miklan could be a danger to the students -- but there’s no precedent for this particular situation. After all, Captain Jeralt trusts Miklan implicitly, and Rhea trusts Jeralt’s judgement, but something has to be done.

Miklan is placed under arrest. Officially, it’s for attempted fratricide, but in reality, it’s just to make sure Miklan can’t hurt Sylvain while they contact Margrave Gautier and bring him to the monastery to weigh in on the situation.

Jeralt is upset that one of his men is under suspicion, but he reluctantly agrees that they need to work something out. Byleth, however, is visibly put out... which means she’s filled with a fury borne of loyalty and friendship. She manages to keep it out of the classroom, but Dimitri gets a full dose of her ire during training. The prince accepts this as his just punishment for going behind her back, but he can’t help but feel like he did something horrible when she glares at him across the dining hall. He feels even worse when he sees her taking huge risks out on assignment, risks that wouldn’t even be concerns if she had her Shield like usual.

Eventually, Margrave Gautier manages to get Rodrigue to watch the border for him so he can go to Garreg Mach. He is... less than pleased to see his disowned son in a jail cell, but he just sighs, like it was an inevitability.

Margrave Gautier then joins Jeralt, Byleth, Dimitri, and Seteth (who’s standing in for Rhea) to discuss Miklan’s fate.

(This is turning into a goddamn series, isn’t it? Oh well... To be continued in Part 3!)

[seasaltmemories]

Never Love an Anchor

Rating: M

Summary: There was a familiar restless energy to Sylvain, the same tense composure she saw whenever he was flirting with another girl who he’d throw away a week later. And for all the wounds she hadn’t been able to heal in time, for all those she had been forced to leave behind, a slow creeping voice in the back of her head told Mercedes that she might be able to at least fix this problem.

~

 “When next we meet, I will kill you without hesitation.”

Those words rattled around Mercedes’ head like a stubborn coin that refused to leave its pursue no matter how hard she shook it. Usually she wasn’t quite this good at turning over her thoughts for so long. For schooling, it was a curse, but for the rest of her life it was a blessing. She had seen the way those who had truly suffered grew bitter and resentful towards the Goddess, unable to let go of their pain. And well, maybe her life hadn’t have been all sunshine and roses, but Mercedes had never wanted to be like that. Life was easier when she relaxed and let Her divine hand guide her through life.

But after eighteen long years of hanging onto memories of her sweet baby brother, it was difficult to not grasp the few scraps this Death Knight gave her like a vice. She didn’t know what good carrying them would do, but if there was one thing she couldn’t hand over to the Goddess so easily, it was Emile. Letting go of his hand to run away with Mother had been the worst choice of her life. Even if all that these remnants of him brought was guilt and anguish, she feared more what she might lose if she let go of them too.

What would it feel like if you didn’t resist and instead let his scythe slice right through you? You’ve seen doctors cut through flesh to remove deadly diseases. Maybe if you didn’t struggle, he’d have pity and only carve out your regrets.

Mercedes’ eyes flew open. She didn’t know what inside her broached such a morbid suggestion, but she knew she didn’t have the courage to turn back and face it. She only realized where she was turning to instead when she the cold air began to nip the back of her neck. Her body was better at taking care of others than herself, so if she couldn’t sleep it must have decided without her that she might as well help the others rest more easily and get some chores done.

She floated like that for a while, letting everything from the cool stone of the floor to the silver moonlight take her attention away from the day's events. When Mercedes found herself in the kitchens, everything clicked. A few days ago, she had bought extra baking supplies from an Alliance merchant. It had cost more than the allowance the Professor suggested, but in the heat of the moment she had been so excited to gift Annette some of the sweets she had been craving. Maybe she hadn’t intended to sneak away and bake it in the middle of the night, but a breakfast surprise should be as good as any kind.

As she gathered her ingredients Mercedes hummed a wordless tune. There was a degree of practicality to it--singing helped her keep time and keep from getting too focused on one task--but it also had the nice side effect of calming her nerves. It was easier to control her breathing when there was a pleasant melody to entertain herself with. Her hands shook less when she had eggs to crack open with a precise touch. Loneliness was easier to swallow down when you knew people’s love wasn’t that far out of reach.

“So there’s our nightingale.” Mercedes almost dropped the mixing bowl from her arms out of surprise. It was only once she managed to field it onto the table that she was able to turn and face her eavesdropper.

“A little birdie like you should be careful about staying out this late. Never know what kind of animals would try to snatch you up.” Sylvain leaned against the doorway, grinning like a cat that had just spied his favorite meal. Since they had reunited, she had almost let those honey-brown eyes get to her. With his new height and bulk it had been easy to wonder if his flirtations had gained any weight as well. Still over time their old Monastery banter had returned to her.

“Hello Sylvain,” Mercedes smiled as she let all his innuendo fly past her without a second thought. “If it is so dangerous to be up, then what is your excuse?”

“I’m trying to climb back into any bed I can,” Slowly he made his way to the wine cellar. “Just need a drink to help me rest easier.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” On instinct she placed her body in-between him and the door. “Instead why don’t you try sticking to more traditional sleeping aids?”

Sylvain paused, a strange expression flitted across his face. She tried to decipher it, but it was gone in an instant and replaced with a cool regard.

“I don’t remember when I asked for your permission.” His voice was light and teasing, but that gaze of his cut through her with the same precision he’d take down a foe.

“I’m a medic, and I’ve been your medic several times.” While battlefield white magic was different from the work Manuela did, Mercedes wasn’t about to refresh him on the details. “Drinking yourself into a slumber is imprecise at best and can put your life in danger at worst.”

Sylvain didn’t say anything at first, just kept studying her like she was some battle map he was trying to commit to memory. It occurred to her then that she hadn’t put on a robe and her nightgown left very little to the imagination. Immediately she crossed her arms in an effort to regain a shred of decency, but then Mercedes began to wonder if drawing attention to her breasts when the night was so cold, when he was around riling her up was a good idea, or maybe--

“When did you get this?” While she had been caught up in her fretting, he had closed the distance between the two of them to play with Rafail Gem. It was another matter she had forgotten to attend to after today’s trying events. Or maybe her subconscious had decided to let it rest there as a physical reminder of the guilt she bore.

 There must be a part of him that still loves you if he is still protecting you like this? What remnants does Emile still hold of you? “When next we meet, I will kill you without hesitation.”

“I’ll tell you if you come and help me bake this cake. Once its in the oven, I’ll brew some tea that should make you sleep like a baby.” It was bribery at its most blatant, but for whatever reason, Sylvain let the gem fall back against her chest and followed Mercedes to the cooking table.

“So why were you up?” It was about as subtle as an axe to the face, but if Sylvain thought anything about her pushing the conversation back onto him, he didn’t say anything.

“What would you say if I was awakened by a siren’s song and would have been driven mad if I couldn’t find its source?”

“I thought I was a bird not a fish.” She giggled.

“You’re getting sirens and mermaids mixed up. Mermaids are your fish ladies. Will eat your heart out, but at least they look hot. Sirens disguise themselves with their song and don’t even give you the decency of being eaten by a pretty face.”

“So I really must not be so beautiful anymore.” Mercedes gave an exaggerated sigh. “You know if you didn’t like my haircut you could have just said so.”

“No Mercedes, you look divine as always.” It was a well worn-out compliment, but despite herself, she couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to her core. She was so busy trying to squash it back down, she almost missed his next words.

“It would have been Miklan’s birthday tomorrow.” There was no flowery language to blunt the harsh reality of his confession, just a quiet whisper of words that could have been lost in the wind. The news was so dizzying, her body kinda kept functioning without her, still compulsively stirring the batter and smiling like an idiot. By the time she actually began to process things, Sylvain was rambling on with that same desperation as when he had disclosed what growing up with a Crest had been like.

“I don’t know why I remembered it tonight. I didn’t care at all when it came around the first time his blood was on my hands. But you know my father had forbid people from mentioning it back then. It always broke my mother’s heart to hear about him. That used to piss me off because I still remembered a year where he almost trampled me with the horse he had been gifted, but no, now that he was gone he was simply a tortured soul. But then again--”

“Sylvain.” She didn’t mean to speak quite so harshly, but she couldn’t hide the frustration in her voice. When he turned back to her with those beautiful, sad eyes, her heart nearly shattered in two. There was a familiar restless energy to them, the same tense composure she saw whenever he was flirting with another girl who he’d throw away a week later. And for all the wounds she hadn’t been able to heal in time, for all those she had been forced to leave behind, a slow creeping voice in the back of her head told her that she might be able to at least fix this problem.

In one elegant motion, Mercedes swirled her hand in the cake batter and extended her frost-covered fingertips towards his mouth.

“Taste it.”

“What!?” If it had been under any other occasion, then she might have savored getting to see him flustered for once in his life.

“I said you would get a treat for helping me.” It was strange to be the one throwing around innuendos now, but the longer she held her hand out, the more it made sense. There was no need to find a new heart to break when hers was already so worn and fragile.

“Taste it, please.” She didn’t mean for her voice to crack on that last word, but it seemed to be the last bit of goading needed for Sylvain to finally give in.

He gripped her wrist with both hands while his tongue darted out in quick bursts to clean each digit. While at first each flick was nothing more than a blur of pink, controlled, focused, and utterly devoid of any sensuality, after swiping the last remains of icing, he’d linger for just a half second--sending shivers down her spine. When he found a dollop of frosting had been smeared just above her knuckle and leveraged her hand further in his mouth so that he reach it, Mercedes couldn’t keep from gasping in pleasure.

Sometimes a little voice would try and chime in that in was a poor use of expensive ingredients to waste them on foreplay or it was evil of her to take advantage of his grief. But pleasure had a way of warming the back of her throat, making her hum so loud she drowned out all those inner demons. The Goddess had never disapproved of intimacy. There couldn’t be any harm in carving out her own island of happiness when she otherwise might cry herself a sea of grief.

When Sylvain was finished with his task, he stayed there, head lowered against her hand like a loyal dog. But the eyes that stared up at her were those of a wolf, sharp and hungry. There was a reason you weren’t supposed to feed wild animals, after whetting their appetites, they’d always come back around for more. Yet it seemed that he was still respecting the power dynamics she had established, waiting for her next order.

So she did what any person with a big broad man leering at her like that would do--she pushed away her cooking and lead him to her room.

She must have grown complacent, thinking she’d be able to take her time, because she turned back to the door to make sure it was locked. However before she could move from her spot, a warm breath of air tickled the curve of her neck, freezing her in place.

“You never did explain who gave you this.” His left arm was pressed against the door-frame, caging her, while his right played with the Rafail Gem again.

“What if I told you it was a thank you from your last bedmate for warming it after you left?” She didn’t know what creature controlled her tongue in that moment. Maybe it was the innocent part of her that would prefer returning to their usual teasing relationship rather than risk this confusing mess. Maybe the not so innocent part of herself wanted to goad him into a fit of jealousy, to be fucked against the door with about as much gentleness as she deserved. Deeper reflection might have found the culprit, but it occurred to her then that Sylvain had neither done nor said a thing all this time she was caught up in pitying herself.

Slowly, she looked over her shoulder. When she met those honey-brown eyes again, she didn’t see the skirt-chaser she was used to from her past, but the tired warrior she grown more and more familiar with these last few months.

“I’m sorry,” When she reached up to cup his cheek, he flinched, but before she could pull away, he covered her hand with his and brought it closer once more. “Truly I am.” She didn’t quite know what she was apologizing for, but the same feeling she got when she watched a dying man beg for healing she couldn’t give was clawing at her chest again.

With the same strange passivity of his tonight, he let her lead him to her bed. There, she arranged his limbs so that he was lying comfortably, like she used to when playing with her dolls as a young girl. One by one, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“You carry so much more pain than most realize.” She pressed butterfly kisses against his chest, traveling down lower and lower. “I can be so cruel sometimes, but you’re an invaluable friend.” She moved to untie the laces of his breeches, but before she could get them undone, Sylvain shot to life and grabbed her wrists. In one swift motion, he pinned her arms above her head and rolled onto her.

“Don’t you patronize me too. Not you.” He rocked his hips against hers, and it took all her will-power not to chase the sensation. “Don’t call me your friend while trying to suck my cock. I thought I was more to you than that.”

There was something disorienting being in a position like this. Good old Mercedes who did everything for everyone unable to move a muscle. She should be screaming, trying to break free at whatever cost, but instead a sick thrill curled itself in the pit of her stomach.

“Why don’t you prove it then?” That wicked tongue of hers spoke without warning.

Sylvain stared at her, stunned, and she felt the urge to apologize again. But that little voice inside herself told her to wait wait wait, see what this might get her.

If you can’t ever let go of things yourself, maybe it might be good to let someone else take it from you.

The kisses they shared were not the type she wanted anyone else to know about. When she and Annette had gossiped about blushing boys and giggling girls, she had always adopted that role of wise and unflappable Mercie. It was a preferable position to refashion her wasted years into a comfortable experience. And really there was something nice in showing someone the ropes, leading them gently to a shared sense of bliss.

But this...this arrangement opened her up to all new sorts of delights. There was a satisfaction in the feel of Sylvain’s hips pressing her against the mattress with no extra force than his natural weight, his tongue in her mouth, exploring every crevice of it, as if he was searching for something. There was a pleasure in being so thoroughly possessed, so when his right hand descended to fondle her breast, and she couldn’t help but arch into his touch.

“You sure act arrogant for someone so desperate,” His voice had transformed into a low growl she could feel travel from his chest to hers. “Were you just putting on airs earlier and trying to hide how much of a slut you really are?”

Heat transformed from arousal and into anger. “Don’t call me that.” Mercedes broke from Sylvain’s grip, hating the way her voice cracked. It made her sound like a child, and this was the last situation in which she wanted to return to those days.

But thankfully, Sylvain didn’t call her stupid or naive. Instead his left hand reached forward to brush the hair from her face.

“I apologize. I forgot you like it most when I’m honest.” He murmured. “If I’m telling the truth, then I can’t imagine a more radiant woman than you, Mercedes.”

The hand still fondling her breast pinched her nipple, and Mercedes was embarrassed by how loud a noise she made. Still if anything, Sylvain seemed almost giddy.

“Never knew my flattery was that good.” His laughter made her ears buzz. “You liked that didn’t you?”

Mercedes didn’t trust herself to use words, instead just nodding before shoving her face into his shoulder.

Sylvain chuckled again, making what few pieces of fabric that separated them seem all the flimsier. “Does he know your little secret? Does he make you feel as good as I do?”

“Stop playing games,” The Mercedes that hadn’t been a blushing virgin for over a decade grew back her spine. “Tell me I’m good, that’s all I want.”

Sylvain sighed as he lean down to press his forehead against hers. “I can’t imagine anything easier. You might be more holy than the goddess, herself.”

“Oh,” Of course that was when he decided to sneak a hand up her night-gown. The sudden chill might have been an adequate excuse for her shivering, but even as Mercedes adjusted, she could not stop the tremors.

“You’re the best of all of us, kind, patient. None of us deserve you, least of all me.” His clever hands danced up her inner thigh, teasing and refusing to touch her exactly where she wanted.

“So beautiful too. You’re like a portrait come to life. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.” He captured her mouth just as slide a finger into her, and it was all so overwhelming, Mercedes wondered if she might just keel over right then and there. Still something about the intensity with which Sylvain kissed, her seemed to demand she stay there with him. So she returned his affections the best she could, using her tongue, nails, and teeth.

Eventually though she must have gotten too enthusiastic because after he rubbing her in just the right spot, Sylvain pulled away from her with a hiss as he cradled his ear.

“Oh my!” Mercedes leaned forward to try and innocently examine the nick, but Sylvain pushed her back down, spreading apart her legs.

“Don’t worry about it. You can sink your teeth wherever want--already’ve carved my heart from chest. I don’t mind it as long as you promise you’ll be there to kiss it better.” He slipped another finger inside her and her embarrassment melted back into that glorious high that was building up inside her. So she tried to do as he asked, and peppered his injured ear with the softest of kisses as she begged and pleaded for him to bring her to release.

“Mercie I don’t think I could ever love another woman,” His breath was ragged, just the sound of it pushing her closer. “Marry me.”

Whiteness blinded her vision, leaving her all floaty and in a world where she couldn’t really understand his words. It was such a nice place, it probably was what let her entertain the idea for a moment, linger on how much she just enjoyed his presence and how devastated she’d be if she lost him.

And then she came back down to earth, where Sylvain was looming over her, waiting with his neediness on full display.

As she tried to catch her breath, her mind swirled with a thousand thoughts, but the one thing that consumed her the most was the knowledge that she should have never let them make such a mistake.

After that, well it became impossible to keep from crying.

“I’m sorry,” Mercedes did her best to wipe her tears away, but they just wouldn’t stop falling. “It’s not your fault, I--”

“I told you not to patronize me!” His words felt laced with venom. “I’m not used to girls crying before we’ve even rolled out of bed but then I guess it is no wonder you got tired of me this quickly.”

“That’s not true!” She tried to tilt his chin so that he would look at her, but he pushed away her touch with a snarl. “Please listen to me Sylvain, I should have never taken advantage of you when you were so obviously grieving. I’m the lowest.”

Pure rage burned in his gaze, no longer so sweet and syrupy. “Was I just a pity fuck?! Just another little child to shut up? Is that why you won’t tell me who gave you that necklace? Don’t want to break a stupid kid’s heart when you got another man who actually--”

“For goddess’ sake, I got this from my brother after he said he wanted to kill me!”

Immediately it was like a spark of thunder magic had struck the room. Everything grew still as they could only stare at each other as her outburst finally set it.

“Fuck,” It was Sylvain who finally broke the silence. He buried his face in his hands. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Mercedes wondered if she’d ever be able to say those words enough for them to mean anything. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. I’m not proud of what I did, I just couldn’t bear to think of him tonight.”

“Fuck!” Sylvain slammed his fist against the mattress. “I’m such a fucking dumbass, my brain might as well be in my dick.”

“Don’t say things like that!” Mercedes brought his hands to her chest. “I was the one who seduced you. I led you on. I wanted you domineering and cruel. I brought this upon myself!”

Sylvain gave a laugh at that, but this one had been drained of any humor. “I was charmed by you the minute I heard your voice tonight. There’s just something so soothing about being around you. With Miklan haunting me, it was the only thing that made me feel like myself again.” He dropped his hands to his side as his frame began to tremble. “But then that isn’t a good thing in the long run, because seeing that gem made me a spoiled child. I didn’t want to have to share you with anyone else in the world. I didn’t want to risk losing your comfort.”

There was a fervor to his words that a few minutes ago might have lit a fire in her as well. But now, his shaking shoulders only signaled just how evil she truly was.

“I’m sorry,” Goddess, when would she stop babbling. “I don’t know if I can give you any comfort. I don’t know if I have anything left to give.”

She dashed out the room, worried that staying with him any longer might bring on a new wave of tears. However as the door slammed shut behind her, it was only then she remembered that it was her own room.

Oh you stupid girl

Mercedes collapsed against the heavy oak behind her when her knees gave way.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there--crying, curled against the door. It seemed now that she had opened the flood gates, her sadness wanted to make good on all the years she had tried to persevere and stay strong. But even eighteen years of self-loathing, of having to live with the weight of her inadequacy, had it waning points. Like a tide that had temporarily receded, she knew it would come back with a vengeance. But she had to pull herself together enough to do the awkward work of reclaiming her own room. She hated to be the one to make a mess, but at least she had gotten good at cleaning them up.

Tentatively, she returned to find, Sylvain still sprawled across her bed with that faraway look in his eyes. Just seeing him again made her want to find some hole to crawl and die in, but forced herself to be mature and sat down to join him.

"Did you mean it?" Mercedes asked in a quiet voice. "Do you really want to marry me?"

There was a huff of air, and then a much longer and more tired sigh.  "Since I thought there might be another man in your life, I figured it was time to lay all my cards out on the table.  I figured you had no reason to believe a love confession alone, so I thought a ring would convince you of my genuine feelings."

“Sylvain, I mean it with full sincerity when I say that I want the best for you,” Mercedes took a deep breath. “But I don’t want you to be in love with me.”

Sylvain shifted back and forth, “I know you probably see me as nothing more than a shallow pervert, but that doesn’t change the intensity of my feelings for you.” She looked down to find him drawing unrecognizable patterns into the mattress. “Even if you don’t return them, you’ll always be divine to me.”

“It’s not that I don’t feel anything for you, either,” Mercedes smoothed her skirts, infected by his nervous energy. “If anything, I was frightened because I do feel something.” She danced away from the exact four letter word. Such affection felt too much for her clumsy hands to hold.

“I can’t blame you, I don’t particularly like myself either,” He looked up at her now, that neediness still overwhelming. “I like to think I’m a better man when I’m with you though. If I can’t give you my heart, then at least take my admiration.”

Mercedes could feel her shoulders begin to quiver. “I don’t think you understand though. I’m not the angel you think I am.” She traced the Rafail Gem. “I’m good at acting the part of the caring older sister, but well my brother isn’t wrong to want me dead.”

Sylvain’s eyes narrowed. “Not wrong doesn’t mean right. You bring so much joy to everyone, I can’t imagine a world where your absence would bring anything but sadness to us all.”

“I know I’m good at giving!” She didn’t mean to raise her voice, but the few strands of her soul were starting to unravel again. “I give my blood and tears because there isn’t much else I have to offer. I try to be kind and good but every well dries up eventually.” Mercedes forced herself to look him in the eye. “When I run dry will you still love me? If I can’t make you a better man, what use am I as a wife?”

Sylvain’s hands came to a standstill against the mattress. Then slowly he curled his fingers into the sheets. “You know I never used to believe him. I always wanted to prove him wrong, but maybe Miklan was right about some things.” He stared at her with that tragic gaze. “Here I am treating you the way my father treated me.”

Mercedes blinked. “What do you mean?”

Sylvain’s fingers grazed hers, but they didn’t quite hold her. What might be mistaken for a grip was too loose and skittish to quite count.

“When was that last time someone took care of you? You’ve had to put up with the same bullshit as everyone else, but you didn’t even have your own Mercie to help you along the way.”

There was a part of her that wanted to push him away. It wanted to convince herself that this wasn’t sincere concern, but just the result of her manipulative guilt-tripping.

But slowly his hands danced up the side of her arms, persuading her into an hug. Once she began to trace the length of his spine, it became impossible to keep from just melting into him.

“His name is Emile.” Mercedes whispered against his shoulder. “That is all I can give for now, but please don’t let me go.”

As shaky as an embrace it was, Sylvain held her through the entire night.

A.N. I was in a writing exchange and my requester wanted smut about these two being disasters in very different ways.  So glad I get to share it now (also after writing his name so many times I am not sure if sylvain is a word)

[iturbide]

Ever wonder if someone with the wrong crest used a relic meant for a different crest (like Sylvain using Areadbhar) could ever potentially become a Demonic Beast? I sometimes wonder

i mean

mostly i wonder how fast it would kill them

this kind of gets into Part 2 of the Crest Virus so here comes the Science Hat

Now, before we go too far, we’re going to need to talk a little bit about dragons themselves.  As we see from the startling variety of physical forms among them, dragons are a remarkably varied group, but they all share several commonalities, among them the presence of a Creststone.  We can also loosely define three ‘tiers’ of dragon-kind: Sothis, the Progenitor, who according to legend used her blood to create her offspring; Seiros and her siblings, Sothis’ first offspring made with her blood, akin to demigods; and the “Children of the Goddess,” who we could probably refer to as ‘mortal’ dragons.  (Why do we need to differentiate this way?  Because Rhea says in the last chapter of Verdant Wind that she is “the last child of the progenitor god” -- which makes absolutely no sense outside this specific grouping since we know for a fact that Seteth and Flayn both are dragons.)  The major differentiators between the three groups are, above all, lifespan:

Sothis arrived in Fodlan thousands of years ago with enough expertise and technology to engineer offspring from her own genetic material, helped humanity’s rise in technological advancement, ended up going to war with them, and then spent another thousand years trying to clean up from that mess before taking a well-deserved nap.  She was undoubtedly ancient before Nemesis killed her -- and she didn’t even die of natural causes, she was murdered, implying she could have (and likely would have) lived even longer.

Seiros and her siblings were created after Sothis’ arrival in Fodlan, and though we only have one example to go off of here in the form of Rhea, she’s still looking pretty youthful despite being several millennia old, and based on her appearance at Tailtean she’s aged only slightly over the course of the near-thousand years between that battle and the game’s events.  She probably has a finite lifespan, and degeneration is clearly an issue given the events of Silver Snow, but that’s still an incredibly long life.

The last and largest group, the ‘Children of the Goddess,’ have all manner of quirks not seen elsewhere.  This group has the ability to go between a dragon and human form, but can lose that ability in either direction (Macuil and Indech gave up their human forms, Seteth and Flayn gave up their dragon forms -- Seteth remarks in Silver Snow that he can’t transform anymore, but Rhea still can despite not having done so in almost a thousand years).  They also likely have the shortest lifespan and high degeneration risk because of it -- something implied in Sothis’ Red Canyon paralogue, where Flayn and Byleth both have unique dialogues when attacking the “Demonic Beast” (Sothis calls it a “poor, lost soul”).

Generally, though, despite the wide range of body plans and individual Crests, dragons can all be considered part of the same species in that they appear capable of interbreeding with one another and producing viable offspring.  So a not insignificant chunk of their genetic code is technically the same, but different combinations of genes and unique gene expressions lead to individualized traits in dragons.  Meiosis probably plays a big part in this process: pieces of the unique Crest identifiers from both parents are grabbed in the division process, and when they fuse into a complete gene sequence you end up with a brand new Crest rather than two Crests on one individual (so even though canon hasn’t confirmed anything, personally I think Flayn’s mom was also a dragon, hence why she gets a brand new Crest of Cethleann).

Now as discussed in Part 1, dragon blood in human bodies more or less acts like a virus, splicing itself into the human host’s DNA to impart the donor’s Crest.  First-generation Crestbearers end up with extraordinarily long lifespans because of it and invariably have major Crests, as evidenced by Jeralt: Rhea gave him her blood to save him after he protected her, and he’s over a hundred now because of it and hasn’t aged a day in the past 20 years according to Alois (who was effectively raised by the man himself).  Now, from the second generation on, Crestbearers don’t get this lifespan, and inheritance becomes a gamble, especially after a thousand years; meiosis is absolutely bizarre, and what genes do or don’t get included in an individual gamete is completely up to chance, leading to a piecemeal Crest genome scattered throughout the human population incapable of producing brand new Crests the way dragons could.  This scattering of genetic markers on both sides of the genetic equation also leads to variable inheritance in terms of expression strength, with some people wining the proverbial jackpot (like Felix with his Major Crest), getting lucky as carriers (like Ingrid with her Minor Crest), or get the shortest end of the stick (like Miklan).  Invariably, though, they only ever have one Crest.  Even if two people with different Crests have kids together, those children will only have one or the other (if they have a Crest at all). 

What all this is getting at is: Crests don’t want to share a host.  Doesn’t matter if it’s the original dragon or a human, Crests are not things that naturally co-exist with one another.  Pregnancies with Crest-bearers are potentially rife with issues, especially if the parents have different Crests; an embryo with the markers for two different Crests likely self-destructs, leading to miscarriage, while an embryo with the markers for the father’s Crest rather than the mother’s could lead to major health issues for both mother and child should the baby even make it to term, similar to the complications associated with Rh-factor pregnancies where the mother is Rh-negative and the fetus is Rh-positive. (Baby dragons who naturally don’t share their parents’ Crests are technically a nonissue since dragons probably have an easy way out of this: they can lay eggs).

But what happens when you specifically aim to get two Crests on a single host?  Absolutely horrific things.  Lysithea attested that the kids in her extended family suffered and died one by one at the hands of the Twisted conducting the Crest experiments -- which, unfortunately, makes sense when you think about Crests not wanting to share hosts.  After hijacking a host’s systems, a Crest genome also starts producing antibodies to protect the host from infection by other sources; this is still true in second-generation Crestbearers on, who naturally produce antibodies to stave off a new infection -- so if a second Crest ‘donation’ is introduced, the ingrained Crest is going to fight back hard.  The host body’s immune system goes on the attack in an attempt to drive off the invader, destroying cells that have been ‘infected’ by the new genetic material in order to stop the spread of the second virus; in cases like Lysithea, where there was no ingrained Crest, both try to claim a foothold and then start attacking one another in a bid for dominance, trying to root the other out so that only one is left.  Most often, this autoimmune response is fatal, tearing the host apart from the inside as their body’s defenses target their own systems as foreign entities; in cases where it isn’t, and the host miraculously survives the procedure to gain two Crests, the internal fighting leads to significant genetic decay and a drastically reduced lifespan rather than an increased one -- which contributed both to Lysithea’s grave life expectancy and her two Minor Crests, despite likely getting infusions of pure blood.

(As a note, the Crest of Flames plays by entirely different rules because it’s so much stronger than anything else; survival is rare even in humans without Crests, and it’s likely the only Crest with the potential to establish itself at full strength even with a pre-existing Crest trying to fight against it, as in Edelgard’s case.)

And all of this finally leads us to the question of what happens should someone with the wrong Crest bear a particular Relic.  Well, Crests don’t like to share bodies.  There’s a major dissonance between the heart and body vs the blood, and while it’s not likely to do (much) harm in the short term, too long with it and the Relic will probably try to straight-up attack whoever is wielding it, possibly causing recoil-type damage each time it’s used, since that foreign Crest is viewed as a threat to the overall system.  In cases where there is no Crest on the user, the Relic is trying to recreate a system, using the wielder’s body as a crux to build a larger form off of; where the Crest is just wrong, they would probably never go full-on Beast, even if the Creststone does activate enough to overtake the wielder, since the whole intention of overwhelming them is to snuff their life out and eliminate the threat to the body system, at which point it would return to effective dormancy once the ‘infection’ has been taken care of.

[gallantgautier]

That Gautier Family Meta That No One Asked For

I’ve been thinking about the Gautier Family on and off for the last few weeks. Dribs and drabs of little details that slowly but surely have been coming together into something cohesive. Today I wanted to spend some time collecting all of those headcanons together to give myself a nice little piece to refer back to, and maybe some fun reading for others. As always, I welcome any and all questions!

Margave Gullan Adán Gautier

Naming Inspirations

“Gullan”

as a boys' name is of Old Norse derivation, and the meaning of the name Gullan is "battler, warrior". Gullan is an alternate form of Gunnar (Old Norse): from Old Norse gunnr "strife". Going with Rai’s Headcanon that the Fraldarius territory is loosely based upon Norway (albeit only geographically,) I looked to Scandinavian names for Sylvain’s father, as well as keeping similar “ahn” sounds at the end of the name. (It’s worth noting that “Sylvain’s” name in localisation fits better due to the inspirations for his name. However, in other languages his name is actually pronounced more like Sil-vahn. Just a fun tidbit)

 Another reason for my name choice comes from; “The surname Gullan was first found in East Lothian, where they held a family seat on the English/Scottish border. After the Norman Conquest of England many of Duke William's rebellious Barons moved north. The border became a convenient but turbulent no-man's land where the persecuted Many were given land by King Malcolm Canmore and later by King David of Scotland. Some were native Scots. In the 16th century they became known as the 'unruly clans'. The name was first recorded in Scotland in Gullen in the parish of Dirleton in East Lothian.”

“Adán”

Quite simply, the Spanish form of Adam. As I mentioned briefly in another post of Sylvain’s middle name being that of a biblical figure and translated into its Spanish form, Gullan’s follows that trend.

 Personality

On the surface, Gullan is a seemingly cold man who never says more than is necessary. Each and every one of his words has purpose and motive, and he is not the type to lay praise on thick unless it’s either warranted, or strategic.

His purpose is to defend the border, a task he takes so seriously that his devotion to it can often come across as boastful. There are likely those who believe he ‘showcases’ the worth of his house, ever eager to ‘prove House Gautier’s usefulness.’ And indeed, Gullan is happy to allow that attitude to continue rather than spend time attempting to change minds that can instead be spent ensuring his troops are ever ready for another assault from Sreng.

Much like his youngest son, Gullan has a tendency to put up a front, to be as unshakable as the border defences. While this serves his purpose well at official business, war councils and formal functions, it does hurt his ability to be a father. This trait runs so deeply that he always put his duty before his family, which extends to ensuring his son can take up the mantle after him, and thus his reliance on his family Crest. (See “Crest of Gautier, Lance of Ruin and other details” further below.)

 Margravine Eloise Ambre Gautier

Naming Inspirations

I didn’t think too deeply about choosing this name. I just like it. Sue me.

Personality/details of note

Eloise is a person of striking contrast to her husband. She is softly spoken, warm and kind-hearted. That said, in regard to her family and the expectations placed upon them, she often finds her hands tied in what she can actually do for her children. She would have loved nothing more than to coddle them but knew that would only harm them in the long run.

Eloise’s health has never been the greatest, little energy and of low appetite. Pregnancy and childbirth were great ordeals for her, which is why they stopped having children after Sylvain. A family that places such importance on passing on their Crest wouldn’t reasonably – I believe – stop at only one.

 Miklan Anschutz Gautier

Naming Inspirations

“Miklan”

Sadly, after much googling, I can’t find anything. This appears to just be a case of “let’s make a name similar to yet distinct from his brother” style of name choice.

“Anschutz”

Not to copy paste some previous things I talked about but “North German (Anschütz): occupational name for someone whose job was to keep a dam or pool filled with water (German anschützen ‘to fill up’), especially a dam above a water channel serving a mill or mine.” TL;DR: He’s a placeholder.

Personality/details of note

Long story short, Miklan was a monster before he got his hands upon the Lance of Ruin.

Short story lengthened; Miklan is a jealous, entitled person without much in the way of a moral compass. There is only one reason he hates his brother, the fact that Sylvain has a Crest and he does not. Children of noble families are tested upon birth to see if they bare one, at least, that’s what Sylvain tells us. It’s possible that only his family does this, and he believes all families are like that, or that some or many families do that, but not all. Still, it’s reasonable to believe that at least House Gautier tests their children for Crest Inheritance at birth.

What kind of person hates a baby? Enough to want them dead and even attempt to kill them himself? Someone who lacks a moral compass.

On that same train of thought, Miklan was disinherited (not disowned) only three years prior to the events of the game. This means that, while he would never be the head of House, he was still in line to inherit something. Perhaps not lands and prestige, but he would have been able to live comfortably. He would have this regardless of being Crestless, and yet, the fact that he wouldn’t have everything is enough to drive him to multiple attempts to murder his brother. It’s difficult to think that this man has any redeeming qualities, considering that fact.

 Sylvain Jose Gautier

Information regarding the origins of Sylvain’s name and its meanings are all over both the wiki and this blog, as is the case with aspects of his personality, so I’m not going to get too into detail about those. Instead, I’m just going to list some fun tibits about his early life.

As a very young child, Sylvain was actually very shy, he was often found hiding behind his mother’s skirts. He didn’t like the way people would look at him, though at the time he didn’t understand it was because of his Crest. It was largely Glenn’s encouragement that got him out of his shell.

 For a long time, he didn’t really know how food worked. That is, he thought all you had to do was place the ingredients in a bowl, put it in the oven, and five minutes later, out comes food. The kitchen staff once caught him trying to place a glass bowl full of flour, too much sugar, an entire stick of butter and three whole eggs (yes, whole, 100% intact) into the oven. He wanted to make a cake for his mother’s birthday.

As seen in Etude and Learning the Melody, Sylvain took piano lessons as a child and had no small amount of talent for it. He gave it up though, believing his family’s encouragement came only from a place of wanting him to have whatever he wants on account of his Crest and not from a place of love.

 Crest of Gautier and the Lance of Ruin

The Crest

Crests are often seen as a status symbol in Fódlan, and it would be reasonable to think that House Gautier is of the same opinion. This is an attitude that Gullan perpetrates in order to secure a successful marriage for his son to pass on his Crest. In truth, however, the importance of the Crest of Gautier is solely to ensure that the Lance of Ruin can continue to be wielded.

Lance of Ruin

Heroes Relics are weapons of incredible power, and the Lance has been used to defend the border with Sreng. The reliance on the weapon to do the task stems from how the Lance has likely become a symbol of ruin to the Srengi people. In fact, the question has been asked; “Why is it that all the Relics have actual names like Areadbhar and Failnaught, and yet only two are Sword of the Creator and Lance of Ruin?” While I cannot speak for the Sword, I believe that the Lance once had a name that was slowly lost to time, gaining its new moniker some years after the formation of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus when it was brought to bear against Sreng.