#silent swordsman rhea | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

argent-vulpine · 4 years ago

Text

The Art of Rising

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Sylvain/F!Byleth

Read it on AO3

He’d told her once, years ago, that he was going to work to become the kind of man she could trust. What he hadn’t said was that he was wanted to be a man she could love, that she could be happy with. Someone she could count on. He didn’t really know when his crush had become something… more.

After she’d fallen, he determined he would keep his promise to her. She was alive; she had to be alive. So he had to keep at it, no matter what.

Even Felix had noticed the difference, though he hadn’t commented beyond a thoughtful hum after seeing Sylvain turn down the offer of a nightcap from a moderately attractive woman.

No one, not even the goddess herself, could have prepared Sylvain for Byleth’s return.

——————

It had been harder than it seemed, getting out of Faerghus so that he could make it to Garreg Mach in time for what should have been the millennium festival, but what would now only be the reunion of the Golden Deer. Hopefully.

Felix came with him, of course, a steadfast friend as always. “Someone’s gotta make sure your dumb self stays alive,” the swordsman had told him.

Neither of them was sure what to expect. They’d heard the rumors of the monastery, that it had fallen to ruin after that devastating first battle, that the Knights of Seiros had scattered when Rhea vanished, most going into hiding from Edelgard’s warpath while the rest tried to find the archbishop.

When they’d managed to get correspondence out, Sylvain had found from Claude that they’d combed the ruins, searching for Byleth. No body was discovered, not a single trace of her had been found anywhere. She’d vanished almost as if she had never even existed, living on in the memory of her students.

Sylvain had taken the news hard, but at the same time… it gave him hope. She hadn’t been found, dead or alive, and she had the power of the goddess. Surely that meant… something?

——————

Their arrival at Garreg Mach went initially unnoticed, despite the early hour, which considering the rumors was a bit of a surprise… until they heard the faint sounds of fighting further into the town. Felix slipped away, drawing his sword; he was of the best use on the ground, where he could use his size and speed to his advantage.

Sylvain, meanwhile, hefted his lance, resettling himself on his horse. It felt so natural now, after years of war and routine practice. Byleth had been right; he was a natural lancer, and he used that gift now, guiding his steed through the town and combining the beating of hooves with the sweeping of his lance, dealing swift justice to the bandits that attacked.

He could hear the distinct timbre of Claude’s voice ringing out from above; looking up, Sylvain caught a glimpse of a wyvern, a flash of golden yellow atop it. An arrow thudded into a bandit that had been turning a corner, dropping him instantly; the Alliance duke gave Sylvain a jaunty salute with an arrow before he was sweeping off to another corner of the town, nocking the deadly projectile as he went.

It was strange how easy it was to fall into a routine with his former comrades. Though their circumstances had changed, and they’d grown into the people he was sure Byleth had known they would be, it shouldn’t have been so easy to rely on Claude – and Leonie, when she appeared – to have his back while he swept through the town. He could even hear Lorenz not far from him, likely doing the same.

He’d fought with these people numerous times, though before it had been largely on foot.

Byleth was right, in the end. This formation, spread out as it currently was, still packed a powerful punch.

He turned a corner, and his heart skipped a beat, breath catching in his throat.

It looked like he would have a chance to tell her exactly that.

——————

Sleeping, she’d said, looking as if she had stepped through time. Or fallen through it, perhaps. Her clothing was as torn and dirty as it had been when they’d last seen her, rushing forward. Nothing about her had changed. He wondered, briefly, if this meant that he was technically older than her now, as frozen in time as she had been.

She’d explained to them what had happened, her memory of the event, when and how and where she’d awoken. They were back at the monastery proper now, in the old Golden Deer classroom.

Byleth walked around the room, seeking out each person individually. Claude had been the one to find her; she’d already caught up with him, the shock of seeing him so grown still there, but duller, replaced by equal shock for everyone else.

He watched her move around the room, speaking quietly to each person. Raphael leaned down enough so that she could ruffle his hair, a soft smile on her lips as she said something to him that made him laugh in that booming voice of his. She exchanged shoulder clasps with Leonie, expressions serious. In this, he could see a glimpse of the mercenary she had once been, and the kind that Leonie had become.

Everyone was different, every greeting tailored to the person. A touch here, soft-spoken words there. Gentle smiles for Ignatz and Marianne; surprise at Lorenz (and perhaps a bit of amusement, too); a startled laugh at something Hilda said, followed by a wry comment that made the pink-haired girl whine; clasping arms with Felix, and a promise to spare later. Sylvain was close enough to hear that exchange, only rolling his eyes a little bit at his friend.

She saved him for last, and he wasn’t sure how he should feel about that.

“Sylvain,” she said, stopping a short distance away and looking up at him. And he realized with sudden clarity that he was taller now, easily a head and a half over her. No wonder she’d needed to stop so far away. If she hadn’t, she surely would have gotten a cramped neck, trying to meet his eyes.

He flushed slightly. “Professor,” he replied, unsure of what to do. Behind Byleth, Felix scoffed silently, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture that Sylvain pointedly ignored.

There was a brief, somewhat awkward silence. “You’re a lot taller,” she said, finally, with a small smile. “I told you the lance would suit you. Have you been practicing your magic?”

He huffed out a little sigh, relaxing the slightest bit. “Yeah, every day. I’m not as good as some, but you were right. It’s a great back-up to have.”

She nodded once, exactly the way he remembered it. “Good.” A pause. “Tea this weekend?” she asked, voice soft.

He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, seeing her expression, he nodded, giving her a soft smile. “I brought some with me.” Just in case, he thought. He imagined she could hear that subtext regardless.

——————

Their ragtag group began immediate work on cleaning up the monastery. Claude wanted to use it as a base of operations, and no one could fault his reasoning on it. It only made sense.

Byleth was there with them, helping to move things. She and Dorothea worked together to make their dorms livable once again, in some cases having to take things from the rooms of nobles they were sure would not be returning. The rug from Hubert’s room went into Dorothea’s; Byleth took the water pitcher from Edelgard’s old space, and spare blankets that had been in the press, largely protected.

The professor had needed to scrounge for a uniform to wear while her own clothes were washed and repaired. Sylvain decidedly did not comment on the way it made her look, though he couldn’t help but appreciate the way it emphasized her curves.

The weekend came around, and things almost felt normal. He willingly took to the stables, finding Marianne already there, and helped her straighten and clean before tending to the few mounts in the stalls. Overhead, he’d caught glimpses of Claude and Leonie leading aerial patrols. Byleth came by with bundles of herbs, harvested from the greenhouse which had been in complete disarray. She’d trimmed back the herbs that had managed to thrive, and was offering small bundles of aromatics to everyone to help freshen up their rooms.

Sylvain took his with a smile of thanks, fingers brushing against Byleth’s and causing a faint flush to stain his cheeks. That night, he tied the herbs to his bed and fell asleep to their pleasant scent.

People had begun trickling back into the monastery, townsfolk returning and setting their homes and shops to rights one by one. It wasn’t as bustling as it had been before, but a slow return to some semblance of normalcy was good.

He caught Byleth in the monastery market the next day, in deep conversation with a merchant. Curious, Sylvain wandered closer; enough to overhear but not so much that he’d interrupt.

“- any news at all?” she was asking, placing things in her basket as they spoke.

“Nothing much. Word’s spread about you all taking back the monastery. There’s a rumor that some of the Knights of Seiros are on their way back to see what’s with the fuss. Us merchants, though, we’re glad to have you back. You need anything special, just ask.”

She nodded, mulling over his words. “Actually… I do have a request.” She leaned forward, beckoning the merchant closer, and began to speak, softly enough even Sylvain couldn’t hear. The merchant looked surprised, but chuckled and nodded.

“Sure enough, I think I can find something along those lines. I’ll send word out right away.”

Byleth gave him a tiny smile and paid for her purchases, turning to face Sylvain, face smoothing back into her typical placid mask. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop, you know,” she said as she approached him.

“It wasn’t really my intent. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I did want to offer to carry your basket for you,” he said, holding a hand out in offering. “You’re much too important to be carting around wares like that.”

There was a moment of hesitation before she sighed, giving in. “Fine, but only because I need to talk to you anyway.”

“Oh? Is our tea canceled?” he asked, frowning. He’d been looking forward to that, as a matter of fact.

She waved a hand in the negative. “Nothing like that. I just… don’t want to talk war during our tea. Starting tomorrow, you and the rest of the Deer will be joining me in the cardinals’ chambers to discuss war strategy and plan our next moves.” She hummed softly, thinking. “One-on-one instruction will resume, too, though it’s as much for your benefit as it is mine. I’d like to see how everyone has improved since… well… since.”

Five years. He had to admit it had been a long time, and he could see she was still struggling with the concept. To her, it had been only a week or so ago. There were going to be lots of changes she would need to grapple with.

“I take it Felix has already gotten you onto the training grounds for a spar?” he asked, laughing at the expression she made. It was subtle, but there, and he was so glad he still knew how to read her.

“He’s still a hot-head, but he has improved a lot. He put up a better fight than before, that’s for certain.” She stopped by another merchant, browsing their wares, and glanced up at him. “I’m expecting your participation in these meetings. Claude has a good mind for strategy but he often gets caught up in his schemes. I need a bit more practicality thrown in.”

She was looking through a stack of games as she spoke, then drew one out and showed it to him. “Are you familiar with this one?”

“Passingly. It’s been a while since I’ve played.”

“Good. So you’ll know the regular rules.” She gave him a brief grin. “There are modified rules I’m almost certain you aren’t aware of, very popular amongst mercenaries.”

From their time spent before the war drinking tea and playing strategy games, he knew that she used them as something of a lesson in tactics, though it was clear they both enjoyed playing in general. That she deemed it important enough to buy for their tea today piqued his interest.

He kept her company as she browsed the merchants’ stalls, carrying her basket the whole while, all the way back to her room at the monastery where she shooed him away so that she could put things away and get things ready for their afternoon meeting.

Sylvain wandered the grounds, unsure of what to do with himself while he waited. He was, perhaps, less surprised than he should have been when Claude popped up from seemingly nowhere, joining him in his stroll around the grounds. They walked in silence for a time, which was the more surprising part, until Claude cleared his throat.

“It’s a little surreal, isn’t it, being back here with Teach, huh?”

“I suppose so. A lot of things are different now, though.” Sylvain glanced sidelong at the duke, who merely grinned.

“And some things haven’t. Teach herself, for example. And… you still like her, huh? After all this time?”

Sylvain shifted away a step or so under the scrutiny. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked. “It’s clear you didn’t think she was dead all this time, either.”

Claude laughed, placing his hands behind his head and giving Sylvain a cheeky wink. “I’m just glad to have my best friend back… and our best hope at winning this. She makes one mighty fine ally.” He paused, his grin turning sly. “Besides, I know when I’m beat. I’ve only ever wanted my friend back, that’s all.”

He caught sight of Hilda and Marianne then, and clapped a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “If you hurt her, you’ll regret it,” was Claude’s final word, the warning in his voice and eyes clear as day. Gone was the joking demeanor; he was quite serious about this. And then, in a flash, that all vanished, replaced by the happy-go-lucky he presented to the world as he jogged to catch up to the two women.

Sylvain watched them go, a thoughtful frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He’d always thought Claude had a thing for the professor, and maybe he had, but there was no hint of a lie in what he’d said. Not even a tiny bit of jealousy, which Sylvain was sure he would have noticed.

Did that mean… that he really had a chance with her, after all?

——————

She was waiting for him in the gazebo that afternoon, the water already heated and waiting, the board game set up in a configuration he’d never seen before, as he’d expected considering her comment earlier. “I’m not late, am I?” he asked, joining her and taking his seat.

“No, I was just early,” she said with a slight smile. “I wanted to get the game prepared.”

Sylvain stretched his legs out, careful not to knock into the table – or Byleth – as he did, before he leaned forward and added a sachet of bergamot to the teapot to steep.

“Fox and Geese,” she said, straightening up the board. “Tell me what you remember about the basic rules?”

He’d expected this, too, and did as requested. The gist of the game was easy to recall: play as either the singular fox or the flock of geese. To win, the fox had to eat all of the geese, while for the geese to win, they had to corner and surround the fox. The cross-shaped board made both of these things difficult enough to be challenging for even the best players.

She nodded. “Well, this version allows the fox to cut through this circle here,” she said, pointing to a thin line marked by a bit of twine, “if the fox is in pursuit of a goose already and it doesn’t stop in the circle. That circle is like an impenetrable fort otherwise.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, leaning forward to study the addition. “The circle can be anywhere on the board?”

“Anywhere at all,” she agreed. “But no bigger than this. Geese inside are protected, but it also means that they can’t surround the fox.”

He studied the board, considering the new rules, and thought. If a few geese could be protected, untouchable, but also unable to attack… interesting. It was a new layer of challenge to an already complex game.

“So, Sylvain�� fox or geese?” Byleth asked, drawing his attention from the board. She checked the tea, seeing it was steeped enough, and poured a cup for each of them, adding cream to hers and stirring carefully.

“Fox to start, I think.”

She nodded, studying the board, and moved the first of her geese.

The game itself occupied much of their time, though they conversed as they played. Every other round, Byleth would change up the rules, dragging from obscurity some variation she’d learned while traveling with her father and his mercenary group.

As they played, she asked him questions about the last five years. It was clear she’d gotten a basic rundown from others and was trying to piece together the larger puzzle, so he told her about the state of things in Faerghus, how he and Felix had slipped across the border in order to make it on time, what he knew of Dimitri’s execution and Dedue’s disappearance.

At no point did she bring up the next steps for the war, only asking about things that had happened while she’d slept. The line of questioning inevitably turned more personal when all other topics had been exhausted.

“How were you doing during all of this?” she asked, now playing the fox and moving her piece to consume a goose. “You’ve told me how Gautier was doing, but not yourself.”

He slid a goose into the protective circle, frowning at the board as a distraction while he figured out what to say to her. “I… I’m not sure,” he sighed, finally. “At first I was just trying to understand what had happened, you know? Edelgard’s attack on the monastery, that dragon that came out of nowhere… what happened to you. So many people were convinced you had died.”

She nodded, having heard as much. Even some of those who’d arrived for the reunion hadn’t harbored much hope that she’d been alive still. Claude had been the most vocal about his certainty she was, evidenced by the meal he’d had waiting when she’d finally arrived so very, very late. “Were you?” she asked, voice tinged with curiosity.

He looked up at her, seeing nothing in her eyes to guide his answer. So… the full truth then? “It was… stages for me. At first, absolutely not. You’d fallen, but no one saw where, or how far. Then as news came in that you hadn’t reappeared, that no one had heard from you… yeah. I thought… I thought perhaps we’d lost you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, mussing it further than usual. “Then, as time went by and no one found your body, no rumors of your capture, nothing… I started to wonder. Surely Edelgard would have made some big show of it if she’d found you, alive or dead.”

Sylvain gave a forced laugh then, looking away. “After a while, it didn’t matter. You weren’t here. We lost Dimitri, and Faerghus began to crumble soon after. What was the use in wondering or waiting?” He hated that he sounded bitter, but… of course he had been. There had been talk, too, people wondering if Byleth had left them. Given up on them, decided it was too much.

After all, she’d lost so much already. Would he have blamed her, if that was what she’d done? No, he didn’t think he would have, though he would have been… what? Angry? Upset? Sad?

“Your move,” she said softly, drawing his attention back to her. When he looked her way, he saw her watching him, scrutinizing him. She blinked, and the expression vanished. “I still don’t know what happened. One moment I was falling… and then the next, I was waking up on the riverbank. I don’t know where I was, how I didn’t starve to death… nothing. That entire time is empty for me. It was like I blinked and suddenly I was here, now.”

“Professor, I just—” whatever he was about to say was cut off by an alarm cry going up through the monastery.

Byleth surged to her feet, turning and grabbing the Sword of the Creator. He hadn’t even noticed it before, and wondered now if she’d been expecting something. Some attack, perhaps? “Sorry, Sylvain, this will have to wait. Head toward the gates as soon as you can,” she said, and then she was off, her coat fluttering behind her as she ran.

——————

Though it didn’t take him long to retrieve his own weapon from the armory, it was still long enough for things to quieten down. By the time he got to the front gate, the alarm itself was over. He could see the banner of the Knights of Seiros as he approached, and saw Claude and Byleth conversing with… was that Seteth? It looked like it.

He stood a short distance away, Lance of Ruin in hand, and was joined a moment later by Felix.

“You’re late,” said the swordsman, gruff.

“I was having tea with the professor when the alarm went out. Had to divert to the armory.”

“Tch. Excuses.” But Felix didn’t push. He was always armed, but he knew a sword was easier to carry around than a lance.

When Byleth turned to walk back through the gate, he stepped into a position behind and to her left, an honor guard. Felix took the opposite side, flanking Byleth – and Claude – as they made their way to the monastery proper. Byleth glanced at him for a brief moment, but said nothing, resuming her conversation with the duke.

Behind them came Seteth and his honor guard, leading a procession of knights back home.

——————

Sylvain had long ago decided that war was unpleasant. It might have been fascinating to read about, to learn and to study, but actively participating was hard in so many ways. The emotional and physical toil it took from those fighting; the smell of blood, of burning bodies and scorched earth and charred wood; the long, sleepless nights spent planning and organizing and hoping that your strategies worked, and planning your tactics for when you knew they wouldn’t.

It was also, in a sense, very boring. If you weren’t in the upper-most ranks, where all the planning fell, then you had a lot to do during the waiting and the planning.

And in this case, he had a lot of extra nothing to do because he was, of all things, recuperating.

His wound hadn’t been so bad that quick, magical healing was necessary, and normal healing was considered better for the body in the long run, so into the infirmary he went, to be stitched up and bandaged and told – very firmly – not to move and certainly not to get up to any funny business.

Byleth had already come and spoken to him once already, ending in an unexpected heart-to-heart chat he hadn’t really been planning for. He’d thought that would be the end of it, that he would remain in the infirmary until Manuela informed him that he was well enough to leave, and things would resume as usual.

Honestly, he should have known better.

The professor returned that evening, carrying a tray piled with food. It was enough for the both of them, he could tell, and she set the tray down on a small folding table before bringing the entire set-up with her to Sylvain’s bed.

“Manuela informed me that you hadn’t had dinner yet, so I offered to bring it to you,” she said by way of greeting.

“You could have eaten your own first. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I could have, yes,” she agreed, giving a simple nod. “I did not. Eat.”

He frowned at her, but she only returned his gaze with a placid one of her own. They locked gazes for a long moment, until he finally looked away, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said after a beat, pulling the tray closer.

Byleth helped by moving the entire table. When she realized it wouldn’t be as easy to sit in a chair and eat, with how close the food needed to be to Sylvain, she simply changed location, nudging his leg over carefully and taking the now-vacant spot.

Not that he minded. He could feel the warmth coming from her as she settled down, the movement shifting his leg until it was resting against her back. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care, instead focusing on eating her own meal.

It was good, and he was hungrier than he’d thought. Sylvain dug in, a pleased hum in his throat at the first bite. He devoured half his plate before he slowed down, looking up at the professor with a grin. “This is delicious. Thanks for bringing me dinner.”

“You need the energy to heal. I need my best lancer fit and ready, after all,” she replied matter-of-factly, though the soft smile accompanying her words suggested a different reason entirely.

For once in his life, he wisely said nothing, preferring to enjoy her company for as long as she was willing to provide it.

——————

It was impossible to tell, really, who was the most shaken by Gronder: himself or Felix. Or perhaps Ingrid, whom they’d managed to talk down, to bring her back to Garreg Mach with them once she’d been convinced they weren’t trying to kill Dimitri or his soldiers.

She’d known, somehow, that Dimitri was alive; she’d joined with him, convinced she could help him… but she hadn’t told them… and now he was dead for real, run through by Edelgard’s forces.

Byleth had made sure he’d been given as good a burial as they could afford, with a promise to return later, after the war, to have him reinterred properly. She’d always been awkward with grief; Ashe’s loss of Lord Lonato had shown them all that, years ago. And even the loss of her own father had seen her in some strange gray area between grief and impassivity.

Still, she tried. She bade the trio sit, gave them hot tea, had the dining hall send dinner to Sylvain’s room, where the trio had crowded after the news had arrived. She did not try to placate, to soothe. It would have been awkward from her at best. So Byleth did what she knew she was good at; she went back to planning the next stage of the war, and the eventual justice for Dimitri.

——————

The war’s end did not come swiftly. Sylvain thought it would be over with Enbarr, with Edelgard’s capture, surrender… or, as it happened, death. He was there, at the end, watching as Byleth took the final blow, witnessed Edelgard’s sadness and, oddly, her acceptance of the end.

Byleth could not afford compassion, but he knew, having passed by the room she’d claimed that night, that it had been a difficult moment for her. He knew that she had genuinely liked Edelgard and Dimitri both, and that for her, their existence as something like friends was still very fresh in her mind.

She’d done what she had needed to do to end a war, and now it seemed as if that wasn’t the end after all.

Sylvain passed her door again, later in the evening, and saw light seeping through the cracks. “Professor?” he called, knocking on the door. This late at night, she should be sleeping. Then again, he should have been, as well, but everyone seemed to have a lot on their minds.

“Come in,” she said, voice muffled.

He opened the door, taking in the lamplight, the fireplace burning away, and the professor herself, leaning forward in a chair at a desk she’d claimed for herself, fingers pulling through green strands, frustration evident in every line of her body.

She looked up at him, noting his presence, though there was no surprise evident on her features. A half-eaten plate of food sat beside her, gone cold long ago. “Is there something I can help you with, Sylvain?” she asked, weariness heavy in her tone.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing, Professor,” he said, finding another chair and dragging it over to where she sat. “You look like you need some help tiring yourself out.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him, but his signature smirk was gone. She frowned. “If you’re suggesting…” she began warningly.

“What? Oh! No!” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I mean, if you wanted to… maybe.” At her glare, he raised his hands in front of him. “Kidding! I’m kidding! No, I was meaning more, like… talking it out? Or getting your mind off things somehow. I, uh… I have one of those board games with me, if you’d like to play?” he offered.

Her features softened slightly at that, some look he couldn’t quite place lurking in the depths of her pale green eyes. “I would like that, I think,” she finally said.

“I’ll go get it, then. Won’t be but a minute.”

He slipped out of the room and nearly raced to the one he’d been housed in, digging out the board game and, as an afterthought, a sachet of tea. Neither of them were liable to even want sleep any time soon. Might as well make the most of it.

She made no comment on the addition, instead glancing toward the fireplace. A kettle rested on a table near the hearth, and a pitcher of water. He poured the water and settled the kettle on a hook, swinging it over the fire to let it heat. Magic might have been faster and easier, but they both had exhausted their skills that day, fighting through to Edelgard.

Sylvain busied himself with that while Byleth cleared space for the game, setting up the board and the pieces.

When everything was ready, he joined her, pouring hot water into the kettle and adding the bergamot sachet. He indicated that she should take the first move, and so she did, her tactician’s mask sliding into place as she watched the board.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. They were nearly to the end of their first round, half a cup of tea each already downed, before either broke the soft silence that had descended. “I wanted her to surrender,” Byleth said, soft.

He nodded. He’d been close enough by then to see that, but not so close he’d heard what the emperor had said to change Byleth’s mind.

“I wanted to spare her. I think… I think she knew that. And… she knew that I couldn’t.” Byleth swallowed, the words thick on her tongue. “Claude’s future, what he wants… it’s what I want, too. And I believe, I really believe, that Edelgard wanted it, as well. But her methods… how she was getting there… they were all wrong.”

“She was doing what she felt she had to do. I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“But?” prodded the professor, having heard his silent addition.

“But I agree. The reasons may have been sound; her methods were not. I think she trusted that you would carry on where she couldn’t… in a way that she couldn’t.”

Byleth stared at him, searching – for what, he wasn’t sure – before she nodded, the movement slight. “Maybe.” She moved a piece, then looked up at him again. “What is it that you want, Sylvain? Why are you here, fighting, with us?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Professor. You can see right through me, can’t you?”

She smiled then, a tentative thing, while shaking her head. “I can’t, though. Not the way you seem to think.”

“Maybe not. But you’re observant. Surely you’ve figured it out by now?”

“Hm.” The sound was non-committal. Perhaps a little thoughtful.

But for once, he thought he could read her just as easily as she seemed to read him. They said nothing else, returning to the game, until it was finally time to bid each other good night.

——————

“Do you trust me, Teach?” Claude asked, looking at her before turning his attention back to the man standing across the battlefield.

Sylvain shifted behind them, nervous concern radiating from his body. Even Felix was on edge, knuckles white around his sword, though he had not yet drawn it. Nemesis was no joke… but to face the ten Elites, too… ancestors… the ones who’d started this all…

His grip on his lance tightened, resolute.

“I’ve always trusted you, Claude,” remarked Byleth, her tone so calm and even that it eased tensions just by its existence. She turned, sweeping her gaze along her friends, her former students, settling at last on Sylvain with a long look he couldn’t quite decipher. “I trust all of you.” She wrapped her fingers around the Sword of the Creator, raising it up to point at their enemy, and while her eyes hardened for battle, for the first time any of them could recall, she did not look like the Ashen Demon of old. “Let’s win this. For all of us.”

——————

Nemesis fell, once and for all. The Elites were defeated, sent to their final graves by their own descendants. It should have been a night for revelry, for celebration of the end of a long war. Instead, everything was quiet, introspective.

Sylvain found Byleth on the edge of the field, leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, Sword of the Creator at her side., though she made no move to grab it as he approached. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, but still she gave him the ghost of a smile. “Come to check on me, Sylvain?” she asked, cracking one eye when he was only a few steps away.

“Caught me out, huh?” He leaned his lance against the tree before joining her on the ground, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

“You have a very distinct footfall,” she murmured with a sigh. “I’ve been able to pick it out of a crowd for a long time now.”

His heard thudded in his chest. “Professor, I…”

“I really need you to stop calling me that.” She opened both eyes properly, tilting her head to look up at him. “You know my name. I’d prefer that you use it.”

“Heh. I guess you’re right. It was just… easier, I guess. We all look up to you, you know.”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” she said, deadpan.

He laughed then, nudging against her shoulder with his. “You know what I meant.”

“Hm.” An agreeing sound. Thoughtful.

The pair sat like that for a long time, looking out over the field, watching the stars come out one by one as the sky darkened. When Byleth leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder, Sylvain almost didn’t dare breathe. After a moment he hesitantly moved his arm, resting it around her shoulders and pulling her in close against his side.

She made no comment, no move to get away. It seemed, in fact, that it was what she’d wanted. Perhaps what she’d been waiting for.

He could have stayed in that moment forever, if Hilda hadn’t interrupted, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, to tell them that dinner was ready and they should come eat.

When he helped Byleth to her feet, he thought, briefly, about saying something, until she held up a hand to stop him. “We have a long march ahead of us. Eat and get some rest. Talk to me later, when you’re ready.”

——————

He was so ready that he was early, watching the sky from the window while he waited for Byleth. He didn’t know when, exactly, only that somewhere along the way, his simple attraction had grown to a crush, which had eventually morphed into love. She saw him for who he was, not what he was, and that was something he didn’t think he could ever fully repay. But he’d try. He’d try for the rest of their lives, if that’s what it took. He only hoped that she accepted him in this, too.

Happily ever after had seemed like a pipe dream at the start of the war. Now… now it a possible reality.

The sound of boot-heels on stone drew his attention and he turned, a genuine smile on his face as he waited for that reality.

#long fic #sylveth weekend 2020 #sylveth #sylvain jose gautier #byleth eisner #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #golden deer sylvain #golden deer

27 notes · View notes

liliaceaae · 2 months ago

Text

back to our regularly scheduled rhea brainrot!

some explanations under the cut ^^

top 5 saddest rhea moments 😹🙀

1. Eating her devil fruit

One night, Rhea finally had enough of being forgotten and ignored by her family and ran away to the forest, planning to never come back. She thought that if she was “gone for good,” it would make them realize their mistake.

Over the course of a week, she sustained herself off of the diverse plant life, and learned survival skills by following the patterns of a family of wildcats.

However, only while watching the mother cat gently care for her cubs did Rhea realize that no one had come looking for her. She had purposefully stayed near the edges of the forest, hoping that maybe someone would find her. There among only the trees, she cried until her chest hurt; unheard, unseen, & forgotten.

She spends one more night out in the woods, running low on accessible food sources in the forest shallows. She spots a new fruit that she’s never seen before, and in a moment of naivety, cuts a piece and pops it into her mouth. So shocked from the bitterness, she instinctively swallows the fruit. Effectively traumatized, she leaves the rest of the fruit for the animals and heads home.

There was no one to greet her when she arrived home, no greeting in the following days, no greeting from even the townspeople. No one had noticed she had even left, and somehow, she felt more unheard than before.

2. Learning to be selfish

The Whitebeards notice the way Rhea doesn’t ask for things the way kids normally would. Over the smallest requests, she would avert her eyes and bow her head. When shown the barest act of patience or compassion, her eyes would gloss over a little bit.

Marco, being the one she trusts the most, decided to address this. Through various conversations, Marco attempts to piece together the life Rhea lived before setting sail. She would talk about God and punishment, the sea and vengeance, earning and losing love through action. While much of her worries were padded in metaphor, wether from fear of admission or simply the phrases she was fed, Marco could gather that her sense of self worth was too damaged for a girl of 10 years old.

On a day where Rhea was feeling particularly vulnerable, she finally tells Marco about her family. How she was forgotten in place of the new “first son” of the household; how she made herself small so that, maybe, she’d be good enough of a daughter to be remembered. She laughs emptily about it, claiming she understands the pressures of having a second child.

“Well, It’s their first life after all,” She gives her parents too much grace for Marco to accept. “But isn’t it yours too?” That short sentence is enough for Rhea’s world to break.

She’s overwhelmed with all the things she wants but never asks for. “Tell us what you want, and you’ll have it. You can be selfish, you’re a pirate!” Marco encourages. “I want to have my hair brushed,” she starts at a whisper. Her voice grows louder as she states her greedy desires. “I want to be hugged,” “I want to be noticed,” “I want to be loved!”

She’s sobbing into the fabric of her too-big sleeves by the end, and Marco holds her close in comfort.

3. Father

Her struggle to feel worthy is a difficult unlearning process. No matter the words of support that her brothers gave her, it didn’t make the feeling of weakness go away. When you’re surrounded by men as strong as monsters, it’s difficult to not compare your own abilities.

Her feelings of inferiority are especially supported when she needs to be comforted from whispers of battle on the wind. Too many times has Rhea watched images of her brothers’ blood from the backs of her own eyes. Her observation haki forces her to listen to their panicked heartbeats from where she tucks herself away in the smallest corner of the ship.

“She’s just soft,” she overhears Thatch say, after another dizzying afternoon of trying to press the remnants of wounds not her own out of her head. “I know, and that’s why I’m worried.” Marco responds quietly.

She tries to swallow her pain, make herself tougher in order to earn her place in the crew. She fails relatively quickly, lashing out due to the suppression of her hurt.

Whitebeard confronts her when she’s sulking while walking along the railing late at night. He calls her over to his throne, reprimanding her for her dangerous habit. She’s quiet when crawling into his lap, and still while wrapped into his cape.

“Rhea, did you know, I wanted to say yes. The very moment you first asked to fly under my flag.” Rhea was confused, Pops was rarely this sentimental unless he was drunk. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. “On these seas, there’s no guarantees. I could tell you were a child who deserved a long and happy life, there was no guaranteeing that if I had immediately said yes.”

“I don’t understand…” her confusion and hurt grows, “You don’t have to. What matters is now; and now, I see I made the right choice. I want you here, and I’m glad that you’re my daughter.”

The words from Pops felt concrete, they held the truth that Rhea was seeking. It extinguished her tangled feelings of jealousy and insecurity; The words she needed from a father.

“Even if I’m useless?” “You don’t need to prove your value to be loved! Who do you think I am, Big Mom!?” Whitebeard jokes, and Rhea laughs easy.

4. & 5.? Permanence

Rhea holds onto familiarity with desperation. She refuses to let go of things that are long gone, deluding herself that somehow she’ll get it back.

She had blissfully ignored death, convincing herself that her family was untouchable by those things. Ignoring the signs of age and wear on her crewmates. When Thatch dies, and the Paramount war happens, and she can no longer cling onto childish fantasies.

Rhea’s birthday is shortly after the Grudge war. Her brothers ask her over the snail what she wants, promising they’ll get her anything to cheer her up from their bleak loss streak. All she wants is to go home.

She misses the rock of the waves when she sleeps; The old doors that she needed to close with a little more force; The faces of her family and the easy conversations. Now, her heart twists at the thought of the Moby Dick. The ship sits in pieces under its enemy’s water.

She feels nothing but sickness when she turns 21. The thought that she had out-aged Ace haunted her all day. She couldn’t stand it.

#OK YAP SESH OVER #i am not a good writer whatsoever but i don’t have the time/energy to make these into full comics #so please bear with my crude explanations 😭 i’m cringing at myself #also oc x canon with the WBs is kinda scary bc idk if anything is ooc #aaa whateverrrr #also tweaking her design a TEEENY bit #like barely noticeable change lol #one piece oc #one piece original character #oc x canon #silent swordsman rhea #my art

36 notes · View notes