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I.
The first time Sylvain noticed the small, white flowers was when Felix was visiting, his tiny fingers pointing at the plant sprouting from a cluster of small rocks near the stream.
“Look Syl! Rock flowers!”
They both scrambled for a closer look, hovering over the blooms. From behind them rang a soft laugh, and the flowers were suddenly cast in shadow.
“They’re called snowdrops, Felix. We had some on the Fraldarius grounds as well, though none have been in the gardens for a few years, now.”
Felix looked up to where his father towered over them, his face an open book of childhood curiosity. “Can we get some?”
He chuckled, lifting Felix to sit him on the rock above them. “Perhaps.”
Sylvain looked up to where Felix’s tiny pout was forming, then back down at the flowers. An idea flashed through his mind.
“Hey, Fe! What if we look for more and bring them back to my house? We can plant them in the backyard. That way whenever you visit, we can look at them together!”
Felix’s smile lit up the whole clearing, and Sylvain couldn’t control his own from splitting across his cheeks.
“Yeah! Can we go look, dad?”
Rodrigue sighed and shook his head, but gestured to the surrounding trees. “Don’t go too far, boys. I’ll go see what your brother is up to.”
Two hours later, the two were huffing breathlessly up the back lawns, hands full of flowers carefully pulled up from the root.
“Where are we gonna plant them?” Felix asked, cheeks ruddy from exertion. Sylvain cast his eyes around, stopping dead at the old well near the entrance to the stables.
“How ‘bout over there? It’s all rocky and there's a lot of dirt. Come on!”
They raced to the broken down structure. Felix peered inside, his voice echoing around the stone walls.
“It’s scary down there. What happened to it?”
Sylvain shugged, kneeling to begin digging into the soft dirt at the base. “Dunno. There’s a better one up near the back entrance so we just always use that one now. Come on, Fe, help me dig!”
It took the rest of the afternoon for the flowers to be scattered around the circumference. Felix giggled as he swiped a muddy hand across Sylvain’s cheek.
“Gross, now you’re all dirty!”
“I’m dirty?” Sylvain gestured at Felix, to the smudges on his nose where he’d been wiping at it, to the brown knees of his good trousers. “You’re worse than me!”
The sounds of their laughter lingered on the still, spring air.
❀
“Sylvain?”
He could barely hear the call, faint and distorted from where he sat chest deep in the murky water, the breath all but dashed from his lungs. He tried shifting and whined; everything was on fire, his ankle definitely broken. Curling against the stone wall, he shut his eyes. Maybe when they opened, he would find himself waking up on the dawn of Felix’s arrival, safe and warm in his bed.
“Sylvain?!”
They wouldn’t find him here. No one knew where to look.
Did anyone really care about finding him anyway? Miklan said they didn’t. Maybe he was right. It’d already been hours. Maybe Felix had come and Miklan had told Felix what he said he would—that Sylvain no longer wanted to be friends, and to go home. What if he listened? What if right now, Felix was riding back to Fraldarius, never to visit again?
The thought brought fresh tears to Sylvain’s eyes, and they dropped into the darkness below.
“SYL-VAIN?!”
Sylvain’s head snapped up to the circle of dying light overhead. Because now that the voice was closer, he realized who it was. Felix hadn’t left the estate at all—he was out looking for him. Gathering what he could of his weak breath, Sylvain shouted back:
“Felix!”
Silence. Sylvain’s wide eyes darted around the edge of the stone, but all he saw were gray clouds speeding across a foreboding sky. He hugged his knees tighter, dropping his face against them.
“Felix…” he whispered again, voice cracking.
Alone, alone, alone.
A scuffle overhead and flakes of mortar splashed into the water around him.
You deserve to die alone.
“S-Sylvain?”
This time when he looked up, a splotch of black interrupted the endless void.
Felix doesn’t care about you.
But Felix was right there, his eyes frantic as his fingers fumbled around the moldy rope tied around the handle.
He’ll leave you, just like everyone else.
The loud splash as it was tossed next to him, Felix calling down for him to pull himself up, wailing at the top of his lungs for help.
Others must’ve come, the maids, his father, he wasn’t sure who else, maybe Felix’s father. Not Miklan. At some point his numb, bent fingers must’ve grabbed onto the rope. The world became wide again, blurry sights of sprawling lawns and the towering estate. Shivering, cold. Felix was always cold, Sylvain always warmed him up. He couldn’t do that now.
“Felix, stay back!”
“No! Syl!”
Felix’s face swam in front of him as he laid next to the well, tear tracks glistening like the glitter on capped waves. Turning his head, he found himself face to face with the familiar white flowers, crumpled from his body. That's when the panic set in.
“Our flowers,” he gasped, eyes rolling as someone touched his ankle and sparked blinding pain up his spine, “don’t let—they’re getting ruined—”
“Sylvain, stay still,” he heard his father scolding from somewhere above him, but he didn’t care. He fumbled for his friend, clinging to his overcoat.
“Please, Fe, save them, please—”
And Felix, confused and trembling and red-faced, gripped him back, a resolve forming in his eyes that would become all-too-familiar in their later years.
“Don’t worry Syl. I'll protect them.”
I'll protect you.
❀
A timid knock and a slow creak sounded through the peaceful stillness. When Sylvain lifted his head, it was to the sight of Rodrigue ushering in a red-faced Felix—who, upon finding Sylvain sitting up and alert in bed, lit up like the kingdom palace and rushed over, almost tripping over himself in his haste.
“Syl! You’re awake!” He stopped short at the edge, looking suddenly shy. The bedroom door shut softly.
“Felix?” Casting aside the book he’d been reading, Sylvain shifted closer, the dark cloud that’d hovered over his head dissipating in the face of Felix’s smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you for weeks!”
“Dad said you were healed enough for a visit,” Felix huffed, tapping his toe against the rug.
Was he? Sylvain couldn’t remember, wasn’t sure how long he’d spent in the stuffy room with the curtains drawn and fire blazing, just that he’d been asleep for most of the sickness he’d caught in the cold.
Felix still looked nervous, and Sylvain noticed he hadn’t even tried to climb into the bed, hands clasped tight behind his back.
“I’m not sick anymore,” Sylvain said, scooting to make a space for his friend, “so you can come up if you want. You don’t gotta stay down there.”
Continuing to stare at the carpet, Felix muttered “I, um, have a surprise.”
Sylvain blinked. “A surprise?”
Felix nodded, and then without warning he jumped up onto the mattress, revealing a small glass with a single snowdrop sitting inside it.
“I made sure our flowers were safe,” he said, a tone of pride behind the words, “and dad helped me find the best one for you since you can’t go outside yet. He said I can even put some in our garden back home now so we always have some.”
When Sylvain stayed silent, only gazing at the tiny bloom in Felix’s hands, he deflated.
“You don’t like it?”
“No,” Sylvain whispered. Felix’s bottom lip started to tremble, and Sylvain broke out into a wide, cheeky grin. “I love it!”
Plucking the glass from Felix, he set it on the side table before launching himself at his friend, Felix gasping as Sylvain dug fingers into his sides and tickled.
“H-hey! Syl! S-stop!”
When their fight finished, both panting and sprawled on their backs, Sylvain turned his head, still smiling.
“Thanks Fe,” he said softly, “for saving our flowers.”
Felix turned too, dark eyes becoming downcast in the firelight. “Well not all. A couple got squished. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Fe.” He pulled himself up, back propped against the headboard. “When I get better, we can always plant more, okay? Now come on, I was just in the middle of our favorite story before you came. Pass me our book!”
Felix rolled over for it, sliding up until he was tucked next to Sylvain’s side. “Okay. Loog and the Elites?”
“The very one,” he said, pulling the blankets up until all that remained of Felix was his head poking out of the fabric. “And I’m at your favorite part, too.”
Sylvain began to read aloud, the room filling with tales of great nights and battles long past. The fire burned low, curtains cast open to reveal a puffy-clouded sky and the scent of wildflowers.
The snowdrop sat quietly alongside them, basking in a faint ray of sunshine.
II.
“Found another one!”
“No fair,” Felix muttered, ripping out a tuft of grass in frustration. Sylvain grinned.
“I’m collecting them for both of us, Fe. My clovers are your clovers.”
“But I want to find my own.”
Sylvain came and plopped next to him, scanning the meadow in which they sat. “Felix, there are definitely tons more. We won’t stop until you find one, okay? Here, what about this one?”
Felix cast a glare at the flower Sylvain was holding out. “That’s not a clover. Just a dumb dandelion.”
“Dandelions aren’t dumb! They’re pretty. And they smell nice.”
“Hm.”
Felix plucked his own, twirling it in his fingers, thinking. Sylvain recognized the second his expression turned malicious, but wasn’t fast enough to stop the flower from being smushed against his face.
“Augh! Hey!”
He wiped at the small stains of yellow, his friend’s toothy grin prominent as he watched. Sylvain sighed, “so cruel, Fe,” but he secretly tucked the flower in his shirt pocket for safe keeping all the same.
It wasn’t until Felix had finally found his own four-leaf-clover that they stopped, finding relief under the shade of the forest fringes. Sylvain relished in having Felix all to himself today—Miklan now always under a close eye at the estate, Glenn headed to the capital with Rodrigue.
A brief moment of freedom, increasingly rare with each passing day.
The breeze kicked up petals and dandelion seeds, sending them scattering in the air. Reaching into the sunlight to pick one still intact, Sylvain studied the little cluster clinging to the stem.
“Any of your wishes ever come true on one of these, Fe?”
The other boy scrunched his nose from where he was resting against a tree. “Glenn says wishing is for wusses.”
Sylvain rolled his eyes, grass-staining his knees as he walked on them to pick more. “Glenn is just jealous that none of his wishes have come true.”
Felix looked skeptical, but Sylvain knew his interest was piqued. He returned with a bundle, and handed half over; when Felix accepted them eagerly, Sylvain knew he already had him convinced.
“I’ll start,” Sylvain said, holding the first one to his lips and breathing deep. “I wish we get beef stew for dinner, the kind you really like.” That was a little bit of a cheat—Sylvain already knew it was planned. But what better way to prove wishes worked than to provide at least one guarantee?
Grinning, Sylvain glanced to where Felix was watching the seeds flying away. “Okay, now you go.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to say wishes out loud,” Felix countered.
Sylvain shrugged. “I never noticed a difference. But you can keep it to yourself, if you want.”
Pursing his lips tight, Felix stared at the flower with a concentration to rival his father, and Sylvain suppressed a giggle.
“Relax, Fe, it’s just a wish! And we have plenty. Just wish for whatever comes to mind.”
“Shhh,” he hissed crossly, and Sylvain sat back on his heels, eyes sparkling. A loud inhale, then, “I wish Glenn’s next wish comes true,” Felix announced triumphantly, blowing so hard he practically spit on the seeds.
This time Sylvain’s laugh rang loud around them.
They blew through their wishes, each more dramatic than the last: a new sword, more horses, a house between their estates that they could have endless sleepovers in. They each held one left, and Sylvain inclined his towards Felix.
“Last one. Wanna wish together?”
Felix nodded, holding up his flower, too. Sylvain looked down at his dandelion, waiting for its inevitable fate. His wish for a double-seater saddle died in his throat before he could make it, distracted by the excitement blooming in Felix’s eyes—excitement he always wanted to live behind them.
In dreams he could still see the fear in them, the fear he had created just over a year ago, and it scared him. Sylvain never wanted it there again. It may be a dumb wish for a ten year old to make, but he needed to make it all the same. To keep Felix happy. To be a place in which he could always be safe. To always be together.
When they both blew their dandelions it was in silence, and they looked to each other, surprised.
“You didn’t say yours,” Sylvain said. Felix crossed his arms, cheeks flaring red.
“Well you didn’t either!”
“I guess I—” Sylvain cut off, rubbing at the back of his hair. For some reason he found it harder to look at Felix, heart beating quick. “I guess I just really want this one to come true,” he admitted.
“More than the sleepover house?”
Smiling, Sylvain dared to reach into the space between them, palm open. “Yeah. Even more than that.”
When Felix took it, something inside Sylvain clicked into place—though it would be years before he understood what it was.
“And I don’t want it to just be a wish. So um, what if it’s not? What if—” he swallowed, feeling silly, “—what if we promised, too? Y’know like Loog, in the tale.”
Felix looked confused, but he didn’t release their hands. “How do you promise a wish?”
“Well, this wish wasn’t for anything that I wanna get, like a horse. This wish was for you, that I—that we’d always be together. Like Pan was for Loog.”
But different, Sylvain thought. This wasn’t meant to be an oath between king and advisor. This was something more, something on even ground. Friendship, but greater. Something Sylvain had only ever known to exist between the two of them.
But Felix’s eyes widened and he shuffled even closer in excitement.
“Okay, me too! I wanna promise my wish too.”
Sylvain grinned. “Oh yeah? What was yours?”
It was Felix’s turn to look embarrassed, darting his eyes away. “That we’d be friends forever so I can be around so you don’t get hurt anymore.”
“You—” Sylvain blinked, caught off-guard. “You wished… for me?”
“Duh,” Felix huffed, and it was so him, so sure even in his embarrassment, that Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to argue it.
“Okay then, Felix. Let’s promise then. We’ll stay together forever, okay?”
“And you won’t get hurt anymore,” Felix added.
Sylvain sighed dramatically. “And I won’t get hurt anymore,” he repeated. “But only if you promise that when you get scared, you’ll come find me. Don’t leave me behind, okay? And I won’t ever leave you, either. Not until we die.”
“Together?”
Sylvain tightened his grip, smiling down into Felix’s apprehensive face. “Yeah. Together.”
❀
It was years later when Felix’s first wish came true. Sylvain just wished that Glenn’s wish hadn’t been to serve Dimitri as a knight. There was no time after that for innocent wishes or promises—though Sylvain kept the most important one tucked safe in his heart. It was the one thing he’d never allow himself to break.
III.
They changed; it was inevitable for anyone, but so drastic it gave Sylvain whiplash. Felix’s smiles less frequent, then barely showing at all. Both taking the place of brothers gone; one dead, one scattered to the wind. The academy was both a respite and full of grim awakening—a lot of killing. A lot of regret.
Now, two brothers dead, and Sylvain drowned in it for a while. But, just as when they were kids, Felix found him. Pulled him out of his sorrow. As the months passed, Sylvain learned what it meant to keep on living, guided by a stubborn hand that wouldn’t let go.
And anyway, it wasn’t all bad here, especially not on days like today. Bright, clear skies, their only tasks easy morning chores and afternoon training.
Sylvain could still taste the sweat (and a little blood) on his tongue from his sound defeat earlier at the hands of one particularly brutal swordsman. Not that he was complaining; it’d left the other in a better mood, and Sylvain would always relish in the untempered light behind Felix’s eyes when he won.
And then, of course, there was this: sitting on the worn bench under a flowering dogwood, almost completely obscured by blossoms, and Felix actually allowing it. Sylvain was rarely so lucky, and planned on making the most of it. He grinned over to where Felix was lounging against the wood, head tilted back to survey the branches above.
“Almost like we’re floating, huh, Fe?”
Felix shot him a flat glance. “Hmph. Not ideal for seeing enemies, if we were attacked.”
Sylvain snorted. “Attacked? The only risk of attack here is by Annette jumping us and finally getting the one-up on you.”
But even with Felix’s scathing retort and furrowed brow, he looked softer, somehow, the glow of sunlight filtering through the trees and reflecting off the hundreds of petals illuminating his skin in an almost otherworldly glow. Forget the flowers; they were only here to enhance Felix’s beauty, because Gods. He was the prettiest thing in sight. It was funny how Sylvain didn’t question these thoughts at all. He’d always known Felix was attractive—but in this light, it felt like he was having some kind of revelation.
“What?”
Oh, Sylvain had been staring, but it was worth it for the delicate blush dusting high across Felix’s cheekbones. He didn’t really think as he reached up and plucked a bloom suspended above their heads, tucking it behind Felix’s ear in one smooth motion.
“It suits you.”
Felix blinked, caught off guard and surprised because of it. The expression looked good on him: eyes widening, the blush darkening to match the inside of the petals framing his face. Sylvain held his breath; it was unspoken, their lingering touches, their heavy glances, the connection between them. But maybe Sylvain was wrong. Maybe Felix would rip it from his hair, and storm off, and Sylvain would be left to mourn the fact that he’d ruined an otherwise perfect moment.
Instead, Felix brushed his hand against it gingerly—as though afraid it would fall apart if he risked anything more—grumbled something incoherent, and slumped back on the bench with arms crossing tight over his chest. Sylvain wasn’t fooled by his feigned annoyance. Especially not with the faintest hint of a smile lingering over Felix’s lips.
If he didn’t know better, Sylvain would say he was dreaming. A grin split wide over his face.
“Hey.”
A grunt.
“Do you think birds like the flowers too?”
He could feel the eyeroll directed his way as Felix sighed, “Idiot. And no.”
“Aww, come on. There’s gotta be a reason they sing so much when they’re in trees.”
“Tch.” Felix swung his head to look back at him. “They’re defending their territory. Nothing more.”
Sylvain grinned at that. “A typical Felix answer if I ever heard one.”
“Even so. I’m right.”
“Says you. Bet Marianne would disagree.”
Felix huffed. “Go ask her opinion, then.”
“Hmm…” He pretended to consider it, before folding his hands behind his head and winking. “No thanks. Too busy enjoying our secret spot. No girls allowed.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And yet, here you still are.”
Felix shot him a glare. “Fine, then I’ll go.”
Sylvain lolled his head against the slats to meet it head on. “No, you won’t.”
It came out softer and way less teasing than he intended, tinted with an insecurity he’d meant to hide. Felix continued to study him, expression morphing into something indecipherable. Whatever he saw in Sylvain’s face made him sigh, eyes closing momentarily before he returned his attention upwards. His quiet response was almost carried away by the breeze.
“I won’t.”
A rare, vulnerable silence fell between them. The flower sitting so sweetly in its perch—such a contrast to the sharp places of Felix’s jaw— made Sylvain completely lose his train of thought whenever he caught a glimpse of it. It wasn’t enough for Felix to be beautiful, was it? He had to be lethal, too.
Familiar voices echoed loud across the courtyard and they both jumped, the moment shattering between them. Felix darted to his feet, swiftly removing the flower from his ear, and Sylvain felt a twinge of disappointment. Instead of dropping it to the ground, however, Felix paused.
Turned. Hesitated. Then stuck it in Sylvain’s hair instead.
“Stupid. Looks better on you,” he muttered before darting from their cover, ears tipped pink.
Sylvain had to disagree. He smiled to himself, reaching up to run his fingertips over the soft petals, a feeling lying long-dormant inside him blossoming to life.
IV.
The crunch of frozen grass under hard soles echoed loud in the silence as Sylvain jumped from his mare. Though his reasons for being here were serious in nature, he couldn’t help the way his heart leapt when he saw the familiar flash of teal through the thinning trees.
Grabbing the reins of Buttercup, he closed the remaining distance between himself and the campsite, causing the only other person there to look up from where they were securing down the flaps of a tent.
“You’re too loud,” Felix said with a huff, tying off the last piece of cloth roughly, “if we were in enemy territory you would've been taken out fifty feet back.
“Well it's a good thing we’re not in enemy territory then, huh?” Sylvain led his horse off to graze before striding to the tent, throwing an arm over tense, slender shoulders. “Almost a year and that’s the hello I get? Jeez, Fe, you really know how to make a guy feel unwelcome.”
“Almost a year and you’ve only managed to get even heavier,” Felix grumbled, tossing the arm off him but failing to hide the hint of a smile. Sylvain took to dropping on the nearest log, chin in his hand as he continued to watch Felix prepare camp.
“Mm well, if that’s how you feel then maybe I should take my weight and the meat that helped me gain it off to another camp.”
“Tch. I already told you, you wouldn’t survive half a day out there,” Felix said, but didn’t waste any time in walking over to Buttercup to relieve her of the foodpacks, clearly famished.
But even half-starved, he looked good—too good—leaner, sharper, and not just from living off war rations. The last vestiges of baby fat had fallen from his face, blade honed by real battles and a warrior’s training. No longer was he in the academy garb that Sylvain had gotten used to, replaced by an outfit of his own design—one that distinguished him as both a fighter and from the house of Fraldarius. This was no longer the innocent child Sylvain had grown up with.
And it was torture that, with these changes, Felix had only grown more handsome. Gods, Sylvain was in over his head and he’d just arrived.
“What.”
Of course Felix had caught him staring. It was way past the first time, on both sides. In their academy days, Sylvain would’ve tried to find an excuse for it—but today he only winked, grinned, and said:
“Just wondering when Fraldarius started making them so fine. Really been wasting my time up there in Gautier.”
The eye roll and kick of leftover snow his way was entirely worth the blush spanning Felix’s cheeks, a bright pink contrast in the sea of blue surrounding him. Sylvain was planning on taking full advantage of seeing it as much as possible, for the brief time they were alone.
Once a fire was started (small and short-lived, even in the cold), and the meat was grilled, Felix forewent his aversion to Sylvain’s apparent heaviness to tuck up next to him, the sunset bringing with it a sharp chill that couldn't be staved away. In the silence and peace of fading twilight, Sylvain took to studying the small clearing that was to be their lodging for the evening.
“Hey, Fe,” Sylvain eventually said, nudging them from their silent reverie. “Look over there.” He pointed to the feeble, purple flowers sticking up from the snow, ahead of the season. “Forget-me-nots.”
Felix followed his finger, considering the small buds. “They’re early.”
“Guess they forgot about the North’s second winter, huh? Still. It’s… nice to see. Especially now.”
Felix must’ve heard something in Sylvain’s voice—something he hadn’t entirely meant to escape—because instead of his usual sarcasm, he turned, shoving his finished skewer into the ground.
“Go on.”
“Heh, I guess I just—” He gestured, shrugging. “Well, you know.”
“I don’t. Enlighten me.”
Sylvain dropped his eyes back to his own skewer, twirling in his fingers. “It’s been four years, Felix. Like, how did we even get here? Things are getting worse, these battles more intense. There are days I lose myself. Days when I think maybe—” He swallowed hard. “Maybe we’re fighting a war we can’t win.”
Felix stiffened next to him, and Sylvain dropped his own skewer in favor of wrapping an arm back around Felix’s shoulders. This time, he didn’t pull away.
“But then,” Sylvain continued, softer, “I’ll see signs like the snowdrops. Yeah, they’re a little early, and it’s cold. They might not make it. But they’re still trying, you know? And that gives me hope. Well, that—”
He turned to find Felix already watching him, eyes glittering in the flames of the firelight.
“—and you. Mostly you, if I’m being honest.”
Felix didn’t respond, just continued watching, waiting for the rest of what Sylvain was trying to say. He always knew when there was more—just another thing Sylvain loved about him.
There had been no time to act on any of his intentions once the war hit. Each time he was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Felix, it was in the middle of the battleground, or surrounded by soldiers. No time to stop, even for a moment. And a moment was all Sylvain had needed for years now. Waiting any longer would be… foolish. Idiotic. A waste. He wouldn’t wait any longer. Life over death. Hope over despair. His brain was firing stupidly romantic sentiments now, always the case when he was near Felix. Maybe now was the time he finally voiced some of them.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long.” Cautiously, tentatively, Sylvain slid his gloved palm along Felix’s cheek, yearning to feel the bite of its cold on his skin. “I missed you terribly, Fe.”
It meant something too, that Felix allowed it, that he leaned into the touch. Like they’d both known what this night meant for them, and they’d put any hesitation to the side. This was war, and no one knew what tomorrow would bring.
“It couldn’t be helped—this damned war, my damned father.” Felix’s eyes shut, letting out a slow breath. “But we’re still here. And that’s something.”
Sylvain’s thumb traced the small dot of a beauty mark, the one that had appeared just after his fourteenth birthday. “Yeah. That’s something.”
They lingered there, Sylvain’s thumb continuing its rhythm, Felix’s eyes remaining closed. Sylvain eventually found his forehead resting gently against Felix’s, his own eyes shutting—taking in the feel of him, so alive, so close Sylvain could almost taste him.
Could he, just for tonight?
Unfortunately the cold was finding them fast, and it was at the brush of their noses that Sylvain realized they couldn’t remain out in it.
“Come on,” he whispered, hating to pull away even for a second, “let’s get in the tent.”
If Sylvain was worried the moment would be broken between the two of them, he was wrong. As soon as Felix tied the flaps shut, he turned, wordlessly reaching up to start peeling away Sylvain's armor, layer by layer. Sylvain watched, eyes melting something soft at the sureness of Felix's fingers, of the care he put into each piece as it was removed. However cold it had been outside the canvas, here it felt the temperature was only increasing with each layer Sylvain lost.
When he was finally down to his day clothes and Felix's hands fell away, Sylvain reached forward, undoing the buckles at Felix's side with the same practiced care. It wasn't the first time they'd helped the other with this: practicing in their academy days for training, twice after a minor injury, once because Sylvain had teased Felix that he didn't know how. This was something else entirely, known in the way Felix's breath hitched when Sylvain's fingers caught a sliver of skin at his hip, in the way their eyes continued to find each other, barely illuminated by the oil lamp in the corner.
It was only when he finished his task, that Sylvain hesitated. Just for a moment, wanting this to be right, to be what Felix wanted. Cold fingers found the spaces between his own as Felix stepped closer.
“Sylvain?”
Maybe he was overthinking this. Because really, it all came down to one, simple point.
A smile curled fragile over his face. “Hey.” He lifted Felix’s hand, brushing his lips along the back of it, reverent. “You know I love you, right?” Spoke the only name that mattered. “Felix.” Eyes closing, he pressed another kiss over the last.
When they opened again, Felix was there to pin him to the spot—incredibly close, eyes burning as their hands fell away, mouth quick to replace them. He tasted as sweet as the smell of springtime snowdrops, lips soft as each fragile petal. Sylvain did his best to kiss him with the same gentleness, to savor him as he had each flower in their shared past. He could only hope it was enough.
When they broke apart it was for Sylvain to guide them to their makeshift bed, to strip them of the last barriers separating them and wrap them under blankets.
“Damned furnace,” he heard Felix mutter against his lips, his own laugh swallowed by their next kiss.
It felt good, to have a reason to laugh. To curl against each other as they never had before, melting into each other’s seams like they have always lived there. Laughter turned to sighs, to gasps, to whispers of devotion against fevered skin. If they were only to have this one night together, at least it was with the taste of each other on their tongues. With bodies nestled close, safe, a brief respite from the cruelty surrounding them on all sides.
It was only after Felix’s breathing had evened to a slow cadence, each inhale pressing against Sylvain’s ribs for him to savor, that childish fear gripped Sylvain’s heart. Unbidden imagery of small, purple flowers sprung to his mind. Too early. Freezing. Left to die, and to be forgotten. The question that had been knocking around his head since dinner slipped into the quiet space between them.
“You won’t forget about me… right, Fe?” It was an embarrassing thing to ask—even more embarrassing a thing to worry about—and Sylvain was grateful for the darkness surrounding them, for Felix to already be lost to sleep.
In the morning Felix was gone, as Sylvain knew he would be—a single, slightly wilted forget-me-not taking his place along with a hastily scribbled note.
Idiot. We promised.
V.
So close.
They were so close to the end of the goddessforsaked war, which made it that much worse when the sniper’s arrow found its mark in Felix’s side, Sylvain too far to take the hit for him. And Felix, being Felix, didn’t falter, the shaft snapping violently as he swung his sword in a high arc to take out the mage in front of him. It was only once it was dead that Felix stumbled to the ground.
“Felix!”
Felix was bleeding and Sylvain was kneeling, weapon askew, in the middle of an active warzone. This wasn’t good—in fact it was one of the stupidest things he could be doing, but Felix’s breathing was labored and sweat was dripping from his brow, and all Sylvain could do was cast a silent prayer to a Goddess he wasn’t sure he believed in as he hoisted the trembling form in his arms and dashed for the cover of the woods.
It must’ve worked, because the area was still and silent when he laid Felix in the midst of wild grass and clumps of bright, sprouting flowers. A small miracle.
What wasn’t a miracle was the state of Felix’s injury, oozing red and a color that definitely spoke of poisoned steel. Shit. Sylvain darted his eyes up, to where Felix’s were fluttering, and knew he had two choices: heal him, and risk sealing the poison inside his body to kill him slowly, or dig open the wound and risk more blood loss to fish out the arrowhead. Double shit.
Yanking his gauntlet off with his teeth, he stroked a hand over Felix’s mud-crusted face, a thumb coming to brush the flushed skin under his eyes.
“Hey, Fe. Don’t hate me, alright, but I gotta do something that’s gonna suck. You’d kill me if you were more conscious, but if I don’t do this, you’ll never be conscious again and I am not ready for you, or me, to die.” He took a deep steadying breath and ripped at the fabric near the wound, leaving a good hole for him to see the full extent of it. “If you can hear me,” Sylvain muttered, putting his gauntleted hand on either side to hold the gash open, “brace yourself and breathe, okay?”
And without further ado, he dug his fingers deep into the bloodied wound.
Felix may have not been conscious before, but at the moment of contact his eyes snapped open and he gasped loudly, hands feebly lifting to push Sylvain away.
“Hey, Fe, it’s okay, hey, look at me, up here.”
Felix’s eyes, hazed and wide, snapped up to Sylvain’s face. From his lips, a small trickle of blood.
“What—nnngh—”
Sylvain’s fingers pushed deeper and Felix’s question turned into a high, pained moan, hands falling to pull tuffs from the grass.
“That’s it, just look right here, okay? I’ve got you.” Concentrating, his fingers slipped crimson, pushing another half inch deeper until—there. The hard contact of broken metal. Careful not to cut his own fingers on the fragment, he gripped and tugged gently, breaking eye contact to watch the jagged edge appear from the wound, along with another gush of blood.
Above him, Felix was panting, his body trembling and eyes falling shut. Sylvain released his left hand from Felix’s side in favor of sliding it under Felix’s head, cradling him softly.
“It’s out, Fe. You’re doing so well, just hang on. I’m gonna heal you, it’ll all be okay.” His voice betrayed him, shaky and hoarse as he threw the shard away and pressed his already slick hand against the bloody gash. “Stay with me.”
A weak light emanated from his palm, surrounding the wound and slightly tapering the blood flow. Felix’s eyes dragged open again, head lolling to take in the clump of forest he was laying in.
“Why ‘s… everything pink?”
“They’re flowers, Fe. What, don’t you think it’s romantic?” Sylvain laughed but couldn't keep the edge from his voice, the undercurrent of fear. Because the wound was still bleeding, and no matter how hard he concentrated it wasn’t enough. He was failing, and Felix was dying.
Sylvain’s cheeks were hot, flushed from exertion and the heat of his armor. Looking up once more, Felix dragged a thumb weakly over the color. “Hmm… You match,” Felix slurred, as though that was the most important takeaway from their current situation, before falling limp in Sylvain’s arms.
❀
Sylvain woke to the sensation of slender fingers running through his hair, a steady roll of gentle waves as he stood in the cerulean sea. But wait—they weren’t at the seaside, with the hot sun beating down on their backs and the guttural cries of gulls. They were knee deep in mud, hot from blood and suffocating armor, listening to the tormented cries of the dead. But then, why couldn’t he hear a sound?
His eyelashes flickered open to a field of white. The fingers in his hair paused in their movement.
“Mmm. About time.”
Sylvan blinked again and more came into focus: the dirty beige of tent canvas, two legs that his face had been using as a pillow, and the gaunt face of Felix Fraldarius staring back at him.
Felix.
Sylvain scrambled up, exhaustion gone as he placed a trembling hand over Felix’s forehead.
“About time yourself. How—” He let out a long breath. “How’re you feeling?”
It’d been close. If Mercedes hadn’t seen Sylvain rushing from the fringe of the woods, a limp Felix in his arms and so desperate he’d been considering crossing enemy lines for help… Well, Sylvain didn’t want to think about it too closely. The magic had held enough to get them to camp, Sylvain refusing to leave the tent once they arrived, even to clean Felix’s blood from his hands. Foolishly he’d thought it was the last bit of Felix he’d be holding onto.
It had only been when Mercedes finally stepped back, wiping her own bloodied palm across her head to stain her bangs red, deeming Felix away from the worst of the danger, that Sylvain allowed himself to collapse next to the cot. He must’ve fallen asleep shortly after, his back seizing from the many hours hunched in the same position.
Felix was still staring—the bags were purple under his eyes, but they were no longer hazed over. He winced as he shifted position.
“Wonderful.” His eyes drifted closed for a long moment before he pulled them back open. “You saved me.”
Sylvain snorted. “Hah. No, Mercedes saved you, Fe.”
But Felix was shaking his head, cold fingers coming to curl around Sylvain’s wrist. “You.”
Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to argue, not when he wasn’t sure he’d ever be arguing with Felix again. He adjusted their fingers until they were locked around each other, perching on the side of the bed.
“Alright, me. But like, ten percent Mercedes.”
The faint smile Felix gave him made his chest swell with emotion, and he had to turn his face quickly to the side. Something pink caught the corner of his eye. Right.
He reached down, careful not to jostle the bed too much, and returned with the small, slightly crushed flower held out in front of them.
“Saved this for you.”
Felix stared at it before looking back up at Sylvain in confusion. “From the forest?”
“Yeah.” Sylvain grinned and set it gingerly down on the blankets bundled over Felix’s chest. “It was actually still gripped in your fist from when you were trying to pull out all the grass in the area.”
“You with your flowers,” Felix muttered, but Sylvain caught him sneaking fond glances at it when he thought Sylvain wasn’t looking.
Eventually he slumped back, eyes fluttering in exhaustion. Sylvain smiled down at him.
“Rest. We’re moving out tomorrow, so you have time.”
Felix cracked an eye open. “You should too. And not just hunched over my cot,” Felix added, as Sylvain opened his mouth to protest, “I’m not some maiden you need to hover over.”
Sylvain’s smile fell crooked. “And yet you know I will anyway. At least let me stay until you’re asleep? For me. That way if something does happen, the blame rests on you and not my lack of caretaker skills.”
Felix grumbled, settling deeper under the blanket, but his grip on Sylvain’s hand only tightened. “If you must.”
“I do. I’ll even go so far as to serenade you to sleep—Mercedes orders, of course. I happen to know a wonderful story about a particularly brave knight. Maybe you’ll recognize it.”
Felix was already fast asleep when Sylvain began, fingers still interlaced, the pink flower resting between them.
“Long ago, Loog, the descendent of Blaiddyd of the ten elites, picked up his blade in a quest for independence from the Empire…”
+I.
Felix wouldn’t accept Sylvain’s proposal in the streets of Enbarr, covered in blood and who knows what else, sweaty and exhausted and embarrassed as Sylvain swept him into a kiss. No ring in hand, just a beat up Lily of the Valley he’d found growing around the capitol. It was barely the time for romantic platitudes. Felix had held onto the bloom all the same.
Three months later, an acceptance was made in a field of flowers. Another year, and Felix was standing in front of his father’s mirror, Mercedes fiddling with the engraved clasp secured at his chest. He barely recognized this version of himself: soft fabrics, hip empty without the usual sword strapped to it, hair meticulously braided and woven with the same white flowers he’d said yes to Sylvain in.
It was odd. And a little overwhelming.
A hesitant knock on the door followed by Ingrid slipping into the chamber. She looked different, too—armor abandoned in favor of dress robes, hair untucked and adorned with gold and teal threads—but her all-too-familiar expression was welcome in comparison to all the fretting around him.
“Wow,” she said as she approached, regarding him. “Sylvain’s going to absolutely freak. How much did he have to pay you to get you to leave the sword off?”
“Shut up,” he muttered, turning away from the mirror. “I still have a dagger.”
“Of course you do. But really, Felix.” Her gaze softened, and Felix felt overwhelmed again. “You look really… well, it suits you.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m here to deliver this.”
She held out a hand, and Felix blinked in surprise at the book clutched in it. Because he recognized this cover—it belonged to the knight’s tale they’d read, all those years ago. He hadn’t seen this copy since then, assuming it was lost to time or to Sylvain’s massive bookcase. They hadn’t needed it since, anyway, both having memorized the tale a long time ago.
Wordlessly he accepted it, striding to the desk in the corner. Heart pounding in his throat, he gingerly cracked open the old spine.
A note was waiting for him.
My Dearest Felix,
Recognize this? Though we haven’t read from it in many years, I’ve held onto it all this time, and soon you’ll see why. I’ll cover this more in the vows portion of our wedding, but I felt like I needed to write this too. Just for your eyes.
Felix, since we were kids you have been the single most important thing to me (don’t tell Ingrid or Dimitri, they’ll be super jealous). We’ve been to hell and back. But I can’t regret any of it, not when it’s led us to this day, together. It’s taken me a long time to believe we deserve this: to rest. To find happiness and comfort in each other without reasons of necessity or escapism. I have loved every moment with you, but these are the days I cherish the most. The days I get to see you smile without reservation, to love without needing to hold back. Still glad you’ve kept your signature glare though: it’s kinda hot, and I’ve kinda gotten used to it by now. (Hopefully reading this got one out of you).
Anyway, I’m getting off track here. Turn the pages of this book and you’ll find some mementos I’ve kept over the years, with their importance noted. There are countless more, Felix, that I wish I’d had the foresight to save and include. Through the years, they’ve kept me going. And maybe now, we can continue the tradition together, preserving our special moments within the pages of our history.
I love you until death and after, Felix. I promise.
Yours,
Sylvain
With trembling fingers, he flipped to the next page. A small, dried snowdrop lay there, its petals barely hanging on. Written in the margin:
The day you gave me hope.
The next page, a dandelion, yellow staining the page where Kyphon swears his loyalty.
The day we made our promise.
A dogwood flower, the memory of a light breeze and the way Sylvain had looked at him.
The day I knew I loved you.
Felix knew what was next—the purple flower plucked by his own hand and left as a sign of his own devotion.
The day I vowed to keep us alive.
He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear fell onto the pink petals below.
The day I almost lost you.
One last turn and one last flower, still new in its preservation, matching the ones in his hair:
The day I get to keep you forever.
Felix stared hard at the page before closing the book and turning abruptly, striding towards the door.
“I’m going to see Sylvain,” he said in a rush, slamming through the door and startling the guard standing just outside it.
“Wait—Felix—!”
He ignored the calls of his friends as he barrelled down the corridors to Sylvain’s guest room, not bothering to knock as he barged in. And promptly froze.
Sylvain was there, looking as Felix had never seen him—the theme for the day, apparently. Which made sense, but Felix was still completely caught off guard by it. By this.
Sylvain turning, eyebrows raised in surprise. Sweeping, dark crimson robes, threaded with gold to bring out the honey in his eyes. No armor, just delicate fabrics just like the ones Felix was wearing. A trim of Fraldarius teal. Fluffy hair adorned with a crown of familiar flowers.
Felix wasn’t one for ornate language, but today was different. Today Sylvain was enchanting, and Felix felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him.
“Felix? Is everything okay?”
He was here now, standing in front of Felix wearing a face of gentle concern. Throat dry, hands still shaking, Felix held out the book.
“You—” Even speaking had become a monumental task, with a breath this unsteady. A hand came to rest softly against his cheek. “You saved them all.”
Sylvain’s gaze was terribly fond, his other hand sliding up to cradle Felix’s face. “Yeah, I did. Of course I did. Everything with you is worth saving.”
“I—”
Damnit—how the hell does Sylvain do it? Know what to say, know how to be romantic. Felix hadn’t written a love note. He’d barely figured out vows and was still panicking over delivering them in front of a crowd, let alone to Sylvain.
“I love you.”
A pretty lackluster response to a book full of treasured memories, but it was the best he could do. And he didn’t even say it enough, really, the words slightly foreign on his tongue even after all these years. But Sylvain’s smile widened in the way it only seemed to with Felix and his cheeks tinted peach matching his bright hair and glittering eyes, and damn, maybe weddings really did bring out the mushy side in him that Sylvain insisted existed.
“Aww, you do? Thank the Goddess it’s not one-sided or this wedding would be really weird.”
“Tch, shut up. I’m trying to be romantic. So just, let me tell you how much I love you, okay?”
Sylvain’s laugh bubbled between them, eyes crinkling. “Alright, alright. I’m listening. Go on. Tell me.”
Oh, that had… been the whole thing. But Sylvain was looking at him expectantly, and Felix searched desperately for the right words.
“You’re better with all of this,” he gestured, “so I don’t know if there’s anything more I can say, but. I feel the same as what you wrote. Always have, even before I dared to think you had the same intentions. Since I saw you at the bottom of the well and thought I’d lost you forever.”
Sylvain’s eyes were watery, and Felix only felt slightly guilty for stealing that line from his own vows. He could fix it later. Clearing his throat, he looked between them, noticing the detail of the Fraldarius crest stitched on the inner lining of his robe. There was something so satisfying about seeing it there, instead of the one of Gautier. Like Sylvain really belonged to him now. Away from the family that’d made him miserable for so long.
It made Felix’s chest burn with something all-consuming.
“Also, you look—” He was sure his face was close to the color of Sylvain’s robes now. “Handsome. Annoyingly so. You’ve always looked too good for your own good.”
Sylvain’s next laugh was a bit wet. “And you look absolutely beautiful, Felix. As you always do.” His first instinct was to deny it, or shove Sylvain away before making his tactical retreat. But… maybe he could make an allowance today, with Sylvain looking at him like this, thumbs skirting over the blush riding high on his cheeks.
Yeah, he could do that.
His eyes drifted shut, chin tipping up to press their mouths together. Relishing in the smile splitting wide against his lips. When they pulled back, Felix didn’t go far, forehead coming to rest on Sylvain’s. “I don’t want to do this in front of all those people. I mean I do—kind of. But it doesn’t feel—”
“Yeah I know, Fe. Like us.” Sylvain sighed slowly. “But Dimitri wanted it to be official and you know our friends would totally kill us if they didn’t get to be here.”
He knew. Of course he knew. But it was still… Struck by a sudden inspiration, Felix grabbed Sylvain’s wrist.
“I have an idea. Come on.”
Pulling him from the room, he almost smacked into Mercedes, who had apparently come to find him, sending her sleeves billowing as they stumbled by.
“Oh! There you two are, I was just—”
Felix stuttered to a halt, almost sending Sylvain crashing into the wall. “Get Ingrid and Dimitri, tell them to meet us down in the sitting room, it’s urgent.”
They were gone before she could respond, Sylvain half-objecting, half-laughing as he was manhandled down the stairs.
“Now we just need—Seteth.”
The man turned from where he was chatting near the doors, eyes widening in surprise.
“Felix? What are you two doing together? The ceremony is supposed to start on the hour.”
“I need you and Byleth in the front room.”
“Please,” Sylvain supplemented, and Seteth crossed his arms.
“May I ask why?”
“Um, no,” Felix huffed, dragging Sylvain towards the double doors and practically throwing him in.
“You know, Fe, you’re lucky I love when you’re rough with me.”
Felix couldn’t find it in him to retort, striding to the mantle, heart racing furiously. What was he doing? Was he really considering this, now? Throwing all their planning away just for—
The abrupt arrival of their four guests prevented any more second guessing. Seteth looked disapproving, Byleth impassive, Dimitri confused. Ingrid only rolled her eyes and muttered, “typical,” before closing the doors behind them.
Well, they were here. Might as well go all in on the first spontaneous plan he’d acted on since that mock battle in the academy—ugh, and that had been a real disaster. Let’s hope this had a better ending.
He looked to Seteth in the silence that had fallen around them. “Marry us.”
From the surprised look on everyone’s faces (except Ingrid, who looked exasperated and amused in equal measure) this hadn’t been expected.
“I—here? But what about the ceremony?”
“We can do it again, whatever. It doesn’t have to be the whole thing. Just—just the short version. They have a short version, right? Skipping all the dumb official stuff?”
Next to him, Sylvain suppressed a laugh at the offended look on Seteth’s face, and oh Goddess in hell, maybe Felix should’ve actually cleared this with him before blurting out his intentions to the entire room.
“But only if—” turning, he found Sylvain’s gaze already on him. A soft smile as their eyes met, and the wave of anxiety threatening to consume him fell away. “You’re okay with it?”
A hand reached out, linking their pinkies together.
“I am. There’s nowhere else I’d rather become yours.”
Felix had to agree—he couldn’t imagine a better place. The mantle bedecked with scented florals chosen by Sylvain’s hand, paintings of those he loved, long past, looking down on the scene. Their childhood friends, eyes wet and smiles trembling. No lengthy vows, not even rings: just two simple “I do’s” and a few words to make it official. A kiss, long and lingering, just as sweet as the first. The windows thrown wide with curtains billowing, overlooking the early spring landscape.
And in the distance, petals dancing on the breeze—snowdrops.