Chapter Text
Never before had Sylvain wished to return to the Gautier estate.
The castle of Fraldarius was, in many ways, a much better home than the suffocating fortress up north. Frost didn't crawl under his skin, for once, and his parents wouldn’t nag him nearly as much with Lord Rodrigue around to distract them. In all his fourteen years of life, he hadn’t once wanted to give up this taste of real freedom.
That’s why he hated the scorching pain in his chest, the one that now begged him to leave.
It was strange. He had been so excited to visit. Not even his father or Miklan could extinguish the enthusiasm that had bubbled up inside him, and, with the news that the Galatea family would also be visiting, it grew brighter. Time spent with his closest friends, no matter the circumstances, built the happiest and most peaceful moments of his life.
What was this awful feeling, then? Why was his throat dry, and his heart beating just a little faster to be uncomfortable, and his muscles tensing like he was in danger—
“It’s just— It’s not fair!” Felix’s shrill voice echoed his own thoughts.
Sylvain glanced up from his spot on the floor. The young swordsman was still stomping around in a circle, his hair a sweaty mess and his trousers smeared in dirt from when he had fallen on his butt. The lone indicator that time had passed was the orange color of dusk now gently coating the Fraldarius training grounds.
Still, Felix wasn’t done. “How did Glenn do that?! I was so close this time—”
“Um, well, he’s a trained squire—”
“And did you see how he lunged at me? H-he was so fast, how was I supposed to react?! Agh, I hate when he goes easy on me at first so he can catch me off-guard, it’s such b—”
“Hey, language.”
“—and you’re not even listening to me!”
This time, Sylvain lifted his head up, meeting with Felix’s scowl. He was about to defend his semi-attempt at paying attention to the rant until the evening light got caught in his friend’s eyes, revealing tears of frustration that he was bending over backwards to suppress.
“I…” He sighed. His brotherly instinct won the battle against his exhaustion. “Sorry, Fe. I’m just…”
“Just what?” He grumbled, stubbornly setting his gaze on the distance, but he stopped pacing and glanced at him. It was the very weird, very endearing Felix way of expressing concern.
Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, mustering up the most convincing smile he could. “…Um, I wanted to ask you something. Just…”
The maddening voice in his mind wouldn’t stop chanting, shut up, it’s a dumb thing, just tell him you’re fine, but his defiant lips uttered the question before he could think it through. “What’s going on over there?”
Felix quirked an eyebrow before he followed Sylvain’s gesture. Sitting on a bench in the roofed corridor opposite to theirs was Ingrid, eyes wide and attentive as Glenn reenacted the sword technique he had used to topple his younger brother during their duel. A pang of discomfort coursed through Sylvain at the sight. Ingrid was beginning to understand what it meant to be betrothed to the heir of Fraldarius, he knew that, but she had barely spared her oldest friends a word since her arrival. Did she really need to spend every waking hour beside him?
In a way that would dull any steel sword, Felix stuck his training weapon in the ground. “Ah, well, Ingrid is probably the only person in the entire world who actually likes listening to Glenn prattle on after he’s won.” His nose crinkled in disgust. “He’s so smug, it makes me sick. If she knew he’s just trying to impress her—”
“W-wait, wait,” Sylvain spluttered. A freezing unease intermingled with the burning in his stomach, forging the most unpleasant sensation he had experienced. “What? Impress her?”
His friend blinked. “Can’t you see? He likes her. A lot.”
Felix might have as well punched him square in the gut. In an instant, all air escaped his lungs and he simply sat there, wondering if he had heard him right. No way. There was no way that was true.
Wait, what’s wrong with me? he thought. It made sense. Not only had those two been engaged since forever, but they were also really similar people. Ten-year-old Ingrid had fallen helplessly in love when the renowned soldier promised her that they would become knights together, after all.
But that was it. While Ingrid was the little kid with a crush, Glenn had always seemed rather disinterested in the arrangement. He treated her with respect, like the chivalrous knight he would soon become, but it never went beyond common politeness.
Of course, until now.
“He even told me he’s planning on proposing to her after he’s knighted,” Felix continued, his fingers massaging his temple. “That’s just ridiculous. Aren’t they engaged already? What’s the point?”
Against his will, Sylvain’s gaze drifted towards the passageway again. Glenn was sitting next to her, now, gesticulating dramatically as he undoubtedly shared another incredible story with her. Sylvain’s breath caught in his throat when the sound of Ingrid’s laughter resonated through the halls. As soon as his own face flamed, he turned his head away, praying to any saint who would listen that Felix hadn’t noticed.
Still, the images of Ingrid’s rosy cheeks and her smile, brighter than it had ever been before, wouldn’t leave him. He could merely push them to the far back of his mind, then continue acting like he couldn’t feel the tightening in his chest.
Yep, he decided. It’s definitely a dumb thing.