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Sylvain is supposed to deliver a eulogy at his father’s funeral but nothing comes to mind. What the fuck is he supposed to say? He hates that he's freaking out about this.
He could lie and say his father was a warm, compassionate man, or that he’ll cherish all the good times they spent together.
Ha, seriously? As Sylvain wracks his brain for a pleasant memory of his late father, he realizes it's all in vain. Lost memories begin to surface from the depths of his psyche—none of them are pleasant. What good times? When his father would lock Sylvain in a room for days so he could reflect on his lapses in judgment?
Once, Sylvain suggested Matthias release the Sreng hostage. He was awarded with two weeks in solitary confinement. Apparently, he deserved it for being a naive child.
There was also that time Sylvain was punished for painting. The piece he was caught working on was similar to one he’d seen his mother admire in private. One day, she happened upon Sylvain in the study, he was painting in plain view. She immediately sent her handmaiden to inform Sylvain's father.
Matthias was calm when he appeared in the study. He approached Sylvain in eerie silence before he kicked the easel down. What if His Highness requires a capable lance-wielder by his side and all Sylvain is good for is painting!?
Matthias ordered his men to round up his son's art supplies and destroy them all in a fire.
"Faerghus needs strong-minded generals not feeble painters!" he bellowed over the roaring flames. (Never mind that Sylvain was painting after his daily lance training.)
Sylvain supposes he could always thank his old man for not treating him like he did Miklan. Those two are together in death now.
Goddess, Sylvain can't imagine what his mother will say during the church service. He pictures her standing in front of all the guests, yawning. If there ever came a competition to see who gives less of a fuck, Sylvain would rank second place with his mother taking home the gold.
Sylvain picks ruthlessly at his nails, wishing Rodrigue was still alive so he could do the honors of delivering the eulogy instead. He knows it's selfish, but everyone who really knew Matthias—before he was crushed by the weight of being the margrave, a father and a widower—is long dead.
Sylvain looks up when he hears someone at the door. Felix surprises him when he enters the study.
“Felix?”
“Who else?” Felix replies flatly though his tone carries subtle affection. He drags a nearby chair to Sylvain’s side and takes a seat.
“Are you here to see the margrave?”
“I’m here to see you, Sylvain,” Felix scoffs.
Sylvain tries to smile at Felix.
“Don’t start with that. Come here,” Felix snaps, tugging on Sylvain’s shirt and pulling the taller man into a hug.
Sylvain winces in pain. He appreciates the gesture but his back aches, plus he’s been experiencing serious neck spasms lately.
"That hurts, Fe,” He says softly, thinking the nickname will inspire mercy in Felix.
“Tch,” Felix releases Sylvain and stands to investigate the study, making his way to a corner of the room. “I can’t remember the last time I was in here.”
“The first time you visited, of course. You were given an exclusive tour of the Gautier Estate by the head of the family himself.”
“Hm. That’s right. That was the only time we were allowed in here.” Felix reaches for an oversized chaise lounge tucked away in the corner of the study, maneuvering it towards Sylvain. The sound of wood scraping the floor grates Sylvain’s ears, but the sight of Felix approaching is comforting enough to make him disregard the noise entirely. Felix places the chaise lounge near the fireplace and sits in it, stretching his legs out. Then, he stares at Sylvain.
Sylvain takes a moment, but it's not long before he's on the chaise. He stretches his body besides Felix and rests his head on the smaller man's defined chest. Immediately, Sylvain presses his lips and shuts his eyes. Felix sighs and runs his fingers through Sylvain’s hair.
“I’m sorry, Sylvain.”
“What is there to be sorry about? Being the margrave? I’ve been handling business in my father’s stead for a long time now,” Sylvain snorts.
“That’s not what I meant. I can’t imagine how you feel.” Felix begins to massage Sylvain’s temples.
“Yes, you can. You’ve lost a whole lot more than me.”
“That was different,” Felix sighs.
“That’s true. You loved Lord Rodrigue and Glenn. I’ve always hated my family.”
“Glenn was everything to me. After he died, I thought I hated my father right up until the moment he died too. I was furious with him, but I never hated him, truly."
“That’s my point.”
“Well, your relationship with your father is different from mine. I know you cared about him.”
“Cared about him? All I ever did was make his life harder!” Sylvain sits up.
Felix understands the other man's grief and pain, but he doesn’t want to make things any harder for him. Sylvain will confront his conflicting feelings when he’s ready. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that."
Sylvain relaxes, but he doesn’t return to Felix’s arms.
“The others will be here soon. You don’t want them to catch you in the same state I did, right? Go bathe.”
“The others? What others?” Sylvain’s expression is a mix of disgust and concern.
“You’re more messed up than I thought. Who do you think? The boar and Ingrid, obviously.”
The boar, Felix thinks. He originally called Dimitri that out of fear. Dimitri isn't that same broken boy he was all those years ago. The insult eventually became a pet name of sorts; its a nickname that Felix has exclusive rights to.
“I didn’t ask any of you to come. He’s being buried tomorrow, but the official ceremony isn’t for another two weeks.” It was more than enough time for nobles across the land to attend. Nowadays, those closest to the throne can warp over massive distances thanks to Constance’s many experiments, but the teleportation device is still widely unknown. They’re only privy to it thanks to Mercedes and Annette, who live and work in Nuvelle with Constance.
“You don’t need to welcome us, Sylvain. That’s never stopped you from showing up in Fraldarius, has it?” Felix pushes Sylvain forward; he’s prepared to shove Sylvain all the way to the bathhouse if he must, but Sylvain gets the hint and walks off. He’s surprised when Felix enters the bath with him.
“What? I smell rancid after my long travels.” Felix is hardly a believer but that doesn't stop him from praying to the Goddess. Don’t let Sylvain realize it took me less than a day to get here.
Felix rejects Sylvain’s advances toward him while they clean up. He refuses to enable Sylvain’s impulses just so Sylvain can dissociate and effectively disconnect from the world around him. Instead, Felix scrubs Sylvain’s back and washes his hair for him. He towel dries their hair when they’re done too.
It brings Felix comfort to know that he can provide for Sylvain, that Sylvain can depend on him. Although he should be the one comforting Sylvain, not the other way around.
They enter Sylvain’s bedroom.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Like hell you can’t.” Felix pushes Sylvain onto the cushions and joins him in bed in one smooth movement. “Sleep.”
“I’ll try my best, but only because you scare me.”
“As if,” Felix rolls his eyes.
He cuddles against Sylvain’s side and takes a deep breath. “What are you thinking about? And don’t say nothing.”
Sylvain sighs, “I have to write a eulogy. I can’t think of anything to say.”
“You could always mention the time he abandoned you in the woods to see if you’d find your way back.”
“I considered sharing when he made me fight 3 older kids alone to prove my worth as the heir of Gautier.” Sylvain feels his abdomen vibrate against Felix as he snickers.
“Don’t forget to say you finally won that time. He wouldn’t want you to leave out the best part.”
“That’s true. I was on bed rest for weeks, but he sure was pleased with me, for once.” Sylvain wonders, did his father ever regret his parenting style? If he didn’t have any regrets, he wouldn’t have kept so many secrets from his friends while they were alive, right? Sylvain turns his back to Felix, and Felix spoons him.
Felix speaks up after a moment, “The others shouldn’t be here until morning.” It’s just the two of them tonight.
“How long are you staying…?” Sylvain brings himself to ask.
“As long as I feel like it. A few weeks, maybe.”
“What about your—”
“I can always warp to Fraldarius in case of an emergency.”
Sylvain says nothing, but he’s relieved to know Felix isn't leaving him any time soon. He presses himself against Felix, breathing in his scent. Then, Sylvain falls asleep.
Sunlight pours into Sylvain’s room. It's a mystery how the warm, bright rays envelope the room when thick drapes cover the window.
He thinks he’s alone until he hears Felix sorting through papers. Sylvain loudly yawns, “Feeeeelix. You brought work into the bedroom?”
“It’s better than working in that miserable study.” Felix doesn’t bother glancing up from the paperwork. Sylvain stretches in bed and groggily approaches Felix. However, Felix is fast even without the advantage of being fully-awake and moves the parchment out of view. He must be distracted though because Sylvain grabs it a second later.
“Fuck,” Felix mumbles.
“What the hell? Is this mine?”
Felix snatches it out of Sylvain’s hand. “It’s the Kingdom’s. There was nothing else to do.” Felix impatiently taps his nails against the table.
Sylvain smirks at him. “Duke Fraldarius, are you helping me with paperwork?”
Felix coughs into the crook of his arm, trying to cover his warm face. “I didn’t do it to help you. I just didn’t want to die of boredom.”
It’s too late.
“Okay, whatever you say…" Sylvain purrs lowly into the man's ear,“…Felix."
Sylvain flicks his tongue against the flushed ear for good measure.
“Don’t do that! It tickles,” Felix hisses and tries to shove Sylvain away. He realizes that his face is visible for the world—for Sylvain—to see. Sylvain immediately cradles Felix’s head.
“Aren’t you the sweetest?” Sylvain coos. He holds Felix’s cheeks in his palms and kisses the duke’s forehead. Sylvain knows he’s laying it on thick, but he means what he says. He also hopes Felix will give him a ‘dead-dad pass’.
“Okay, that’s enough!” Felix looks mad, and he sounds mad, but Sylvain can tell he’s in a good mood.
“Alright, alright!” Sylvain raises his hands in the air and walks away in mock surrender. He free falls into bed but before he can settle in, he’s startled by a heavy knock.
“Marg—Lord S—um… Sir, you have visitors. King Dimitri is here! Are you decent?” The soft-spoken attendant gasps, “I was out of line to ask such a thing. His Majesty and Count Galatea await you in the tea room… Sir? Should I send word to Duke Fraldarius as well?”
Felix looks baffled. Sylvain answers, “That’s alright! I’ll inform him. Thank you!”
She nervously giggles outside the door and scampers away.
Sylvain starts, “I know—”
“What did you do to that girl?” Felix is more perplexed than anything else.
“She’s new. Her father fell to illness two moons ago. Then her older brother, one of my soldiers, was severely injured in combat two weeks ago.”
“You can’t just hire everyone whose suffering.” Felix shakes his head and changes into his day wear.
Sylvain freshens up for the day and gets dressed. “I know, but do you have any better ideas? She and her mother refused assistance. Besides, I was looking for a decent cook to help in the kitchen.”
“Hm,” Felix says as they walk to the tea room. He clearly doesn’t have any other ideas for helping the family either.
The aroma of bergamot tea wafts down the lonesome estate halls. The place used to buzz with Matthias’s caretakers and other household staff. Most of them have kept their distance from Sylvain out of respect for their Lordship’s privacy. Similarly, they avoid addressing him by a formal title to his face; Sylvain’s expressed dislike for such niceties.
Felix and Sylvain hear hushed voices coming from the tea room. “Sylvain!” Ingrid exclaims. She gives him a big hug and says, “I am so sorry for your loss. I came as soon I could.”
“Yes,” Dimitri chimes in. He lifts his arms to hug Sylvain, but quickly drops them out of bashfulness and simply nods. “My condolences for your loss. Nothing can ease the pain you must be in, but I will give my all to support you during this time, not as your king, but as your friend.” He settles his hand on Sylvain’s shoulder.
Sylvain feigns bashfulness as he processes their arrivals. “Geez, everyone. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
Felix’s eyes dart to Sylvain, then the others, and finally, he looks away.
“Don’t try to lighten the mood. I’m serious,” Ingrid smacks Sylvain’s arm.
“As am I,” Dimitri adds, clearing his throat.
“The tea is getting cold,” Felix interrupts.
Sylvain silently mouths his thanks Felix. Then, he redirects his attention back to his guests, clapping his hands together, “Let’s sit!"
"I can’t think straight without my morning tea and some…” Sylvain glances at the spread and gestures at the unfamiliar arrangement of finger foods with a halfhearted flourish, “…bread.”
Breakfast went smoothly enough. Sylvain is doing better than yesterday, but he’s still on edge. He isn’t ready to let Ingrid and Dimitri in.
Felix had a feeling this would happen, which is why he sped through his tasks in Fraldarius to get to Sylvain first. He tears down Sylvain’s walls with or without his permission. The others would overextend themselves if they saw him so miserable.
“I appreciate everyone checking in on me, but I’m fine. I’m sure you all have more important matters to tend to.”
Felix and Dimitri briefly exchange glances, and Ingrid groans. They all start, “Sylvain—”
“Really.” Sylvain’s voice catches and he turns his back to them. “It’s starting to feel suffocating, actually.” He speed walks down the hall without a destination in mind.
Felix rolls his eyes, Dimitri clenches his jaw, and Ingrid balls her fists. Together, they make their way toward the Gautier training grounds to work through their respective worries.
“Have you set a date for the wedding?” Dimitri asks while clashing lances with Ingrid. If the boar weren’t so clueless, it’d seem like he’s trying to show off by having a casual chat mid-combat. Maybe, he really is taunting them.
"Not. Yet. We’re. Thinking. A. Small. Ceremony. Soon.” Ingrid replies between each dodge from Dimitri’s heavy-handed attacks. An arrow whooshes through the air, narrowly missing Ingrid. She scowls down at Felix from her pegasus, “Go away!”
Felix dodges the blows from Ingrid and Dimitri, deftly weaving left and right. “You’re not taking this seriously if you have time to flap your gums.”
A wide grin forms on Dimitri’s face. He laments battle, but the rush of an intense sparring match—one where he can’t afford to be distracted—heals him like no other. Dimitri is pushed back several steps as Ingrid jabs at him. She gets hit with an incoming arrow from Felix as she dodges Dimitri’s counterattack.
Felix is too quick; he immediately follows up by striking Dimitri with an arrow as well. The three of them continue their fight far longer than necessary.
Afterwards, Ingrid asks, “Sooo, Sylvain is full of it, right?”
“His words don't seem truthful…”
“He’ll be fine,” Felix decides.
“How long will it be until he’s fine though?” Ingrid stresses.
“Relations with Sreng can’t be left unattended for too long…” Dimitri hesitantly says.
Felix snaps at Dimitri, “You don't think Sylvain knows that? He has no choice but to keep going… We’re not all going down with Matthias.”
They only wrap up so they can eat and prepare for the burial later. Dimitri takes his meal privately to tend to ‘separate matters’, leaving Ingrid and Felix alone together. Whatever. Felix will address Dimitri’s overwork another time.
“Was it wise of us to leave Sylvain alone for so long?” Ingrid questions while they await their lunch.
Felix shrugs, “Who knows.”
“I mean… you would probably know. Goddess, Sylvain probably hasn't touched the mountain of work that’s surely piling up. What are we doing about that?”
“Don’t you have a wedding to plan? Or a betrothed to worry about?” Felix sounds more irritated than he intends to.
"I'm serious, Felix." Ingrid glares at Felix, but her face lights up when she says, “Thea needs to wrap up the play she’s writing before we can make any concrete plans. I’d also like to get some things sorted in Galatea before planning a wedding.”
“Have you told Sylvain yet?”
“No… I meant to tell him earlier today but you know how that went.”
Felix scoffs, “That fool can’t run away forever.”
Dimitri knocks on the door to one of Sylvain’s studies and lets himself in.
Sylvain looks up from his book when Dimitri enters, “How did you know I’d be here?”
“You would not be in your room at this hour.”
“Ha. How very perceptive of Your Majesty.”
“Sylvain, how many times must I ask you not to speak so formally to me? This is a conversation between friends.”
“Right…,” Sylvain slams the book in his hands shut and picks up another. “Dimitri, why are you here?”
Dimitri takes a few steps inside the study, shutting the door behind him. “In the past, I was unfit for anything but bloodshed. I allowed all of Fódlan to believe I was dead for five years; many parts of me did die. Even through that, you did not abandon me. Is it so hard to believe that I will do the same for you, Sylvain? That I do not want—that I cannot simply desert you?”
Dimitri stares intently at Sylvain, who only looks up to meet his eye for a second. Sylvain looks pale. Weariness travels along his entire frame. Dimitri tentatively reaches over to inspect Sylvain’s hand. The skin surrounding his cuticles are ragged and his nails are picked raw, crusted with dried blood.
“You’re anything but unreliable.” Sylvain allows his palm to rest in Dimitri’s hand.
Dimitri aches at the sight of Sylvain's hands but stays silent. He turns his attention to the desk and picks up the book Sylvain was previously holding, a poetry book. “…I’m not familiar with this work.”
“It’s from Sreng region. I came across it when I first started learning the language… Are you here to lecture me about taking care of myself?”
“Not unless you would like me to. Otherwise, I would like to review the words I prepared for today. May we look over it together?”
“I doubt I’ll have anything insightful to say, but of course we can.”
“Thank you, Sylvain. Tonight, we will share a meal together as well.” Dimitri doesn’t leave Sylvain room to refuse.
The burial has more people than Felix expected. Nearly all of the Gautier Knights are present, decked out in battle gear with weapons and all. It looks like they’re going all out to ensure the margrave receives a proper final send-off. He may have been a useless father, but the margrave was considered a commendable leader, always prioritizing the well-being of his men.
Even Sylvain’s mother came; Felix can never be too sure with her. She wears a black veil, concealing her face. It’s so typical of her to not speak a word to Sylvain.
Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix are at the front of the procession, as close as they can be to Sylvain without suffocating him.
It’s an arduous ordeal, but the burial finally ends without a hitch. The soldiers were emotional enough to make up for the lack thereof on Sylvain and company’s end. Dimitri—King Dimitri was obligated to say a few words, though Felix gets the sense that Dimitri would’ve spoke regardless of formalities.
Sylvain slinks off to his sleeping quarters. Felix isn’t too keen on leaving him alone, but anyone would need space in Sylvain’s position. He plans to spend the night in Sylvain’s room again anyway. Dimitri and Felix discuss in the Cabinet for hours, while Ingrid visits the stables.
“Any word from Count Charon?” Dimitri inquires.
“No. I checked with the messenger to confirm.”
Dimitri exhales and rubs his eyes. “Very well then,” he mumbles.
“Again with the muttering? Look, this isn’t going to sort itself out in one night. Go. I have my own business to tend to.”
“I am not naive enough to simply take your word for it, Felix. If I take my leave, what is there to stop you from drafting the replies yourself?”
Felix averts his gaze. Of course he plans to sort through the late margrave’s paperwork. Otherwise, by the time Sylvain gets to it, there will be no end in sight. His king shouldn’t take the time to personally handle such tedious affairs.
“Surely there are more pressing matters in Fhirdiad. Why waste your time here?”
“I know little of what happened between Sylvain and Matthias, but he was a reliable man. I never once doubted where his loyalties lie. He also gave us Sylvain. I will always hold him in high regard for that. I will not hide away in the capital while the people of Gautier are in need of extra care and attention.” He quietly adds, “Neither would I say supporting our friend is a waste of time…”
Felix sighs. The boar is so damn typical, charging ahead to do whatever he deems necessary. It’s a liability.
“You just don’t know how to listen, do you? Be a good boy and let your shield work.”
A hint of rosy pink dusts Dimitri’s cheeks. “Well then,” he emphasizes, “I permit my shield to work tomorrow.”
Felix concedes, too mentally exhausted to argue back, and stands. They hear his back crack as he stretches out the knots in his back. “After you, boar.”
“Ha. Of course. Come now, Duke Fraldarius.” Dimitri leads Felix out of the Cabinet.
Finally.
Silence (aside from Sylvain’s internal monologue and the version of his father that lives in his head).
His clammy hands fidget with a wooden board game piece, a horse, as he paces his dimly lit room. The wooden horse slips through his trembling fingers and clatters onto the floor.
He hears the clack as the piece hits the ground. Did it break? The possibility of the horse dying on his watch is what does it. Sylvain kicks at the stone wall and throws himself into bed. He’s lucid enough to remember he has guests, so he shoves his face into his pillows before shrieking until his throat is raw and hoarse.
Tears stream down his face. Huh, tears. Turns out he is capable of mourning.
If things were different—if he were different, he wouldn’t be the mess he is now. Anger, shame, and grief wash over him until he falls asleep.
A light bang startles Sylvain awake. How long was he out? The night sky hardly indicates anything. The sun was setting when he fell asleep.
There’s a second bang— a knock. So that’s what woke him.
Sylvain clears his throat and calls out, “Yeah?”
“I’m coming in.” A firm, but gentle voice calls out. Ingrid strides in. She’s dressed in a long striped nightgown, a nightcap, and she carries an iron candle holder.
Sylvain would crack a joke about her nightwear if he were in a better mood. Glancing around the dark room, she asks, “Were you asleep?”
“Yeah.”
Ingrid lights the candles placed throughout the room and takes a seat on Sylvain's bed. He lays on his side, obscuring part of his face from her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night bedroom visit, Lady Galatea?”
She ignores his cheekiness—yikes. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“Syl—”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Fine. I’m fine too. I went to the stables earlier,” Ingrid huffs. “…Cherry is the sweetest, as always. Vivi was playful. It’s been a long time since I saw them,” She smiles solemnly to herself. “Caro is out of it though. Poor boy. He didn’t even try to nip at my hair.”
She pauses. Caro was the late margrave’s trusty steed; horses were one of Matthias’s few soft spots. Though that spot hardened too, after the death of his first wife and what was supposed to be his second child. Rodrigue had mentioned as much.
Ingrid continues, “He’s not the only one. Margie is sad too. I tried to feed her an apple and she didn’t even want it. She’s lonely, Sylvain.” Margie is Sylvain’s baby. He was there the moment she was born and hasn’t left her side in the 13 years since then.
“So you came to guilt-trip me about my horse.” It’s working too, Sylvain sighs. He reminds himself to visit the stables the next day.
Ingrid doesn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, she lays perpendicular to him and rests her head against Sylvain’s back. “I’m not going to make you tell me anything.” Ingrid’s sass comforts Sylvain. She sighs dramatically, “Goddess knows I’ve tried.”
Ingrid is in his room and she’s not here to reprimand him? Sylvain doesn’t know how to react. He sits in silence, then he says, “Can you believe Marg is a teenager now?”
She accidentally rocks him when she shakes her head. This makes him laugh. “It feels like yesterday Felix cried because Silver scared him. I’ll never understand what he expected a horse’s teeth to look like.”
Sylvain snorts softly, “She was so innocent too. All she did was eat the carrot he offered her.” Silver was Glenn’s horse. He wouldn’t take no for an answer when Rodrigue suggested that he leave her in Fraldarius until she was older. She was with Glenn until the end.
The two of them take in the sounds of the night; occasionally an owl hoots in the distance.
“Ingrid.”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
“Oh?… Of course,” Ingrid clenches her knuckles, she didn't expect this from Sylvain. “Don’t you remember?”
“No matter what happens?”
“That’s right. No matter what happens. Unfortunately, for me.”
Sylvain turns to face Ingrid now, pushing her off his side in the process and flashes her a shit-eating grin. “Hey! Can’t you take it easy? I'm grieving the loss of my father, you know?”
“Hmph,” Ingrid huffs and turns her head to the side in playful defiance. “I have news.”
“Did you finally pop the question?”
“What? How do you know that?”
Sylvain laughs. “You are oddly at ease… It’s kind of scary, actually."
“You’re a pain,” she scoffs. “Things… feel easier. I’m not looking forward to the Kingdom’s reaction, but I’m happy.”
“Congrats, Ingrid. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.”
“I think we all deserve it… after everything.”
I don’t, Sylvain thinks.
Several minutes pass in silence.
“I never wanted him to die…” Sylvain murmurs to himself.
“I beg your pardon?”
Sylvain adjusts in bed, curling up beside Ingrid and resting his head on her lap. “I never wished for him to die. There were so many times I wished he were gone. I wished… for so many things. But I didn’t want him to die. It never really sunk in that he could die, not until it was too late.”
Ingrid struggles with comforting others, but that doesn’t stop her from doing her best. She firmly places her hand on Sylvain’s head; she’s here.
No tears come, but Sylvain’s voice cracks, “I just… I just wanted him to be proud of me.”
“He was, Sylvain.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I think I do.”
“I was never even supposed to exist.” Sylvain continues, “He never loved my mother. He never moved on from Miklan’s mother.”
He sighs, “I don’t blame him for that. His second marriage was a marriage of convenience; he needed an heir with a crest. That’s all. He wished for the child he was supposed to have, not for me. I should've never been born.”
Sylvain closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “How can I ever compare to a son who was a product of love? I’ve been a disappointment from the moment I was conceived.”
“Oh, Sylvain…” There’s nothing Ingrid can say. All she can do is listen. All Sylvain wants right now is for someone to listen. He thinks he might doze off now that he's admitted everything aloud. He can sit with the grief without it weighing on him now. Ingrid lays on her back and Sylvain moves his head onto her stomach. Every now and then they hear him sniffling. Ingrid hums an unfamiliar tune, surely one of Dorothea’s works. Sylvain is comforted by the foreign melody.
“He never wanted me, yet I’m crying over his death. I’m sure it's solely out of self-pity anyway. I must feel obligated to put on a show or something. I’m over it now.” The heartwarming moment has gone on longer than Sylvain prefers anyway. “Hey, I have a question. Does your engagement mean you and I aren’t going to happen?”
“Are yo— Oh, Seiros.” Ingrid instantly pinches at her nose, clenching her eyes shut. Sylvain laughs, loud, even while Ingrid pushes his head off of her and gets up. “You are disgusting, Sylvain Jose Gautier.” Her voice sounds nasally from the way she continues to squeeze at her nose.
“I suppose I should thank you for not passing gas when I was laying against your backside.” Ingrid’s already out the door. It slams shut and opens again a second later.
“Don’t do this again or I will hurt you. Goodnight, Sylvain.” Ingrid slams the door shut once more.
“Goodnight, dear!”
He spends time organizing his desk. Shit. How late is it? He nearly forgot that he’s supposed to meet Dimitri tonight. Sylvain makes his way down the hall. He’s rubbing his eyes when Dimitri appears around the corner.
“Sylvain! I hope I am not too late. I was preoccupied.”
“Not at all, Your M—I was worried I was too late.” Sylvain takes in Dimitri’s appearance and raises an eyebrow. Dimitri’s shoulder length hair points in multiple directions and his face is a pale pink. Despite his playful appearance, the fatigue in his eye is apparent.
Dimitri places his hand on the small of Sylvain’s back for a moment before clearing his throat. “Shall we eat then?”
Seeing the empty kitchen and dining room, Sylvain says, “Don’t tell me you made this yourself. Where’s the fire?”
“Very funny, Sylvain.”
It turns out His Majesty went out of his way to request a late dinner for Sylvain and himself tonight. Sylvain finishes half of his meal, before he starts moving food around on his plate.
Dimitri places his hands face down on the table and watches Sylvain play with the remaining food. He sighs. Shit. Sylvain’s been too caught up with himself to consider Dimitri.
“What you said earlier today… I think I understand, but that’s only because you are one of the most reliable people I know.” Sylvain tentatively nibbles at the remaining food on his plate, attempting to reassure Dimitri.
“That… That simply cannot be true.” Dimitri looks like he considers whether to elaborate. “I must return to Fhirdiad tomorrow. I wouldn’t leave unless my presence were required there. I—I’m deeply sor—”
“Your Majesty, forgive me for interrupting, but you have nothing to apologize for. I'm unreliable and my irresponsibility forced you to make a trip here. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I will take care of House Gautier and it’s people… If you feel that guilty about leaving, stay in my room tonight.”
“Sylvain, I was not forced to visit House Gautier. I am here of my own volition because I care about you. Even at your most unreliable, all those years ago, you were always there when it mattered most. I can and do rely on you. Your perspective is something only you can provide me. I have made myself clear on this matter before.”
Dimitri drops his stern gaze. “Even after all these years… I don’t fully understand how your mind works. I am ashamed of my inability to sincerely know you. In comparison, Felix has always excelled at it.” He sighs, “Would you be so worried about Gautier if I were a better king…”
Somehow, Sylvain is blessed with companions far better than he deserves. They possess his heart and make it ache more often than not.
“You know me a lot more than you give yourself credit for, Your Majesty. Sometimes, I think you know me too well. If I confuse you, then it’s because I confuse myself.” Sylvain takes hold of Dimitri's hand from across the table and squeezes.
Felix’s back aches from all the sitting he’s done recently. He feels anxiety coursing through his body as he fidgets with a dagger in his hand. His room in Gautier is closest to Sylvain’s. He breathes in the cold air from an opening in between their respective bedrooms.
Ingrid loudly huffs behind him. Seiros, he’s off his game. He should have heard Ingrid’s tired, dragging footsteps acres away. He scans Ingrid in her sleepwear: a floor length nightgown and a night cap. Ridiculous.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Not even Ingrid’s grandmother ever wore such a thing.
She glowers at him impatiently. “Nightgown, jerk.”
“Should you be here? You can’t afford to miss your much-needed beauty sleep.”
"Uh-huh, you're one to talk.”
“What do you want?” Felix stares at Ingrid expectantly.
“Am I that incapable to you, Felix? I’m tired of being left out of your little boys club! You three have always excluded me from certain things but to do so now of all times is reprehensible.”
Felix blinks at her in bewilderment. Is she referring to communications with the other nobles? “You’re throwing a tantrum because… you want to do menial chores?”
“Explain to me how they’re menial, then. They’re clearly important enough for you and His Majesty to fret over! My title may not be as prestigious as yours, but I’m certainly capable of helping somehow!” Ingrid's voice increases in volume the more she speaks.
Felix rolls his eyes. “This isn’t about fucking prestige.”
“Oh, it’s not? What is it about then!?” Ingrid barks.
“Your wedding should be more important to you than dealing with petty noble complaints!”
“I already told you I’m not planning my wedding yet!”
“What about Galatea then!? You’re whining as if you don’t have your own territory to worry about.”
“Last I recall, I led negotiations with Dagda and procured suitable crops for Galatea—For Faerghus.” Ashe was a major asset to Ingrid during negotiations, but she definitely spearheaded the cause as soon as she took up her role as a count.
Felix restrains his urge to flick Ingrid’s nightcap. “You did do that. That doesn’t mean everything is fixed.”
“Of course it doesn’t mean that. But how do you think I feel being left out of things? We’re all here for the same reason, Felix. You always do this. You act like everything falls on your shoulders alone.”
“If you’re that desperate to talk to House Charon, be my guest.” Felix turns his back to Ingrid.
“Thank you.”
“Insufferable…” Felix mutters under his breath. He does not ‘always do this’.
“I’m glad you two worked things out.” Dimitri announces. Ingrid and Felix turn to him in shock. Dimitri smiles softly at them.
“Ingrid, I’ll be heading to Fhirdiad tomorrow morning.” He looks to Felix and then back to Ingrid. “We should take some time to discuss current affairs over breakfast tomorrow.”
Felix walks directly into Sylvain’s room, leaving the boar and Ingrid down the hall. He dramatically exhales against the door. He locks eyes with Sylvain, who’s sitting on the edge of his bed watching Felix with curious eyes.
Felix approaches him and tilts Sylvain’s head up. He thumbs Sylvain’s swollen, chewed up lower lip.
“Please do not ask how I’m feeling.”
“Pfft. That was the last thing on my mind.”
Felix changes into his nightwear. “Did you enjoy your pity party with the boar?”
"Yes. Did you enjoy your cat fight with Ingrid?” Sylvain lays on his back, watching Felix change.
“It wasn’t a cat fight.” Felix sprawls out onto the bed and digs his nails into Sylvain’s arm. “Take off your pants and come closer.”
Sylvain tries to hide his excitement as he inches closer to Felix. Felix extends his palm in front of Sylvain's face and Sylvain spits.
“To what do I owe the honors?”
Felix grasps Sylvain’s eager cock. “You made it through today without making an utter fool of yourself.” He slowly strokes Sylvain, “I expect more from you every day, though.” Suddenly, Felix tightens his hold over Sylvain's member in warning.
Sylvain looks into Felix’s eyes and nods slowly, biting his lower lip, “I can do better.”
“You can and you will.” In fact, Felix and Sylvain will have a conversation as soon as they’re done, Felix will make sure of it. It’s not his usual style to grant rewards before the work is done, but he’s inclined to this time. Maybe he’s grown softer with age, though that seems doubtful.
A sheen of sweat forms on Sylvain’s forehead as his breathing develops an irregular pace. Felix picks ups the intensity of his stroking. It's not long before Sylvain releases into Felix’s fist with a blissful gasp.
Felix wipes his hand on his night shirt, discreetly watching Sylvain, who has a soft expression on his face. Felix sighs and lays on his back, “How’s that eulogy looking?”
“Blank,” Sylvain confesses.
“Just get it over with. Matthias didn’t give you much to eulogize,” Felix barely disguises the disdain in his voice. Sylvain probably sees straight through him.
“Did I tell you I was with him when he spoke his final words?”
“What?”
“I—I—I think he was trying to apologize… his heart gave out before he could finish whatever he was saying.”
The geezer would rather die than face accountability for his shitty parenting, Felix thinks. He speaks before he can consider his words. “So what? He may or may not have tried to apologize while on his literal death bed. That doesn’t change anything.”
“Weren’t you the one saying I loved him?”
“Because you did. That doesn’t mean he deserves your grief.” Felix can’t even bring himself to speak the late margrave’s name.
“I don’t know, Felix.” Sylvain’s response carries a hint of defensiveness. He stares up at the ceiling, thinking. “I guess you’re right, but it meant a lot… to know he regretted everything.” Sylvain sighs.
'Regretted everything' sounds far-fetched. Whatever. The man hasn’t even been dead for half a week yet. Felix is better off saying nothing. His face snaps toward the door. Sylvain doesn’t have any time to react to Felix accordingly before Dimitri knocks at the door.
“Sylvain?” Dimitri whispers. Sylvain blushes under Felix’s gaze. He mouths sorry to Felix for the interruption.
“Your Majesty? What’s wrong?” Sylvain sits up while Felix lets Dimitri in.
“Ah. I thought I would accept your offer, but I ca—”
“What offer?” Felix cuts in.
“His Majesty leaves tomorrow. I thought he could sleep in here tonight.”
Felix sighs. The boar is better suited to speaking kindly of Sylvain’s father anyway.
Sylvain is tucked under the blanket on the center of his bed. His pants are carelessly laying on the floor. “I really can leave if I’m interrupting something…”
“It’s fine. Sylvain doesn’t need his pants. Right, Sylvain?” Felix quips.
“Stay, Dimitri.” Sylvain reassures him.
“What were you two discussing?” Dimitri approaches one side of the bed and Felix the other.
“The late margrave,” Felix says bitterly.
“Actually, Felix was touching my dick.” Sylvain redirects by teasing Felix back.
Dimitri shifts stiffly under the bed sheets. Felix disregards that he initiated this shame game. If Sylvain wants to play, Felix will gladly play along. He sees Dimitri’s face turn pink.
“That’s right. Sylvain was just confessing how desperately he wishes his king would suck him off.”
“Felix!” Sylvain squawks while Dimitri gasps.
“What?” Felix questions. He smirks at Dimitri. “Weren’t you desperate for more work? Your vassal is in urgent need.” Dimitri adjusts his body and leans forward, settling into the most optimal position to give a blowjob.
“Y—your Majesty, that’s not why I invited you tonight. This is—”
“Sylvain, please allow me. It wouldn’t be the first time…” Dimitri pleads to Sylvain with his single, glistening eye. Felix subconsciously holds his breath.
Sylvain gives in. “Okay, continue.” Dimitri makes a delighted noise and begins to nuzzle his face along Sylvain’s lap, sighing contently.
“Stop,” Felix commands Sylvain to rest between his legs and for Dimitri to place himself between Sylvain’s legs. They get situated in no time. Dimitri looks up at Felix for approval from his new position. Felix nods. Dimitri immediately latches his lips against Sylvain’s inner thighs and kisses a trail forward to suckle his scrotum. Sylvain’s panting grows needier the more slobbery Dimitri sounds.
Felix’s presses his hardening length against Sylvain. Dimitri licks up Sylvain’s cock, paying extra attention to where his foreskin and phallus connect.
Felix removes Sylvain’s top and slides down his own bottoms. He ruts against Sylvain.
When Sylvain throws his head back, eyes shut in pleasure, Felix grips his jaw and directs him to keep his eyes on Dimitri.
Dimitri moans around Sylvain’s length and takes him deeper. Sylvain whimpers, and Felix jacks himself off, rocking against Sylvain. With his free hand, he tweezes Sylvain's nipple.
Dimitri bobs his head on Sylvain’s cock; he’s taken it so deep. Both men watch in awe at the way Dimitri's lips touch Sylvain's red pubic hair. Dimitri and Felix lock eyes and Dimitri shivers. He palms at his erection through his thin bottoms.
Felix speaks in a low, teasing voice, “Don’t you want to fuck His Majesty’s face, Sylvain?” Sylvain and Dimitri nod fervently.
Felix fucks against Sylvain as Sylvain thrusts into Dimitri’s slick mouth. Dimitri sucks earnestly. Moments later, thick ropes of white cum shoot down Dimitri’s throat. Dimitri doesn’t release Sylvain from his mouth. He continues sucking, choking and slobbering around Sylvain's cock with soft, pleased moans.
Finally, he looks up at them with a lopsided smile, suddenly feeling bashful.
“Don’t be shy,” Sylvain encourages and pats the empty space next to him in bed.
Dimitri’s eye widens, “I couldn’t possibly—” The blonde suddenly throws his head back with a light gasp when Sylvain presses his foot against Dimitri’s tented crotch.
Still grinding and touching himself against Sylvain, Felix growls, “Get on with it.” Dimitri relents, kicking off his lower garments. Dimitri drags his leaky cock against Sylvain’s thigh as he ruts against him.
Both Sylvain and Felix eye Dimitri hungrily as he whimpers. His breathing has transformed into needy, high gasps. He desperately presses against Sylvain with heated fervor. He nearly loses himself to the pleasurable friction and ecstasy that is Sylvain. Felix’s eyebrows knit together, and he comes from watching Dimitri lose himself in unabashed, wanton pleasure. Similarly, Sylvain’s breath hitches watching Dimitri and he shudders when he feels the splatter of Felix’s hot seed against his naked body.
Dimitri takes in their sweaty, heaving bodies. He watches as Sylvain kisses Felix’s cum-soaked hand and Dimitri feels himself swell with desire.
“Wait,” he pleads, erratically humping against Sylvain. Felix coolly stares him down and Dimitri comes with a high, desperate whine, eye rolling back in pleasure. Lost in delirious pleasure, Dimitri loses all intent to catch everything with his hand to prevent any messes. He ends up spilling all over Sylvain's stomach and flops onto the bed. Dimitri looks up in a daze at Sylvain's and Felix's blissful faces drinking up the sight of him sprawled out before them.
Dimitri hurriedly wipes his hand on Felix's discarded garments. He settles on top of Sylvain and reaches over to clasp Felix’s wrist. He drags his tongue along Felix's palm and places soft kisses along Felix's knuckles as well.
The three of them spread themselves out on Sylvain’s bed with Felix and Dimitri sandwiching Sylvain.
Despite his attempt to stay awake, Felix is the first to fall asleep. He takes up substantial space as he spreads out, hanging his arm around Sylvain’s waist. Dimitri and Sylvain huddle closer together on the remaining half of the bed.
Sylvain speaks into Dimitri’s ear, “Sleeping tonight?”
Dimitri considers this, “I believe so.” Sylvain squeezes Dimitri's hand and yawns.
Then, Sylvain looks over to Felix’s slumbering form. The worry lines on Felix’s face are softened in repose. “He’s overdoing it, isn’t he?”
Dimitri wrinkles his eyebrows and avoids eye contact with Sylvain, “He… never does anything halfway.”
Sylvain runs his hand through his hairline and sighs, “Figures as much.” He has no idea how he’ll feel in the morning, or any day after that. All he can do is push through, but he never expected to outlive his father. He never expected to live this long, period.
Part of him may always feel guilty for existing. Gautier deserves better than him. The Kingdom deserves better than him. His friends deserve better than him.
Sylvain feigns sleep until he feels Dimitri’s breathing grow low and steady. At that point, he gives in to his own drowsiness, rather than staying awake dreading his future. Panic won’t serve him. He has to be better, for everyone.