Chapter Text
Ethereal Moon of 1180, Day 7
"You will not find justice for the people of Remire while running yourself into the ground, Your Highness. My suggestion is merely that you take time to rest."
The ferocity of Dimitri's scowl continues to burn a hole into the wooden targets nearby, assuring Dedue that his words fell on deaf ears yet again.
Nothing seems to have gotten through in the week past the incident. Lack of sleep hangs heavy on Dimitri's face, haunted mumbles more frequent and bags below his eyes only darkening with each new day. It's... concerning, to say the least. Every candle spotted burning from his window into the early morning only compounds Dedue's worry that all of this turmoil will catch up to him on the battlefield.
Or that the stress may just cause him to keel over in the night. If only he told Dedue where his attempts to sneak out were headed, he may be able to help—or at least watch over him should the worst come to pass.
Rapid footfall echoes down the cobble path toward the Knight's Hall, placing any further protest on pause once the familiar sound grows louder. Their professor comes careening in and skids to a stop a few paces away, unbothered by the massive cloud of dust kicked into the air during that abrupt entrance. None of the students—nor faculty—knew why Byleth felt the need to sprint full tilt across the monastery most days. It hardly startled anyone by now.
Grumbles briefly continue about the dastards that ravaged Remire until His Highness takes notice of their company and grounds himself enough to hold a conversation, allowing his arms to fall to his sides from where they'd crossed.
"Was something the matter? Something about the White Heron Cup?" Dimitri pauses, blanching once it strikes him exactly what direction this conversation may take. Any remaining hint of color drains from his already disconcerting shade of pale. "Professor, I beg of you. Please, do not choose me as our house representative. I am utterly serious."
Mercifully, the shake of Byleth's head is immediate. "No. You should focus on mastering your cavalry certification."
"Oh, thank the goddess."
Crisis averted; Dimitri heaves a sigh and allows his shoulders to slump as a genuine smile, however small, creeps onto his face now that he wasn't in grave danger of embarrassing himself in front of the entire academy. It brings Dedue a shred of peace to see His Highness wasn't so far gone that silly troubles such as being picked for a dance competition were beyond him.
"If I may, did you have anyone in mind? I'm sure you'll select someone with the confidence to win for us."
"I do, yes. That would be why I'm here."
"Pardon? If not me, then..." Dimitri blinks, trailing off to scan the room.
None of the other Blue Lions were present, save for—realization dawns on both students in tandem as their professor pivots to address him directly. "Dedue, would you represent our class for the White Heron Cup?"
... Surely, this had to be a prank of some sort.
Byleth had about as much of an outward sense of humor as Dedue himself—yet who the hell put their teacher up to this, and why, would remain mysteries.
The majority of the Lions were nobles that likely grew up learning the steps at fancy soirées; even Ashe would prove a better choice after being raised under Lonato's roof. By no means would Dedue consider himself an elegant man, nor particularly charming when deliberate attempts to smile frighten his peers. He isn't graceful. Not to mention what the judges' opinion of his heritage and Duscur as a whole may be.
That could throw the competition alone.
Perhaps someone from a different house—Claude? Claude was a reasonable guess—planted the idea to boost their own chances of winning, suggesting the competition use the worst option at their disposal. Byleth just waits patiently for both men to gather their jaws from the dirt.
"I... will take part, if you insist." Dedue relents once it becomes clear that no punchline would come, ignoring Dimitri's hand shooting up to cover his mouth. The effort does little to hide his palpable shock.
Dedue is still reeling himself. The professor is putting trust in him for reasons only known to the gods and Fódlan's goddess, the least he can do is resign himself to learn the steps and avoid making a mockery of their class. He closes his eyes, takes a slow breath to steady himself, and tries to be rational about this absurd situation once they open.
"Will you teach me to dance?"
"Of course," Byleth nods, pleased. "A group lesson will be taking place midday. Meet me outside the classrooms."
"Understood."
"You're both invited to lunch in the dining hall following practice as well." With that, Byleth darts out toward the courtyard to attend other duties. Dimitri leans forward to watch the hasty exit before his attention flits to his retainer, worry knitting his brows together now that the surprise had time to dull and settle.
"That was," He falters slightly, "unexpected. Are you sure you're willing to take this competition head on, Dedue? No one could fault you for having a change of heart."
"If it spares you from having to participate, I am."
All recent hardship considered, it's worth the hassle to hear Dimitri do a poor job of concealing the chuckle that statement punches out of him. "Thank you," A careful hand reaches up to pat his shoulder, "and good luck. We'll be cheering you on."
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"Forgive me." Dedue grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose while his most recent practice partner scurries away. That must be the fifth person to stumble through a vague excuse and flee within the past hour. He can hardly fault any of them; most couldn't comfortably reach his shoulder, leaning down made the steps cumbersome, and the majority of his focus went to not trampling toes with his awkward posture over listening to instructions.
Byleth rests a fist under chin while trying to puzzle this conundrum out, not ready to admit defeat. "There's nothing to apologize for. I'm certain there's a solution we aren't seeing."
The solution may well be to surrender the role to a more talented contestant in their house before it's too late to change—someone else must actually want to participate. A soft hum guides Dedue back to the conversation before an opportunity to make that suggestion arises.
"There must be another student at the academy tall enough to keep you from hunching over. Your coordination isn't the issue, you're doing well when dancing alone." The professor freezes stock-still while cataloguing through the rest of the class roster, turning to Dedue shortly after the strange pause. "What about Dimitri?"
His incredulous stare should serve as a firm and tacit absolutely not, yet Byleth simply raises an eyebrow and waits for an explanation anyway.
"I cannot possibly trouble His Highness with something this trivial."
Whispers spreading throughout the monastery and the potential damage to his reputation were wholly unnecessary when Dimitri already had enough problems of his own. Doubtless he would agree without paying the potential consequences any mind, but Dedue can't fathom how wretched the slander would be should word reach Fhirdiad. Gossip carries quickly. Besides, Dimitri made it abundantly clear how little he wanted to be on the dance floor.
Accepting his answer without further question, Byleth goes back to mulling the issue over. "Raphael is probably closest to your height, however..."
Their strategy would be given away to the Golden Deer—whatever that inscrutable strategy is. Raphael is too friendly not to share how his day went with the rest of his house, the thought doesn't need to be complete for the point to get across. "Nevermind. Do you have any suggestions?"
Dedue grows silent while considering their classmates, only one name coming to mind. Who else would both be tall enough and hold such blatant disregard for prying eyes?
"Should he be amenable to it, Sylvain is our best option."
"Oh?"
Admittedly, Sylvain is also pleasant company. Not many have seen him as an individual right from the start—being able to find a smidgen of trust in someone that quickly was a refreshing change of pace. Dedue not being much of a conversationalist never stopped Sylvain from seeking him out either, prattling on to fill space for the both of them.
"His eye level is nearest to mine," a fond edge lines Dedue's tone as he continues, "and he's a good man. I believe he will agree to aid us."
To Byleth's credit, the surprise wouldn't be discernible on the face of nearly anyone else. Their professor's usual neutrality just makes the marginally widened eyes and raised brows easy to notice, bringing to mind how most react when presented with the idea that Sylvain was capable of being decent.
It prickles something nearly defensive in Dedue. "Would you disagree?"
"No—I just didn't know you got along so well." A rare smile tugs at the corner of Byleth's lip. "I'll keep that in mind moving forward. Sylvain would be a good choice, given that you're already comfortable around each other."
"We have been cooking together. He's... easy to speak with." Dedue doesn't notice his lip quirk up too, easing. "I will ask him."
"After lunch."
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Dedue's side quest begins once the dishes are corralled and cleaned up. Dimitri splits for the library, the professor gears up for a fourth meal in a row, and he bids them both farewell while choosing a direction to begin his search. Garreg Mach was not so large a campus that he couldn't walk the entire grounds within an hour or two—sprawling underground tunnels aside, this can't be too difficult.
Felix is no help when spotted tromping through the dining hall with his sword still on his belt from training, only offering a bark that he's 'not that fool's keeper' when asked if he'd recently seen his old friend.
Off to a great start. Finding Sylvain would prove to be a task easier said than done.
The only head of red hair in the reception hall belongs to Annette, who hums thoughtfully and suggests that he may have returned to the dorms already. Mercedes chimes in from her place outside her quarters that she hasn't seen hide nor hair of Sylvain all afternoon once Dedue asks, but perhaps he went to the market? Dedue thanks her and marches on.
Another dead end.
Sylvain isn't the type to loiter around the cathedral by his own volition, yet Dedue checks there anyway when it becomes one of the few places he hasn't been. Ashe graciously directs him toward the stables from there, where he allegedly saw their classmate less than an hour ago. Dedue heads back down the staircase in hopes that this would be the last leg of his journey. A cursory glance around the stalls just leaves him weary.
This was getting ridiculous. He's walked the length of the monastery several times now with absolutely nothing to show for it, trudged up and down endless stairs, and to top it all off? Dedue still had practice after this hike, should he ever manage to find his potential dance partner. He briefly considers trying again after class tomorrow now that his trail went cold all over again during a moment taken to catch his breath.
It all seems like a complete and utter waste—until a laugh and a soft 'woah, girl,' rings out from one of the stables.
Sylvain may not be present, yet Dedue did locate the next best thing; a woman with a homing beacon on his back to curb whatever mischief he got himself into. If Ingrid didn't know where he was, Sylvain vanished into thin air.
She's hard at work preening the wings of her pegasus when Dedue cautiously tries to approach.
Deft fingers work over the casing of a pin feather and release it real quick in favor of grabbing the reins when the animal rears up, trying to calm her mare down as it beats those massive wings and squeals, ready to take off through the roof. Dedue winces and steps back in tandem.
"Hey, hey! Shhhhh—!" Ingrid coos, dodging the feathers flying about until the pegasus starts to calm down. It whinnies, bobs its head a few times, and scrapes a hoof against the floor of the stall with an irritated harrumph before folding its wings against its back and settling again. She takes a deep breath and pats the side of its head once the little tantrum has subsided. "What's gotten into you today?"
"My apologies. My intention was not to startle either of you."
Ingrid jolts despite the intent and whirls around. Whatever Dedue's face is doing, it must look particularly rattled for the speed at which a sympathetic smile eases the shock on hers. "Don't worry about it, Róta startles around most men." She waves a dismissive hand. "I'm just glad I had the bridle on her—she probably caught on to how tense you are. Is everything all right, Dedue?"
He nods. Other than the being put to a wild goose chase today, he's fine. Tired, but unharmed.
"Good! Good. Then... did you need help with something? It's rare to see you on stable duty."
"I did. Have you seen Sylvain recently?"
Implicitly a yes based on her nose scrunching up in distaste. Dedue raises a brow, saying nothing while he waits for context.
"You just missed him. He left to go have tea with some unfortunate girl out on the patio not long ago." Ingrid huffs, a blend of irritation and exhaustion lacing her words.
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On the bright side, the lucky lady didn't throw her tea in his face this time.
Sylvain plucks a jam cookie from the tiered tray in front of him and throws his elbow over the back of his chair now that he was freshly by himself. Shame, too, with what a lovely afternoon it was.
Warm day, gentle breeze, perfect atmosphere for a picnic, and she just had to start hinting toward their apparent long and happy future together. It's only been a few days, could she be any more blatant about what she was after? And now everyone on the patio was throwing him sideways glances as though he's the asshole when they think he isn't looking.
Not his fault they had such a public breakup.
Whatever. Sylvain sighs and allows his eyes to slip shut, tipping the chair back to balance on the two hind legs while he weighs his options.
Chances are that he could probably smooth talk another girl into hanging off his arm for a night on the town before the sun sets. He crosses his arms and tilts his chin up, only bothering to look when a shadow casts over his face and darkens the back of his eyelids.
"You are not an easy man to track down." Dedue huffs, leaning over him from a stance behind the seat.
Hard to take the criticism seriously when he's looking at him upside down. Sylvain cracks a grin with a snort, planting the chair on the ground and twisting around to face him properly. "Hey! Heh, fancy meeting you out here, Dedue. You were looking for me?"
"Yes. Would you walk with me?"
Sparing one more glance to the spread on the table, Sylvain makes the call that it can't hurt to leave the treats for someone else to enjoy. Doubtful they'll go to waste with so many other students milling about. "Yeah, of course." He pushes his chair in before stepping out next to his friend with half of a bow and a grand sweeping gesture. "Lead the way."
It's a wonderful afternoon for a stroll, both quiet while passing through the wrought iron gates. Sylvain does everything he can to bite his tongue and give Dedue space to speak in that short window; he's used to taking up that mantle for the both of them. Eventually his footsteps start to fall alone, stopping near the rose bushes surrounding gazebo to turn with a quizzical look.
"I have a favor to ask." Dedue frowns, apprehension enough to immediately pique Sylvain's interest.
As if he could say no! It's rare he asks for anything when it isn't being passed down the chain from Dimitri or the faculty, usually too self-reliant to bother—whatever it was had to be a big deal if he's asking for himself. A personal request from Dedue was an honor Sylvain wouldn't take lightly. "What's up?"
Maybe this had to do with Dimitri's sleeping habits? They do share a wall in the dorms, was Dedue about to ask that he keep an eye on him at night? It'd be a thorn in his side, he's got other things to do at those hours, but he could give it a shot. Or did he need a sous chef for cooking duty? Sylvain is no Ashe in the kitchen, not yet, but he's got Flayn and Annette beat. Or maybe a girl finally caught his eye? Was it Flayn? Seteth would sure try to kill him, maybe that's why he needs advice. Or—
"Our professor selected me to take part in the competition later this month. Would you be willing to help me prepare?"
"Competition...?" Sylvain brows furrow before they shoot up. "Oh, shit—you got picked for the Heron Cup?"
"You do not need to look so amused."
"No, no—" Sylvain puts his hands up in surrender, fighting for his life to keep a grin contained. "Sorry, just. Wow. Wasn't expecting that. "
"Neither was I," Dedue grumbles, crossing his arms.
Over the past few months Sylvain would hazard to say he's built up a skill for reading the subtle shifts in Dedue's expressions. The harmless, mild exasperation there now has him coughing to hide a snicker behind his hand, smile taking on a condoling tilt as he reaches up to clap his shoulder.
"I'd love to, but I honestly don't think I'll be much help. I only know how to lead. Besides, I bet you'd be much happier dancing with a pretty girl than a goof like me."
"That—" Dedue tries for a rebuttal, cut off by Sylvain zeroing in on a target after a quick survey of the area and cupping his free hand around his mouth.
"Hey! Annette—you got a sec?"
It startles the poor thing bad enough that she nearly sends her books flying with a yip, scrambling to catch them all in a precarious bundle pinned against herself. Dedue charges forward to help balance the stack before it can topple apart. Sylvain winces at the chaos he created.
"Whoo! Thanks, you're a life-saver." Annette takes a breather and smiles up at her classmate now that she wasn't in peril of wiping out. Peeking around Dedue shortly after, she shoots a half-glare-half-pout in Sylvain's direction with all of the intimidation a kitten could muster the way her cheeks puff out. "Not funny, you really got me this time!"
"My bad," Sylvain rubs at the back of his head with a soft laugh. "While you're here, though... How good are you at dancing?"
"Huh?" She blinks at the new subject, cautiously choosing optimism that this wasn't some kind of setup. "I love to dance! Twirling around to music is so much fun, though I wouldn't say I'm incredible or anything. Why?"
"Mind giving us a hand anyway? Dedue here got picked for the Heron Cup and needs a practice buddy." Sylvain thumbs over to said friend standing behind him, ignoring the intense wave of skepticism burrowing into him when he catches Dedue's eye while stars twinkle in Annette's.
"Ooooh, I'd love to!" She cheers, scurrying over to set the stack down on the tile of the gazebo to free up her hands before she could fling her books everywhere again. "That's incredible, Dedue! I wanted to represent our class so bad, but I'm sure you'll do amazing!"
Annette can't be that terrible a choice—can she? Sure, she's notoriously clumsy, but she's eager to help.
"Have you learned any of the steps yet? Those're probably the hardest part for most people, I tend to get caught up in all the counting." She giggles, walking over and offering her hand. Dedue, as expected, is too kind a man not to indulge letting her try now that she's set her heart to it.
The problem strikes swiftly as a stray arrow through the skull the second he accepts her gesture; her hand looks like a doll's when Dedue takes it in his own.
The top of Annette's head barely measures up to his sternum. Sylvain pauses at the sight of mismatched pair, drawing a soft hiss through his teeth for the crook in Dedue's back just to let her reach his shoulder on her tip-toes whenever they move out of a neutral position. Almost looks like it would be more comfortable to set her atop his feet and let them dance around like a parent might do with their toddler at a wedding.
Annette may be the shortest person in their class, but there's no chance that she was the only one having this issue paired up against their resident gentle giant. Other folks were probably less cordial about the whole situation too.
Dedue's been struggling with this all day, hasn't he? Shit.
"Alright, alright, I've seen enough—I'll take it from here." Sylvain lifts his hands in surrender, trying to keep his approach lighthearted. Last thing he would want is Dedue getting in his head thinking he was embarrassed to be seen near him rather than just trying to spare them the additional rumors two guys dancing around in the courtyard would bring. "Let's just... find somewhere inside, yeah? Wouldn't want everyone getting jealous over seeing Garreg Mach's finest bachelors together."
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The big metal latch of the door clicks shut as the professor steps in, bustling about to drag carpets and already sparse furniture aside to avoid potential tripping hazards. Hopefully the common room's low traffic would afford them some manner of privacy.
At most, Sylvain's only seen the space occupied when the library gets overcrowded—or when lovers went sneaking around for a rendezvous outside of the dorms. Or maybe those are just the only times he's ever been in here. Can't say he hasn't been guilty of tucking behind one of the stone columns with someone before, terrible a hiding spot as it makes.
Byleth stands once the room is clear, addressing Sylvain first. "Do you have any experience with ballroom dancing?"
"I picked up a few things here and there. Ladies love a guy who can dance, don't they?" He winks, nudging Dedue with his elbow and receiving a grunt for his efforts. "What about you? Ever get dragged along to any of those stuffy functions in the castle while people tried to rub elbows with His Highness?"
Dedue shakes his head. "The regent seldom chose to host."
Granted, he likely wouldn't have been permitted to attend even if Rufus Thierry Blaiddyd was the merrymaking type. Fhirdiad castle was a somber place after King Lambert, at least according to his son's accounts; Dedue wouldn't have seen it beforehand to compare.
"Well, consider yourself lucky—you didn't miss much. You're in good hands anyway."
An upturned palm is offered shortly after with a lopsided grin to accompany the gesture. Dedue glances down to consider it for a long moment, deep crease set into his forehead only smoothing out when his gaze lifts to meet his eyes. He slides his hand into Sylvain's with a short nod once he finds whatever assurance managed to soothe his nerves there.
It isn't necessarily soft—callused from a tendency to grip his axe too tight—but it's pleasantly warm. Sturdy. Dedue's hand is just large enough to envelop his own in a way that brings about the same security a gauntlet would.
Sylvain marvels in the feeling until he remembers their audience standing a scant few feet away, carefully adjusting his hold.
"Okay, you're learning how to lead. Right? It's gonna be a challenge to do this backward." Sylvain jokes, stepping forward to take proper form and set his hand on his shoulder. Their professor prompts Dedue to set that other big warm palm on the dip of his partner's waist.
...
"Sylvain?"
"Right!" He sputters a little, trying to play off the warmth dusting his cheeks and whatever dumb stare he must've had plastered across his face to pitch Dedue's voice with concern like that. Being the one held tenderly instead of holding for once just caught Sylvain off guard—surely that's all, no wonder that move usually had his dates swooning. How long has it been? Oops. "Just do the opposite of what I do, you'll get it in no time."
Take a step forward, now back. Turn to the left, straighten your spine, then take a step to the right—Good try, go the other way—
Byleth's voice might as well be echoing from a far off field in the distance. Sylvain is too preoccupied watching Dedue hone all of his concentration into mechanically following instructions, squeezing subconsciously whenever he makes a wrong move and stumbling to correct himself every misstep. Come to think of it, he's never seen Dedue half-ass anything; should have figured representing their house would be no different.
"I kinda see why everyone else split earlier—you're gripping my hand like it owes you coin." Sylvain earns a frown for his teasing that he greets with a soft smile. "Haven't you ever held someone's hand before?"
The question grinds Dedue to a halt from their routine, racking his brain. When was the last time anyone took his hand before today?
His Highness comes to mind as an answer. Shortly after meeting to pull him to his feet, both bloodied, and again, away from danger of the citizens of Fhirdiad hurling stones. After night terrors when he needed a tether to reality. More as protection than holding just for the sake of it. Thinking back further, he can picture little fingers twisted up in the weave of a colorful skirt, an even smaller hand clasped in his. Dedue can't recall his grandmother's face readily anymore, yet the memory of dragging his sister along as they trailed after her was still vivid.
"Hey," Sylvain gently tugs him back to the present with a delicate squeeze once he notices him drifting. "C'mon, you've got this. Remember what you've drilled into just about everyone who shares a kitchen with you? Master the tools before you try and do any fancy stuff."
"Correct. One tool at a time. This is several at once." Dedue grouses, scowling down at his feet as though that might force them to fall in line.
Laughter bubbles up out of Sylvain, unable to help himself over Dedue taking the whole ordeal so seriously the instant he sees the resentment for his own uncooperative legs. The sound has Dedue's eyes widening out of surprise before the absurdity of it all settles in. His laugh rings like warm caramel as it mingles with Sylvain's, soft and rich and entirely too sweet for what it is.
Sylvain feels light on his feet when he sees the accompanying smile, pride swelling in his chest that he managed to do that—Dedue was laughing and smiling, and it's all his fault.
"Willing to give it one more shot?"
Dedue nods, the little moment of joy fizzling out any residual hesitation clinging to the air.
The next few minutes are spent trying to memorize basic steps, falling into a comfortable rhythm once they've both loosened up and adjusted to each other. Sylvain does his best to steal Dedue's attention away from overthinking where to move while Dedue inadvertently steals any other thought from Sylvain's mind.
Since when did he have such pretty eyes?
Could've sworn they were steely grey, but they're quite obviously a beautiful soft green this close up. Reminiscent of the sea glass that Sylvain saw at the odd artisan market now and then. Smooth around the edges after being shattered off a bigger piece and well-worn by the pull of the tide—gentle despite it all, like the rest of him. Never really occurred to him with what a brick wall Dedue was on the battlefield until the comparison clicks just now.
Each time a move pulls them apart to their fingertips they fall a little closer to each other on the rebound. Dedue's hand starts landing on the small of his back rather than on his waist, and Sylvain doesn't stop himself from standing nearly chest to chest while improvisation starts to take over structure. It's safe here in his arms, and he revels in the warmth as long as he can.
Neither realize the passing time until their professor delicately breaks the illusion to let them know curfew is creeping up. The candles were lit awhile ago, night has fallen, and they should probably break for the day.