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“What the fuck did you tell Ingrid?”
A punch in the gut would have hit with less force. Sylvain propped himself up on one arm, careful to not undo all of Mercedes’s hard work. “Nice to see you too, Felix.”
Felix grabbed a fistful of Sylvain’s shirt. “Answer. The. Question.”
“I’ve told Ingrid many things, you’re going to have to be more specific,” Sylvain said evasively.
“You have ten seconds.” The unspoken threat hung in the air as Felix’s grip tightened.
Sylvain sighed. It wasn’t that he didnt know exactly what Felix was talking about. But that didn’t mean he was ready to face it. Sylvain’s eyes flicked to Felix’s unrelenting gaze. “I told her it wasn’t going to work out.”
Felix pulled sharply on his shirt. “You promised!”
“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” he responded, deliberately obtuse.
“Not that promise, you fool,” Felix seethed, releasing his shirt and carelessly letting Sylvain fall back. “You promised you would take this relationship seriously!”
Sylvain winced from more than the rough handling. He remembered the dining hall, when Felix caught him staring longingly at Ingrid’s back as she left their table.
“Don’t say anything unless you’re absolutely sure,” Felix had warned.
“I won’t,” Sylvain had promised.
And he had been so sure. He was still sure that Ingrid was the only woman he would ever love. But as he long suspected, that was not something that was for him.
He carefully stretched his arms in front of him to ease the stiffness of sleep and to buy himself a few seconds to compose himself. He met Felix’s eyes and replied evenly, “I did take it seriously.”
His response just made Felix angrier. “Then why the fuck is Ingrid crying to Annette and Mercedes like every other one of your ‘girls’?”
Sylvain stilled.
Breathed.
Swallowed.
She -
“…She was crying?”
“Of course she was. What the fuck did you think would happen?”
Ingrid, tears streaming down her face at Glenn’s funeral, flashed before his eyes. He would have done anything then to make it stop.
He would have done anything now to make it stop.
But to have been the cause…
He had thought - he had thought -
She knew him. She would have to have expected this would be the eventual fate of their relationship.
She must have.
…Or at least that’s what he had been telling himself.
Sylvain wasn’t so foolish as to think she would feel nothing. They had been together for awhile, and this sudden breakup was bound to make her feel some type of way.
But crying?
Anger, he expected. Indifference, he could deal with. Relief, even, he would understand. But to be so upset that she was crying…
He never could handle seeing a girl cry. Especially Ingrid.
“I thought -” His mouth was suddenly dry and he struggled to get the words out. “I thought she understood.”
“Understood what, that you’re so careless that even in the middle of a war you can’t be bothered to be serious about anything?”
He had indeed been careless when he had professed his feelings for her. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have realized the inevitable outcome.
Felix continued, “We are preparing for our assault on Enbarr, we can’t afford distractions.”
And here he had been, exactly that. Sylvain was silent as he felt the words wash over him.
“Well?” Felix demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Sylvain had nothing.
Felix’s eyes narrowed as he studied Sylvain. He crossed his arms. Shifted his weight. Finally he said, “Where’s your litany of excuses? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Sylvain gestured vaguely to his desk where his father’s letter sat. Felix might as well know. He might as well understand. Their lives were not just their own. “Last two paragraphs,” he muttered.
Felix picked up the letter and his eyes quickly darted over each line.
Sylvain didn’t need to see it to remember the words. Along with other war correspondence, he had written to his father and asked what he thought of a possible engagement between him and Ingrid.
His father’s response was predictable in hindsight.
‘It is about time you finally consider marriage. However, a union with Galatea is unwise. They are already unquestionably loyal to the King. A marriage between our houses would add little value. A greater boon to the Kingdom would be to consider marriage to a Lady from the West, or even the Empire, who could help solidify support behind a united Fodlan.
You may want to consider someone like the Gray Lion’s daughter. I understand you have some affection for her, and her father was well regarded in Rowe. Marrying her would do much to decrease the tensions with the rebelling forces of the west and help stabilize the Kingdom. After we have succeeded in this war, we must review all options carefully.’
“Leave it to my father to be a decade behind on the gossip,” Sylvain joked, or at least tried to. Even to his own ears, it sounded hollow.
On the day that he had first read his fathers words, he felt the overwhelming desire to burn his relationship to the ground. He wanted Ingrid to hate him, to curse him for ever thinking he could have more.
He had tried all his usual tricks.
He had tried ignoring her, but that had proved impossible. His traitorous heart had always ended up seeking her out.
He had tried to be mean to her, but Ingrid just shook her head and told him to stop being stupid, and he had folded like a house of cards.
He had gone so far as to visit a bar with the intention of seducing the first woman he saw. But even brushing the bartender’s fingertips while getting change for his drink had made him recoil. The idea of pursuing a touch that wasn’t Ingrid’s was so anathema to his being that he barely had half the drink before fleeing the bar.
So he’d done what he should have done from the beginning and talked it through. Explained everything. And Ingrid had looked down and frowned. Nodded. And ultimately agreed the Margrave was right.
Felix looked up from the page, lips pressed into a thin line.
Sylvain smiled weakly. “He’s not wrong, it doesn’t make sense politically.”
“Your father,” he sneered, “is an idiot.”
Sylvain bristled and found himself reflexively defensive. “Hey! He has done a lot for Faerghus, shoring up support for His Highness with the Eastern lords and establishing supply -”
“And we are grateful for that,” Felix countered. “But we’re not talking about his wartime efforts. That man has never had your best interests at heart.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “He just wants -”
Felix’s eyes snapped to his. “He was never around when you were a child.”
“He had a border to defend.”
“He sent you on a suicide mission ‘cause he was too proud to ask other territories for help with those bandits.”
“He was testing me, and it wasn’t that bad, I had the sense to ask the Professor for help -”
“And yet,” Felix demanded.“Now you hesitate?”
Irritation bubbled just below the surface. “What do you want me to say? I don’t have an argument. At least with the bandits, I could come up with some bullshit about leadership skills, or negotiating deals, but this? I got nothing.”
Felix stared at him incredulously. “You. You of all people really have no arguments. You expect me to believe that?”
“Marriages lead to alliances, alliances stabilize a war torn country and ultimately offer a path to peace,” Sylvain argued hotly. “He’s not wrong.”
Felix reached for his shoulder. “Our country is stronger than that. One political marriage of a margrave won’t make or break Faerghus.”
“You don’t know that!” Sylvain was surprised to find himself shouting. He took a breath. More calmly he said, “My father won’t be convinced -”
“Your father or you?” Felix hissed back. “Because all I see is a coward who would rather die than fight for what he wants.”
It was more salt in the wound. Sylvain could feel the color draining from his face. “I’m not -”
Felix’s fingers pressed into the bruise on his upper arm, another injury from the recent skirmish. “Sure you’re not.”
Sylvain grit his teeth. “We’re nobles, Felix. We always knew freedom was the trade off.”
Felix scowled. “So you’ll listen to your father about who to spend the rest of your life with?”
“It’s the right decision,” Sylvain repeated.
Felix’s eyes flashed. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone. “Your father already made you live in the same house as that monster for seventeen fucking years.”
"What else was he supposed to do?” Sylvain’s pulse was racing.
Felix’s eyes bore into Sylvain’s skull. "That bastard tried to murder you. And your father did nothing. Why the fuck are you listening to him?”
“Because if I don’t, then what was the point?” Sylvain yelled, recoiling when he could feel his wound throb from his outburst. Holding his side, he looked up at Felix. “If I don’t, then why did I - why did I have to -” Tears stung his eyes. Must be his injury. He would have to call Mercedes back after Felix left. “It’s just the way things are.”
“You -” Felix reached a hand out, presumably to grab him again, but stopped short. “The least he could do to make up for it is to let to have this.”
Sylvain looked away.
“You don’t need to listen to your father to justify every shitty situation he put you through. Sometimes things just suck. But you don’t have to roll over and play dead just because he thinks he knows what’s best. Just marry who you want.”
The words themselves made sense but Sylvain couldn’t figure out how to apply them.
With renewed vigor, Felix demanded, “Go make up with Ingrid before you get yourself killed.”
Sylvain wouldn’t dare to dream that things could be different. He couldn’t put himself through this again. He couldn’t put her through this again. He looked down at his hands. “Felix, I can’t.”
Felix eyed him and Sylvain thought he might keep pushing, but at length he said, “Fine. Be unhappy.” He moved towards the door, but before he reached it, he paused and looked back. “But when you do come to your senses, just remember,” his smile was a little vicious, a little bitter, and all teeth. “I outrank him.”
Mercedes checked him out, told him he was healing nicely but to take it easy, and then she was gone. Not for the first time, Sylvain wished he was in the infirmary with all the chaos there, but he couldn’t justify taking up space when he had his own quarters.
So he was alone with his thoughts again.
That was the unfortunate side effect of bedrest. It gave Sylvain time to think.
His father was right. He knew this.
The best course of action for the Kingdom was to find a bride from the opposing forces. Maybe a woman from the empire, whose family would then have a bit more sway with their new king, a bit more loyalty to the crown to keep their new power, a bit more incentive to stay peaceful.
Maybe it would be tolerable. Maybe she would be smart and funny. Maybe after the endless years of marriage they would even find a steady rythm and mutual respect.
But it wouldn’t be Ingrid.
Sylvain twisted and turned, trying to get comfortable. He needed to sleep and recover. He had to just accept things as they were and move on.
His father had to be right.
But…
What if he wasn’t?
Felix’s words kept twisting around in his head. Felix was stubborn, but no one would accuse him of being a romantic. He of all people should understand where his father was coming from. To insist so strongly otherwise…
No, Felix had just been concerned for the army. Ingrid was getting distracted and he… well, he could admit to having been a little more careless than usual in the last battle. He’d have to get his shit together next time so he didn’t worry Felix.
But was that not an argument in its own right? Keeping Felix happy was and would be very important for the future of Faerghus.
His father had said it was unwise, not impossible, for a marriage to Ingrid. It was an opening. Maybe there was a way to convince him. Maybe there was a way to make it pallatable to his father.
Maybe there was a chance he could be happy.
No, that was foolishness. He turned in his bed again. His Highness and Faerghus were the priority above all else. A loveless marriage was just the price to pay.
This was the order of things.
Of course it was.
But maybe…
A knock at the door pulled Sylvain from the reveries of sleep. The door creaked open and Ingrid’s head popped in the door. His heart skipped a beat.
“Oh! I’m sorry, you were asleep, I can come back -”
"No, no,” Sylvain quickly responded. “You're fine, come in.”
Ingrid gingerly stepped into the room, looking him up and down. “I, uh, heard Mercedes stopped by, and I, um, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Sylvain smiled fondly, but forlornly. “Healing as expected. Should be back on the field in no time.”
Ingrid's expression was relieved. “That’s good. I was so worried when I heard you - you -” She didn’t seem to want to say it. “Well. I’m glad to hear you’re better. That’s all.”
She turned towards the door and Sylvain realized she was going to leave already. His heart spoke for him. “Don’t go.”
She refused to turn around. "I just stopped by to make sure you were okay. The Kingdom can’t afford anymore casualties.”
“Of course, the Kingdom.” The air was heavy between them. Sylvain hated it. “Ingrid… Felix stopped by. He, um, said you were crying.”
She looked at him sharply. “Yeah, what of it?”
He had to know. He had to be sure. “Was it… really because of me?”
“Why else?” she snapped. More measuredly, she added, “It’s been… upsetting.”
Sylvain looked down. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize it affected you so much.”
“Of course it did!” she tried to shout, but her voice wavered. “I thought we would… I wanted us to… I lo- look, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Sylvain’s chest was tight. She really had been crying. For him. Resolve took root and carried him forward. “Ingrid, I love you.”
"And your father is right.” She sighed, long and tired. “We can both make more beneficial matches for the sake of the Kingdom.”
"What if,” Sylvain said slowly. “What if we can convince him?”
She looked away again. “Sylvain. Don’t do this. It’s already hard enough.”
"We just need to make him see the value of our marriage.”
"Please don’t.”
Sylvain pressed on anyway. "Think about it. We know each other so well. After the war, it’s going to be busy and there’ll be plenty of rebuilding to do. We wouldn’t have to waste any time with marriage arrangements and the awkward getting to know each other phase, we can get straight to work.”
Ingrid shifted her weight from side to side. “Sylvain…”
"The villages of Gautier have been removed from most of the fighting. Their main concern is the stability of their king and the church. They would prefer a margravine who shared their Faerghan values.”
"They can adapt to anybody,” Ingrid said, looking at the ground.
“But who else would have the support and the trust of their king?”
“All the more reason to have us marry others,” she replied sadly.
"Then think about how we are in battle,” Sylvain continued. “Nobody fights better together than us. Haven’t I improved since we started fighting side by side?”
“You have been… considerably less reckless when I was there,” Ingrid allowed. “Up until the last skirmish anyway.”
Sylvain smiled weakly, pushing Felix’s accusation out of mind. “Exactly! Who doesn’t want a margrave who will fight with all his might to make it back home alive to his wife?”
“I’m not out with you?” Ingrid asked, slowly starting to entertain the conversation.
“And there’s that! Gautier is still a border. Just imagine how much safer people will feel knowing both their margrave and margravine can defend it. And not even just defend it, but defend it better together.”
"That’s… true,” Ingrid reluctantly agreed. “But Galatea doesn’t have anything else to provide to Gautier. We don’t have any resources to offer, and even after the war, we won’t have much manpower to spare for the Sreng border.”
“But we would have you.” Sylvain was nearly starting to believe himself. “There’s so much you can do for Gautier as a knight and as a leader. You work hard, and you care about your people. You can help keep me in check when I do something stupid.”
“You can get a little carried away,” Ingrid breathed, stepping toward his bed for the first time.
“And together we can do what’s best for Gautier, and, by extension, the Kingdom!”
"I suppose…” Ingrid still wouldn’t quite look at him. “But your father is stubborn. Do you really think he can be convinced?”
"Alone, maybe not,” Sylvain conceded. “But what if someone who outranks him supports us?”
Ingrid frowned. “We can’t ask His Highness to make waves with one his strongest supporters at a time like this.”
“I didn’t say His Highness.”
“Who -” Her eyebrows scrunched together before the realization dawned. “Felix?”
"Felix.” Sylvain confirmed.
“He -” Ingrid sat on the edge of his bed, hands balled on her knees. “Huh. I guess I never - I never knew quite what he thought, you know, of us.”
"Apparently, he thinks I make bad decisions when you’re not around.”
Ingrid made a breathy noise. It was the first time in long, long while that she had sounded amused. “We all know that.”
“Also seems to think my father is an idiot for not supporting us.”
She stared intently at her hands. Tentatively, she asked, “You - You’re not going to change your mind again, are you?”
It pained him the she even had to ask. How could he have been so foolish? "I never changed my mind about wanting to marry you, Ingrid. I just… needed a push to accept it could be a reality.”
Ingrid’s eyes were shiny, tears threatening. She put her hand out, brought it back and then reached out again to grasp his hand. It was even better than he remembered. Her touch was like a salve, grounding him, quieting his racing heart. He couldn’t quite pull her into his arms just yet, but soon. Soon, he would get better, and then, and then -
He placed his other hand over hers. "Ingrid, will you marry me?”
“You idiot,” she answered, a tear escaping down her cheek. “Of course, I will.”
Finally cleared of bedrest, Sylvain joined his friends in the dining hall. He took the spot next to Felix while Ingrid stopped to talk to the professor.
Without any prelude, Sylvain announced, "I asked her to marry me.”
Felix nodded once. "Good.”
“And she said ‘yes.’”
“Of course,” Felix said matter-of-factly, though Sylvain could see the hint of a smile forming on his lips.
“We will probably need your help talking to my father,” Sylvain warned. “But he’ll listen to you. He’s always been a stickler for rank.”
“I wouldn’t have pointed it out if I thought any different,” Felix replied.
It was then Ingrid joined them, sitting across the table. Sylvain smiled affectionately at her, heart overflowing with love, and awe, and hope. “Just telling Felix our good news.”
Ingrid looked at Felix earnestly. “I have to thank you, Felix. Really.”
Felix crossed his arms and huffed. “You two were interfering with the war effort. Promise me you won’t be so stupid again.”
Ingrid smiled sheepishly. “On my honor.”
“Promise.” Sylvain smiled at Ingrid adoringly. Whatever his father said, he would figure out a way to marry her. If he had to have a million arguments to pursuade him, if they had to run away and elope, if they had to wait forever, he would find a way.
Felix, seemingly satisfied with his friends’ responses, turned his attention back to his food. They chattered away about strategy and equipment and all the things Sylvain had missed on bedrest.
Ingrid finished up her plate and left for seconds. Sylvain watched her back as she left, never taking his eyes off her. “Is it weird?” he asked at length. “She was almost your sister.”
"…still will be,” Felix mumbled.
Sylvain turned to face Felix, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “What was that?”
Felix scowled. “You heard me.”
“Say it again,” Sylvain asked, smile broad.
“No.”
Sylvain reached an arm over Felix’s back and leaned into him in a side hug. Felix quickly pulled away with a loud ‘hmph,’ but Sylvain had a feeling he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. Sincerely, he said, “Thanks, Felix.”
Felix looked away and huffed, “What are friends for, Sylvain.”