#Heartfelt Half-Wit (Sylvain)

[winter-sword]

@asterisque continued from here

Felix’s instinct was to snap back, point out the times that had nearly made their promise null and void, but bit his tongue instead. After all, he himself had always fought just as recklessly, and (at least these days) he was doing his best to... not be a cruel hypocrite as much as before. Of course, then Sylvain calling him sweet registered, and the shorter male actually found a faint blush heating his face. “Fine. But only if you stop taking stupid risks.” But there wasn’t any heat in the words, not a trace of his usual standoffish. In fact, it came out sounding like anyone else saying I care about you, or I don’t want to lose you. Which made the swordsman look away even more pointedly, still uncomfortable with feeling cared about.

If there were a hint of a word starting with L, Felix wouldn’t admit it.

[winter-sword]

Since waking (weeks? months?) after the Tragedy, the person once known as Glenn Hector Fraldarius had had but one goal aside from recovering -- to return home. Of course, as home had never been a place but rather people, that had proved more difficult than even retraining her body and healing it herself. By the time she had healed enough that her good days were starting to outweigh her bad by even the slimmest of margins, the people she considered home were enrolled at the Officers Academy, and something like four years had passed. It was the last place she ever would have considered home; she had been alone and forced to conform to a gender she hated in a body she had never learned how to love.

But none of that mattered; she had an obligation to fulfill, and a soul-deep yearning to not be alone any longer. It was late in the day when she arrived in the town situated adjacent to the monastery, the last of a beautiful Garland Moon sunset painting th sky... and for a moment, she though she had only imagined the flash of bright, Gautier red hair in the crowd. At a second look, she realized that she hadn’t imagined it, and she wondered how long it would take Sylvain to realize he was being followed. With the sun quickly setting, she drew back the hood of her cloak for easier identification, exposing her face to the world. While her hair and eyes were still the same dark blue, she now wore her copious amounts of hair up in a braided bun, and a careful application of Faith magic had started to soften her features a bit.

Once close enough, and once they were mostly alone, she reached out to catch his shoulder. (Gently, carefully, but firmly; insistent, but not a threat.) “You sure know how to make a lady work for it, don’t you, Syl?” Despite being pitched up slightly, her voice sounded much the same as ever, and her gentle teasing was hopefully still familiar. When she had his attention, she manifested her Minor Crest of Fraldarius with her free hand, a  shimmering teal-white sigil hovering above her gloved palm. But while her voice was sure, her eyes were worried and her smirk just a touch shaky at the edges. A part of her was terrified her best friend would reject her, that she had been gone too long, that it wasn’t fair to show up like this. If the only person she had truly been honest with, told that her name should have been Gwenn, hated her...

If that happened, she would be at a loss.

@supportup

[winter-sword]

Castle Gautier was known as Bitter Embrace.

The name came from the fact that, even in summer, the castle was bitterly cold. Castle Fraldarius was much the same, though at least it didn’t threaten frostbite in high summer, one of the few things Felix liked about the place. But he wasn’t thinking about his childhood home, no, he was thinking about the place he would – hopefully – only be staying a night at most. As expected from mid-Ethereal Moon, the snow was knee deep, and the days could hardly be called days given how short they were; a blizzard could have been around any corner. Felix was betting on his luck holding for the next few days at least, to facilitate leaving this place as quickly as possible. His clearest memories of this place came from when he was eight, more than ten years ago now, during a particularly cold winter. The four of them spent at least six months of the year together, but that was usually in the spring and summer, and usually in Fhirdiad or Galatea.

That year, however, had been very… Rodrigue had called it “special;” the Margrave had called it “fortuitous;” and Glenn had just laughed. On his eighth birthday, the 20th of the Pegasus Moon, Felix had been handfasted to Sylvain. Conducted by a priest of the Church of Seiros, and witnessed by all the adults involved (Rodrigue, the Margrave, and King Lambert), it had made “official” the betrothal agreed upon three years before. It was the closest to a wedding that would happen until Felix was eighteen, and Felix had despised every single second of it. (Not least because he hated the dress and stockings and shoes that made his feet hurt, or because of how everyone was looking at him and making his skin crawl.) But then the war had broken out, and things had changed. Now, at twenty-two, he rode through the castle town and then through the gates proper to the courtyard under his own power…

But he still felt like a child, knowing that here, he wasn’t Felix. Here, he was “Felicia,” and “Lady Fraldarius,” and a woman, no matter what he did or said to the contrary. In truth, he didn’t know which was worse – being treated like a woman by the staff and servants, or being leered at like an object or a cut of meat by the Margrave. Shoving the thoughts away to be dealt with later (or preferably never), Felix dismounted and coldly ordered the nearest servant to find Sylvain, and to wake them if need be. A stable hand earned his ire by attempting to see to “Lady Fraldarius” horse and saddle bags, a scathing tongue lashing that the swordsman felt no guilt about whatsoever. If the servants weren’t going to respect him, then he wasn’t to treat them with courtesy. Besides that, though, the thought of anyone else touching his horse (or armor, or blades) made Felix want to kill something.

Hopefully, seeing Sylvain again would improve his mood.

@miscria

[winter-sword]

@firesongtales continued from here

Dark brows drew together over furious red eyes, expressive mouth set in its usual scowl. Yet the stormy expression belied the minute tremble to strong hands, palms and fingers alight with haling magic, wound closing slowly but steadily. The swordsman wasn’t Mercedes, not suited to strong Faith magic like Physic or Fortify, but Heal and Nosferatu served him well alongside Thunder and Thoron. He just had to make sure he didn’t deplete his magical reserves with one hasty Reason spell too many. Now that he was close enough, Felix could tell it wasn’t a life-threatening injury, but witnessing Sylvain fall after taking a hit for him yet again…

Anger coursed though him, but that wasn’t what came to the surface, or what was making his hands shake almost imperceptibly. No, that dubious honor went to worry, even though logically he knew the redhead was alright and could take care of himself. On worry’s heels was disgust at showing that worry, but he pushed away that feeling for the moment; now wasn’t the time for his hang-ups regarding expressing motions. When he spoke, the words were ostensibly meant to sound furious and threatening, but they read more as anyone else saying I care about you or I’m glad you’re okay. “Is doing stupid things for me some sort of disease? Next time, I’ll leave you for the medics to find. Moron.”

Still, Felix strengthened the spell when the wound proved stubborn.

[winter-sword]

@lyricos continued from here

For a long moment after Sylvain finally returned the hug -- though it may have been a tad too desperate for such a gentle description -- Felix said nothing. Here, tucked securely against the redhead’s chest, things felt quiet for the first time in a long while. Though he wouldn’t have admitted it aloud (or, rather, not in so many words), he was always terrified whenever Sylvain did things like this. Though it made his stupid heart flutter on the rare occasions it didn’t result in the taller male being nearly grievously injured, it wasn’t exactly easy to know he always had to be perfect, so they could both avoid situations like this very one. One wrong move, one hasty step, one miscalculated strike of his sword, and it was all over.

The ravenette would find himself hurt enough to fall, and then Sylvain would be there, Lance of Ruin in hand and righteous fury in his eyes. The song and dance was sickeningly familiar by now. Still, Felix wasn’t entirely heartless, entirely without consideration. He didn’t change positions, but did loosen his hold about the lancer’s torso and shift his arms downward, mindful of the bandages either Manuela or Mercedes must have applied ‘just in case.’ For these short moments, he allowed himself to enjoy the embrace, a luxury he usually wouldn’t have permitted either of them. Injured though he was, Sylvain felt warm and familiar, solid and safe. A tiny, trembling, terrified part of Felix wanted to cling to him, bury his face in the warm curve of the redhead’s neck, and never let go.

“Pay me back,” he growled, rough but strained, “by not being an idiot.”

I couldn’t live with losing you, too.

[winter-sword]

Dance With Me - sylvain !

@nacphilim​

Though the majority of Felix really didn’t want to be here -- too many memories of dresses and wanting claw off his own skin and “Lady Fraldarius” -- there was... There was a part of him that would’ve been content to stare at Sylvain for the entire night. And even though the redhead’s socializing and flirting with seemingly everyone else made the ravenette want to scream or stab someone, the way the candlelight looked reflected in copper eyes, the way the lancer smiled and laughed... It was those things that made tonight even at last a little bearable.

So, yes, Felix would’ve been entirely content to hover at the edge of the dance floor and sip at a single glass of champagne, simply watching his first love best friend flit about like the lovely butterfly he was. But then -- wonder of wonders -- Sylvain actually approached him, and asked for a dance. The swordsman wanted to snark at him, wanted to sneer and deny the request because -- why? What reason could the older male possibly have to ask him, of all people? And yet, perhaps because of the champagne even though he had hardly had any, Felix deadpanned instead,

“...Only if I get to lead.” Surely, Sylvain wouldn’t accept that, would he?

[winter-sword]

I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low Remind me once again just who I am because I need to know

You say I am loved when I can’t feel a thing You say I am strong when I think I am weak And you say I am held when I am falling short And when I don’t belong, oh you say I am yours

And I believe Oh I believe What you say of me I believe

The only thing that matters now Is everything you think of me In you I find my worth In you I find my identity

You say I am loved when I can’t feel a thing You say I am strong when I think I am weak And you say I am held when I am falling short And when I don’t belong, oh you say I am yours

And I believe Oh, I believe What you say of me Oh, I believe

Taking all I have And now I’m laying it at your feet You have every failure You have every victory

You say I am loved when I can’t feel a thing You say I am strong when I think I am weak You say I am held when I am falling short When I don’t belong, oh you say I am yours

And I believe Oh, I believe What you say of me I believe

Oh, I believe Yes I believe What you say of me I believe

@lyricos

[winter-sword]

There's gotta be another way out I've been stuck in a cage With my doubt I've tried forever getting out on my own

But every time I do this my way I get caught in the lies of the enemy I lay my troubles down I'm ready for you now

Bring me out Come and find me in the dark now Everyday by myself I'm breaking down I don't wanna fight alone anymore

Bring me out From the prison of my own pride My God I need a hope I can't deny In the end I'm realizing

I was never meant to fight on my own

Every little thing that I've known Is every thing I need to let go You're so much bigger than the world I have made

So I surrender my soul I'm reaching out for your hope I lay my weapons down I'm ready for you now

Bring me out Come and find me in the dark now Everyday by myself I'm breaking down I don't wanna fight alone anymore

Bring me out From the prison of my own pride My God I need a hope I can't deny In the end I'm realizing

I was never meant to fight on my own

I don't wanna be incomplete I remember what you said To me I don't have to fight alone

Bring me out Come and find me in the dark now Everyday by myself I'm breaking down I don't wanna fight alone anymore

Bring me out From the prison of my own pride My God I need a hope I can't deny In the end I'm realizing

I was never meant to fight on my own

@lyricos

[winter-sword]

@coelcstis continued from here

Sylvain,

I am... as well as can be expected, for one fighting a seemingly endless war. I think of you often, when I dare. What I mean to say is -- I think of you when my sword doesn’t gleam wet with scarlet blood, though even that makes me think of you... You know words, written or spoken, aren’t where my strength lies. Nevertheless, I will endeavor to make this reply at least somewhat worth the time you will spend reading it. I will return to you, of that you can be assured, though whether I will make that return whole in body or sound of mind is mot something I can say with any certainty.

...I shouldn’t speak of such things, but even when I think solely of you, my mind still makes forceful turns to dark and dismal places. My dreams, however, are pleasant when you visit me in them at last. There isn’t much to be said for where I have been, or where I will be going; each is simply a new place where I must kill and fight and endeavor with all my skill not to die. The witch and her forces see to that -- and yet again, I turn to such places. Perhaps even the dull routine of dealing with encampments and fighters and supplies would be preferable to that... But I should end this letter before it becomes circuitous and worthless.

In summary, I am alive, and growing quickly weary of this war.

Yours, always,

Felix.

[winter-sword]

“   remember  me  as  i  was ,   not  as  i  am .   ” - sylvain

“How in the fuck are you this stupid?!” Though Felix snarled the words, the naked fear in his red eyes was also apparent in how his hands were shaking. He knew enough healing magic to at least stop the bleeding, and get the redhead to Mercedes -- the rest of the Imperial Palace had been cleared of beasts and soldiers; only the throne room and Edelgard remained -- but what would be difficult was summoning enough magical energy to make the spell work.

Focused as he was in battle, the ravenette could completely exhaust his small reservoir of magical energy with a quick Thoron too many, and it had finally come to bite him the ass. Felix had always known he would be the reason Sylvain died, intentionally or not, what the fuck was he thinking?! He was also trying to pretend he wasn’t crying, his entire world having zeroed in on the love of his life when he saw Sylvain fall, but that wasn’t the point. The point was --

“If you leave me, Syl, I’ll never forgive you.” Was that a sob? It sounded like one.

@nacphilim

[winter-sword]

💖 - sylvain

Cheeks flushed bright pink, Felix looked away in embarrassment. “...Why are you like this?” he muttered, but even caustic as usual, his words contradicted his actions. Though Felix seemed to not want anything to do with Sylvain holding his hand... he still laced his fingers with the redhead’s own, preventing his partner from letting go. Maybe... just maybe, this wasn’t exactly so bad.

If anyone had a problem, Felix would answer their grievances with his sword.

@nacphilim

[winter-sword]

sylain needs a kiss on his boo boos uwu !!

Kisses: 1/5

“Goddess, you’re such a fucking baby...” Still, the exasperated words didn’t contain any of his usual heat, and after a few moments Felix actually complied. Sylvain was just lucky no-one was around to witness Felix kissing the cut he had left on the redhead’s cheek, or the ravenette would’ve just scoffed and walked away. They had been sparring for a change, but as usual, the shorter of the two teens had drawn first blood. Pulling back a bit, the swordsman’s cheeks were flushed a pretty pink. “...Tell anyone about this, and I’ll throw you off the bridge.”

Soft as the words were, the threat sounded like anyone else saying I love you.

@nacphilim

[winter-sword]

you know i always have your back ; sylvain

@lyricos

What was that saying? About the shoe and the other foot?

Not that Felix was conscious enough to spare the thought to remember, just yet, but it still applied. They had taken Enbarr, killed Hubert, and shattered the gates of the Imperial Palace. Everything had been going as smoothly as it could, being the final and decisive battle of a war that had nearly lasted six years and claimed countless lives. With a mostly-sane Dimitri and a resolute Professor leading the charge, nothing and no-one could have stopped them -- not even the monstrous thing Edelgard had become. That said, three (normal) Demonic Beasts and all of the Empire’s most elite warriors had slowed them down, and therein had been the issue. Somehow, he and Sylvain had ended up beside one another, Lance of Ruin and Sword of Moralta burning matching crimson as they battled the last of the beasts. Felix had seen the sniper’s arrow in a split second loss of concentration, and reacted entirely without thinking.

In truth, the tiny remaining rational part of his mind knew Sylvain likely would’ve survived the arrow, being more well-armored than Felix himself. But that hadn’t stopped his body from reacting without the input of his rational mind, and he had paid the price for it. The arrow had flown true, even if it hadn’t hit it’s intended target, and embedded itself deeply between two of Felix's ribs. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, though he had known objectively that the truth was likely much worse. Vision starting to haze around the edges, the swordsman had brought a shaking hand up to gingerly feel the arrow in his side, to try to assess the damage as best he could. Felix had no fear of blood, whether his own or anyone else’s, but when his hand had come away red, he had felt the need to throw up. In an insane moment of panic, his fingers curled around the arrow and attempted to rip it out.

He couldn’t be healed with the arrow still inside -- he needed to -- to --  Then he was gazing up at Sylvain, the battle raging around them, the beast’s cooling corpse beside them as the redhead screamed for a healer. Consciousness spiraled away amidst seizing pain, blood filling his mouth, and the sensation of drowning. He was next aware of seeing the ceiling of the Infirmary in Garreg Mach, of trying to sit up like a fool. The world swam around him, each shallow breath burning like someone had cast a fire spell inside his lungs -- which, of course, meant that one of them had probably been at least partially collapsed. A condition trying to tear the arrow from between his ribs had only worsened, if Felix knew his luck as well as he thought he did. Still, the fact that he was alive at all (breathing and conscious, if in a great deal of pain) meant the healer Sylvain had been trying to call for --

Sylvain.

Where was Sylvain? Was he alright? Had Felix’s stupidity hindered his ability to keep fighting? It probably had, all things considered, which the ravenette was already kicking himself for. Wild red eyes roved about the Infirmary, body half collapsed against the wall, seconds feeling like eternities instead -- and there he was. By the look of him, the redhead hadn’t slept or even moved from beside Felix’s bed, and knowing that made his heart ache. Silence fell between them, before Sylvain spoke, words soft and smile strained. Mind not working entirely at full capacity to be his usual caustic self, Felix took a breath (a strange feeling, to have air burn his lungs without his chest being bound flat) and responded with the truth. Words equally soft and voice equally strained, though for different reasons, he could hate himself for being vulnerable later. Find a thousand reasons why being honest with the man he loved wasn’t a good idea -- later.

“I’d rather die, than lose you.”

[winter-sword]

((Tag post. More character-specific tags will show up as I interact with people.))