Chapter Text
“You’re back early.” Felix’s tone was equal parts accusatory and amused— a silent I told you so even though he had never been given the opportunity to tell it. This was no accident, Sylvain had kept his plan a secret specifically to avoid Felix telling him all the things wrong with him, but that was the problem with being friends their entire lives: Felix didn’t have to say a word, his sudden presence in Gautier territory and his posture as he leaned against the kitchen counter said it all better than any lecture.
“You weren’t even supposed to know I was gone,” came Sylvain’s weak excuse, but it was a cursory defense. Lip service.
“To the border of Sreng, which has been a war zone for our entire lives. Alone.” Sylvain shrugged uncomfortably. Someone had told Felix, and there was nothing he could do about that. “Explain.”
He recognized that tone, that barest tinge of fear hidden under the layers of anger, and immediately Sylvain prickled. “Felix, it wasn’t—” he gave a small huff, and restarted, “I was just thinking it would be nice to attempt some peace talks with Sreng, now that Fódlan has calmed down. It wasn’t until after I got to the border that I realized it was as good as suicide, the way I was doing it.”
“After.”
“After! And I came back immediately. Didn’t even fight.”
There was a moment of silence as Felix sized him up, tried to find any lies, any sign of that unique Sylvain brand of hidden self-destruction, and finally relaxed his tensed shoulders with a sigh. “You were always useless as a politician. What were you thinking? You’d nip on over before breakfast and end a centuries-long border dispute?”
“I wasn’t.. thinking,” alright, he’d earned that eyeroll, “I just wanted to test the waters.”
“If you’re serious about this… get Dimitri involved. He’s the politician.”
“Not a chance. He’s got his hands full with Duscur, that’s too important for me to take away from for even a second. I think it would mean more coming from me, anyway. They know me in Sreng.”
Felix scoffed. “You could say that. Remind me what happened the last time you had a run-in with one of the Sreng leaders?”
Sylvain’s grin at the question was clearly not what Felix had been after, nor the way he stretched his arm back with a sigh of fondness as he recalled the story. “She broke my shield clean in half! Near took my arm off in the process, too, you should have seen her face when I got out of the way in time. Never did catch her name…”
Felix let out an audible eugh, but the annoyed way he waved Sylvain off was at the same time his permission to move forward. “Do what you want, see if I care. Just be sure they know where to send your corpse when they’re done tearing you apart.”
He would not admit to how desperately he needed that permission, but he could at least give Felix a small, heartfelt smile. “Thanks. I won’t let you down.”
——
And in the end, it was not just Felix’s permission, but his advice that Sylvain had needed. Not to ask Dimitri, no, but he was not the only politician in the world— some would argue he wasn’t even a good one, just better than Sylvain and Felix could ever be. In fact, there were surely several dozen more available and willing politicians than the one Sylvain had decided to pursue, but once he had gotten the idea in his head, there was no going back until he had exhausted every avenue.
It had taken some weeks to bring him to Goneril territory; not because he thought it a bad option, but because he had wanted to be a bit more.. subtle in his approach. Ultimately, though, he’d always known Hilda would be the key, the only one who could keep a secret well enough to be trusted with what he was looking for— on both ends of that secret.
“Oh come on, Sylvain, I’d like to see him too, but you know he’s travelling!” Hilda’s signature pout was as cute as ever, carefully crafted to look as kissable as she could, but it was no more effective for it. Sylvain knew what he was after, and falling for Hilda’s distraction techniques was not on the agenda.
“Right, travelling. In Almyra, specifically.”
“You don’t know that!”
Sylvain gave her a sly smile that said otherwise, and was met with a frown in kind as he pulled out his trump card: A neat bundle of papers detailing information around the Kingdom that House Goneril had requested. “So you’re the one getting deeply invested in Faerghus politics? The channels used to request it were sneaky, for sure, but I figured I’d save you the trouble by hand-delivering it. You know, since I was headed this way.”
Her silence spoke volumes, and she tapped her foot a few times under the table before finally answering, frustrated. “I’m not supposed to know where he is.”
“If he gets mad, I will gladly take any punishments myself.”
“Please, Claude isn’t like your King, he doesn’t get all murdery when he doesn’t get his way,” she waved her hands dramatically for emphasis.
“Oh come on, don’t get mean just ‘cause I figured you out. I promise it’s important.”
“Yeah, I get it. I’ll make it work.”
She didn’t sound particularly pleased, but Sylvain knew just how to soften the blow, giving her a quick peck on the forehead. “Thank you, Hilda! I got you something pretty for your trouble, I’ll give it to you before we meet him.”
——
They both held to their word, a week later arriving at a little shack on the near side of Fódlan’s Throat. To his credit, Claude hid his surprise at the addition to their rendezvous well, offering only a tilt of his head as Sylvain entered behind Hilda. She gave an exaggerated shrug in response, “I know, but he kind of forced my hand. Couldn’t have him searching Almyra himself.”
Claude raised an eyebrow at the expensive new necklace safely fastened around Hilda’s neck, but turned his attention instead to the documents Sylvain had brought with him.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of having the noble House Gautier personally delivering my morning news?”
“A proposal,” Sylvain answered, placing the bundle down in front of Claude as offering. “Hopefully a mutually beneficial one.”
The interest that sparked in his eyes was plain, but his face remained neutral. “For me specifically?”
“No one else will do.”
Hilda interrupted with an obvious, “Alright, I can tell this is about to get really political or really steamy, and either way I don’t wanna be here! I’ll be outside. Don’t forget my hug before you go, Claude!”
After she had excused herself, Claude gestured to the seat across from him, and leaned back. “You know, I was kinda hoping for a blonde.”
“Hoping? So you.. expected this?” Sylvain asked as he made himself comfortable.
“Eventually, yeah. Depending on your proposal, of course.”
“Right.” Maybe he had bitten off a bit more than he could chew. “Unfortunately, His Majesty isn’t involved in this one. Not yet, anyway. Since you went through so much trouble to keep your location a secret, I haven’t told anybody where I am, or what I have in mind.”
“I’m gonna be honest, Gautier, I do appreciate that, but this is sounding less promising by the second. Out with it, then. What did you find me for?”
“I need help. I have a sticky political situation I want to get involved in, and I’m bad at politics. I wanna learn from the best— or at least, the best who’s also a decent person.”
He could see the walls start to go up, distrust at the vague wording, doubt that this could be worth his time, but at least he was still listening. “How sticky are we talking?”
Sylvain’s answer was clear enough in his slight grimace alone. “Like… 200 years or so of nonstop fighting? You’ve heard of Sreng, right? My family’s always been tasked with guarding the border to Sreng, and when I was a kid, King Lambert and Duke Fraldarius lead an army to annex a decent chunk of Sreng land. It was just conquest, just growing the Kingdom, with how the country works there was no way they could fight back against an organized military force. I… want to make peace with them. Maybe give back what was originally theirs, we certainly don’t need it anymore.”
Claude laughed aloud, and Sylvain felt his face flush at the sound. “That is… naïvely optimistic.”
“I know.”
“Buuut I don’t hate it. That is a massive undertaking, though. Why should I give you that much of my time and energy? What’s in it for me?”
Sylvain had prepared another argument, but thinking back over their conversation, he switched gears, getting a curious look in his eye. “Just how involved in Almyran politics are you, Claude?”
“Enough. Why?”
“Because…” Ah. That was it. “The reason you wanted to see the King is because you expect him to eventually seek peace with Almyra. Just not so soon.”
Claude’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly, they were both taking each other in a bit more sharply. “He’s a busy man. Heard he’s in talks with Duscur, that won’t be solved overnight. And that’s not even mentioning the issues within your borders.”
“Yeah, we’ve got a lot on our plate. But I don’t. He trusts me, and he trusts you too, Claude. So if we figure something out, I can pass it on to him fully formed and get whatever you need approved.”
“Are you.. bribing me with peace?” Claude’s voice was incredulous, but there was a hint of joy in it as well.
Sylvain smiled; he could see the oddity of it, but he didn’t think it was a terrible idea after all. “Maybe if we work on Almyra and Fódlan first, it can prepare me to do Sreng on my own. Almyra has to be easier, right? Since people on both sides actually want it?”
“Oh, you are a bad politician,” Claude laughed again, tension disappearing. “You have my tentative interest, but if it seems feasible, we’re doing Sreng first. Then you’ll owe me.”
Sylvain’s face lit up, grinning unabashedly. “Thank you, Claude, this really means a lot. I won’t let you down, just say the word.”
“Hilda!” Claude’s raised voice brought Sylvain’s reluctant escort back in shortly, and as soon as she entered Claude added, “You enjoying your bribe, sellout?”
She giggled cheerfully, obviously picking up the mood of the room. “Oh, Sylvain’s harmless. You two have fun?”
The rest of the meeting was spent with Sylvain happily third-wheeling to Hilda and Claude’s catching up, while his mind spun with the possibilities that had just opened up to him. Somehow, the news that there were still greater challenges ahead than the task Sylvain had set out for made it feel a little less insurmountable, and also shockingly real. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew, but he was going to choke on it long before giving up.
——
It was a long two months before he heard from Claude again, and if it had been anyone else, Sylvain might have accepted it for lost. But something about Claude had always struck him as perfectly planned; call it the mark of a fellow schemer, that Sylvain always knew exactly what he himself was doing, and recognized the same in another. When Sylvain’s body language screamed of his hatred for someone while his tongue spilled honey, it wasn’t for lack of acting prowess. When he’d gained a reputation for unfaithfulness, it was never once because he had succumbed to temptation. While Claude’s use of that calculated confidence was surely more tasteful than Sylvain’s old poisonous impulses, it was just as effective: Wherever he was, it was precisely where he intended to be.
So opening his front door to see the former leader of the Alliance standing there, his only comment was, “You’re gonna need more layers if we’re going to Sreng.”
Claude laughed, “Glad you know we’re going to them. It’s definitely colder than I anticipated…”
“Oh, this is nothing. So exactly how many toes can you lose to frostbite before it becomes a political faux pas on my part?” Sylvain joked as he lead Claude inside, looking him over carefully. Felix had a few overcoats and other winterwear left here for emergencies, and Claude was about his height, but his build was closer to Sylvain’s own… “We’ll find you something… How long before we head out?”
“Tomorrow morning. Sorry for the rush, I spent a bit too long gathering information.”
The next day. Sylvain’s clothes it would be. “About Sreng? What do you need to know?”
“No, actually— about Gautier. I took the liberty of talking to some of the people who live around here. You have got quite the reputation.”
Instantly, Sylvain’s face paled. His reputation… “Those must have been some exciting talks,” he replied, not bothering to hide his nerves at the prospect, and he wasn’t sure he felt any better at the way Claude’s eyes lit up with amusement.
“Oh yeah, I heard all sorts of things. About how you could seduce a daughter, mother, and grandmother all from the same house, how other nobles were always coming after your head, and how you aren’t actually the margrave yet. You hold no political power.” He paused, and Sylvain was prepared to be given a hard pass from that alone, but before he could rescind his request entirely, Claude continued. “And they told me how, from the first day of the war, you took over entirely and made your father look a fool. That even when they had the Empire and Sreng breathing down their necks, the civilians felt safe, and the soldiers felt like they were doing what was right. The consensus was always the same: Your people trust you with their lives. Just not their daughters.”
“That,” Sylvain laughed, “is shockingly flattering. Are you sure they didn’t have me confused with Felix? He helped out a lot during the war.”
“I’ve met Felix. They weren’t confused.”
He rubbed the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, before giving a hesitant, “Well, thanks. I appreciate the praise. I don’t imagine it’ll help us any in negotiations, though.” Finally, he turned to a hall closet, and extracted a handful of coats, laid out over the back of a chair. “So I take it that means we’re going after all? If so, we’ve gotta get you dressed. Oh, and I need to send a message to Felix back at the capital, too, if I just disappear without a trace he’ll… well, whatever it is, it won’t be pretty.”
Claude started to make his way through the coats on offer, experimenting with them over and under his own outerwear as he spoke. “You’ll have to send it through Hilda, she’s our point of contact here. And keep it vague, obviously, I can’t have His Kingliness latching onto my presence just yet.”
“That one will probably give you the best insulation on its own,” Sylvain gestured towards the thick brown coat Claude was about to remove. “So it really is just you and me, huh?”
“Just you and me! Considering Faerghus’s recent history with Sreng—”
“Right, the more people we bring, the more it looks like another takeover.”
“See? You’re catching on already. Under my careful tutelage you may even make it out alive.”
They spent the rest of the day in a bit of a flurry, packing for the trip and crafting a letter that would please both Felix and Dimitri of Sylvain’s safety, while also informing them he would be out of contact for an unknown amount of time, in an unknown place, with unknown people, and their only way to reach him was through a girl on the other side of the continent that among them only Sylvain had ever been close to. There was no denying the challenge, but after a little arguing on hints and semantics they were both pleased with the final product.
And then, just like that, they were off for Sreng bright and early.
The trip itself was uneventful, and provided them mercifully ample time to discuss the details. Claude revealed that he had taken the liberty of setting up their first meeting at what amounted to the political center of Sreng (and was genuinely incredulous when Sylvain let slip that he had originally intended to just walk in). After that conversation, Claude had launched into a rigorous rundown of basic safety practices to follow: Don’t eat or drink anything he’s given unless he can see others being served from the same vessel, stick by each other’s side whenever possible, and never let his weapon out of sight. Sylvain wanted to argue the last point, that they were on a peace mission, but there was no discussion to be had. The Lance of Ruin was apparently vital to Claude’s approach, “and besides,” he had said, “dead men can’t sign peace treaties.”
——
As it turned out, there was no need to worry about standing out with weapons strapped to their backs. Their arrival was met with little fanfare at all, and every other person in sight looked ready to battle at a moment’s notice, in spite of the settlement being as much a trade center as a political one. The energy as they walked through the marketplace was amazing, the kind of thing Sylvain went out of his way to find in Faerghus; energetic and bustling, voices all around shouting and laughing and arguing over prices, the people swathed in clothes of bright, distinct colors.
In spite of himself, Sylvain peeked in at a few stalls, getting glowers from the locals before he extracted himself carefully again. “I wonder if there’s anything Faerghus has that they’d wanna trade for, I’ve never even heard of some of these crops!”
Beside him, Claude shook his head, though he had been taking in the scene with just as much ardent curiosity. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Gautier, they don’t even like you yet.”
As if on cue, as Sylvain turned to tell Claude yes, obviously, but a little optimism didn’t hurt anybody, his eyes caught on a statuesque woman in deep crismon that he had seen before. She was near as tall as Sylvain, with wispy light hair that had always seemed at odds with her fierce eyes— and fiercer battle. Sylvain’s expression lit up and he grinned broadly as their eyes met, and she approached the duo with a decisive stride. “Hey, fancy seeing you here—”
He was cut off by a wave of her hand and narrowed eyes. “Sylvain Gautier. You are looking… unfortunately whole.”
“And let me express my deepest regrets that I don’t have anything more than a broken shield to remember you by! Fighting you was such a thrill, my friends are all sick of hearing about it.” In his peripheral, he saw Claude take a slight step to the side, observing carefully this unexpected addition.
The Srengi woman sniffed derisively at Sylvain’s enthusiasm. “So the rumors of peace talks were true,” the way she spat the words said just how she felt on the matter. “I wanted your arm, but you’ve brought me the whole body. What makes you think you’ll be leaving in one piece, if at all?”
Claude’s interjecting voice seemed to surprise her, and Sylvain swallowed what he had been about to say as well, “We haven’t met. I’m Claude von Riegan, I’ll be representing Faerghus alongside Margrave Gautier. Will you be participating in the negotiations?” His extended hand in greeting went ignored, something he had clearly expected, as the woman stared him down for a long moment.
“Saran.” Well, her name was more than Sylvain had ever gotten out of her, so that was something. “The building in the center has your accommodations. They’ll be expecting you.” And just like that, she was gone, confident stride leading her in the opposite direction.
Once she was out of sight, Sylvain said, “I had it handled.”
“Sure. So did I. What’d she want your arm for, exactly?”
“Oh, just cutting it off. I hope.”
“Fantastic.”
Following Saran’s rather vague directions, it was only a few minutes before they had found where she had aimed them, a large stone building covered in banners of all colors that stood out in stark contrast to the tents and stalls set up all around it. As soon as they entered, they were greeted by a bored-looking young man wearing a vibrant green who introduced himself as Yesugei and spent several minutes searching piles of paper before finally offering a curt, “This way.”
The inner walls were made of stone bricks as well, and Sylvain found himself wondering how they kept warm. The weather wasn’t yet terrible outside, but it was better still inside; they would be able to take off their thick coats without worry. Before he could ask, however, Yesugei had deposited them in their room with as few words as possible, informing them the leaders of the relevant clans would arrive in a few days’ time, and they were welcome to keep to themselves until such a time they were needed.
“Honestly, I didn’t think they’d actually give us a place to sleep,” Sylvain noted offhand after their charming host had left them alone. “Though it’s certainly a unique choice to leave us with just the one room.” And the single large bed set squarely in the middle, obviously intended to hold the both of them.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy, Gautier,” Claude teased. “This is for the best, actually. Now we don’t have to come up with an excuse to keep an eye on each other, we can just sleep in shifts. You know, in case your friend Saran, or anyone else like her, decides to handle things themselves.”
Sylvain sighed overdramatically. “I just like to hope that my first time sharing a bed with anyone, it’s an offer instead of a requirement. If you kick, I reserve the right to kick back.”
And after such a lengthy trip, it didn’t take long for them to settle in for the night, Sylvain offering to take the first shift awake. There was nothing much to talk about that they hadn’t covered twice over on their way here, so the room quickly fell silent, Claude attempting sleep while Sylvain wandered the room a bit, taking in what they had been provided. It was well-furnished, with a small table to take meals at and multiple bookshelves (with large holes where several tomes had been removed prior to their arrival). And, as he suspected, even as the sun went down the chill of the outside could never quite get a hold. Plucking one of the remaining books from a shelf, he did his best to get comfortable next to Claude’s sleeping form.
Of course Sylvain had shared a bed.. countless times before, most for obvious escapades, but sometimes by request as innocent as this. Listening to the even breathing next to him, his mind wandered to his academy days, Dimitri entering his room in a flustered state after catching the eye of a girl too well, and asking a bit desperately to hide there a few nights. Sylvain’s bed had been quite a bit smaller than this one, his proximity to his prince much closer, and he hadn’t had any choice but to take in how peaceful, soft, warm Dimitri looked in his sleep. He could never forget the way his heart had fluttered, just a little, when he’d woken up to see the dozing Dimitri framed by morning sunlight.
With a warm smile, he glanced over at the back of Claude’s head, turned away from him. For such an apparently distrusting person, he’d fallen asleep pretty quickly; Sylvain had no doubt the man would spring to life in an instant at any sign of danger, but for now, to have Claude in the same position Dimitri had been in all those years ago, to be trusted in any capacity… it felt nice.
——
It was two nights more before the rest of the clan leaders had arrived, a much larger gathering than even Claude had anticipated. When the first meeting started, including Sylvain and Claude they numbered a total of twenty-six people, all with their own goals and feelings on the fact that the meeting was happening at all, that a son of Gautier was being welcomed into their land freely. All of them had been alive at the time of annexation, cutting their territory in half, and some of them had even been leaders back then, too. It was a complex situation, and after hours upon hours of debate between the clans, Claude had not yet been given the chance to even state his intentions.
Sighing as everyone shuffled to leave at the end of the day, Sylvain asked quietly, “Is this typical? You don’t look half as dejected as I feel.”
“About as bad as any Alliance meeting,” Claude laughed. “Tomorrow might be like this too. See it as a good thing— if they’d come together with a united front from the start, we’d have a lot harder time getting through to them.”
“I guess, I’m just—”
Sylvain’s thought was cut off by the arrival of a stern-looking woman beside Claude’s chair, who put a hand on his shoulder. “You were the one who contacted me, yes?” she asked Claude, eyes roaming over Sylvain briefly. Whatever she was thinking, he couldn’t read it, though he noted with some interest that she was wearing the same bright green of Yesugei.
“Ah, you must be Mother Odval! Thank you for having us, I look forward to a productive conference.”
“That is what I wished to speak with you about. Privately.”
Her words included a pointed look at Sylvain, which he took gracefully, standing up at the same time as Claude. “I’ll meet you back at the room.”
Claude made no move to argue at being taken Odval’s direction, but his nod at the Lance of Ruin still strapped to Sylvain’s back said be safe plainly enough. Shouldn’t Claude be the one worried, getting dragged off somewhere private by a woman three times his age who could definitely snap him in half?
Sylvain didn’t have long to worry about his companion’s fate, however, as he turned and almost ran headlong into Saran himself. “Oh! I was happy to see you in the meeting, Saran, I thought you might skip it entirely!” She had actually been considerably quieter than he had expected, looking calm, contemplative, perhaps what he should have expected from her exacting brutality on the battlefield. But still, to not hear any protest the way many (many) others protested was its own surprise.
Her long, silent stare might have been meant to unnerve him, he thought, but unfortunately for her he’d stopped being unnerved by things a long time ago. When he continued to meet her gaze with no sign of buckling or even effort, she finally relinquished, tugging at his arm as she turned away. “We should talk.”
Oh. Alright. Sylvain didn’t have much choice in the matter, no Claude to skillfully extract him this time, so instead he followed along obediently as she brought him to a small room to the side of the massive conference table, door closing decisively behind them. The room itself was nothing special, just a smaller place to have private meetings, with a desk and bookshelf to keep them company. Saran perched on the edge of the desk before speaking. “Sylvain Gautier. I believe I was too hasty in my original judgement.”
He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that, actually. Not looking to give anything away, he offered only an “oh?” to push her forward.
“You are a powerful warrior. Battling you was a delight, one I have not found the likes of since. I had thought, if there were peace, I would not ever cross axes with you again. But I have found a solution we can both enjoy.”
Had she been wearing makeup when they first met here? Or before then, on the battlefield, either? He had thought it was just for the conference, but as that old wriggling feeling settled in his gut, he began to wonder otherwise.
“I would take you as my husband.”
Ah.
“Saran— Mother Saran, isn’t it?” Shit shit shit, rejecting women well had never been his strong suit, he had never once been successful in the ‘let’s stay friends’ route, really more of a scorched earth policy if he was being honest with himself. “I’m flattered, really, and if circumstances were different I would maybe be able to take you up on that.. very generous offer, but—”
She approached him quickly, and his hand twitched for his lance, but her own weapon was not loosed. Instead, Saran’s hands rested on his chest as she got close, closer, until their faces were almost touching. “If you want peace, you should do it. In my clan, husband and wife battle on their wedding day, it’s quite exciting.”
“Th-thank you, that does sound fun, but I don’t think I can form an alliance with just one clan, not without getting everyone else’s approval anyway,” he didn’t realize he had been backing up until his back hit the bookshelf softly, and Saran had still given him no room to breathe.
“We can worry about that later,” he could feel her breath on his lips, he had nowhere to run— he turned his head at the last second as she tried to kiss him, a strange tingling at the corner of his mouth where she made contact anyway, and he gently pushed her away by the arms.
“Bring it up at the conference, and we’ll consider it, okay? I’m not saying no, just.. not like this.” Fuck fuck fuck. For the first time since entering the room, she looked truly disgruntled. Claude was going to kill him for fucking it up this bad this early.
He managed to extract himself fully, though, leaving a huffing Saran behind as he exited. He had promised to meet Claude back at the room, but as he entered the main room again, he was waved down and they started to walk together.
“You’ve got something on your face,” Claude said as soon as they were out of earshot, tone suitably disappointed. “You know, I really didn’t believe all those rumors about you…”
Wiping at the lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth, Sylvain could feel himself flush with embarrassment. To make a fool out of himself in front of Claude of all people… “It’s not what it looks like. She came onto me pretty hard, and, and I didn’t do anything.” He sighed, a strangely tight feeling in his chest. This wasn’t even a situation he was unused to, but he felt physically ill… “It probably got a lot more complicated now. I’m sorry.”
“Complicated? Just what happened?”
He stumbled a bit. “I.. she wanted to marry me. Political marriage.” Why was his heart clenching so much? Why did it hurt? “I said we should.. you know, get approval, but she just kept getting closer…” He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. “Claude, something’s wr…”
The world spun around him. He was vaguely aware of a faraway shout, Claude catching him before he hit the ground, and then everything went dark.