Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You wake in a cold sweat. 

Pale thin clothes stick to your skin. You examine it to find that It's a crude robe of sorts. Your surroundings are too dark to see anything clearly, but you realize that you are lying uncomfortably on a rough stone floor. It's ice cold, stealing your body heat even as you try to rise to get away from it. After failing several times, you sit up with difficulty and wince as a burning pain draws your attention to the injuries on your torso. It hurts, but their uniform stripe-like pattern scares you more than the pain itself. Your mouth gets drier the longer you look at them, so you try to observe the area around you instead. 

Under the dim light from a dying candelabra in the corner, you can see bloodstains on the very area you were laying on. With the amount of caked blood on you, you wouldn't be surprised if the stains were from you in the first place. The wall is also made of stone and the spattered patterns of rouge on them only increase the unease that has settled itself in your stomach. 

You feel like throwing up. 

You need to return to…

You don't know...

But you do know you need to leave. 

There's a metal door with bars, but it looks like it's locked. There are no windows to climb out of either and you realize with dread that you are probably a prisoner. You crawl across the room and find that it is indeed locked. Peering through the bars, you look down the dim hallway. 

It's empty. 

Where are the guards? … How did I know there were supposed to be guards? 

Almost all at once, panic washes over you. You try to recall why you are here, but there's nothing in your mind. You can't even remember where home is, nor what crime you committed to deserve this. Your breaths come up faster and faster, each more shallow than before. 

Then it hits you. 

You can't even remember your name. 

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps breaks the eerie silence. Your body draws back and presses against the stone prison just next to the door, as if on its own even though it hurts to move in such jerky motions. 

You realize you're hiding.

“Have you checked this one?” A deep voice asks. 

Your body does not tremble at this stranger’s voice so you peer out of the bars tentatively to find a man in silver armor. He stills for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the sight before him.

“She’s alive,” he says in disbelief. 

As his partner stands still, equally as surprised, he finally regains his composure. 

“Don't just stand there, get the medic!” He barks, startling you. 

The other armored person runs off, clanking rapidly with each step up the stairs. The stranger then approaches the door and pulls out a set of keys. Your eyes widen with hope as he fiddles with it, looking for the right key. On the third try, the door clicks open. 

“Don't move,” he says. “You’re in pretty bad shape.”

You sigh from your place in the ground and lean against the wall. Not moving …you could do that.

“Over here!”

You don't look to see who it is he’s calling to. You're too tired. And the cold is getting worse. You slump over. 

“Hey!” he calls to you. “You alright? Hey!”

“Stay awake!” a new person at the door practically screams. 

The world falls away. 

***

“Rise my child,” a soft voice says. “You are safe now.”

You are no longer cold and you feel a blanket draped over your aching body. The burning from the stripes is gone, which you are thankful for. However, your eyes are dry. It makes it difficult to open them without pain, but when you finally do, you find the most beautiful woman you've ever seen perched on the side of your bed. She is dressed in a flowing white dress that illuminates the room alongside the sunlight from the window. Her hair is a pale mint color, and is adorned with a golden headdress and pearl colored flowers. One hand is stroking your white hair at the crown of your head and-

Your hair isn't white. At least it wasn't the last time you checked.

“Who are-” you manage to croak before a fit of coughing descends upon you. 

The woman gently hands you a cup of water. As you drink, the relief in your throat is immediate. You drink and drink until there's none left, not even bothering to breathe. Finally, you gasp your question between breaths.

“Who are you?”

“I am Rhea.”

“Rhea?” You parrot dumbly. 

“Archbishop!” someone calls from outside the door. “Lady Rhea!”

Rhea looks at you with a little smile when she catches you staring with your mouth agape.

“Will you allow them to come in?” She asks. 

You nod dumbly. What else are you supposed to say when the Archbishop of Fodlan is sitting at your bedside?

“You may enter,” Rhea says. 

The messenger enters the small room, her feet tapping against the floor. An old wooden board creaks beneath her step at some point and she grimaces at the sound, even though Rhea doesn't seem to mind. 

“The knights have finished searching the underground stronghold. She's the only survivor,” she reports. 

The Archbishop peers over at you. You don't know how to feel about that fact either so you just stare. The messenger apologizes.  

“She was bound to find out sooner or later,” Rhea sighs. “Now, what is your name? How were you captured?”

“Me?” You ask. 

Rhea nods. 

“I don't know,” you admit. 

Rhea frowns for the second time that morning. 

“We'll have to fix that,” she says. “But for now, you need to rest.”

***

You don't know when it happened, but you must have drifted off to sleep because when you wake, Lady Rhea is gone and the same messenger is standing beside the bed. She must not want to interrupt your sleep, judging by the way she nervously wrings her hands before speaking.

“Lady Rhea had us ask around the town for your name.”

You nod slowly. 

“And here are some letters addressed to you.”

The messenger collects a stack of pretty looking letters from the windowsill and passes them to you. Some of them are obviously older while some are slightly wrinkled. You trace a finger over your name written elegantly in dark ink and silently mouth how you think it would be pronounced. It seems you only have one person writing to you and you notice a few unopened ones. Additionally, they begin from about a year ago, making this month-

“Um, I'm sorry. Other than that there isn't much information about you. The townsfolk could only tell us where you worked,” she interrupts your thoughts.

“Where?”

“You did odd jobs for a living,” the girl says a bit uncomfortably as if she thinks you'd be disappointed with your life. 

But It's hard to be disappointed with something you don't remember. 

“I see,” you say. 

Her shoulders relax a little when she realized you're not angry for not being born nobility or whatever she thought you were hoping for. 

“What about family? You ask. 

She noticeably cringes. Oh, that's why she looks so uncomfortable. 

“You're an orphan,” she says the last word quickly as if avoiding it. “Apparently everyone here knows for some reason, so there isn't really much doubt...”

“Thank you,” you say. 

She takes your words as a dismissal. You look at the envelopes once more. There is no return address, but at least you know you're in Faerghus’ northern territories. You make to leave, but before you could even make it to the door, the same messenger flings the door open and almost knocks you over. 

“S-sorry!” She exclaims and clears her throat. “Lady Rhea wants to know if you want to come with us back to the monastery tomorrow.”

“I-”

“You don't have to decide now! But if you want to, you can meet us outside your house tomorrow morning with your things. You can ride with one of the knights since you’re still sort of unwell.”

“Oh,” you manage. 

Was your life really that bad? 

“Thank you …”

She scurries off as quickly as she came. 

The cottage itself consists of your room and a slightly larger room that has an old dining table and a fireplace. It's concerningly dusty from your absence and there isn't much to see, so you go outside. You can see where the Archbishop and her knights have set up camp not too far away on the meadows. 

As it turns out, the town isn't that far from the cottage you apparently call home. There, you find that your life is more dull than the messenger had described. You wonder how you survived on so little money if most of the odd jobs you usually take aren't even available daily. The baker recognizes you and welcomes you back, as does the seamstress, and some guy at the mill. However they all inform you, even though you didn't even ask, that they don't have anything for you to do today. They don't seem too concerned with your disappearance and most of the other townspeople ignore your return. To your discomfort, many people whisper amongst themselves anyway. They even boldly point at your hair every so often. 

You thought you'd have a friend somewhere at least.  

You wondered if the reason you didn't see them now was because they had gone looking for you. When you’ve seen enough, you return to the cottage and make a quick decision. You begin gathering your things from the bedroom. Soon, the neat stack of letters catches your eye and you remember you want to read them when no one is watching. 

You debate for a second whether to start with the oldest or most recent letter before peeling open the oldest envelope and noting that its date is from two summers ago. Your name is obviously written with great care, as if the writer wasn't familiar with it and feared messing it up- not that you knew anything about how to properly spell it now. The rest however, was quickly scrawled. Nevertheless, you start reading, eager to learn more of your past. 

My Love, 

I’m sorry for writing in such haste, but my superior Knight thinks I am sharpening his sword, which I will finish after writing this letter of course!  

Even as I travel with the Royal Knights as one of their squires, the memory of our summer will never leave my heart. I think of you every time we pass a clear river and wish you were here whenever I see the stars at their brightest. Remember how you told me how beautiful your forest becomes during Autumn? Perhaps someday we will pass by there and I will see your radiant smile again among the golden leaves. 

Tomorrow is our first squire’s duel, a day where squires test our strength in a tournament. If I win, I'll send you the prize. Wish me luck!

Yours,

Soren

You stand there for a good moment in your room, stunned at how soppy the letter is. You don't recognize the name, but you don't really recognize anything now. Then it hit you. You had a traveling lover. 

Perhaps you could ask about yourself if they ever stop by Gareg Mach! Given the monastery is at the center of Fodlan, surely many travelers stop there at some point. Besides, the monastery is looking more and more promising than whatever life you had before. 

You shuffle the parchment around before starting on the second letter and smile. It begins with, “First, I must apologize. I did not win the tournament…..”

The third, fourth, and fifth are all dripping with the same sentimentality, but you figure after the third letter that it's not all that terrible having an admirer that writes you letters between his practice hours in secret. When you finish reading the latest one, you spend the rest of the evening poring over them for any details you might have missed. You wish he weren't traveling so you could write back. He never missed a month. Seeing them fills you with an unfamiliar warmth inside. You wonder if he would know anything about the underground fortress and shudder involuntarily. Perhaps it would be good not to think about it so soon. 

Who would do such a thing to a regular person like you?

***

In the morning, you rush to get your things. Your body needed its rest and it had no qualms about making you sleep through sunrise. You hastily grab an old hairbrush, your letters, a change of clothes, and put them in a bag. You also find a delicate looking necklace wrapped in a parcel of its own. You’re glad you found it because it looks like it’s probably worth more than the actual bed itself. In the living room on a hook near the door is a rather pretty red capelet, so you put it on, glad that you'll be traveling in the spring instead of winter. To your surprise, lying in front of the door is a set of new boots. As you exit and put them on, you spot a note on the dining table that confirms your suspicions that they were a gift from Rhea- the knights did find you barefoot. Finally, you swing the door open without looking back and with relief, find the entourage waiting for you outside. Rhea is already there too. She smiles knowingly from upon her own regal horse. 

“You're just in time,” she says. 

You sigh in relief as a knight helps you onto their horse. 

***

You thought the journey was impressive, but Garreg Mach is absolutely incredible. 

Though your memory has been declared practically destroyed by Rhea’s healers, you're pretty sure you've never seen a place so grand in your life. Rhea offers you a place among their healers, mindful of how you might be wary of blades because of your injuries, one of the few links to your past. Her kindness gives you hope. 

You are grateful for the opportunity, but your lack of skill soon shows itself within the first few weeks. You are not certain of many things about yourself, but you now know for sure you were no healer. Especially since you were able to mess up a beginner spell they teach children to use on paper cuts. To make matters worse, your poor innocent patient suffered a head splitting headache for the entire following hour. 

Seteth, Rhea’s advisor, takes pity on you and assigns you to a stable master where you promptly get kicked by a horse on your first day. You’re just bitterly glad you weren't in the group of healers that had to patch you up. 

Rhea finally puts you in room management and kitchen duty, the first of which you're sure is just a fancy name for the person who cleans up libraries and classrooms. You're not complaining though. It's certainly better than whatever was going on in the town you came from. Here, the air is clear, the people are friendly, and you are granted room and board in exchange for your work. You have a decent amount of free time even though you’re on kitchen duty every other night, and the greenhouse keeper sometimes gives you extra fruits.

One sunny day, Rhea calls you to see her. You're worried that you've somehow managed to mess up such a simple job, but what she offers is even more surprising. 

“I think you should join the officers academy when classes begin,” she says.

In the colorful audience chamber, Seteth looks you up and down from his place beside her and pulls on his signature look of disapproval. 

You accept anyway. 

Chapter Text

Since you are from Faerghus, Seteth assigns you to the Blue Lions. 

“You can switch houses should you wish to,” he says during a meeting in his office. “But transfer requests will only be accepted at a later time.”

“I understand,” you say stiffly.

Your uniform feels wrong on you. It's like you're pretending to be a prestigious student when really, you're just some orphan Rhea had pity on. You weren't even a child like Cyril, the stable and weapons maintenance assistant, but you know he would love an opportunity like this, so you keep your insecurities to yourself. 

“Thank you,” you remember to say. 

Seteth just gives you a curt nod. You shuffle awkwardly towards the door, assuming you've been dismissed after such a long period of silence. As you leave, Seteth surprises you with a chuckle. 

“No need to be so nervous,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”

His reassurance helps a little, but not as much as you would have liked. You really don’t know what Rhea was thinking assigning someone like you to this well sought position. 

***

The moment you enter the classroom with the blue lions banner over its entrance, someone takes notice of you. You cringe at the attention. 

“Another classmate!” a girl exclaims. 

Her bright smile and big blue eyes is a contrast to most people you’ve met, at least from your current memory. She practically scampers up to you to ask your name. You answer and in return, she introduces herself. 

“I’m Annette,” she says. “That’s Ashe over there and oh, and perfect timing- this is Mercedes!”

Ashe, a thin silver haired guy, waves to you from his seat with a shy smile. Mercedes, who has just entered the room and been introduced to you, looks a bit older but still has a youthful smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says. 

“Likewise.”

As you take a seat next behind the two, who are chatting away about their shared past, you realize that a raven haired guy has been sitting on the bench the whole time. You hesitantly wave to him in silent greeting. 

“Hey,” he says flatly. 

You wait for him to tell you his name, but he doesn’t. He just turns his attention back to the silver coin he’s toying with in his hand and even though you’re both just in class, he has a sword strapped to his belt. 

“No need to be so rude, Felix,” a feminine voice says from behind you. 

You crane your neck to see a head of bright blonde hair fashioned in a messy pleat. Emerald eyes rest disapprovingly on Felix and the girl's hands are on her hips. 

“Sorry to say this Felix, but someone as cute as her shouldn't be stuck next to you,” a redhead materializes from behind the blonde. 

“I’m Ingrid and-” she says, pointedly ignoring the guy behind her. 

“-And I’m Sylvain,” her companion cuts her off. “You’re welcome to come sit with me instead and let Ingrid take one for the both of us.” 

Ingrid scowls, “This is Sylvain. He’s just- I’m sorry, what was your name?”

You repeat it once more and suddenly, Sylvain has changed his mind about sitting next to you. To his credit, he throws an awkward charming grin your way before taking a seat on the opposite side of the room without further comment. You didn’t think it was that obvious you weren’t qualified to be here. You didn’t even take any tests!

“Sorry about these two,” she apologizes. “Well, Felix isn't actually terrible company…”

Felix just scoffs as she takes a seat next to Sylvain. The next people to stroll in are your house leader, the professor, and another classmate.

You recall Seteth said your house leader starting this year would be a prince. In fact, it wasn’t very difficult to tell which one he was. Dimitri was amicable and sociable, so you couldn’t quite figure out why Felix’s mood soured when he entered the room. Was he jealous? 

The professor on the other hand, unnerved you a bit. She had unusual clothing not seen in the monastery, and a deep yet empty stare that you suspected could read your mind or dig up your past in a single blink. She introduced herself as Byleth. 

And the man next to the prince, Dedue- well, he had little to say. You didn’t quite know what to think of him yet…. 

The professor starts speaking again and your attention snaps back to her. 

“It seems we have a new addition,” the professor says from her podium. “Welcome.”

Most of the class gives you a round of applause that makes you flush a little red. You realize you joined a bit later than most of them, who had already had the opportunity to meet. Then with that, the first lessons of the school year begins. 

***

You never thought you’d be so bad at, well, everything. Axes felt awkward in your hands. You didn’t even know someone could shoot an arrow backwards until today. Lances were too heavy, and Felix didn’t even have a snarky quip for you as he witnessed the mess you performed with a sword. 

“Maybe magic?” Annette had encouraged hopefully. 

According to the professor, it’s your best subject. You are inclined to agree it was the least terrible. On the first day of learning magic today, you manage to blow something up by accident. You were supposed to blow something up in the first place so it’s somewhat comforting when the spell goes off in the first place. The only thing not great about the situation is Felix’s singed bun. You’re sure he hates you now. 

At the end of the first week, Byleth arranges weekly duties for everyone. Dedue and Dimitri are to weed the lawn, Ashe and Ingrid are on flying patrol, you and Sylvain are assigned to stable duty, and the rest will be on kitchen duty for the next few weeks. Some groan in disappointment while others, like Ingrid, have an excited look in their eyes. You don’t think it’s a good idea to let them know just yet that the last time you were on stable duty, you got kicked. 

***

“So,” Sylvain rubs the back of his head. “You’re saying you don’t know how to do… any of this?”

You frown and kick at the ground with your boots. You had just asked him how to do…well, everything, but he didn’t have to say it like that . You nod slowly. 

“What did I expect?” he mutters. 

Something unpleasant stirs within you. Why is he being so condescending? You’ve hardly ever spoken to him!

“If you don’t want to share, I’ll go ask for another task,” you cross your arms and frown, making your displeasure obvious. 

“No!” he says. "I didn’t mean to say it like that.” 

“Then what did you mean?” you challenge. 

“Look, I’m sorry. Everyone here has at least a little experience working with horses from somewhere. I’m just surprised that you’ve never had any- not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he waves his hands around, trying to appease you. 

You sigh. “Are you going to show me now?” 

“Y-yeah!” Sylvain says. 

After that, stable duty isn’t as terrible as you thought it would be and Sylvain behaves rather nicely for the rest of the time. Now that you think about it, horses are kind of cute when they’re not trying to break your ribs. 

“See you tomorrow,” Sylvain says after you two clean up. 

“I um,” you start to say. 

You’re not sure why you’re telling him this, but maybe a part of you just wants to belong because classes with the blue lions is the best thing that’s happened to you since Rhea found you half dead in the caves. Learning things you never could have imagined with people who are doing the same…. It’s nice. 

Sylvain stops to listen, “Yeah?” 

“I got kicked by a horse the first time,” you say lamely. 

Guilt flashes across his face and he cringes a bit, “I really didn’t mean to say it like that, you know?” 

“Okay,” you reply. 

He gives you a half wave and you part ways to get dinner. Red rises to your cheeks soon after. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut. 

***

Bathing before eating would have been a fantastic idea. Especially since a creepy tall man with green snake eyes is staring you down and wrinkling his nose while his princess, the black eagles’ house leader, asks you questions. The taste of roast pheasant fades to nothing as Edelgard makes small talk and asks you where you’re from. You’re pretty sure you have straw sticking out of your pale hair. 

“Faerghus,” you answer. “Up north.”

“I’ve never heard of your house,” she says. 

“I’m a commoner,” you explain. “I don't have a title.”

She looks genuinely surprised. Her eyes flicker over your hair for the hundredth time. 

“In that case, are you here to become a knight?” she asks. 

“I…guess,” you answer noncommittally. 

Truthfully, you haven’t really thought about what you would do after the officer’s academy. You half expect her to try to recruit you as the golden deer’s head has been trying to do with some people, but she does no such thing before she leaves to mingle with other people. So much for that. Being a commoner isn't the problem, nor is not being recruited, no, it was not knowing who you are that clawed at you. You stick another piece of pheasant with your fork, but your appetite is gone. 

***

When Rhea said the class needed to rout bandits, you thought she meant to scare them away to protect the townsfolk. Unfortunately, some came running at you and your classmates with sharp axes and swords the moment they realized you were trying to stop them from pillaging another village. 

Byleth is fluid in her live demonstrations, even terrifying when you think about it for too long. But she looks out for the class and you feel safer with her watching your backs. She pairs you with Sylvain to see what you can do together. So far, the only thing you’ve been able to do for him on the field is fire sparks at the enemy’s feet. It distracts them long enough for Sylvain to get a lethal strike on them. You hope it’s enough to help him, but he consoles you mid battle saying that every moment counts. It doesn’t make you feel that much better, especially after Ashe looks so disturbed after shooting someone in the heart. 

“Really, I won’t let them near you,” he says. 

His words are nice, but it makes you feel like a burden. You are relieved when you see the rest of the uncaptured bandits disperse, only to be herded by backup from the Knights of Seiros. On top of that, your partner seems to have a few shallow cuts, nothing Mercedes can’t fix. You do feel a little bad though, especially since Dimitri returned with only a few bruises. Byleth reminds you that at the very least, you’re both alive. 

“Yeah,” you smile hesitantly. 

The blood splatters on your arms have been washed off now, but you feel the ghosts of the droplets on your arm and rub them absentmindedly. It leaves an ugly feeling on your arm and in the pit of your stomach. 

***

You’ve spent the entire day asking around to see if an entourage of kingdom knights has visited or will be visiting soon, but with no such luck. No such group has visited in recent months, nor has any news of a future visit been reported. You’re trying not to be too disappointed about not finding news of your lover when Annette stops you in your tracks. You’d been so deep in your thoughts you didn’t notice her there. 

“We’re all going to the lake today!” she informs you. “The blue lions get a day off because our mission was successful. You should come since you worked hard there too.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah!” she says. 

“Okay…” 

Maybe it’s a good opportunity to distract you from your disappointment… Annette leads you to the lake after you grab a few necessary things. Some of the blue lions are already there and to your delight, the water is clear and bright. One of the girls has lent you an extra swimming garment and you’re thankful it covers most of your torso where the striped scars are. The water looks refreshing, but you can’t remember if you know how to swim.  

You thought Felix would have taken the time to train, but it seems he thinks the lake is worthy enough to come too. You also would have never thought a prince would have scars, but you can see even in the distance that he has some from training. However, you’re not sure why some burn scars are there. It must be hard being a prince. Ingrid catches you staring and flashes a grin. But as you look more and more concerned, she realizes what you’re thinking and explains the tragedy of Duscur. She reveals that she lost her fiance in the fire then. 

“That’s terrible,” you remark. 

“Yeah,” Ingrid looks out over the water wistfully. After a moment, she changes the topic, “You want to get in?”

“In a little bit,” you stall. 

You wonder if your scars will scare your classmates if the water reveals them. After all, yours are the only uniform scars among them. A voice jars you out of thought and you see the group floating a bit further away, closer to the other shore now. 

“Why are you standing here on your own?” It’s Sylvain. 

You recall Felix had predicted Sylvain would be a little late because he saw him flirting with someone in the marketplace. Meanwhile, Ashe waves to the both of you from across the shore. He looks happy that he made it to the other side. It’s not too far away, but it’s not exactly close either. Your stomach turns. 

“You know how to swim,” Sylvain says. 

“I-” you stop to think. 

“Right?” he asks nervously. 

“No,” you go with the safe option. 

He blinks. “Well, I guess it would be mean to leave you here without showing you.” 

“I agree,” you say as a matter of factly. 

Sylvain chuckles, peels his shirt off, and tosses it on an empty tree stump. “I’ll bet you a silver coin Felix swam over there with his sword attached to him,” he says, holding a hand out to you. 

You take it, “I’ll bet two.” 

Before you know it, he’s pulled you into the water. It’s freezing at first, and the cold overtakes you as you feel like you’re kicking air and falling. You stop thrashing about as the fringes of a memory brush your mind because the cold reminds you of- 

Shivering. 

Emptiness. 

The frigid touch of steel blades.

Sylvain? 

You open your eyes to find that Sylvain is shaking you by the shoulders and calling your name urgently.

“Oh gods, I’m sorry! I just wanted to spare you the worry of getting in. I won't let go, promise.” 

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, gasping for air. “It’s not something- it’s not your fault.” 

He looks unsure and makes sure he's holding you securely with your head above water. You keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders just in case. 

“Do you want to… are you sure you’re alright? I can take you back to shore now,” he offers. 

“No, I’m sure.” You’re not going to let some water keep you from enjoying nature. Besides, you two fought bandits just the other day!

“Okay…” he says. 

Sylvain shows you how to kick the water properly, as well as what to do with your arms. To your frustration, because you wanted to try swimming on your own and since he’s not completely convinced you’re okay, he hangs on just in case.

“Sylvain,” you protest.

“I’ll let go next time. Really,” he promises.   

After a while, you reach the other side where Annette gives a quick cheer for your accomplishments and you can’t help but feel a little lighthearted. The adrenaline from swimming is refreshing and you feel a little more like yourself, whatever that may be.

“Were you waiting for Sylvain?” Ashe asks curiously. 

“No,” you answer honestly, forgetting yourself. Before you know it, the words are out of your mouth. “I forgot if I could swim.” 

Dimitri furrows his brows, “Forgive me if I’m being rude, but I’m afraid I don’t understand how someone forgets if they can swim or not.”

Byleth nods along. She wants to know too.  

“I was in a pretty bad accident earlier this year,” you explain vaguely. “I lost a lot of my memories.” 

“Oh no!” Mercedes gasps with a hand over her mouth. 

“So you don’t remember anything ?” Annette asks.

“Not really” you grimace. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dedue offers. 

“Thank you, Dedue.” 

You probably won’t be able to hide it for long anyway. They might as well know. 

“What do you remember?” Sylvain asks. 

“Nothing.”

“How is that possible?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” you answer and sit on a warm rock. “I have some letters, though.” 

“Like love letters?” Annette asks. 

“Yeah,” you smile into the distance. 

Soren is somewhere out there. You’re awaiting his next letter since Seteth helped you arrange some mail redirection from your cottage to the monastery.  

“No way!” the redhead exclaims. “I was just asking for fun!”

“You’re lucky to have someone out there who cares for you like that,” Ingrid remarks. 

“Yeah,” you agree. 

Ashe is the next to ask, “Well, who is it?” 

“There isn’t much to go off of, but I think he’s on his way to become a knight.” 

“Is he from the Kingdom?” Dimitri asks. 

“Does it matter? They’re all stupid blind anyway,” Felix says. “Following their masters around like some-” 

“That’s enough, Felix,” Ingrid coughs. 

Felix looks like he’s about to say more, but he takes a look at you and decides not to push his luck. He just crosses his arms and plays with the hilt of the sword at his hip.

“I told you,” you turn to Sylvain with a growing grin and nod towards Felix.  

The raven haired swordsman scowls. “Told you what?” 

“It doesn’t count, we both bet on the same side.” Sylvain pointed out. “And it looks like you, Felix, swam with your entire sword.” 

“Are you saying I’m supposed to swim with half of it?”

Annette giggles into her hands and Ashe laughs unabashedly. Dimitri is trying his hardest for Felix’s sake not to smile too widely and Byleth looks amused.  

“Whatever,” Felix grumbles, but he doesn’t complain any more. 

You free a bit of your own laughter and for a moment, the world feels a little bit brighter.

Chapter Text

The following week, for some reason, the professor thinks you should learn to ride horses. She assigns Sylvain to help you since Dimitri, the only other intermediate rider in class, is busy with house leader responsibilities for the foreseeable future. Strangely enough, during your training together, Sylvain practically loses all his charm to his focus, even ignoring a group of passing ladies one time. Ingrid makes a remark about how seriously he’s taking this. 

“It’s so she doesn’t get kicked again,” he explains. 

Eventually, thoughts of Sylvain being weird fades to the back of your mind as you focus on your study and finding the author of your letters. Unfortunately these very concerns only stay away until a messenger delivers this month’s letter to you in class, swinging the large doors open and letting in a long breeze. Most of the class turns around to see who has interrupted the lecture. Lucky for you, the professor allows the brief exchange. 

This month’s envelope is blue and you hope he hasn’t spent too much on paper for you. Colored parchment can be expensive…

“Are you going to read it now?” Ingrid whispers, noticing you turning the sealed letter in your hand over and over. 

“No…” you answer. 

You were going to read it after class, but you are pretty curious where he might be now. 

“He’s probably just stringing you along,” Sylvain points to the envelope. “There’s not even a return address.” 

“Are you talking from experience?” Ingrid quips accusingly. “How can you say that about someone you don’t know?”

“Of course not!” Sylvain says. “But even I wouldn’t do that. Having a little flirty agreement? Sure. Giving false hope? I like to keep things clean.”

“Your relationships are anything but clean,” Felix says flatly. 

“Hey, misunderstandings happen! But I don’t do it on purpose.” Sylvain protests, “That’s just…wrong…” he looks conflicted as he rubs his hair. 

Felix scoffs, “You’re delusional.” 

Dimitri averts his gaze from the trio’s interactions. `

“That’s enough,” Byleth says. 

The class returns their attention to her presentation on battalions at once, the tension still thick in the air. 

Sylvain doesn’t apologize. 

***

You must be doing a decent job because the mare whose back you are on is trotting happily around the training ring. There’s just the matter of the sunlight getting in your eyes every so often, making your job harder than it already is. 

“No, that’s not right,” Sylvain sighs for the hundredth time that afternoon. 

You bring the horse to a stop, disappointed.

“Still?” you ask, frustrated. “But I did exactly what you said.”

“Your posture is all wrong and-” he rubs his face and runs his fingers through his fiery hair. At this better part of the hour, parts of it are practically sticking straight out of his head. “You’re too stiff.”

Your mount whinnies in what you guess is a traitorous agreement.

“Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” 

“I think you can do it,” Sylvain insists. “It’s just today, you’re-”

“You don’t have to say things to make me feel better,” you tell him. 

“You should at least have this,” he says. 

“Are you reminding me I’m bad at everything else?”

“No!” Sylvain says. “I mean… You don’t really have memories, so-”

“What do memories have anything to do with this?” you ask. 

“Nothing, I’m sorry-” 

“Just stop saying that!” You grit through your teeth, “I don’t need your pity.” 

Sylvain looks like he’s going to say something but evidently changes his mind. 

“Sorry,” he settles. 

You ignore him and remove the equipment from the horse. He helps you, but the two of you work in tense silence and the mare can feel it too. She flicks her tail impatiently, as if she wants to be left alone. 

***

During dinnertime in the dining hall, the Gautier heir sits right across from you with his own plate of baked fish. 

“Can I do anything for you?” you ask pointedly. 

“I’m just here to have dinner with a fellow classmate,” he says. 

He looks nervous and his usual lopsided grin is nowhere to be found. You stab another piece of fish and purposefully stare at him with irritation.

“Why don’t you let me take care of kitchen cleanup for you tonight?” he suddenly suggests.

His unease dissipates into the air as if he were never uncomfortable from the moment he sat in front of you. It’s a little uncanny how good he is at playing the part. 

“Why?” 

“You worked hard today! And as your riding tutor, I think you should have a break.” 

Your mind stews on his behavior. Maybe a favor from Sylvain isn’t a bad thing, even if you can’t tell if he’s really sorry or just trying to get on your good side again because you have to see each other everyday for the near foreseeable future. 

“This isn’t about riding is it?” you get straight to the point. 

“No… I just keep messing up with you,” Sylvain admits. “I think we should start over again.”

You stick another piece of fish and wait for him to continue. 

“As a classmate I mean. Not like that,” he adds hastily. 

“Making amends?” you prod. 

“Exactly!” he says, relieved that you caught on. 

“Maybe you can start… ” you clearly emphasize the word ‘start’ and Sylvain starts looking a little worried. “...with seeing if Dimitri is around.”

Sylvain looks confused. “His highness?”

“Yeah. Will you see if he wants to join us?” 

You have questions about the royal knights and if anyone knows anything about who wrote your letters, the prince himself might. 

“That’s it? You’re not going to skip cleaning the stables and make me do it all?” 

“Let’s just say it’s a two part favor. This is the first,” you suggest. 

“It was too good to be true,” Sylvain laughs, though he’s just happy you accepted his offer.

In record time, especially for summoning a royal, Sylvain returns with Dimitri in tow. The prince doesn’t seem to be unhappy. He greets you warmly when he reaches your table and Sylvain takes a seat beside you this time. 

“I’m afraid I’ve already eaten, but I’m happy to keep a fellow classmate company anyway. What brings you to send Sylvain for me? Not that I mind, of course!” he reassures. 

“He owes me,” you say. “And I wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, by all means. What is it?”

“Do you know any knights by the name of Soren?”

Dimitri furrows his brows in thought. “It’s been a few years since anyone has been knighted. But even so, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of such a name.” 

“What about squires?” you ask with dampening hope. 

“I’m afraid I don’t keep track of squires,” the prince shakes his head. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to look at the new recruits’ records once in a while,” he muses almost to himself. 

“I’m sure there are other people you can ask about that,” Sylvain adds. “His highness is bound to be busy with a bunch of other things following his coronation.”

“I hate to be of such little help,” Dimitri agrees. 

You reassure him that it’s not his fault. Sylvain is right. There are other people to ask. Dimitri is about to say something further when Sylvain mentions that Byleth wanted to meet with him around this time. With all your questions answered and after a brief friendly conversation about lances, Dimitri goes on his way and you also put your plate away and exit the hall. Outside in the night, Sylvain notices you look dejected. The cleaning crew calls for you and he yells back that he’ll be right there in your stead. 

“If he loves you he’ll come back for you,” he tries to console you. 

“You think so?” you start to smile. 

But soon, you feel your face fall as you wonder if Sylvain’s suspicion about the return address could really mean anything. 

“If?” you ponder. 

Sylvain hastily waves a hand in your direction and adds, “I don’t know the guy, but you’re a catch. He’d be stupid not to. And trust me, if he doesn’t mean anything in those letters, you’re better off without him.”

“You aren’t just saying that because you want me to forgive you, right?” you prod with a lighter mood.

Sylvain chuckles and flashes a lopsided smile. “Of course not.” 

So you believe him this time. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

He looks happy that he’s managed to avoid offending you for the second time today, but it soon morphs into something unreadable. 

“I’m off to do the dishes now!” he excuses himself suddenly. 

You smile. He’s smooth a lot of the time, but you realize he’s sometimes a social klutz. In the distance across the cool air, Annette is completing some late night greenhouse duty. You know because you can hear her singing her fascinating songs. 

You realize Garreg Mach isn’t so bad with the blue lions here. 

***

This month’s assignment brings a tension you’ve never seen into the monastery. In fact, it was better when no one knew what to expect from last month’s mission. Now, no one knows what to do as Ashe stumbles about the monastery with an anxious look on his face. Rhea has called for Lonato’s execution and she’s sending Catherine. You don’t know much about Catherine, but her involvement in the mission is enough to seal his fate. The skies gray with the expectation of the coming conflict and the light drizzles dampen more than the students’ shoes. 

“Are you sure you want to come?” Byleth asks him the day before the class is to depart. 

“Yes. I must know the truth,” Ashe insists. “All this doesn’t sound like him at all!”

He still cannot believe how Lord Lonato could be behind such an insurrection, but the truth itself stares him back in the face through the mist. Lord Lonato’s last request for Ashe is to look after his siblings, but his last words curse the Archbishop herself. The young archer is inconsolable for days and he visibly stiffens when Catherine is in sight. It seems she’ll be around for longer now that she’s returned. You and the class take turns bringing meals to his room and he shows up for class, but his eyes are always unfocused and rimmed with red. After the third week, he strolls in the classroom as if nothing had happened and it worries you all more than anything he’s done before. 

“I am here for you,” you hear Byleth tell him after class one day. 

You know the professor is also worried, even though her face rarely expresses it. Sunlight seeps through the cracks between the clouds and the sight of Byleth’s encouraging embrace is enough to make you think he’ll be ok. 

“Snooping on our classmates?” Sylvain appears behind you. 

“Shhh!” you motion for him to be quiet. 

“We’re all worried about him,” he states the obvious. 

You shoot him a sideways glance. “Why are you here?”

He eyes the door. When Byleth and Ashe exit, it looks like the two of you are having a regular conversation. 

“I have a question,” he says vaguely. 

“Right,” you say. “You’d better catch up with her, then.” 

The professor walks rather quickly for someone in heeled shoes. You wonder if she runs when no one is looking. Sylvain leaves in the opposite direction. 

“She went that way,” you point. 

“Right. Thanks,” he says before scurrying off. 

***

“What’s this?” you ask one morning. 

Sylvain is standing outside your room on your day off. Since there’s no class today, he’s wearing a simple white shirt with a pair of riding breeches. It looks like he’s been waiting for some time. You look at him questioningly.   

“You’re too stiff when you ride, so I thought we could use the trail today. The best way to become comfortable with a new skill is to keep doing it.”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” you ask suspiciously. “I don’t know, like a date?” 

“No date,” he grins. 

You sigh. It can’t hurt to practice a bit and a trail doesn’t sound too difficult. Thanks to stable duty and tutoring, Sylvain has become one of the classmates you know best. He’s not terrible company either. 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll meet you in front of the stables,” he says. 

Soon, you throw on a change of clothes suitable for the activity, glad to not be in your uniform for once. To your surprise, he’s already prepared the horses, or rather, horse. You raise a brow and he shrugs. 

“The rest were checked out,” he explains. 

To his credit, it does work out. He ends up leading the horse as you sit atop in the saddle, but you can’t help but feel embarrassed when a couple students trot by on their own steeds, one after another. 

“Um, can’t you pass me the reins?” you ask.

“The point of this is for you to feel relaxed,” he says. “If I give you the reins, you’ll think too much.” 

“It’s just, um, a bit embarrassing,” you admit.  

Sylvain stops and gives the stallion a pat. He turns around and shoots you an understanding look. 

“We all start somewhere. Besides, the students just now had bad posture anyway.” 

After a few more passerbys, you ask for the reins again. 

“Why do you care what other people think?” Sylvain furrows his brows. “Just relax.”

“I-” 

You find that you don’t really have an answer. Is it because you don’t know who you are? Because the only thing you have to go off of is other people? Sylvain is right- it does seem wrong… but without your memories, what else do you look to? You hold your tongue at the realization and Sylvain notices your downcast face. 

“Here,” you vaguely hear him say. 

You’re lost in your thoughts until you feel him hop on behind you. 

You twist around the best you can to ask, “Aren’t you seeing someone?”

“No,” he says simply. 

“What if people think-” you cut yourself off and sigh, realizing that you’re circling back to this even if it’s him you’re worried about this time. 

Sylvain chuckles behind you. You’re surprised you can feel the vibrations against your back. He must be closer than you thought, although you’re not sure what you’d expect otherwise from two people atop one horse. 

“My reputation isn’t going to get any better,” he says near your ear.

You suppose he’s right. With that, he walks the horse onwards. The sky is clear and the sun is bright, but the forest foliage protects you from any harsh rays of light. The result is a canopy speckled with spots of light above. 

It’s beautiful. 

Time flies as you observe the breathtaking view over the side of the mountain. You wonder if this is what fliers see all the time. Before you know it, the two of you have stopped at a rest point, a clearing around the river. As Sylvain helps you down, you feel a little bad for forgetting he was behind you the whole time, but he doesn’t seem to care about the lack of conversation. The dirt is soft beneath your feet, damp from the early morning rain and the river beside it. The sleek mount stops to drink at the cold river. 

“See? Already better,” Sylvain remarks almost smugly. 

The ride back isn’t long, but you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. Perhaps you’re being a little too carefree right now, but Sylvain doesn’t say anything about your nodding off so you allow the drowsiness to wash over you with the gentle sunlight. 

You awaken to Sylvain gently shaking you from behind. You’re both still in the saddle, though you’re in front of the stables now. You open your mouth to say something, but Sylvain speaks instead. 

“I guess I’m just that good,” he declares. 

You twist and swat his arm the best you can, but he doesn’t let up. 

“You were definitely relaxed.”

You grunt as you dismount after him and give the horse a pat while Sylvain sneaks him a treat. After a stablehand leads the stallion away, you meet his eyes and find that he’s looking at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” you smile sincerely. 

You can practically see the sparkles in his irises. It makes you fiddle with your fingers, unsure what to say next. A growl in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten this morning. 

“Want to get something to eat?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you blush.

***

The mages from the mausoleum bother you in a haunting way you can’t describe. They strike dread into your heart in a way that even the bandits from your first mission didn’t. When they’re subdued, the knights take them away, so you’re glad you don’t have to dwell on it for too much longer. 

On the other hand, you thought the professor looked cool with a regular sword, but when she pulled that relic out of the casket you really had no words. Especially when it extended into a whip and struck down several enemy mages at once. You’re sure everyone is going to be extra attentive in class tomorrow. 

When tomorrow comes, the change you get is not the one you expect. At the start of class, Sylvain plops down right next to you in Felix’s typical spot and you catch an eye roll from the swordsman when he enters just seconds later. Byleth strolls in with the relic on her hip, but other than a few long stares and quick questions, class continues on as usual. 

Chapter Text

The dreams start at the beginning of your fifth month there. You’re convinced they’re bits and pieces of your past. The first comes to you in the dead of sleep. 

~

It’s summer like the first letter detailed. You’ve just finished working in the mill for today when someone asks you where the vegetable stall is. You turn around to find someone about your age. His youthful smile is the only thing you can recognize from his vague appearance. No matter how hard you squint, you can’t make out any other details of his appearance. You brush debris off your hands, not minding the marks they make on your clothing, and point in the direction he needs to go. 

“Sorry, but can you take me there? I’m really bad with directions.” 

You sigh and oblige. You’ve already checked for other jobs today and there are none. Your fishing traps aren’t going anywhere either. 

“Come,” you say. 

Your companion trails behind you as you walk briskly to the market area of town. They are closing soon, not that you can afford anything right now. You wave a hand towards the decorated stalls. 

“Thanks,” he says, turning towards you. “I didn’t get your name-” 

But you’ve already left to collect from your fishing traps.

~ 

When you wake, the last vestiges of the dream linger at the edge of your mind. Somehow, deep down, you know that person.

Friend , your mind whispers to you. 

A somber feeling washes over you and you hope that your friend is thinking of you. Hopefully you’ll be able to reunite someday. 

***

“What’s got you so glum?” Sylvain notices. 

His new seating arrangement next to you is permanent, not that Felix minds. He’s got a better view of the board, as well as Annette. One that’s not just the back of her head. You’re not sure who else has noticed his infatuation since he’s hid it pretty well, but sometimes it’s a bit painful to watch the occasional obviousness.

“I had a dream,” you admit. 

“A nightmare?” he asks worriedly. 

“Just a dream,” you shake your head. 

He waits for you to tell him what it was, but the professor enters and class begins with a synonymous shuffling of papers and quills. You’re glad because you’re not sure if you’re ready to share any information about your dreams. You don’t even know if they’re memories, but a small part of you keeps insisting on the possibility. 

***

The tower is tall, dark, and cold. Occasionally, an eerie breeze bites through your clothing and leaves your bones numb. It all reminds you of when Rhea’s knights found you underground. You shiver at the thought but don’t allow the discomfort to stay for long. In the corner of your eye, Sylvain looks like he’s doing worse than he already was back at the academy. He doesn’t need more things to worry about, especially when these stairs you’re all ascending are already so long. 

Back when news of Gautier's relic being stolen reached his ears, it seemed he knew exactly who was behind it. You, among a few others, were surprised to find that his brother was the culprit and as much as he tried to pretend that it didn’t bother him, it was obvious it wasn’t true. He ceased his flirting antics, looked nervous half the time, and was distracted for the rest. Dark circles appeared under his eyes and most of the blue lions could tell he wasn’t getting much sleep. Ashe gave him some tea that was supposed to make him sleep better and Byleth gave him some extra chores to distract him. Like with Ashe, she asked him if he wanted to follow through with confronting his brother the day before the mission. 

“I have to,” is all he said.

You aren’t sure if he should be here, but you are sure that no one should have to go through something like this with their own sibling. Sylvain looks lost in thought again and you reach out to pull on his sleeve. 

“Hey…”

Sylvain’s attention snaps back into focus. 

“Are you alright?” you ask. 

The stairs make it a bit hard to catch his expression, especially when he purposefully walks in front of you. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, but it’s obvious he’s thinking about Miklan. 

You sense he doesn’t want to speak of it further, so you walk in silence. Sylvain himself narrowly avoids several lethal strikes in this battle since the bandits you encounter on the way are ready to fight tooth and nail for this relic. You wonder how much power it actually holds. However, you don’t have to wonder for long. 

Sylvain’s eyes flash with anger and grief as he corners Miklan in the floor’s large central chamber. You’ve never seen such emotions from him. It’s always that wide smile dripping with charm. His lance trembles from the force of his grip that makes Dimitri look at him with worry. 

“Why have you come, you crest bearing fool?” Miklan asks him, his angry voice echoing against the dark stone. 

You can see the resemblance between the brothers, but the differences are what you find uncanny. It’s obvious that Miklan would have been handsome like Sylvain, but his rageful glower destroys any charm he might have had. The jagged scars don’t exactly help either.   

“I’m here for the Lance of Ruin, Miklan. Hand it over. I don’t want to humiliate you, but I will,” Sylvain says.  

“Hmph, hurry up and die already. If not for you…”

“Shut up! I’m so tired of hearing that. You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault.” 

“So you think you can take the lance from me? I’ll kill every last one of you!” 

With that, Miklan throws the heavy cloth wrapped about the lance off and spins it roughly before settling into position. Sylvain and the nearby lions also ready their weapons. However, before either side can make a first strike, a black smoke extends from the lance and begins curling around Miklan and his allies. Byleth motions for the frontliners to step back, which they hastily do so. Soon, the smoke materializes further into a strange dark substance and engulfs Miklan, whose thieves have left him for dead. He lets loose a blood curdling scream. Somewhere along the line, it morphs into a guttural roar and you shudder at the piercing ringing in your ear. You can see Mercedes covering her own ears, even though she’s farther near the backline. The ground shakes so violently as Miklan- no, this monster- descends on all fours and roars again. For a second, you’re afraid it might take down the entire floor of the sturdy fortress with him, but luckily no such thing happens. Unfortunately, that means you must fight it. 

“What the- Miklan?! Is that you?” Sylvain asks in horror. 

“What is that?” you shudder. 

“It’s like watching a bad dream,” Sylvain mutters. 

You do your best to channel your fear into fighting and prepare to provide magical firepower. To your surprise, Sylvain takes the first leap towards the beast, followed shortly by Dimitri and the professor. Eventually, as fire spells fly from your fingertips one after another, you feel the weight of too much casting settle over you. However, you don’t stop. Byleth is counting on you and Annette to keep pressure on the beast’s armor so the frontliners can strike it as it’s recovering. You curse your personal limitations as your spells start weakening into smaller wisps of fire. You’re glad that between the two of you, at least Annette’s wind spells are still at full force. 

Another forceful swipe of the beast’s long tail sends you and Annette retreating further back and Byleth motions from across the large stone chamber to split up and draw closer from different angles. Annette shoots you an unsure look, but you assure her you’ll be fine. You flank the beast as quickly as you can and see that Byleth has sent someone over to strike where you’re attacking too. It’s Sylvain. Having someone sharing a stake with you in this fight brings the fire in your hands back to the heat it had before. You continue firing with a newfound motivation. 

Sylvain has become focused and his movements are no longer hesitant. Fluid strike, one after another, cuts into the beast’s armor and you would have never guessed that he was so young. It’s encouraging yet disheartening at the same time. Blood paints his face, blurring the line between where the roots of his hair meet his head. The lance looks slick, but he maintains his grip on it and swings it ferociously. You don’t dare to even think about how you might look, but you have other problems arising. Your scars are starting to burn in the same way they did when you first woke up in those cursed caves. 

Then, while the fight seems like it will never end, the beast staggers several steps and collapses with an angry screech. Before anyone can check the body, tendrils of dark smoke rise from its body and dissipate until it’s revealed that Miklan’s broken form is all that’s left of it.

Sylvain takes a deep breath. The lance is a few feet away from where Miklan’s lifeless body lays. He starts moving towards it, but one of the foolish thieves hiding behind a pillar the entire time darts out and grabs it clumsily. 

“No!” Sylvain cries. 

Byleth looks disturbed and even Dedue gasps. 

Anger flares within you. 

Did he not just see what happened? How could he do this to himself? To everyone else? To Sylvain? 

All reasoning flees your mind and you use the last of your energy to run towards him in an attempt to cut him off from the exit. Fire, the only spell you’ve seemed to master somewhat, wraps around your hands as you claw at him with a spell in your palm. Meant mostly for projectile attacks, the spell blasts the two of you apart with great force, but not before you manage to wrench the lance from his stubborn fingers. He cries out from the fire that burns him through his clothing. 

You rise at once, lance still in hand and relieved. It takes you a moment to wonder why everyone is looking at you like you’re about to die instead of being glad you all don’t have to chase the lance again. Dread starts to fill in the pit of your stomach as you notice your fingertips turning black as if they are being coated in soot. The onyx color travels up your arm and it’s Sylvain’s cry that breaks you out of staring at it. 

It burns. 

Your fingertips. 

Your scars. 

Your lungs. 

It seems the thief hasn’t given up and you wonder how someone could be so utterly stupid. He’s running at you now, likely thinking he has a chance to overrun a simple mage and escape with a treasure that he can sell without being cursed to become a horrid creature. He’s coming at you too quickly for you to avoid him…

Why…

Why?

What did any of you do to deserve this?!

Your body moves on its own as it positions itself for an attack of its own. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Sylvain is running towards you at full sprint. Mercedes gathers her medic supplies and rises in anticipation. Byleth raises her hand in a strange motion as if preparing for something- it reminds you of the hands of a clock.

Time slows as your scars pulse with fire and you find yourself launching the lance straight towards the thief out of pure spite. To your surprise, the lance gleams- a trick of the light, and embeds its tip in his stomach. He falls unceremoniously to the ground with a pathetic thud and you find yourself doing the same. Your vision blurs, your scars ache, the stone floor is frigid, and you can barely breathe. You raise your hands to see if the darkness is spreading. To your relief, it’s receding instead. 

Sylvain skids to the ground beside you and pulls you against his chest to check for injuries. You hold up your hands to him and chuckle stupidly. 

“It’s going away,” you wiggle your fingers in a fog of delusion. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he cries. 

“Look…” you move them once more. 

He takes a few fingers in his hand and lets it drop after making sure nothing is wrong with them. Then, Sylvain shakes you roughly. 

“Why would you do something so dangerous?” he asks vehemently. “You could have gotten killed! You could have killed us all yourself!” 

Byleth approaches and sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. It is then that his voice breaks. 

“You could have-” he chokes. 

Soon, the blue lions are nothing but spots of color and Sylvain’s words are only muffled noises in your ear. Although the darkness on your fingertips is fading, your vision fades into darkness instead.

Chapter Text

~

The sun is about to set, the sky is colorful, the river is bubbling excitedly, and you are waiting for something. No….you are waiting for someone. 

“If I hadn’t helped you finish work early, you’d never be here in time!” a voice calls from behind you.

“Soren…” you hear yourself saying. You turn around, allowing a bright smile to stretch across your face, “Thank you.” 

His appearance is blurry. You’re looking at him, but when you look away, you can’t remember what he looks or sounds like. You can only recall the warmth from his company. He takes your hand in his and pulls you along. 

“The festival begins at sundown,” he says, even though you already know. 

Your feet carry you quickly across grassy meadows, but with your growing excitement, it still feels too slow. When the two of you reach town, the streets are crowded with stalls, full of glowing lights and music. Children’s laughter fills the air and a few run past the two of you giddily playing their games. Vendors are calling out to bypassers every which way and the wares they show off are practically shining. You gasp in amazement. You’ve never bothered to attend because you’re always working. 

“Didn’t you come last year?” he asks. “You live just down that path.”

You shake your head and the scene shifts suddenly. The two of you are now standing in front of a candy stall. The aroma of baked goods, savory skewers, and sweet candies waft through the air. 

“Which one do you want?” Soren asks. 

“I couldn’t let you pay,” you say. 

“I want to,” he insists. “Please.” 

He’s looking at you with those puppy eyes that are so hard to resist. They’re the very same ones he used to convince you to let him help you with bakery deliveries earlier today. 

“Maybe just this once,” you murmur. 

You’re sure he can barely hear you above all the festivities, but he isn’t about to ask again. Soon enough, you’ve got a griffin shaped piece of warm candy and he’s got a stupidly wide smile on his face. You offer him some, but instead of taking the stick in his hand, he leans over and stares at you playfully for the entirety of the bite. You can’t help but blush. 

You have little time to dwell on embarrassment, however, because the stick is soon gone and you find yourself standing in front of yet another stall in a new scene. You can still taste the sugar on your lips as a jeweler tries to get you to buy a necklace from his stall. They’re only sold during this annual festival and you wonder if you’ll ever have enough coin to afford one of the delicate pieces. There's one in the corner that catches your eye, but when the traveling jeweler realizes that you’re probably broke, he takes one look at Soren and urges him to get one for you. Mortified, you shoo soren along to the next stall and give the merchant an apologetic look. He gives you an understanding wave and immediately starts advertising his wares to the nearest bypassers. Soon , the two of you reach the center of town where there’s a large circular area. Tonight, many lights are strung between the buildings surrounding the area and a group of lively musicians are playing animatedly near the fountain. 

Soren asks for a dance, but you hesitate, telling him you’ve never learned how. He laughs and tells you not to worry. He teaches you. You never thought it could be so fun! Peals of laughter from your own delight join the rest of the dancing crowd. Together, you find more adventures at the festival to enjoy, each more delightful than the last. In the end, however, you’re just glad he’s with you…

~

You wake to sunlight getting in your eyes. Your mouth is very dry and you feel like your tongue is going to fall off. Although that dream… it leaves a warm comforting feeling in your chest. 

“Oh! you’re awake,” Manuela notices. “Your classmates will be glad to hear it. It’s been a whole week.” 

“The lance,” you manage to rasp. 

“The lance is fine . Professor Byleth has it in her possession right now. You need to worry about yourself.” 

You nod. That’s good. 

“Now that you’re awake, we can move you back to your dorm for the rest of your recovery,” Manuela claps. 

Oh. You’re in the infirmary. A part of you recalls that Manuela is also the black eagles’ professor so she must be pretty busy. At once, she sends a messenger to your professor and hands you a glass of water. Before you can even ask about anything, she starts debriefing you on how to take care of your injuries. You try to listen, but your mind wanders as she talks about how much bedrest you should be getting and which herbs to put in your tea. 

“...We’ve patched your physical injuries up just fine, but your worst wounds were magical. That means no heavy casting for one week, just in case. Your professor knows this already, so don’t even think of getting away with a little white lie,” Manuela wags her finger. 

“I wasn’t-” 

Before you can finish your sentence, Sylvain comes bursting through the doors calling your name. He looks like he’s been standing in a storm for hours. His hair is sticking out in all directions, he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he looks sort of pale. 

“You’re awake,” he states the obvious. 

“He’s volunteered to take you back to the dorms. We’ve had students trip down the stairs and extend their stay before,” Manuela explains. 

When all you can do is stare at the people in front of you, Manuela takes your hand and passes it to Sylvain.

“Tut tut now, I have class to teach in half an hour,” she says. 

And with that, she pushes you both outside the infirmary and shuts the door. You’re not sure what to say after what happened at the tower, so you blurt out what you’re thinking instead. 

“You look terrible ,” you tell Sylvain. 

“I know,” he casts a sideways glance towards you. “You do too…”

The air is cold, now that you’re no longer covered in blankets, but his hand is warm. You unconsciously tighten your grip and Sylvain helps you down the stairs, out the building. 

“You saw what happened to Miklan,” he says as you walk through the halls together. “Why did you try to retrieve the Lance of Ruin yourself?” 

“I- um.”

It was stupid, really. You know it was foolish when you were doing it, but somehow you just knew that…

…. 

Your mind draws up a blank, ceasing your string of thoughts.

“I was blinded by my emotions,” you substitute. “I wanted to get it away from the thief before another beast put us all in danger.”

However, you’re not entirely sure that’s the whole truth. There was something in the back of your mind that allowed you to do something so irrational. After all, you could have been the one they had to kill instead. You shudder. Deep in your thoughts, you can vaguely make out Sylvain motioning rapidly with his other hand. You tune in just as he realizes you aren't listening. 

“-could’ve happened to you!” he lets go to rub his face with both hands. “You’re not even listening to me right now.” 

You acutely feel the warmth dissipate from the hand he was holding. “Sorry.” 

He stops completely in his steps and looks directly in your eyes. You don’t have any words to explain why. It just happened, so you repeat yourself. 

“I was blinded by my emotions.” 

“You shouldn’t have been,” Sylvain says angrily. “I’m glad you’re okay. Really. I just can’t understand….” he trails off with a frustrated growl.  

Silence permeates the air until you hear a pair of footsteps echoing in the distance. It seems you’re at the dormitories already. 

“Sylvain,” it’s Mercedes. “she just woke up. We can scold her when she’s well.”

“Mercedes,” he acknowledges before turning to you. “Just get some rest,” he resigns. 

“Okay,” you frown as he leaves. 

Mercedes waits until he’s out of earshot before speaking to you. 

“Annette and I made some tea for you when we heard you woke up,” she informs you. “There’s a fresh pot in your room.” 

You thank the healer. That was very thoughtful of them. She smiles sweetly. 

“Sorry if this is overstepping, but please try not to take his words too harshly. Sylvain was all torn up about the whole thing when you blacked out,” your classmate says. 

“Really?”

“I even had to get Dimitri to drag him out of the infirmary to get his own rest,” she giggles. 

You sigh, a bit more relieved at her words. They do warm your heart a little.

***

This month’s letter is sitting neatly on your desk. It's still sealed and you're glad that whoever delivered it, likely one of your classmates, respects your privacy. This month’s letter has a red envelope with a gold seal sporting a circular leaf design. As per usual, your name is written in practiced, elegant script. Soren must be doing well for himself. 

You break the seal and read the letter. 

It's more of the same romantic language that he usually writes in, but as you near the end of the letter, your heart leaps into your chest. After a few seconds, it's thundering heavily. 

He's on his way to Garreg Mach!

You pull out a desk drawer and rummage haphazardly for your calendar. According to the letter, you haven't missed him in your sleep. He'll be here in about a week’s time. 

How lucky.

Your stomach turns with anticipation. Will he be disappointed you don't remember him? What if he wants to break up? You shove the darkening thoughts away and wonder what you should wear to meet him instead. Then a thought occurs to you. 

How would you even know which squire he was? 

***

The following morning, you rise for class when you recall the dream you had before waking up in the infirmary. Specifically, the party about a shiny trinket that you may or may not have recognized. You leap out of bed and rummage around in the bag you brought to the monastery when Rhea first saved you. 

The necklace! 

You weren't exactly sure where it had come from, but it had been…. had it been a gift? However, looking at it now dangling between your fingertips, its gleam beneath the sunlight was definitely the same as the one in your dream. The same one that glowed beneath candlelight and stars. 

Had Soren got it for you anyway? 

You thought it clever to wear it until you found him. Surely he'd recognize you, even with your white hair.

***

“Sylvain?” You ask during stable duty that afternoon. “Do you know who delivered my letter for this month? Usually the messenger just barges into our class.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to properly thank whoever passed it along.”

“Um, I think the professor did.”

You nod in understanding. You're in the midst of wondering how you should convey your thanks when you notice that Sylvain’s gaze is lingering on the necklace you've decided to wear for the duration of the near future. 

“It's from my supposed lover,” you say. “The necklace. That is what you're staring at, right?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain nods absentmindedly, not bothering to respond to your light-hearted teasing.  

You pull it outwards away from your collar so you can show it off better. You think it gleams rather prettily in the light, but Sylvain just takes another flat look before returning to pitching some hay. 

“At least I think it's from him,” you say. 

“I thought you didn't remember anything.”

“I don't, but I've been having dreams,” you say. 

Sylvain stops for a second and looks over his shoulder. “Dreams?”

“I think they're connected to my memories, although I'm not too sure…”

“Dreams are unpredictable,” he says. 

“I guess,” you agree with a sigh. 

But then you remember the actual contents of the letter and your face lights up. 

“But he's coming to visit Garreg Mach soon!”

“He is?” 

“The most recent letter says that the knights he's serving will stop by here.”

“You must be looking forward to that,” Sylvain notes.

“I am,” you grin widely. “I wonder what kind of person he'll tell me I was.”

“He'd probably tell you things we already know,” Sylvain says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You're smart, pretty, self sacrificing,” Sylvain waves in vague gestures. “You know…”

“Thanks Sylvain,” you blush. 

He mutters something under his breath along the lines of, “No problem.”

“I wonder where I should keep a lookout…”you muse. 

“Are you going to help me at all today?” Sylvain asks in exasperation.

You stifle a laugh and raise your hands in defense, “Okay, okay!”

It's only been a minute or two, but you take his petty complaint seriously this time because he did say some pretty sincere things about you.

***

The following day before class, Annette overhears you telling Mercedes about Soren’s visit. 

“We’ve got to make sure you look extra cute this week!” she exclaims the same time Mercedes says, “That's wonderful!”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” you laugh. “It's probably hard enough to recognize me with this hair. It wasn't always white.” 

“Come on,” Annette prods. “Not even for this happy reunion?”

You let yourself wonder a bit. Maybe meeting again for the first time in a while might warrant a little something. “Maybe just a tiny-” 

You pause because Annette looks like she's about to burst out of the seat beside you. 

“What's with all the excitement?” Sylvain strolls in. 

He's perceptive as usual. 

“Did you know her admirer is coming around the end of this week?”

“Yeah.”

To his relief, Annette hops out of his seat and settles into her own beside Mercedes. 

“I’ve got just the thing for you,” she winks and before turning around. 

As class begins, you can't help but worry a little about what ‘thing’ Annette is planning. 

After class, the thing Annette had in mind was, in fact, her own whole collection of accessories. You, with Ingrid's help, were able to narrow it down to a few hair ribbons. She initially insisted that she would not be of much help, but Mercedes roped her into joining the session for moral support and you’re glad she did.

“Now, I've heard that this style is popular in the Empire,” Annette shows you an example of her own head of hair with a ribbon intricately woven in it. 

You suspect whatever magic she's working is rather powerful. She merely twisted her hands this way and that for a few seconds and her hair turned into this new creation. 

“I see,” you say, but you did not in fact, see.

“Oh, just look at the time,” Mercedes says. “The letter said they were aiming to arrive during the evening, right?”

You nod. You figured it would make it easier to find Soren if some people, including your classmates, know you’re looking for him. Now, all that’s left to do this week is to start keeping an eye out. Luckily, the knights’ arrival schedule lines up with your evening free time so you can hang around the gates this week. 

“But if you want to go for a kingdom-”

The hourly bell interrupts her. 

“Thanks Annette!” You say hastily, taking the opportunity to begin your lookout. “And thank you two also.”

You grab a ribbon out of the many that she offered. You think it looks nice. Then you thank Annette again and she beams. Mercedes and Ingrid wave happily as you exit the room with the ribbon in hand. You know it's pretty early in the week to be waiting, but you can't help it. He's a link to your past! You want to know as much as possible. As for your dreams, you know dreams can be unreliable, but a part of you also knows that the feelings you shared with him were very real. The fun, the comfort, the warmth. The hustle and bustle of the large marketplace reminds you of the festival and you allow yourself to drift happily with the sounds, your spirit soaring.

“Why are you holding a ribbon? Are you waiting for your pen pal?” someone asks from behind you.

You turn and nod. It's Sylvain. You recall the professor assigned him on a supply run. He must be on his way to the outer village, depending on which supplies the class needs.

“Annette lent it to me,” you say. 

He blinks. 

“I took it to make her happy, but now that I think about it...” You peer at its rich color. “Looking put together couldn't hurt.”

Sylvain gives you a smile and a wave as he leaves the gates. “Sure, good luck.”

Unfortunately, you don't know how to instinctively use the thing without looking like you're just preparing for kitchen duty. You guess your past self never really bothered with such things. When Sylvain comes back half an hour later, he notes that you're still holding it. 

“I don't actually know how to…” you trail off. 

You should have just stuffed it in your pocket while sitting on some stone steps and staring beyond the gates. 

Why are you explaining this to him anyway?

“Here,” he sets his bag down and reaches out for the ribbon. 

You hesitantly pass it to him and he comes to stand behind you. 

“May I?” he asks. 

You look over your shoulder and nod. At once, his fingers brush over your ear and gather your plain hair together. It’s brief, but it sends shivers down your spine in a way you wished wasn’t so. In mere seconds, his work is complete. 

“All done,” he says.

You pat the back of your head and recognize it as the style Annette said was popular in Faerghus. 

You turn and offer a tentative smile. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“When we were younger,  I had to help Ingrid sometimes,” he shrugs. “She had a habit of messing up her hair because of all her running around.”

“I see,” you say, patting it again. 

You frown, hoping that you don’t look like you’re pretending to be put together. Sylvain catches onto your insecurity and you wish he wasn’t so perceptive, especially when you need him to not be. 

Sylvain clears his throat and looks away, “You look nice.”

You thank him shyly and he takes his leave at once. Soren does not show up, but it is only the start of the week after all. You go to bed that night, only to encounter another lucid dream. 

~

The lights from the festival are still bright, but the noise has settled down a bit because it’s getting late and people are beginning to retire for the night. Soren has just finished walking you to your cottage and you’re in the midst of thanking him for helping you go to the festival when you notice he’s a bit more hesitant with his words than usual. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

“I have something for you,” he blurts and rubs the back of his head. “I know you didn’t want me to do this, but- I want to give you one last thing tonight.” 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small silk parcel. It’s a deep rich blue and the necklace he pulls out of it gleams like starlight beneath the dim lamp in your hands. You raise it to get a better look. It’s both beautiful and delicate. 

“You-” you are at a loss for words. 

Soren starts smiling wider and wider as he realizes you’re pleased with it. 

“But the price!” you exclaim.

“If I couldn’t afford it, I’d have gotten you something else,” he says. 

You run a finger over the smooth craftsmanship in his hands and Soren takes the opportunity to step behind you.

“May I?” he asks.

You look over your shoulder and nod shyly. His fingers brush your ear as he pulls your hair out of the way. His touch is gentle as he carefully loops the piece around your neck and fastens it in the back. When he’s done, you turn around slowly, abashed at his steady gaze. A haze falls over his eyes as he observes the necklace near your collarbone and then up towards your face. One hand tentatively rises to touch your cheek and you find yourself leaning into it. It’s all he needs to lean down, yet he gives you time to pull away. When you don’t, he presses his lips to yours gently as if he were afraid he’d scare you away if he moved the slightest bit too fast. As you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, he takes the opportunity to wrap the other arm around your waist, angling you so that you fit against him comfortably. Your heart races as your mind catches up with your actions and you’re sure he can feel it too with how closely you’re pressed against each other. When you part, his face is flushed a bright crimson and you’re sure yours is too. You bury your face in his shirt, unsure of how else to hide your blush. He tucks his chin against you and for a second, you’re certain he’s doing the same. 

~

Every morning that you wake from one of these dreams, the more your anticipation grows. You’re becoming more and more certain that Soren will recognize you the moment he lays eyes on you. You take the time to make sure you look cleaned up before waiting at the gates each evening. Your class performance might be slipping a little, but Byleth has assured you that you will have time to catch up. You’re grateful the professor is understanding of your memory predicament. You also haven’t told anyone about the content of your dreams, but your classmates know that they’ve been changing your mood for the better lately. Even Dimitri has mentioned that your usual expressions seem a little less ‘lost.’ 

However, it’s the middle of the week and Soren hasn’t shown up. There isn’t any news of any approaching knights either and you shove away the uncertainties that threaten your hope. You find solace in your dreams, which you find are increasing in their frequencies. 

~

It’s night and you find yourself laying down and staring up at the sky. The stars are bright and the air is clear, making it easy to pick out your favorite constellations high above. You are warm because Soren is holding you in his arms, the two of you stretched out on a thin picnic blanket on the meadows outside of town. Your head lays on his shoulder and a portable lamp rests on the tree stump next to where the two of you are situated. Though you rest in his warm embrace, you shiver when a particularly cold breeze nips at you. He wraps his cloak around you more tightly before doing the same with the blanket that he brought. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

He responds by slowly tilting your head up towards him to kiss you deeply. You respond in kind and when the two of you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless from each other’s eagerness. You let a laugh escape at the thought of being so in love, you can’t catch your breaths. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

However, your laughter is contagious and he nips at the edge of your ear to hide his own smile. You raise your eyes to the sky and point up at a constellation. 

“I like that one,” you tell him. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s pretty, like you.” 

Soren chuckles and his hand tightens around your waist, “Hey, that’s my line.” 

You ignore his comment and bury your face into his neck as he strokes your hair gently. You smile into his shirt. It smells like fresh meadow grass and flowers from when the two of you  waded through the flowers on the deep side of the meadow before sunset. 

“I wish this could last forever,” you sigh. 

“Me too,” he agrees. 

“I love you,” you hear yourself saying. 

~

You wake to tears staining your face. This morning, the fear is very real. It’s a week past the day that Soren said he’d be here, but you find yourself at the gates after class, lunch, and training anyways. Insecurities creep from the back of your mind to the forefront of your thoughts and you can’t help but let reality sink into your body. You wring your hands and stare at the gate whose markings and imperfections you’ve memorized by now. Your breath feels short and you don’t know if you can do this again tomorrow. You don’t know if you should. You don’t know where Soren is. You don’t- 

“Hey, are you alright?” Sylvain asks. 

You’d been too busy worrying that you hadn’t even realized he came up beside you. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, but it’s obvious you’re rather dejected. 

Sylvain fiddles with his fingers. He looks a bit uncomfortable. You figure out exactly why when he opens his mouth. 

“Maybe you should stop waiting out here,” he says. “It has been a while…”

You thought he was going to ask for help with evening stable duties. You feel like a fool, waiting for someone who might not even make it here. In a way, you suppose it’s like throwing Sylvain’s stable chores back in his face because of the time you’ve wasted. You open your mouth and close it again, unsure of what to say. A part of you knows that he is right. You can’t wait on someone else forever. However, another part of you insists that Soren wouldn’t lie to you. 

“I- I have to,” you finish lamely. 

Why is it that Sylvain always gets to see the most uncomfortable sides of you? 

He looks a bit sad. You feel something uncomfortable rear its ugly head inside you. 

He pities you, your mind whispers unhappily. 

That’s all it takes for you to snap at him. “Just because you stand girls up when you’re done with them, doesn’t mean that he will!” 

Sylvain takes an actual step back and shock paints his features before gradually morphing into something else entirely. He looks genuinely hurt and you wish you could take back what you’ve just said. He was only trying to help spare you from further disappointment, after all. You watch in horror as that familiar mask makes his way onto his face. His expression is neutral now, a corner of his lip even starting to quirk upwards, but you know better.

“Sylvain,” you say quickly, letting the words fall out of your mouth as fast as you can. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’ve been kind to me and -” 

Sylvain raises a hand to stop you mid sentence, “It’s alright. I overstepped. Just take care of yourself, alright?”

You can only watch as he walks off and gives people his usual charming waves, even if they’re a little flatter than usual. You want to apologize to him properly. On your way back to your room, you ponder his suggestion seriously. Maybe he’s right. Perhaps it’s time to stop hanging onto the past as if it is the only thing that has a say in who you are now.

Chapter Text

Catching up is harder than you thought it would be and you feel like you don't deserve the professor’s patience. Annette offered to help you practice spells, but you cannot bring yourself to accept her offer. It would take too much time out of her already hectic schedule. Stable duty continues onward as usual and you plan to apologize to Sylvain on the class's way to the next mission. He’s been acting the same as usual after that day, but something strange has settled between the two of you. 

You figure a stop in the forest is a good time as ever. 

“Sylvain, about that day at the gate-”

“You don't need to worry about it,” he grimaces. 

The rest of the blue lions are situated a short ways away, making it painfully obvious that Sylvain is avoiding you, though you suspect no one knows why.

“Really, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

“I already said it's fine,” he insists. “Don't apologize.”

You frown. You've given a sincere apology and he's accepted it, so why does everything feel off still? Sylvain gets up from the stump he's been sitting on and makes his way back to the clearing. 

“Aren't you coming?” he asks. 

You hope your apology was enough. 

***

You can smell the smoke from Remire long before you reach it. As you and the class find what fate has befallen some of the villagers, you recoil with horror. The whole situation sort of reminds you of when you first woke up. It leaves a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

The professor is stoic as usual, but as Jeralt and his backup arrives, you catch glimpses of discomfort in her eyes. Even she is unaccustomed to this type of tragedy. 

The edges of your white hair soon become singed, even from your place among the back lines. You can't help but notice the same has happened to Mercedes’ pale golden locks. You wonder how Dimitri and Dedue are even handing the heat from the front lines while they rescue innocent villagers. From a brief glance, you can tell that the prince is fighting with all his strength, something you rarely get to see in the training grounds. It reassures you, but at the same time, the ferocity and messiness of his strikes unnerves you. You push the feeling away. If anything, you're at least glad he is on your side. 

The enemy’s head mage falls beneath Byleth's trusty new sword and Dimitri watches him fall without blinking. You shudder at the sight of his pointed mask, an unwelcome coldness sifting through your blood…

~

It stares back at you, turning your mind to mush, challenging you, letting your blood….You feel your uniform scars burning with pain as if they were open wounds again. 

“Hold still and this will hurt less.”

They always say that, but it’s never true, so you let out a pained scream as another blade digs into your side. There are dried tears on your face, but it's been long since any new ones have sprung from your eyes. Your body is tired, likely broken, and the mage’s mask stares back down at you. You can tell he is pleased with your suffering. 

“And here I thought you wouldn't be of any use because of your common blood.”

The mage strokes your face in a twisted display of appreciation. The blood from his gloves smears on your cheek and you turn away. He lets you this time and your body suffers another wave of fiery pain. Though he's wearing a mask, you're sure he is smiling at the sound you make. The jagged scuff near his mask’s eye seems from so long ago when you'd been strong enough to at least claw at him. 

“Let's put you to sleep, shall we?”

“No,” you mutter. 

Waking from their sleep always brings more pain. 

“No!” You cry, but your body won't obey your wishes. 

Your wounds are too many, too deep.

~

“No,” you hear yourself saying aloud. 

The mage’s body is being inspected and you watch as they lift the mask off his face. The one with a mark very much like the one you clawed into with your bare hands. 

You draw closer slowly, as if in a trance. Dimitri puts an arm out to stop you and ask what's wrong, but you walk onwards until he relents. Sylvain trails behind you tentatively, now that he's dismounted. You can barely feel the scorched, ashy ground beneath your feet. 

“Wait!” you say to the knight investigator who is about to tuck the mask away. “I must see it,” you hold out your hands. 

The knight looks towards Jeralt, but the man is occupied. He casts his eyes towards Byleth next, who nods to him with approval from the distance. 

“Alright then,” he passed it over. “Be quick, please.”

The moment you take it in your hands, your suspicions are confirmed. It's the very same mage who hurt you. Tragically, something within you knew that mask like the palm of your hand. 

What was he even doing to you? To the others there also? 

Now that you know for sure he was the mage responsible for your situation, who also spread this curse upon the people of Remire, you are ready to be rid of the wretched mask. You practically shove it back into the knight's arms.

“Hey!” he stumbles a bit.

“Sorry,” you mutter over your shoulder. 

Luckily, he looks more bewildered than offended. 

You pause, realizing the mage is right next you, right there in the ground. You take a deep breath and shake your head. He's dead. He can't hurt you anymore. 

Finally, you peek downwards, expecting the face of a monstrous creature even more vile than the beast Miklan became, but there is nothing unusual about him. If his skin weren't so grey and if he didn't have those creepy dark circles under his eyes, he might have even been handsome. 

The mere thought revolts you. 

Disgust soon mixed with anger. You realize you wanted him to suffer. Death had been too easy. 

You turn around abruptly when you feel a hand on your shoulder. It's obvious you're on edge, even as you realize it's just the prince. 

“I understand. This should have never happened,” he says. “Ah! You're bleeding.” 

You look down to your hand where he's staring. When you open your palms, little red half moons dot your hand. You're not sure he knows how close you were to this mage's crimes, but you realize it's your anger he's referring to. 

It burns just like your scars. 

“So I am.”

Dimitri calls Mercedes over for a quick heal as Sylvain watches the three of you with worried eyes. It seems he's at least figured out that you had an ugly encounter with this mage before. 

Soon after, Byleth calls the class together for the return trip. As you head together towards where you’ll set up camp for the night, you don't bother looking back at the evil mage. 

***

When you close your eyes that night, you find images of the mask waiting for you in your sleep. You hate that the effects of the mage’s crimes bleed into your life even now. Your lack of memories and these new nightmares plague you. 

A short ways away from camp, but far enough that you don't wake anyone, you frustratedly kick a rock in no particular direction and stop when you hear a grunt. A classmate rises from behind a bush. Red hair…of course it's Sylvain. 

Since when has he become such a busybody? 

“Why are you here?” 

“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You looked pretty shaken out there today.”

“I was not shaken,” you deny. “Besides, he's dead.”

“I know he hurt you,” Sylvain says. 

“Get to the point.”

Sylvain briskly runs a hand through his hair. “If you ever need to uh, you know.”

“I don't,” you frown. 

“Talk…” he mumbles. 

Your displeased expression fades. “I don't know, Sylvain…”

“Miklan did some pretty terrible things to me when we were younger. Not to compare of course,” he raises both his hands and looks at you. When you nod, barely visible beneath the moonlight, he takes a deep breath and continues, “and when he died as that creature… ” 

He paused. The fire from camp crackles in the distance. 

“His memory haunts me even though it's not my fault.”

You peer at the ground. Your memories of the mage haunt you even though you don't even know his name. You wish they didn't, but they do. 

“How do you make it go away?” you ask. 

“I… I don't know,” he admits. 

You've been angry since before sunset and only now has it begun moving aside to reveal hurt. 

“I can't even sleep, Sylvain,” your voice starts to break. 

“I know,” he teaches out and you let him wrap an arm around you.

“They already took my memories,” you say into his shirt. “How much more …?” you trail off. 

“Something that terrible doesn't just go away.”

“I wish it did,” you sigh. 

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

Garreg Mach is a breath of fresh air after dealing with shady mages and burning villages. The blue lions obviously feel the same way, as most of them relax their travel postures the moment you all enter the gates. Half of them make a beeline for the dorms and Byleth lets them go without any question. Your own relief only lasts a few moments before your usual messenger comes up to you, breathless. 

“I've been looking for you for two days!” He huffs. “I just found out this morning that your class had gone to Remire.”

“Oh,” you breathe. 

The letters! He passes you a violet envelope with a gold seal. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Thank you.”

“Anytime!”

As the messenger scurries off, you can't wait, so you open the envelope in your tired traveling state. You break the seal open more messily than usual and unfold the crisp letter. However, the usual sappy language is nowhere to be found and the longer you read, the more dread pools in your chest. 

No… your mind struggles against the words on the page. 

The page trembles between your fingers and it's started to rain. However, the sky is clear and you realize that the drops are from your tears. After remire and the journey, you have little energy left to fend off the waves of emotion rushing towards you. You wipe stray tears away in disappointment and embarrassment, hoping that no one has seen and head straight for your room, taking the most roundabout way possible to avoid seeing anyone you know.

Soren has completed a heroic feat so brave that an Empire noble sought his hand in marriage and presented the proposal itself as a reward. Refusing would be an extremely great disrespect to her especially because of the discrepancies between their statuses. After all, your admirer hailed from a common background like you.

He had to have been trapped into this, right? Perhaps her family had a tendency to punish people who did not accept their gifts. 

But the more you thought about it, the more it seemed like an excuse. So you called for a meeting with the only person you might be able to ask. 

***

“I was surprised you didn't want to rest. The blue lions have only just returned from their mission,” Edelgard says.

You fidget with your fingers at your seat underneath the gazebo. The night breeze feels more chilling than usual and Hubert’s stare doesn't exactly help. 

“I'm surprised you want to meet with me.”

Much like Dimitri, Edelgard is always so busy as house leader. She also lacks the friendliness your own house leader exudes. Where Dimitri smiles warmly, Edelgard watches with eyes like that of a hawk. 

“A little inter house relations never hurt anyone,” she says with a flick of her hand. “So what did you want to ask?”

“It's about this letter,” you slide it across the table. 

Hubert summons a steady floating flame in his palm to provide sufficient light. You're a little jealous of how easy he makes it look. 

As the princess opens the letter, you explain your doubts about it. However, you make sure to leave out your dreams and the actual contents of the previous letters. 

Edelgard sweeps her gaze across the letter rather quickly. “I assume you're asking about the truth of this report.”

You nod. 

“I've not known of any such occurrence. You are right in assuming that noble empire engagements or alliances of any kind, whether powerful or not, are bound to reach our ears.”

You wonder why she is sharing this with you at all, but you are grateful for it regardless. 

“You've been lied to,” Hubert summarizes bluntly.

Edelgard’s expression surprisingly softens as she passes the letter back gently. “I'm sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Thank you,” you say.

The two watch in thoughtful silence as you gather the letter and retreat to your room once more.

Unfortunately, your way back this time is not as lucky as the first. 

“What's got you out so late?” Sylvain asks at the top of the stairwell. 

Having him two doors down from your own quarters is both a blessing and a curse.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Of course,” he laughs. 

The sound grates against your ears, conflicting with what you feel inside. 

“What's wrong?” he asks at your downcast look.

You sluggishly make your way up the last few steps before answering his question. 

“He's not coming,” you sigh. “I got a letter today when we got back.” You wave the letter half-heartedly in front of yourself.

“Apparently he's gone off and gotten engaged to some noblewoman from the Empire,” you plod on towards your room. 

You don't want to admit to anyone that Soren has made an excuse to leave you yet. You can feel tears pricking your eyes again, so you turn away from Sylvain who is trailing behind you and try to wipe them casually with your sleeve so he doesn't notice. It doesn't work because it's hard to pull off in the first place. 

“Hey,” he tugs on your other sleeve lightly. 

You turn around, not bothering to hide anymore. A shaky breath leaves your chest. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. 

You twist the knob to your room behind you. “I should have listened to you.”

Sylvain looks conflicted at your statement. 

“I'm sorry,” he repeats himself. 

You shake your head. “It’s just that the dreams felt so real.” 

“They felt real?”

“It's like I can feel him with me when I wake up, even if I can't even remember what he looks like, sounds like, or anything! In one of the dreams, I told him that I loved him,” you explain. “I think I really meant it...”

You feel the words coming out of your mouth quickly. It's the most you've said to anyone in one sitting ever since you woke up. Your fingertips find their way to your lips where you can imagine the ghosts of his kisses. 

Was any of it real, or had you mind just made things up?

You let your hand fall when you realize Sylvain is still watching. 

“You… probably don't want to hear all this,” you turn back towards your door, away from him. 

“No, it’s alright. I’m…here,” he says tentatively. 

You offer him a small reassuring smile before slipping inside. Your tears have dried on their own. 

***

“I can't dance,” you say as a matter of factly. 

“It may help,” Byleth says. 

“As a distraction?” you ask skeptically. 

Your letters’ abrupt end hasn't been a secret, but only the blue lions, Edelgard, and Hubert know the details. 

Yet another month has passed and you've managed to somewhat let go of the idea of meeting someone from your past again. You still occasionally wonder why Soren didn't try to return to you, but in the end, there isn't much to ponder. He made his choice. Part of you is grateful you don't remember him as much as you'd previously wished. Your maybe-memories already created enough disappointment. 

“It will help with more than just distraction,” Byleth insists.

“I don't know…Annette looks pretty happy to represent us.”

To your dismay, Annette speaks up at the sound of her name. “You should definitely go for it!”

“What about Flayn? She's just been rescued and she's joined us. Maybe a little something to boost-”

“No excuses,” Byleth says with finality. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” you resign. “But I’m doing this for the class.”

Several of your classmates, including Flayn, give a collective cheer from behind you. You’ve heard rumors about a dancer’s class exam and hope that this won't lead there since you're not really sure what dancers do on the field. 

***

“Whenever I'm doing anything remotely embarrassing, why is it always you who has to see?”

Sylvain shrugs nonchalantly. “Fate?” He suggests. 

You bury your face in one hand at his response. Of course he gets to witness this disaster on the last day of two weeks of practice. The dancer's ensemble is far from your usual attire and the steps are unlike anything you've learned in class. When you mess up, the high ceiling hall echoes your mistakes loudly. 

“Need any help?” he asks. 

You shake your head the same time Byleth says yes from the sidelines. 

“Nice timing. I'm going to run some errands. Sylvain, please take my place for the rest of today,” she says. 

It's almost comical the way she leaves without further explanation. 

To her credit, she does turn around to offer a bit of encouragement, “Good work.” 

You give the professor a half smile, thankful that she's been so patient with you throughout the whole instruction. You then swing around to find that Sylvain’s grin is stretching so wide you worry it might split his face in two. 

“You look awfully pleased,” you frown worriedly. 

“What can I say? I like dancing,” he extends a hand towards you. 

You oblige and Sylvain immediately starts showing you the steps you've been missing. You wonder if he can tell you've been doing the rest of the performance wrong too. 

“It's like riding all over again,” you say as he pulls you around in what you feel like is no particular direction. A particular turn throws you off balance, but luckily, he catches you just in time. “I just don't understand.”

“Have a little fun. Don't think of the cup,” Sylvain says.

“I actually wasn't until you brought it up,” you point out sourly, almost stepping on his toes.

“Oops,” he admits. 

“Sorry,” you say referring to his foot, which you've managed to squash. 

The students practicing alongside you trickle out of the near empty ballroom one by one until you and Sylvain are the only ones left. Apparently, they feel confident enough to stop practicing the day before the competition. You are tired too, but you don't want to let the blue lions down. Just as the sun begins to set, the light begins to take on a golden color. You can't help but remember the dance that Soren taught you. 

“Let's try one more time,” you say. “I have a good feeling about this.”

As the two of you go through the dance for the last time, you shove down the emotions related to the dream and try to focus on the feeling of light footedness. Soon enough, elation fills your heart as you can feel the experience within your grasp. All at once, it feels like all the dizzy turns as confusing footwork fit together. Sylvain notices it too and starts to lead with more subtle prompting. 

With less of your attention on managing your movements, you are able to look and notice that Sylvain is the happiest he's been since you all finally rescued Flayn last week. His face sports a gentle smile instead of the practiced grin you've come to know so well and he's looking at you like-

Before you can finish the thought, he lifts you at the end and a brief rush fills your stomach. It's not in your solo performance, so you wrap your hands around his shoulders for stability, startled at the spontaneous move. Sylvain just laughs softly in your ear as he sets you down slowly again. It's clear, like a ringing bell. 

When your feet are firmly placed in the ground, you realize you're still hanging onto him and he hasn't let go of your waist. His eyes gleam gold with the light from sundown. Your face flushes from the landing and soon, something in the air shifts between the two of you. It's charged with something you can't quite put a finger on. 

“Did you like it?” he asks, his voice lacking its usual confidence- an honest question. 

His face is flushed from the routine. Well, at least you think it is. 

“Yeah,” you admit with a small smile. 

The two of you are standing so close that you're practically holding each other, so you're not surprised when your foreheads touch. You are surprised, however, when Sylvain makes no move to pull away. As if on their own, some of your own fingers rise from his shoulder to the back of his head, burying themselves in his hair. It's all he needs to close the gap between your lips. Soon, you think of your letters and are about to shove him away, but you recall that you no longer have a relationship. 

Was Soren ever a lover to begin with? 

You shove away the hurt rising in your heart and pull Sylvain even closer in an attempt to smother it. Kissing Sylvain is something you'd never even thought of until seconds ago. Even then, it's not what you expected. You thought his affection would match his bold persona, full of energy and lively confidence. But he kisses you tentatively, treating you with great care even as his fingers tighten on your waist and press you against him. When you pull away for air, Sylvain leans after you, but you place a finger against his mouth and push his eagerness backwards gently with a light laugh. 

“Come to the dance with me,” he takes a hand off of your waist to press your fingers against his face. 

“Planning for a date already? The dance is months away.”

He takes his time kissing your palm. Watching the languid motion, your smugness dissipates quickly, replaced with nothing but a simple blush. 

“Well?” he asks again, looking straight into your eyes. 

“I- I'd be glad to,” you stutter.

He smiles against your palm and for the second time that day, you fear his face will split in two from how wide his smile is. Beneath the light of sunset, his brown eyes gleam like gold. For a fleeting moment, remembering his skirt chasing tendencies, you hope that you’re not making a mistake. At the same time, you aren’t really sure what you’ve done to attract his affections. Though looking at him now, you’re beginning to understand why so many of his dates manage to fall for him. In that moment, just for the smallest of seconds, a little part of your mind wonders if things would be different if the letters had been from Sylvain instead.

Chapter Text

You win the White Heron cup by a mere two points. Even then, it’s something you previously thought to be entirely impossible. It seems Byleth has quite the foresight. The morning after the competition, the class congratulates you as soon as you enter the room. Sylvain stands at the front with a bouquet from the Blue Lions in his outstretched arms. He practically beams as you accept it, making your heart lurch as you thank them for their thoughtful gesture. 

Flayn also proves to be an excellent addition to the class. Her presence brightens the classroom. With her charm and healing capacities, everyone is certain that the Blue Lions have a good chance at winning the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Of course, this only steels your resolve to train and study vigorously. By the end of the month, it’s almost like you can feel the magic within your fingertips from all the practice even as you sleep. Is this what mages like Annette and Lysithea feel all the time? You made a mental note to ask them sometime. 

Finally, the day everyone has been anticipating arrives. The field itself is full of lush foliage and you can see the other classes in the distance. The professor calls you all together for a quick debrief and for the first time in a while, you feel nervous in a good way.

“...just as we practiced,” she finishes with a small smile that if on any one else, you’d mistake for a weak grimace. 

“We won’t go easy on them,” Dimitri nods. 

As the horns sound from atop the side cliffs, you take your place near Flayn and Felix. Byleth sends the three of you to her left, towards where some golden deer units are situated. The weight of expectations bears down on you since the professor sent you this way to counter the heavy armored units in the brushes. Byleth gives the signal, motioning for you three to advance. As you clear armored units with increasing confidence, Felix sweeps their remaining duelists. Flayn keeps the two of you in shape as you meet back up with the rest of the class, who have cornered poor Bernadetta on the hill with the ballista. 

To your relief, she surrenders immediately with a high pitched, “Eeeek!” 

The poor girl looks immensely spooked even after being dismissed. Now with central control, the rest of the battle unfurls quickly and soon enough, Dimitri cuts down the last golden deer: the house leader himself. 

“Alright, you got me,” Claude chuckles from where he was defeated in the brushes.

He’s a bit disappointed his tactics didn’t play out the way he planned, but it fades away as he strikes up a conversation with Byleth about her strategy. You’re content listening in as the rest of the students gather their equipment, but there’s a shuffle behind you and you barely have time to turn around before Flayn tackles you in a tight embrace. 

“Well done, my classmates!” she exclaims in your ear. 

Felix is standing behind her with crossed arms, “You didn’t burn a single strand of my hair. Not bad.” 

You smile at his dry compliment and return one of your own, “You two did great!”

Felix looks away and Flayn beams like a ray of sunshine. 

***

“We should celebrate!” Ashe suggests. 

“It is only fitting,” Dimitri says. 

“Please?” you add. 

The class is trying to convince Byleth to come to a celebratory dinner with them, going so far as to show up in front of her room to ask. When she accepts, Flayn practically hops with excitement. Together, the blue lions take up an entire dining row. Now with a plate of delightful food, you return to your place between Sylvain and Dedue. 

“You all brought us to victory,” Byleth shakes her head in response to the excessive praise. 

As the night draws by slowly, full or mirth and the light clinking of silverware, you finally feel like yourself, even without your past memories. 

“You’ve worked so hard, I could see your fires from across the field when we were fighting,” Sylvain elbows you. 

“Really?” you ask. 

You really didn’t think they were that strong. 

The redhead nods and looks over your shoulder, “Right, Dedue?” 

Dedue agrees, “Your spells were quite formidable.” 

You blush at the praise, “Thank you…” 

He nods before returning to his conversation with Byleth and Dimitri across the table. 

“It’s a bit late to be getting shy with us, isn’t it?” Sylvain asks. “We all know you trained after hours these past few weeks.”

“You’re why all our dummies are all ashy,” Felix adds from across the table. 

You shrug sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says without further reassurance. 

Even dessert is sweeter than usual. As you happily spoon another piece of the tart into your mouth, you can’t help but notice that Sylvain is staring. 

***

Now that news that Sylvain is going to the ball with you is out and your sorrow from Soren’s last letter has calmed, your classmates have finally stopped treating academy couples like a taboo topic. 

As you traverse the nearby town’s marketplace district with the blue lions girls one weekend, you are certain your past self never bothered with many ball related things. Like you, Ingrid finds solace in the fact that you and she are both unfamiliar with such preparations. 

“And silver goes with-” Annette stops suddenly. “There it is!” 

She points to a quaint shop selling ballgowns. The shopkeeper waves excitedly from inside the window. It is the week where much of this season’s profits are made since most students look for their gowns around now. Soon enough, the shopkeeper holds the door open for the four of you to enter. Annette and Mercedes begin carefully feeling fabrics and observing styles at once. You, on the other hand, aren’t particularly sure what to look for and it seems Ingrid shares the same sentiment. The walls are lined with floor length gowns that you’ve never seen before, not even when some of the nobles’ parents visited Garreg Mach. Down the center of the shop lies a display case of a variety of shiny jewelry and accessories. 

When Mercedes comes out of the dressing room with a champagne colored gown that looks like it was made specifically for her, you begin to understand why some students might be so excited about the ball. She looks radiant. Annette goes next, deciding on a rich deep turquoise, then Ingrid who knew she preferred green from the start. For Galatea’s colors, of course. You hope the color you decide on suits you. When you finally settle on one, your friends assure you that it does. 

***

When Sylvain knocks on your door the night of the ball, you scurry to put on your shoes at the sound. 

“One moment!” you call. 

As you slide the dress shoes on, you notice the only piece of jewelry you own sitting on your desk, untouched for the past few weeks. Soren’s necklace. You shake the rising emotions away, not wanting to let the past haunt you any longer. Everything was great. Sylvain held you in his attention, you were finding your path for the future, and you had accumulated a considerable amount of friends at Garreg Mach. However, thoughts of Soren sometimes left a sore spot in your heart, despite the ease with which he had left you. He must have truly deceived you. You must have truly loved him. 

With a sigh, you open the door. 

Sylvain’s presence makes it all disappear. 

You smile. 

His shirt is no longer painted haphazardly and his hair is impeccably sculpted, save for the few usual strands that refuse to obey. It’s endearing. He greets you warmly by your name and then…stares. As the following seconds drag by in silence, your smile fades into worry and you reach up to brush his arm.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

“I-ahem. Nothing!” He collects himself. “You look so beautiful, I’ve no words.”

You blush, too flushed to notice that he averts his gaze briefly with one of his own. 

“You look very nice too, Sylvain.” 

He looks pleased as he offers you his arm, “Why thank you.”

You let a smile drift back onto your face and the two of you make your way down the stairs. As you walk, you can’t help but notice that something is different about your interactions with him. Sylvain is hesitant, careful to do everything right. He holds your hand with just the right pressure, descends the stairwell with just the right speed, says just the right things, and looks at you just the right way- long enough to make your heart skip a beat, but not enough to unnerve you. 

Tonight, Garreg Mach has turned into someplace else. The gardens are akin to beautiful forests, the shining pavement like the path to a castle, and the warm lights of the ballroom like stars within your reach. Sylvain has noticed this change too and he slows his gait, allowing you to see the grounds in a new light more clearly. He smiles as he realizes you are delighted with the decorations the students have placed across the monastery. When you reach the doors to the ballroom, the two of you can hear the festivities from inside. 

“May I have your first dance?” he holds out a gloved hand. 

“Of course.”

The high ceiling echoes with the chatter of students enjoying their night. You greet your peers, delighted with their new appearances, on your way to the center for the next dance and Sylvain does the same. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” you admit when the musicians begin playing. 

“You won the White Heron Cup,” Sylvain points out with a chuckle. “Of course you can.”

“Not like this,” you half whisper in a growing panic. 

“Don’t worry,” Sylvain squeezes your hand. “Just go with it, with me.” 

“Okay…” 

The waltz starts off at a pace you find not too uncomfortable and by the first few lines of the music, you’ve fallen into an easy rhythm with Sylvain. 

“See? It’s much easier than the Heron Cup,” he says. 

“You’re right,” you admit, looking down every so often.

“Aw, worried about my toes are we?” Sylvain jokes. 

“Actually, yes.”

“How thoughtful.” 

Sylvain has his charming smile on. It’s the one you’re convinced he practices in the mirror before bed every night. However, as the two of you dance with classmates and each other, you find that a real one has made its way onto his face. A short while later between dances, you barely have time to finish eating a fruit tart with Ingrid and Raphael before he’s back for a dance. After that, he asks for another. 

“It’s not quite the same without you,” he says when you inquire about it. “Although, I’d have to say the professor is awfully good at this.”

“I am not surprised,” you laugh. 

As the Gautier heir spins you for the thousandth time that night, time slows and you notice something flicker behind his eyes. It frames his smile just the right way and your fingertips can’t help but bring themselves up to brush the corner of his mouth- the very corner that makes his smile just a little lopsided. Even though the music hasn’t ended, he slows the pace of the dance until you two are standing completely still. 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit warm inside?” He almost whispers because you’re so close.

Not caring about the looks you’ve both drawn to yourselves, you grant his indirect request and the two of you deftly slip out of the ballroom. After wandering the halls in peaceful silence, you find yourself on one of the many balconies of Garreg Mach. The stone railing is cool beneath your fingertips, just like the wind on your face. Your back is to Sylvain. 

“Thank you,” you break the silence. 

“It was nothing. It is a little warm inside,” Sylvain says. 

“Sylvain, you know what I mean,” you laugh lightly with a smile. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he confesses, coming closer. 

You can sense the distance between the two of you shrink with every footstep until you can feel his breath near your ear, just like when he helped you do your hair for a man who never showed up. As if Sylvain can sense what you’re thinking, his next words pull at your heart. 

“I’m glad I could help keep your mind off of…well, you know,” he says, but the way he says it tells you a different story. 

…because I wanted you for myself, they seem to whisper.

“Right,” you turn around and murmur. 

As you guessed, he is right there. Close enough to be one, but not quite an embrace. Looking over your shoulder like this, the wind blowing between the two of you, sharing unspoken words, Sylvain can’t help but bend down for a kiss. You reach up behind you and pull him closer, just as he wraps his arms around you to press your back against him. He kisses you carefully like the time you practiced for the Heron Cup together, but it soon becomes more urgent. He tastes vaguely like the sweets, like the candies from the ball. Sylvain deepens the contact, expressing more need with every second, and by the time you draw back to gasp for air, he’s already kissed you as if he were willingly drowning in you. 

Beneath the moonlight, the surface of the lake glitters with specks of silver. 

As you lean back into him, Sylvain rests his chin on your shoulder with you in his arms. One hand caresses your side, unwittingly just above the rows of scars that your gown hides, the gown you’d saved up for the past few weeks. Yet in this moment, the contact does not bring fire to your wounds. Instead, it is strangely comforting. 

The stars are bright tonight. 

A pang of guilt rises within you as they remind you of stargazing with Soren. At once, your hands find their way to Sylvain’s and hold them to make sure they’re still there. He entwines a couple fingers in yours in reply. You close your eyes in relief. 

Soon, he interrupts the silence. “Look!” 

You open your eyes to see a shooting star. Its pale light looks like a fading streak of paint in the night sky. 

“Make a wish,” he kisses your temple. 

“You too,” a smile makes its way onto your face. 

After a long moment, Sylvain dares to ask what you wished for. 

“Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?” you laugh. 

“I wished for you to be happy,” he admits. 

“What if you’ve stolen some of my happiness by telling me?” you tease. 

“That won’t be the case,” he says. 

“How do you know?” 

“I won’t let it happen.” 

He rests his chin against your shoulder once more. 

“Sylvain?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you… I’ll tell you what I wished for later.” 

You feel him smile against your ear as he hums in satisfaction. 

Chapter Text

After the night of the ball, Sylvain becomes sickeningly sweet. He no longer holds back from displaying your closeness and rumor has it that the two of you are close to formally becoming an item. He works as quickly as possible during stable duty so you don't have to do much, is often seen bringing tea and biscuits to your room, and every other morning you find a new type of flower on your desk. 

“Isn't this a bit much?” You ask him after the third round of biscuits of the week. 

He just shrugs. 

Even Ingrid has remarked on how Sylvain’s affections feel different with you, which is the only reason she's keeping her mouth shut about him going after one of the Blue Lions. 

“Different, huh?” you murmur to yourself.

You hope she's right. Besides, sneaking an occasional kiss in the hallways between classes isn't so bad. 

***

When the time of year to make garlands rolls around, you find yourself pricking your fingers every other second with twigs that don't even have thorns. 

“Oh dear,” Mercedes says. 

You feel bad that it's taking so long, especially since she took time out of her busy schedule to show you how to make the flower crowns. Annette of course, took the opportunity to join in, though Ingrid could not be persuaded to participate. 

“Take your time!” The redhead chimes. 

“I…am,” you grit. “Sorry, this is just not working as well as I wanted.”

The girls give you an apologetic look. It's a little shocking how in sync their motions are. Your garland ends up being a crown of leaves. The flowers were too difficult for you to weave in, although the crowns your companions made have no sign of such a struggle.

“It's still very pretty!” Annette consoles you.

Mercedes nods. 

“Thank you,” you smile. 

You hope Sylvain likes it. Imagining him with it on his head, you don’t think it would look so terrible anymore. He looks like an excited puppy when you approach him near the lake with your hands behind your back. His wiggling makes you even more nervous. 

“So….” you slowly reveal the asymmetrical plant-crown. “This is for you.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Sylvain graciously accepts it as if it were a national treasure. You can't help but smile at the dramatic gesture, though it does make you blush a bit. After he's placed it on his head, he pulls out his own out of nowhere. Well, at least it looked like nowhere. It's your favorite color and you think it looks nice on your head. 

“How thoughtful!” you say. 

Sylvain reveals that he's stashed picnic supplies nearby for today. 

“How did you know I was coming to find you today?”

“Magic?” He suggests. 

You prod at him, unamused. 

“I was going to invite you out, but you caught me first,” he admits. 

It's midday, but around the nearby village, the two of you find a large tree to settle under. He's brought a basket of assorted picnic foods. 

“I could've helped you make some of this stuff,” you say. 

“Then it wouldn't be a surprise,” Sylvain says. 

“This is a lot…” you pull out sandwich after sandwich. Finally, you stop and smile at him. “Thank you, Sylvain. Truly.”

The Gautier heir practically beams. Soon enough, he's pointing out which fluffy clouds look like rabbits or the horse you two rode here, while you struggle to see the resemblance. 

“Come on,” he says. “It's right there!”

“I can kind of see it if I squint,” you offer. 

He sighs and rubs his face in mock disappointment, but you can see a genuine smile beneath his hand. You don’t know how it happens, but you fall asleep and when you wake, the sky is glittering gold and orange, and your brain is fuzzy from sleep. You look up abruptly and find Sylvain looking out at the sky. His hands are in your hair, carding layers of it gently in a way you’ve never seen from him before. His other arm holds you securely against his form and his cloak is draped over you like a blanket. Soon enough, he feels the change in your breathing against his fingers and looks down with a slightly lopsided smile. Your heart stops in your chest. The sun turns his soft gaze golden and lights the edges of his hair. Sylvain Gautier is absolutely smitten, but so are you. 

***

You should have known it was too good to be true. 

His eyes shined like gold. 

His words were honey sweet. 

He lent you his cloak. 

When you decided to bring it back to him that night, you found his door slightly ajar. You figured you could just leave the cloak on his chair and leave, but of course you just had to knock over the quill and ink set on his desk. You spent a good moment or two rummaging around for anything to clean up the mess, even using the edge of your own shirt for a second, when you happened upon something in a drawer that made your blood freeze. It held parchment of all sorts of colors, which wasn’t unusual, but some were gilded with a familiar gold. They had little leaves in the corners with round loops in their midst. It was a pattern you knew by heart. How could you not? You had read pieces of your past in their golden embrace every night, before you gave up on Soren.  

Now, your hands tremble as you fumble to put them back where you found them, as if placing them back in the drawer could erase the dreadful feeling creeping over you like frost. In the process, you drop a few and your hand knocks something inside the drawer. It gleams silver, beckoning you to take it out against your will. You cannot resist. Afterwards, you wish you hadn’t because the evidence is damning, the seal pushing you further towards the unwelcome truth. You clutch it in a deafening silence, even as its metal burns your fingers. You don’t know how long you stand there, beautiful ink stained papers at your feet, silver in your hands, and the world pressing in on you. 

…

Then….

Your name, it’s being called. You raise your head, wondering where all your energy has gone. It’s Sylvain. He stands in the doorway with dread frozen on his face- another piece of truth you cannot deny.   

“I don’t understand,” you say. 

But it’s a lie and you’re just trying to convince yourself of it. You raise the piece of cursed metal back up to your eye level. You pretend to observe it, twisting the elegant form beneath your trembling fingers, as if you hadn’t run a finger over every curve and dip of the wax this very seal has kissed. Sylvain calls your name again as you realize that the numbness is slowly disappearing. In its place, something ugly rears its head. You turn slowly to face him. As you finally acknowledge him directly, your voice surprises yourself. It’s even and sounds unexpectedly calm. 

“Sylvain… or should I call you Soren?”

For a moment, he looks relieved, but it disappears almost immediately. Your eyes are ice cold and your face is empty, expressionless. There is no semblance of the person you were mere hours ago beneath the warm rays of sunset.   

“I-” he stutters, “I was going to tell you.”  

You don’t say a word and continue training your piercing gaze on him. 

“I promise,” he whispers. 

But resignation has already settled in your heart and you push him aside to leave all the evidence behind. Sylvain doesn’t resist or block your way, but he still calls after you. 

“I promise!” he repeats a little louder, his voice breaking this time. 

You close your eyes and shut out that pitiful, pleading look of his. 

Chapter Text

It was never supposed to turn out this way. You were supposed to be free from Soren’s influence-his influence- the moment he’d sent the last letter, the letter about the stupid engagement. Yet deep down, he always knew he was only fooling himself also. What did he expect by continuing to reach for you after all this time? 

His affections for you came slowly and unexpectedly, a few summers ago. He didn’t know what possessed him to commit to such a ludicrous act. Perhaps it was boredom, since his usual Faerghus companions were occupied. Perhaps he just wanted to avoid being alone with Miklan. So he left Gautier to stay at their summer manor. He spent his days in the nearby village, becoming nothing but his disguise as a common boy from a neighboring village. And you- you’d just been another summer interest, another companion to pass the time with. Just some harmless, casual flirting - a little touch to the hand here, a sweet word there, maybe even a kiss, never to be seen again- the way youths did so carelessly. But he was far more than careless that summer, he was daring. For you had convinced him of a light in the world he thought impossible. Where others looked over him with nary a glance, not wanting to even be associated with such a commoner, you at least gave him the time of day to answer his questions. And against all odds- without status, without title, and without crest, you warmed up to him. It took a while, but when your affections became evident in your poorly restrained smiles, shy fidgeting, and delightful gifts, he could not help but bask in the beauty of your truth.  

You’d been busy when he first asked for your attention, your help to be exact. A simple finger in the direction of the markets was all you’d given him. He’d brushed off your curtness, attributing it to his new disguise, but he soon found that there was something refreshing about your genuine apathy. He came back, pestering you whenever he found an opening just to experience the honesty of it all. No inheritance, no overdone pleasantries, no one tiptoeing around him trying to play him. Neither was there scorn, disgust, or arrogance. 

It was lovely. 

You showed him how to set up fishing traps in the river when he’d ask, old wet skirts clinging to your legs. You kept pointing at the markets with flour dusted hands whenever you worked at the mill, even long after you made it clear you thought he should have known the way by then. You bandaged a sparring injury he’d neglected to wrap with your own shawl, which he was convinced was the only one you’d owned (he told you he fell climbing a tree). Then, when he came back with a well made scarlet capelet, your eyes bugged at the rich fabric. You refused to take it, convinced that he had sacrificed a decent amount of his savings to replace your bloodstained shawl. So he told you that his mother was a tailor who had a surplus of wealthy clients, a mother who wanted nothing more than to desperately thank you for taking care of her dear son. In the end, you accepted cautiously, but Sylvain didn’t miss the way your fingers grazed its smooth surface appreciatively. The next time he sought you out, you had a parcel of wildberries ready for him. They weren’t sweet like the fruits meticulously grown in the Gautier gardens were, but when you wiped their colorful tartness off the corner of his mouth with a finger, he realized with a dazed smile that he never cared in the first place. 

Getting you to attend the summer festival with him was difficult, to say the least. You had work to do and he…did not. At first he would pretend to find random silver coins along your usual path to the mill, but after the third time, you made a remark about exceptional luck and he concluded it was best to just help you with the work itself. It took much convincing, but in the end your smile was worth it. He often imagined what it would be like if he could court you, if you’d been born to nobility as he had been. 

Would that life overtake you, or would you stand out against it? 

Sylvain found it difficult to imagine the former happening. You were just so alive and most people in Faerghus’ courts simply were…not. Especially beneath the festival lights, you were radiant. You often had a look of exhaustion painted across your features from your long hours, but that night, you looked like your rightful age. He found every excuse possible to let you experience the various stalls and activities the townspeople and visitors had set up, and as the two of you danced in the midst of the lively music and chatter of chipper people, he knew he wanted the world for you. While you were occupied with tossing a decorative token in the fountain for a wish, he found the travelling jeweler and bought the necklace you’d glanced at for as long as you’d dared- just a few seconds. But Sylvain had noticed, and on the way back to your cottage, its weight in his pocket fed his nervousness. 

You wouldn’t be suspicious, right?    

When the two of you reached your cottage, all thoughts bordering on guilt for deceiving you disappeared as he saw your eyes twinkled in disbelief at the chain dangling in his hand. His face felt like it was splitting in two. 

“But the price!” you exclaimed. 

“If I couldn’t afford it, I’d have gotten you something else,” he said.

Sylvain held his breath, hoping you would not press the matter. To his relief, you did not. He took the opportunity to step behind you while you admired the piece. 

“May I?” he asked with bated breath. 

You nodded shyly over your shoulder, distracting him. He pulled your hair to the side, careful not to let it catch on anything and almost dropped the necklace. Fortunately, he only ended up accidentally brushing a finger over your ear. He didn’t miss how you warmed at the touch. When he finished securing it, you turned around slowly. Sylvain wondered what you would look like with the Gautier jewels on your neck as he raised his fingers to your blushing face. He smiled at the thought, certain that they would look as if they belonged on you. You surprised him by leaning into his palm, causing his heart to beat wildly. He leaned down to bid you goodnight, but in the end, he couldn’t help but slowly press a kiss to your mouth. To his delight, you let him and as he returned home that night, the warm taste of your lips and the twinkle in your eyes was all he could think about. 

 Reality came like a knife to his heart the following morning in the form of a simple letter. It was only a proposal for courtship from one of the minor ladies of Faerghus. Yet his mother rejected it without much thought to the poor girl, deeming her status being too low for either Gautier son. The simple letter brought Sylvain’s summer to a screeching halt and a few thoughts flickered through his mind that day on torturous repeat. 

There was no future with you- 

He had to stop this. 

He didn’t want to- 

but it would be wrong not to. 

He came to you one last time before sunset. It was the tail end of summer and the air was beginning to cool, so he brought an extra blanket with him. He knocked on the door of your little cottage-the type of house his parents wouldn’t even bother turning their noses up at- and sucked in a breath, little lantern clutched tightly in hand. You opened the door, your hair wonderfully disheveled from a long day of work. Your face lit up at the sight of him and Sylvain’s heart dropped. You didn’t mean to, but you really were making it so difficult for him to tell you he had to leave. 

“Come on a walk with me?” he asked. 

You eyed the blankets in his arms and smiled. A moment later, you reopened the door with a small basket of baked goods inside. 

“The baker had extra today,” you hummed happily. 

You were wearing his red capelet. 

“That’s great!” he said, but the words felt empty in his mouth. 

Your fingers shyly brushed his as the two of you waded through the thick meadowgrass together, looking for a clearing to settle down on. When you and Sylvain finally found one, the sun had started to set and he lay out a blanket, beckoning you to sit. Then, he settled beside you and it became much harder to breathe, especially when you curled in against him so naturally like you belonged in his arms. Whenever he opened his mouth to speak, nothing would come out, but you didn’t seem to mind. The two of you watched it sink beneath the horizon, little diamond stars taking their place in the dark sky. 

You deserved so much more than this…why couldn’t he just come out and say it?

He leaned down to speak yet again, but you surprised him, capturing his lips with your own. His resolve crumbled and he melted into you, kissing you back with renewed fervor. 

Gods….he deserved a horrible punishment. 

When the two of you broke away, he felt you shiver in his hold and pulled his cloak and blanket over you protectively. Your face peeked out from the fabrics like a little doe hiding in the embrace of the forest brushes and he couldn’t help but lean down for another. He felt tears pricking at his eyes as you nipped lightly at his lower lip- the boldest you’d ever been, so he turned over to pin you beneath him and block out the light of the lantern. He did not want you to see them shining beneath the lanternlight- he was going home tomorrow, back to his real life. Sylvain brushed a finger over the side of your cheek with as much affection as he could muster and started to rise, but you reached for him, pulling him back down against you. He dropped wordlessly to his elbows at your silent behest. Ensnared, he abandoned all thought and his lips found your face, pressing softly over closed eyelids. He kissed your jaw, your lips, and your neck slowly, committing each of your features to memory in the dark for the last time. When the two of you finally parted, you laughed, breaking him out of his reverie. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked.      

Your laugh tugged at his heart. He buried his face in your neck to hide the tears and nipped at your ear. Your soft hair brushed them away. 

“I like that one,” he heard you say. 

He realized you were talking about one of the constellations above. “Is that so?”

“It’s pretty, like you.” 

Sylvain settled against your side and tightened the arm around your waist. “Hey, that’s my line.” 

You buried your face in his shirt and his hands rose to run his fingers through your hair. 

“I wish this could last forever,” you said. 

“Me too,” he replied honestly. 

More than you know-

“I love you.” 

Oh-

Sylvain’s blood froze, the reality of what he’d done crashing down on him. 

“I need to tell you something,” he said shakily after a long pause. 

“What is it?” you asked curiously. 

“I’m going away tomorrow,” he said. 

“Where are you going?” 

How could he tell you that he knew you’d never had a chance in the first place? That you were initially just a distraction for the summer? You would be heartbroken. Out of all his stupid escapades, this was by far the worst- oh gods, what had he done?

“I’m going to travel with some Kingdom knights as a squire,” he lied. 

A pause. It felt like an eternity. Finally, you spoke again. 

“For how long?” you asked. 

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Will you write to me?”

“Yes,” the word fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

You deserved more. Why weren’t you angry? Why weren’t you cursing him for leaving so suddenly? 

“You’ll come back, right?” you asked tentatively. 

Ah, there it was. You thought he was coming back. 

“I- I don’t know,” he ground out. “And I don’t want you to wait…”

He felt you shift in his embrace. Your hands clutched his shirt tightly now. 

“But you’ll write?” you asked in a small voice. It sounded almost like a desperate plea. 

How could he say no? 

“I will,” he shut his eyes.  

***

It was easier this way, he told himself for months, but he could not escape the truth. It was stupid, cruel even, and in the end, he knew he was just a coward. He wrote the last letter detailing his fake engagement ahead of time, long before you had even received the fourth one before it. He gave little sets of letters to his messenger that he paid secretly with his private funds, who delivered them each month like clockwork. It was designed to disappoint you, to let you down slowly, and to let your connection disappear. Ideally, it would anger you, you would hate him for it, and you’d find someone much more worthy of your affections. Someone honest, someone brave, someone who would not bind you to a crest, to misery. 

That fateful morning at the officer’s academy, he entered the classroom with Ingrid to find a new classmate sitting next to Felix, of all people. Eager to match a face to that head of pale white hair, he’d introduced himself flippantly. But when you turned around, his blood ran cold and it shook him thoroughly. Those empty eyes, that pale hair, the life in your steps, it was all somehow…gone. You must have had a look-alike. He could not fathom any other possibility. Yet, he got his answer at the lake, following the class’ victory over the bandits. He helped you across the water, almost carelessly revealing the fact that he knew you could swim, only to find that your memory was gone. He’d been erased from your past and only Soren was left, the persona existing only in fragments of your dreams and those damned letters. 

What the hell happened? 

An uneasy thought slunk into his mind and constricted around his spine with dread. 

What if he’d been there to stop it? If so, would your eyes be just as sad, your steps just as dull? 

His throat constricted every time you spoke of Soren with a classmate or the professor, a flicker of your past self shining just beyond those eyes. Soren consumed both your thoughts and your quest in discovering yourself, so Sylvain tried to make it right. He owed it to you. Kitchen duty, riding lessons, keeping you safe in battle- it was all for you to realize you were not bound to him or your past, but it seemed like nothing would placate your curiosity. You were drawn to this piece of your past, you held onto it like a lifeline. 

He hardly recognized you as you held the Lance of Ruin like a madwoman. 

He held you tightly after discovering you’d been captured by a vicious mage in his absence. 

He helped you do your hair, knowing Soren would leave you again. 

He watched you retreat to your room heartbroken, knowing it was all his fault. 

He fell back into your touch when you danced together before the Heron cup.

He became intoxicated with your affections again, as well as the twisted notion that your memory loss was a second chance. 

And before he knew it, he had destroyed any chance of truly making things right with you. You faced him with empty eyes that night, which was far worse than if you’d been angry at him. Whatever liveliness you had regained completely drained from your body, matching your colorless hair. You called him Soren and you finally, finally left him behind. Sylvain was going to tell you, truly, but he had waited too long like the coward that he was.

“I promise,” he whispered across the hall. 

But he knew that one of his tainted promises had been the very thing to destroy whatever honest connection you had with him at the academy. 

He was a fool, and you had suffered for it.

Chapter Text

Everything was falling apart. First, you recovered memories of the mage, then Soren abandoned you, which really turned out to be Sylvain's betrayal, and then there was Dimitri’s shift. No good memories, no prior relations, not even the house leader you’d come to depend upon was really as he seemed. His haunting grin and blood spattered face from the mausoleum bears into your mind when you least want it- before you sleep. And Edelgard…you shake your head and slump onto your dormitory desk. Even thinking hurts now. The burning of your scars have been getting worse too… The shaky pillars of your not-quite-life have crumbled around you, leaving you more questions than answers and more self pity than strength. You fall asleep on the desk. When you awake, you notice that the candle has burnt out and brace yourself for whatever uneasiness will blanket your class sessions. 

***

You’re back to sitting next to Felix. Byleth says nothing, but has the sort of knowing eye that makes you squirm under the weight of being observed. Sylvain has taken his place next to Ingrid and though she’s made it clear she's disappointed in him, you can't find the mind to be comforted. You just want it to pass quickly, the same way Soren did. Except….he never did, and Sylvain haunts your memories and your present more than you'd care for. Coupled with Dimitri’s stress, the tension between the two of you only serves to create a sense that things are very, very wrong.  

Sylvain avoids your eyes out of guilt, shame, fear, or something else. You cannot tell. You do not want to. The rest of the class looks upon you two with a mixture of pity and genuine concern, curious as to how things went so wrong. You don't say a word and he doesn't either. The reason behind the broken distance between you remains a secret even from your closest friends. The professor continues lessons, as stoic as ever. You wonder if she, like your other supposed pillars, will ever fall. Your bitter thoughts flow without restraint. 

Would forgetting again help?

You brush away the crass idea of starting over again. No, you must carry on somehow. You'd always been on your own and you are determined to make it even now. Except you still aren’t sure what “making it” entails. 

You realize your name is being called. It’s the professor. 

“Yes?” You answer.  

“Flying,” she says. “Tomorrow you begin.”

“F-flying?” You sputter. 

You haven't even taken up Ingrid's offer to ride with her on her pegasus. 

“I haven't much experience with pegasus,” you admit nervously. “And I've only just gotten used to horses.”

Byleth shakes her head and answers with one word. 

“Wyverns.”

***

You’re nervous, but the professor soothes the brown, sandy scaled creature for you. She seems to sense that you need a solid presence. It’s nice, this quiet understanding. You’re thankful for her mentorship. Clumsily, you mount the wyvern and kiss to the ground and its hay goodbye. The dark creature senses your unease, but he's really more annoyed than anything. 

“He's trained for beginners especially,” Byleth informs. “He'll take you on a simple route around the wyvern keeps. If you slide off, our ground mages will break your fall.”

“I'll float down?” You ask. 

Byleth frowns. “Something like that.”

That isn't very reassuring, but before you can respond, she gives the wyvern a simple smack on the flank and he takes off. You cling to the reins and saddle of the scaly creature with a death grip. Your knuckles are white and he isn't even flying that fast, but your nerves are shot.

It’s only after the first ten minutes of steady wingbeat that you realize it’s quiet up here. The sky is a chilly gray, but you're glad that something outside reflects how you feel for once. You pass an occasional bird and through some clouds, leaving you surprisingly delighted. The wyvern senses your change in mood and your flight becomes even smoother. You close your eyes for just one blissful moment. After all, Byleth said he was well trained for beginners. When you open them, the keeps pass by one by one and before you know it, you're back in the keep with the professor. 

She looks pleased, but not as much as you feel. 

The night following your first flight, you can't sleep. Instead, with a burst of inane stupidity or courage, you sneak into the keep and bribe the first wyvern you meet with a whole chicken you'd somehow manage to swipe in the dead of night. 

Ignis is what his tag reads. He's an onyx wyvern. The color is not quite common like the Wyverns with brown camouflaged hides that are native to Garreg Mach, but he's not rare like Claude’s bone-white wyvern either. You recall learning that his kind is from a specific range of Fodlan mountains where the cliffs are darker. 

He lets you saddle him as he munches in the midnight snack you brought. When the time comes to get on, however, you have barely a second to rethink your actions. Ignis makes the decision for you and dives silently out of the open gate with precision, leaving the others slumbering peacefully behind you two. You wonder from his practiced agility, if he's also snuck out like you before. There's a quick rush in your gut as he ascends the skies, then all is still as you listen to the steady beating of his wings. You breathe in deeply as you observe the candlelight in Garreg Mach’s windows. 

Then Ignis dives.

He gives no warning, no sound, as if he's trying to shake you off. But you hold on fast, not wanting to let this moment go, and resist the churning in your stomach as he begins to spiral. Surely he will not fly into the ground! You hold on to the little that you know about wyverns and hope that the one you somehow chose tonight is not abnormal. At the very last moment, he pulls upwards, letting the drafts from his wings brush your night-chilled face. The cold is stinging your ears, cheeks, and nose, but you're just glad you're back in the air. You find you didn't mind the dip. It was exhilarating. Beautiful, in its own crazy way. Something is different and Ignis senses it. He gives you little trouble as you steer him back to the keep. After he settles in the very spot you found him in, you say goodnight to him with newfound affection. He simply snorts in return as if telling you you'd better bring another chicken next time. 

***

Ignis’ kind is typically reserved for dark wyvern riders, the ones with charmed axes of the heaviest sort. But he's rather small for his kind and you realize quickly that he likes to fly fast. So you cut a deal with the Wyvern keepers with a letter of agreement from Byleth and Ignis is yours to ride. Perhaps they see him as a stubborn, small young wyvern best for basic flying lessons due to his lack of strength, but to you, he is perfect. With each other, you both work better.

Wyvern riding becomes your outlet. If you've ever taken a shine to anything in your forgotten life that didn't involve mills or odd jobs, it was this. You find weaving through the skies to be an excellent experience worthy of your time, though some professors would argue that your methods are unorthodox. You fly wherever you please in your free time- at least anywhere that won't break windows or anything of that sort. You did thread the largest bell tower once- something Byleth had to put you in extra kitchen and stable duty for- but you’d smiled through it all. Looking back, you'd never do it again unless you absolutely had to since you put yourself and Ignis in unnecessary danger. But in the moment it was exhilarating, Ignis was proud to pull off the maneuver, and it was just the rush you needed to feel like yourself again. You become a prodigy of sorts and in a matter of weeks, your marks in riding are second only to Claude, who had also just begun. Realistically, if you'd ever had to duel him, you'd flee. His prowess with the bow is too formidable, especially against fliers like yourself. 

You barely manage to keep your other marks above passing with how much time you spend away from everything, flying. Though sometimes, you wonder if this is what Ingrid feels when she's with her pegasus. Even though people from the ground sometimes stare up at you when you pass by, you rest easy knowing you are out of reach. Maybe you could settle down somewhere and open a store that sells…something. Something that you would travel far with Ignis to collect, if you can find a way to take him with you. Or maybe you can become a sellsword like the professor was…but any further thoughts of a brightening future are darkened with the declaration of war. Your heart twists at the thought. Based on what meager intelligence is left in Adrestia, the Empire will be at Garreg Mach’s doorstep in a week’s time. 

In the meanwhile, Dimitri’s empty eyes haunt your dreams that night and sometimes, the ghost of Sylvain's necklace feels too tight.

Chapter Text

You stayed to defend the monastery because you had been brought here through kindness and it had become your new home. But the blue lions, on the other hand, had places to return to in Faerghus, yet each one stayed behind. And for some reason you absolutely cannot fathom, the professor paired you with Sylvain again. Granted, a week's worth of rushed preparation was far from enough and the situation genuinely dire, you still couldn't help but feel a little indignant at the pairing. You'd two been separated just fine the last few weeks. Why did she have to stick you together again? And for something so important too?

Sylvain circled the field on his mount yet another time while you mirrored his path in the sky, practicing, watching, protecting. You have little experience with axes, so you are worried about how much you can actually help on wyvernback. 

You watch him and his dark mount turn sharply with impressive precision. The steed reminds you of Ignis, though he was probably more carefully bred since he was brought as a gift all the way from Gautier. A reward for retrieving the lance…. for slaying Miklan. How Sylvain could ride him was beyond your understanding. But maybe he had pity for the creature, who had simply been born in his family’s stables. 

From the air, his crimson hair contrasts starkly against the dull ground beneath you. Sylvian raises a hand in a fist, signaling the end of the current drill and the start of yet another. Ignis snorts at the monotony of it all and you feel the same way. However, deep down, you cling to the last bits of normalcy of doing repetitive drills with Sylvain. Somewhere along the line, something in the air had shifted permanently and you were terrified. You watched the Gautier heir on his steed, circling the field almost parallel to your flying path. 

Could he sense it too?

You landed at the end of your practice time to check in with Sylvain before flying back.

“Good work,” he says. 

“You too.”

Any major details of what either of you need to do better are swept under the rug. There is no time to correct anything. 

“I'll fly back then. Right behind you,” you say. 

Sylvain nods. “Okay.”

When the two of you reach Garreg Mach, you split paths. Sylvain heads to the stables and you to the keeps. Still, you can feel his stare from behind all the way until you land. 

*** 

The afternoon feels like any other late fall day- cold air, slightly wet ground, and nothing to look at in the bleak sky except for dark, stringy tree branches. Then you hear it. The sound of the horns are unmistakable. It doesn't seem real. It feels like a class exercise, but the rushed atmosphere of Garreg Mach says otherwise. 

You hurry to the stables with some other riders, a multitude of footsteps echoing on wide spiral stone steps. When you reach the top, you peer down out the window only to meet Ingrid’s green eyes. As you prepare Ignis, she brushes some stray hairs out of her face and gives you what you think is a grin. You give a solemn nod in return and her facade drops with mutual understanding. You try not to look back a second time while she readies her pegasus and when you exit the keep by air, she and her mount are already gone. 

It was a guaranteed fact that the enemy would be well trained this time and there was a possibility of meeting familiar faces on the battlefield.

As a flier, you’re among the first to gaze beyond Garreg Mach’s proud walls. The autumn horizon is the same as ever- gray blue touched with the pale yellow glow of a sunset to come. The head of your battalion utters a command and the wyverns dive. A handful of front liners are the first to fall, sniped without mercy. It seems Adrestia has no shortage of well-trained bow knights. If the arrows didn't kill them, the fall surely would. 

Before taking flight, your leader equipped you with four small throwing axes. They're weighing Ignis down, even though you've already used one and missed. Members of the fliers are occasionally hit and if the rider is lucky, they’re able to hang on and land at the nearest tower for healing. It's a little different, only using throwing axes on Wyvernback- unlike your leader who is diving to deliver powerful strikes every other second. It's like you're involved, but in the most removed way possible. 

But this dynamic soon shifts. 

You’re in the middle of yet another circle around the battlefield, backing the cavalry up from afar, when something inside you urges you to break from it. A gut feeling, perhaps. You know Ignis feels it too. But there isn't enough time to act before a powerful blast of dark magic hits and scatters all of you, leaving some units spiraling chaotically towards the ground, wings smoking. You are lucky to be on the edge of the formation. The energy from the blast only scorches the edges of your uniform and the surface of your left arm. You look for the source of the magic, only to find a darkly robed mage protected by a ring of support mages. His green eyes narrow at the sight of you in recognition and a shiver runs down your spine. Has Hubert always been this powerful? Soon, you are given the order to scatter, so you circle the skies with your own route, remaining above the cavalry as you practiced. 

On the ground below, Sylvain is indistinguishable from the cavalry with his helmet, but the lance of Ruin is a telltale relic. You spot the red glow near the center of their formation. From up here, its power is evident in the way he and the lance cut through enemies much faster than the rest of his battalion. 

The air thickens and occasional plumes of smoke taint the skies. Aerial vision might be compromised from certain positions, but you realize something while flying. Up here, you can see the flow of battle. You can see which enemy units are best coordinated. You can spot where Adrestia is hoping to isolate Garreg Mach’s front lines and cut them off. You can predict where the mages will advance next, and you can see Sylvain heading straight for that place. 

You’re down to two axes. You'd better use up the rest before they do more harm in slowing Ignis down than good. Your last axe misses and although you're almost impaled with a throwing spear, your fourth grazes the enemy pegasus unit. Seeing that you're now unarmed, she lands to check her own damage, only to come face to face with Catherine, who is waiting on the ground. 

You leave at once. Ignis is now at his fastest and you've got a battalion keep an eye on. A distant rumbling sounds — another meteor spell. Then the moment you wonder if things could be worse, you spot enormous shadows in the distance. As they approach at a steady pace, a roar confirms your growing suspicion. 

Tortured beasts, whose forms are twisted with forbidden magic. Like Miklan.

You need to let Sylvain’s battalion know. You spur Ignis into a dive as quickly as you dare. Once you’re in earshot, you circle their formation and inform the captain immediately of the coming forces.

“Beasts!” their captain repeats to the battalion. 

Soon, your own wyvern captain calls for a regroup for a backline assault to slow the beasts down. If he’s noticed that you have no axes left, he doesn’t say anything. You figure a little fire mayhem in Adrestia’s backline might be helpful since you aren’t much help with an axe. But as it turns out, your fire spells barely scratch the surface of the approaching beasts. You’re also almost knocked off Ignis with a stray arrow, but at least their riders are dismounting because your flames lighted parts of their saddles. 

You’re about to regroup at your captain’s command once more, but something in the corner of your eye distracts you and several other riders. It's an enormous white dragon hurtling through the sky. You fly in practised evasive maneuvers, but your eyes do not break from the astounding creature, even as Ignis spins. Then it opens its mouth and the energy around it shifts, electrified. A powerful red light builds in its throat and it releases a stream of energy directed at the Adrestian beasts. Fliers, some even mid combat, dart away from the blast like birds. 

Relief washes through you. The dragon fights for Garreg Mach. 

But the feeling is short lived, for the ground has split into a deep chasm in one section of the battlefield — the very one your professor is fighting on. She cuts through advancing enemies, armored knights and swordsmen alike, but she is backing ever so slowly towards the edge. 

Your instinct calls again. 

You spur Ignis on straight for her, but it’s too late. She’s turned to fight the beasts who have closed the distance, off the dragon. She’s successful, but a powerful magic blast to her side sends her through the air and over the edge. 

No! 

You dive straight down, just like a free fall, but with fiery intent. 

“Professor!” you scream, your hand outstretched.

Your body is pressed flat against Ignis’ back, his wings are tucked, your form is perfect, and Byleth’s hand brushes yours —  but the jagged rocks are too close and Ignis pulls up at the last moment, narrowly avoiding death. Byleth’s eyes, before they faded into the darkness, were not angry. In fact, you dare to suspect that she missed on purpose. You’d never felt so helpless before, not even when Rhea first found you. Byleth taught you almost everything you know for all those months, and this was all you could give her. 

You’d been so close. 

Tears blur your vision as you rise in the air again. This time, there is no exhilaration of ascent. Frustration builds within your chest and you know Ignis feels it too. 

Almost. But when it’s all or nothing, almost is always nothing. 

As you blink away your tears and rejoin the riders flying over the enemy’s scattered backlines, your scars roar to life with pain. Your vision sharpens, smoke stinging your reddened eyes. Your breath slows, just as it did at the tower of black winds — 

— and you find an unmistakable source of twisted power buried deep within you. For once, your magic bends to your will exactly the way you want it to. 

Let them burn. 

*** 

The battle is at a standstill, at least for the cavalry. Sylvain doesn’t know how other battalions are doing. It’s getting harder to spot you and Ignis in a sky that is no longer blue, but when he does, it brings him a bit of solace. He was worried that you’d been felled after not seeing you for so long after the beasts arrived, but there you are just meters above him, flying like a shooting star, cutting through the smoke.

This time, however, something is different. 

There’s an unusual energy surrounding you. The feeling is fleeting, but Sylvain is certain he’s not imagining things. It's strong and fiery, reminiscent of rage, yet icy and dark. It’s unnerving. When Adrestia’s backline lights into an uncontrollable blaze, he knows exactly who has added fire to the day’s sunset.  

Tearing his gaze away, Sylvain clutches the Lance of Ruin. It hums with power beneath his tired fingertips. He's not sure how many have fallen by his hand and his steed is showing signs of fatigue. 

That’s not good…

Because of the fires, the enemy is disoriented. However, they have strength in numbers as they move away from the fires, marching towards his thinning battalion. He steels himself, but one of Garreg Mach’s horns suddenly sounds. 

Its timbre is low — a retreat. 

Sylvain turns his mount around at once, but soon, he realizes that the opposing cavalry is pursuing the retreat. Some ally units are heading towards Garreg Mach while others are scattering to the woods. His eyes scan the dusk skies for you, but no luck. They are gaining. He needs to group, but — 

His thoughts are interrupted with a dull pain in his side. Upon inspection, his first thought is that he’s lucky it is only a graze from an arrow. But it slowly flares into an unbearable ache, sharp pains running through his ribs and legs. 

Poison. 

Sylvain acts quickly atop his mount, pulling an antidote from the saddlebag and pulling the cork off with his teeth. He manages to get most of it down before his fingers weaken and the bottle drops to the ashy ground behind him. 

The world spins slowly at first, then quickly, as the hard ground comes up to meet him. He should have known better than to watch the skies for too long, disregarding his sides. 

A fool, yes.

Realizing his right hand somehow still holds the lance, he lets out a dry laugh that tastes of blood. His crest is a stubborn curse, even until the end. 

***

The retreat is not surprising to you. The battle was in Garreh Mach’s favor right up until the beasts arrived. Then all hell broke loose and now you are in the midst of a well anticipated retreat. What is surprising to you however, is the sight of the Sylvain and Lance of Ruin on the ground. 

Sylvain is much like Dimitri and Felix. Untouchable, in a way. They are all strong, talented, and determined, but unlike the other two, Sylvain hides the strengths of his crest and talent expertly. It was only recently that you realized that despite his reputation, his performance is excellent. 

So why is he stretched on the ground with no ally in sight and the enemy gaining on him?

Chapter Text

You dive again, your failure in saving Byleth pulling at the edge of your mind. This time, you will be fast enough. You have to be. As the two of you descend rapidly, Ignis diving head first,  he extends his talons in anticipation. Your wyvern manages to throw an enemy off his horse. His body lands far away from where he and his mount had been — right above Sylvain and about to strike lethally with a javelin. Afterwards, you flank the area around Sylvain and pull Ignis to a slow flight. He lands beside your classmate, dust blowing upwards at his wingbeat. Sylvain’s fingers twitch and he moves his head to catch a glance at who has arrived, eyes blinking the dust away. As you dismount, you realize he’s been poisoned.

“You’re here,” he breathes. 

At least he can speak.

“Come on,” you say, kneeling to pull him up. 

One of his hands clutches the Lance of Ruin tightly. You are careful not to touch it while you ease him into a sitting position. Something about that scarlet glow unnerves you. However, you are soon interrupted as a group of Empire soldiers approach. They spot Ignis almost immediately and your heart drops at the sight of the backup trailing behind them. They have several high ranking archers amongst themselves. After they get close enough there would be no escape, not even with Ignis’ speed, and then there was the matter of Sylvain… You urge Ignis to escape, but the wyvern is hesitant. Luckily, a well placed spark at his feet gets the message across and Ignis takes to the skies before any of the archers can aim a longshot. In the corner of your eye, Sylvain’s mount stands restless, although hidden behind the forest foliage. As you watch Iginis return to the monastery without you, you turn to grimace at the sight of the oncoming group. Sylvain’s arm reaches for you, fingers brushing the edges of your sleeve. 

“How much longer until you can stand?” you ask. 

“A minute or so,” he replies. “Got most of an antidote down before slipping off.” 

You nod. “Okay.” You press your lips together at the sight of the approaching soldiers. “I don’t have a weapon.” 

“Your axe,” he says. “You’re a wyvern —”

You shake your head. “I don’t have any.” 

You can hear them now, the sound of horses and armor filling you with dread with every move. The lance in his hand pulses with a strange energy and your eye flickers between it and Sylvain’s strained expression staring across the battlefield. He raises his gaze to meet yours and a sudden understanding flashes through his eyes. 

“No,” he says seriously. 

You step over him, prying the lance from his still-numb fingers. He protests, calling your name with increased fervor by the second, but the poison still runs through his lance arm. 

“It will kill you!”

“It’ll be just a moment,” you say. “I survived the tower, didn’t I?”

As you take the heavy weapon, the light from it fades and an icy feeling runs through your arm. You grit your teeth and bite back a reaction. Sylvain lets out a strangled cry that you’ve never heard, but you ignore him and step towards the enemy. You hope your plan will allow him the time to regain full feeling in his limbs. Then after that… you can only hope that his mount can flee with the weight of you both. 

You know the spell you’re planning will take most of your remaining energy, but you resolve to cast it anyway. Annette showed you how to make a vortex of wind, but you’d only managed to make small ones made from flames. It’s complex and you didn’t want to burn any buildings down, but here out in the open, you could try. 

You have to try. 

You bit back the thought of what would happen to you both if you failed and simply drained your energy for a gamble. 

Yet…what else is there to do? 

Bit by bit, a fluid string of fire extends from your fingertips and settles on the ground. As it extends, you will it into a circle, recalling the breathing techniques and magic theory your classmate showed you. Sweat beads on your face as you watch the line spread outwards in each direction from where it touched the ground, encircling you and Sylvain. It slows halfway through, but an unusual pulse of energy flows through you and you complete the barrier. It is then that the burning comes. It first burns through your scars, but soon, it plagues your skin indiscriminately. Most of the group is kept at bay, so you bite back the pain and channel even more magic into it. 

The first one to brave your ring of fire is a swordsman. 

Sylvain watches in horror as you bring up the glowing lance against the soldier. He’s deathly afraid, but there’s little he can do until the antidote fights the poison in his veins. He hopes you won’t be stubborn. He hopes you’ll drop it before it curses you like it had Miklan. 

Hadn’t you learned your lesson the first time? You should be casting instead! 

But deep down he knows that the barrier is draining a great deal of energy from you. You must feel the same desperation he wishes you never had to know. On his side, he watches black smokey tendrils extend and hover over where your hands grip the bloody lance, but they do not curl around your arm. 

It’s as if something is keeping the matter at bay. 

Your flames are more powerful now, their blazing heat causing Sylvain’s eyes to tear up. He blinks and there is another ashen pile at your feet as you wield the heavy weapon as if it were a casting staff. Seconds pass, then moments, then minutes as you fight on with a ferocity he’d had very few chances to witness. It’s sloppy at best, your physical strikes unrefined and your strength waning. For the most part, your flames do most of the damage, allowing the ring of fire encircling the two of you to rage on, protecting as you'd intended. 

Yet when you raise the lance to strike at a charging empire soldier, Sylvain gains an understanding that only brings with it an onslaught of questions and emotions. He witnesses the power flowing between you and the lance. He knows that feeling — he's felt it himself countless times. He sees the strain in your determined face, the ash in your matted snow-white hair, and in your irises, he sees it — a familiar faint glow, raw power from the crest of Gautier. 

What else could it be?

When you determine that the remaining enemy is far away enough, you jerk Sylvain to his feet with all your strength and pull him towards his mount. The ring lightens significantly and the magic keeping you fighting begins to fade with it. 

Meanwhile, Sylvain grinds his teeth and stumbles along. 

Success. 

Relief floods through him. The antidote worked. His control is not perfect yet, but it will have to do. After what feels like an eternity across the short distance, he climbs on behind you with regained strength. Sylvain takes the Lance back as soon as possible. You let him. 

It might have been like when you rode in the forest amongst cool air and gentle breezes, but now there are no such things. The air is dense and hot. Sylvain clutches a bloody lance drenched in the scent of coppery blood and together, the two of you flee this nightmare. 

In the end, Sylvain spurs the steed west towards Faerghus with more questions than answers.

***

It burns. Everything burns so much, you can hardly feel your face or fingertips. You look down, half expecting the white of bone to greet you, but it’s just your bare hands, your gloves long burnt and shredded from your magic. Sylvain’s hand holds the lance firmly. He's behind you and the rhythm of the steed should be calming, but you can hardly appreciate it.  There are only the burning scars on your body and the taste of copper in your mouth. 

Sylvain pulls you closer, caging you between him and the weapon. He takes care not to let it too close to you. Exhaustion washes over you. It’s likely magical overexertion, the kind some mages never wake up from. Sylvain must sense it too because he spurs on the tired steed as much as it can handle. Your last thought before the rising night covers the sky in its dark shroud is the fact that you've never ridden this fast on a horse before. 

A tired, bittersweet smile touches your lips. 

***

When you awake it's warm, but the cold night air still nips at the side of your face — the side not pressed against…you look up…Sylvain.  

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

To your left is the entrance of a cave and to your right is a small fire near your outermost clothes. He's pulled you into his lap and pressed you against his chest to keep you warm in the late autumn night. The two of you are wrapped in furs you don't recognize and the lance rests beside him on the ground. White snow piles softly at the entrance to the cave, a gentle contrast to the chaos from just before sunset. Peering out into the night, you wonder where his mount is.

Suddenly, Sylvain shifts his knee, subsequently shifting you in the process. Something flares along your side. You gasp in pain. He grimaces at the sound. 

“Sorry,” he says apologetically. 

“Where are we?” You ask. 

“A cave,” Sylvain says. “Safe,” he adds after a thought. 

“No, I mean-”

“Don't worry about it.”  He says, “Just…rest.”

It's difficult, but you somehow manage. The wounds and exhaustion help. 

***

In the morning, you find yourself in the same position. Sylvain’s head is tilted to the side, the edges of his hair against stone catching sunlight in a way you used to admire. Outside, the once vibrant autumn leaves are hidden beneath a thin layer of snow. 

The first snow. 

The burning has lessened, but deep aches still run through your body. 

“Sylvain,” you call. 

His eyes flutter open at the sound of your voice, dark circles painted beneath them. He looks at you with genuine concern. It makes your stomach churn with a mixture of confusion and disdain. After everything — his betrayal, the battle — you don't know how to interpret it. So you avert your eyes. Sylvain’s expression sombers.

“Are we being followed?” you ask. 

“No, we lost them.”

You hope he's right. Sylvain clears his throat quietly, a hand tightening on your waist.

“What is it?” you ask. 

“This…” he begins, a finger running over one of the scarred ridges on your skin — just beneath the hem of your thin shirt. He moves it up a bit, tracing the direction of the uniform stripes, stopping at your ribs. It stirs the aches on your scars, but it isn't as terrible as it is when you examine them yourself.

“The scars?” you ask hesitantly. 

He nods. 

“They —” you sigh. Perhaps under different circumstances you would have told him. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs sadly. “It’s just — they don't need spells, medicine or —?”

“No,” you interrupt. “They're just regular scars.”

Sylvain keeps quiet, accepting your distance and answer, but the two of you both know they're anything but ordinary. He stops tracing them and lets you rest a little while longer before leaving for a nearby village where he left his mount. When he returns, the creature looks more rested than you feel. It even nuzzles you as you approach and get onto the saddle. Then, without a word, Sylvain joins you from behind and steers towards Gautier territory. 

***

The two of you manage to stop by Fraldarius on your way to Gautier. He welcomes you and Sylvain warmly, allowing the two of you to stay as long as you need. The Duke informs you that Felix had not made it home yet, nor had he sent a letter confirming his whereabouts. 

Two nights is all the two of you end up staying. 

Then you are off again, on new horses and with newfound worry for the Fraldarius heir. Your village is about a week’s trip away from Gautier by horseback. When you reach it, it looks exactly as you remember it, though it's winter now. A thin blanket of white covers the fields that once held colorful summer blooms. The cold midday air settles upon your cheeks, numbing them. The sky is remarkably clear, but you can still see the puffs of your breaths when you speak. 

“We’re almost there,” Sylvain says atop his horse. “What will you do when you return home?”

Home… this is not your home. At least not anymore. 

“I — don't know,” you answer honestly. “Maybe I'll catch some fish.”

Sylvain sighs and smiles the best he can. It looks like a grimace. It seems you're not the only one worried. Your injuries are not quite healed yet. You wonder where Ignis is now and how he's doing without you. What will you even do now that your place at Garret Mach has simply disappeared? Can you even go back to being the person you were before even if you wanted to? You doubted it. 

As the two of you crest the last hill, your little cottage on the outskirts of town comes into view. The wooden frames on its exterior look a little worn, but otherwise, it's just as you remember. You lead the horses to the side of the cottage and dismount with less grace than you planned. Sylvain has to catch you as you stumble from the weight of your injuries. He doesn't let go, even when you shake him a bit to let him know it's fine.

“Come with me to Gautier,” he suddenly insists. “You're not well enough.”

“I'm plenty healthy,” you reply. 

“You would have fallen just now without me,” he points out. 

“A little fall never killed anyone.”

“I'm not joking,” he says. 

“I'm not either,” you cross your arms. 

He runs a hand through his hair. It's doing the thing where the light catches it and lightens the tips — this time from the bright snowy reflections. 

“Please,” he says. 

It's quiet, almost like he's afraid to plead. You stare. He clears his throat. 

“Please.”