Chapter Text
“Watch over your brother, Miklan,” Margrave Gautier said, his eyes trained steadily on the approaching attackers. His lance glowed faintly, pulsing with the magic of his crest, his hand gripped around it tightly in anticipation.
“Father, why can’t I come? I could help-” Miklan tried to argue.
“You are not strong enough. Sylvain is key to our future. Your role is to protect him.” Miklan scoffed, rolling his eyes in disgust. Without another word, their father mounted his horse and rode off with the gautier troops to join in the fight.
This trip was never meant to involve battle, but Sylvain’s father was rarely unprepared anyway. He watched the troops clash with the attackers, his father’s power glowing faint red through the din. His brother suddenly gave him a harsh shove towards the tent.
“Just get inside you brat,” he growled. Sylvain shuffled towards the tent, his eyes still glued on the scene ahead. Just before he lost sight of the battlefield, there was a roar and a blue glow somewhere in the distance.
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“I apologize for the less-than-warm welcome, margrave Gautier,” Lord Frauldarius said with a bow as Sylvain and his brother shuffled into the manor behind their father. “There’s been quite a bit of unrest around these parts in recent times.” The margrave raised a hand dismissively.
“In all parts of Faerghus unrest is rampant. It is never wise to go unprepared.” Sylvain’s gaze shifted down to the lance still held in his father’s hand, its glow faint but still just there. Rodrigue, too, seemed to have noticed, but his gaze didn’t linger long before he gave a warm smile.
“Well, let us best hope the rest of the night continues with relatively little incident regardless.” As he led them into a large meeting room, Sylvain paused at the sight of a young boy, hiding behind an older boy. Both of them looked remarkably like Lord Frauldarius. He glanced ahead for a moment to see that his father and older brother had already left him. With a small sigh, he made his way over to the two boys standing to the side. As he approached, the younger of the two shuffled a little further behind the older. Sylvain stopped before he got too close.
“Hey,” he said with an awkward little wave. “I’m Sylvain, what are your names?”
“The Gautier boy, right?” the older asked, glancing up at his bright red hair. Sylvain nodded sheepishly. The boy smiled in response. “I’m Glenn, and this is my little brother Felix,” he introduced, gently pulling Felix forward a little. “We’re Rodr- uh Lord Frauldarius’ sons.”
“Nice to meet you, and uh…” he bent to the side a bit to try and get a better look at Felix, who hid behind his brother again, glaring at Sylvain. “Nice to meet you too,” he finished anyway. Glenn rolled his eyes a bit and Sylvain tried not to tense.
“I’m gonna go help father, alright? Why don’t you introduce Sylvain to the others?” Felix glared at his older brother and grumbled something under his breath, but turned and began walking up the stairs. Sylvain followed uncertainly until he looked down to see Glenn give him a small nod before heading into the meeting room.
Felix led him up to a room where two voices were muttering to each other. As he pushed open the door, there was a shriek, immediately followed by-
“I’M SO SORRY FELIX, I DIDN’T MEAN TO BREAK IT!” Sylvain blinked at the teary-eyed kid with blond hair and blue eyes holding a broken wooden sword.
“STOP BREAKING ALL MY THINGS DIMITRI!” Felix yelled back, startling Sylvain. Dimitri… why did that name sound familiar? Well, at the moment it didn’t really matter, because whoever he was was sitting in front of them, crying, holding the broken sword. Suddenly a girl who was standing behind Dimitri, frowning disapprovingly, jabbed a finger at Sylvain.
“Who’s this guy?” she demanded.
“Right,” Felix said, apparently just remembering Sylvain was there, “This is Sylvain. That,” he pointed to the crying boy, “is Dimitri. And that,” he pointed to the girl, “is Ingrid. She’s bossy,” he tacked on for good measure. She gave him a little smack on the head, and again pointed to Sylvain.
“You shall be my flag-bearer,” she said decisively. “Let’s play knights!” Dimitri groaned.
“But I don’t want to be the prince stuck in the castle again…” he whined. A couple names clicked in Sylvain’s mind at that moment. Blaiddyd and Galatea. He had no time to think about this however, before he was pulled into a game of make-believe with the future eastern lords and king of Faerghus.
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As hesitant as Sylvain had been about the whole playing-make-believe-with-a-bunch-of-seven-year-old-nobles thing, he found he had a better time than expected. Apparently, having friends makes it easier to forget about one’s responsibilities. Neat. Far too soon however, the lords had finished their meeting, and Sylvain was forced to leave. At least he knew who to talk to in the future. Before they left, Glenn stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t be afraid to ask me if you ever need anything, ok?” he said in a low voice. Sylvain followed his trail of sight to find it landed on Miklan, who was leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at his father.
There was a tense silence on the way home, even more so than usual. Sylvain was starting to regret not going in to listen to the meeting.
When they finally arrived at home, Sylvain’s father finally spoke.
“The situation is more pressing than was first anticipated. Sylvain-” he snapped to attention at his name, “- your training is more vital than ever. You will be spending double the hours preparing to defend Fódlan with your power.” Sylvain’s heart dropped.
“But-”
“But what about my training?” his brother cut in. His father turned to glare at Miklan.
“You will have another trainer. You still need to be able to defend Sylvain after all.”
No no no, please don’t say that! Sylvain thought, already trembling in fear. He didn’t look behind him, afraid of what he’d see. But Miklan was eerily silent.
Miklan remained unnervingly calm towards Sylvain for the first few weeks, or at least it seemed so. More meetings between the lords of Faerghus happened intermittently, sometimes involving traveling to other territories and, occasionally, staying home. Felix seemed to warm up to Sylvain, even seeking him out in tears when his brother beat him in a fight. As time went on, Miklan seemed to increasingly avoid meetings, or even be left behind. Eventually, Margrave Gautier stopped telling him about them altogether. Though he still didn’t do anything against Sylvain, every time he looked at him it was with such vitriol it sent shivers down his spine. The two interacted as little as possible, and it seemed to be working fine that way. It was only after riding practice one day, when Miklan had been forced to watch over Sylvain, that he heard it.
“I’m going to fucking kill you someday.” The words were muttered, low enough that it could have been meant to be unheard, but also just loud enough that Sylvain heard it clearly. Terrified of the consequences if he hadn’t been meant to hear that, Sylvain tried to go about his responsibilities without showing he had heard.
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After that, Miklan’s facade seemed to start cracking.
It started with small things. “Accidentally” spilling scalding hot tea on him, shoving him if he was even remotely in the way, and once tripping him down the stairs. Over time however, things got worse.
On the way back from a scouting trip up on the mountain near their home, the wind started picking up. Without so much as a glance at him, Miklan gave his brother a shove with his elbow, making him fall face down in the snow. Sylvain quickly lifted his head, but by the time he looked up, all he could see was the snow swirling around him.
By the time he was found, sheltering in a small cave he had found, he was close to hypothermic, and was rushed to a medic. Miklan was punished harshly and locked in his room for 3 weeks, but their father seemed to think it had been a mistake, and when he emerged he did not seem shaken in the slightest.
Sylvain had no doubt that if he said anything about the true extent of what was happening, Miklan would kill him.
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Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary that day. Margrave Gautier informed Sylvain that Lord Frauldarius and his sons would be arriving for a meeting early the following morning. Sylvain just nodded tiredly, knowing ‘early’ meant before the sun rose, but he was excited to see Felix again. Over the many visits, the two had become fairly close, though neither one of them seemed to be ready to be fully honest with each other yet about certain things. Everyone has their secrets after all. As he went to bed that evening, there was little on his mind besides the visit.
Sylvain was yanked awake sometime in the night by rough hands that pulled his head up and stuffed a cloth in his mouth. He tried to struggle, but the hands held firmly onto his arms, clamping them to his sides before lifting him under the person’s arm. It was too hard to see in the darkness, but Sylvain was sure he knew who it was. At some point, out of pure terror, he lost consciousness.
He was jolted awake by the sensation of falling before slamming into stone submerged in ice cold water. He coughed harshly as he pulled his head above the shallow water and yanked the cloth out of his mouth. He barely looked up in time to see his brother’s cloak flutter out of sight of the opening he’d fallen in.
“WAIT!” He screamed, to no avail. His hands scrambled uselessly over the slippery stone walls he was surrounded by. Chest heaving, he frantically looked at his surroundings. If possible, his heart dropped lower. He’d been left stranded at the bottom of the well near the edge of the forest with nothing to keep him warm, even as the wind howled above and snow swirled down to melt in his red hair. He’d never been claustrophobic before, but for a moment it felt like the darkness was collapsing in on him. He pressed himself against the cold stone, trembling, too terrified to even cry for help again.
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Miklan returned to the castle to find the Frauldarius lord and heirs already there with their guards. His steps faltered for a moment, but as soon as he caught the gaze of the older brother, he continued forward as though nothing was wrong. The brat was standing next to his brother, holding his hand, looking dazed and only half-awake. Without a word in their direction, he reentered the castle and slipped quietly back into his room, deciding that the walk from the well plus the amount of time it would take for them to notice would be long enough.
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Glenn noticed Miklan’s hesitation upon seeing them on his return to the castle. He watched him go by with a certain unease, but for the moment held his tongue. Felix was barely awake at his side and was starting to sway and lean on his side. Glenn gently shook his shoulder and snorted lightly at his little brother’s annoyed moan.
“Come on, don’t you want to see Sylvain?” He coaxed. At the name, Felix seemed to perk up a bit, though he still looked vaguely like he wanted to smack someone. Glenn was silently very proud. As the doors were opened, Glenn pushed his worry to the side for the moment.
That worry was quick to resurface when Felix pulled at his sleeve not much later.
“I can’t find him,” Felix said with a pout. Glenn frowned.
“Margrave Gautier?” he spoke up, interrupting what the man was saying. His father looked as though he were about to say something, but instead opted to bite his tongue with a sigh.
“Yes?” The margrave responded, looking rather irritated.
“Where is Sylvain, if I may ask?” The margrave sighed heavily.
“He has been flippant with his duties as of late, I’m afraid. He may have gone out for a ride.”
“In this weather?” Glenn asked, looking out at the snow swirling down, now much more intense than before.
“It hasn’t stopped him before,” Rodrigue pointed out.
“He’s stupid like that,” Felix grumbled, crossing his arms. Glenn sighed.
“May we go out and find him?” he asked. His father nodded his approval, and Glenn set off with Felix outside.
In truth, it was not as cold as Glenn knew it could get out in this region. Regardless, it was very cold, and the wind and snow exacerbated the chill. If Sylvain really was out for a ride in this, he would be pissed. He didn’t quite know where to start searching, but Felix suggested the forest that Sylvain had once shown him on a previous visit. As they approached the forest, Felix suddenly froze. Glenn looked back at his little brother with concern, when Felix suddenly ran towards an old abandoned well near the forest’s edge. Confused, Glenn followed, until he heard it too: a faint crying and a wispy call for help. Felix had already reached the well and was peering down in horror.
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Sylvain had no idea how long he’d been in the well. At some point, he’d found his voice again, but his body felt so heavy and lethargic that he couldn’t manage a cry for help far above a whisper. His vision had begun to swim- or perhaps the snow was making it blurry- he couldn’t quite tell. His hand absently reached up to his chest where he knew his crest lay printed, a mark of his set future as Margrave Gautier and the mark of his brother’s hatred. It was all so unfair. He tried to call a little louder, but his voice still wouldn’t cooperate. He felt tears crack and freeze over his skin, not quite enough to let it go numb as his submerged legs already had.
A sound split through the fog of his mind, not enough to make out but enough to register in his mind that someone was there. He tried to lift his head up to look, but his neck was so stiff that every inch of movement was excruciating. He vaguely registered a splash in front of him, and muffled yelling. The figure he saw above disappeared in a flash of blue. The one in front of him was saying something. He couldn’t understand. A hand reached out to touch his icy face. It was warm, and the touch burned agonizingly. He flinched away, but the hands carefully reached out and pulled him towards the person. Suddenly reminded of Miklan, he tried to yank away reflexively, but the hands were firm and steady, nothing like Miklan’s, always trembling in uncertainty and concealed rage. He felt warm fur wrap around him, and though it was painful it was also warmth, and it finally lulled him to sleep.
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When Sylvain woke back in his bed, still bleary and disoriented, he was only half aware of the muffled shouting from outside his door. His attention was far more focused on the sobbing coming from his bedside. He blinked at the sight of Felix, his face hidden behind skinny arms, shoulders trembling from the sobs and sniffles he stifled. It was a strange experience. Sylvain had been hurt many times, but never had he had someone cry for him.
“What accusations do you think you are making, boy?” Sylvain finally tuned into the conversation as the voices outside his door increased in volume.
“What, you think Sylvain just fell into that well? Completely unprepared for the ice and snow!? I watched Miklan slink into the castle like the rat he is–“
“Glenn!”
“–NO! I’ve suspected he was doing something for a while now. If you aren’t going to…” Sylvain’s mind started going blank as the conversation registered. It was like his mind disconnected from his body and he was floating in empty thoughts, panic screaming at him from behind a soundproof window. Someone was shouting beside him. Grabbing his arm urgently. An orange blur–
And Miklan stood in front of him, hand reaching for him, eyes wild with rage. But Glenn stood between them. And Miklan’s fingers stopped a few inches short. Sylvain couldn’t find it in him to react. He stared at the person who’d brought him so much terror for his whole life and felt nothing. He vaguely registered his father’s booming voice… and Miklan was being dragged away, flailing like the monster he had become.
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Lord Frauldarius stayed to help deal with the aftermath for several days after. His sons however, were to be sent back the next day. Felix absolutely refused to leave Sylvain’s side that day, curling up next to him even as the medics hurried to combat his hypothermia, and even at night after they had left. In the quiet hours of the night, as sleep eluded them both, Sylvain finally found his voice again.
“What happened to Miklan?” The question was quiet, measured. Felix didn’t respond for a moment, opting instead to grip onto Sylvain’s arm a little tighter.
“Your father disowned him,” he finally responded. Sylvain was silent.
“This would never have happened to him if I was never born.” The words were barely whispered, inaudible to anyone else, but Felix heard clearly, and sat up sharply.
“Don’t say that!!” He shouted, enraged. Sylvain winced. He began to apologize, but Felix wasn’t done. “Miklan is a monster! He hurt you, there’s no excuse for that! If you think–” his voice choked up a bit, “if you really think you’re worth so little, then I’m nothing!” He sobbed. Sylvain sat up a little.
“Fe…” he whispered. Felix tried to shove him away weakly, but otherwise hardly fought the embrace. They sat like this for a while, Felix quietly sobbing into Sylvain’s chest. Once he had quieted down, Sylvain ventured to speak again.
“How about this…” Felix sniffled lightly and leaned back to look at him through swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “I promise I won’t die before you,” Sylvain said, holding out his pinky, “as long as you promise the same.”