Archive of Our Own ^beta

Scarlet trails were flying from an enemy mage’s chest when he saw it; Sylvain, too busy engaged in combat to notice the warrior behind him swinging his axe in a mighty arc. Even as he hurled his protesting body forward, lungs burning painfully from the smog, Felix knew he could never make it. He was too far. He was too late. The most he could do was rasp out a strangled, “Sylvain!” as though that could make any difference. Maybe it did— maybe Sylvain sensed more than heard the desperation behind his voice because he half turned, and instead of the axe cleaving through his skull it took his shoulder and back instead, spraying vermillion over armor and ground alike.

Three seconds later the warrior lay still next to them, a gaping hole through his belly from Felix’s sword. He fell to his knees over Sylvain, who was shuddering and trying and failing to smile, a half mooned bloody leer that made Felix’s throat close when he saw it. No, no, no—

“Don’t move, I’ll get someone, hold on for a little longer, I can fix this, I can—” he was trembling violently as he grasped at Sylvain’s slick gloves, the vision of him getting hit replaying in his mind over and over like a broken record.

“Felix... It’s okay.”

“Shut up, shut up, don’t you dare—”

Sylvain was looking up at him with that face, that stupidly beautiful charming face and Felix couldn't stand it— that even gravely injured his eyes still held so much warmth and softness, bubbling over affection that Felix clung to in his darkest hours. He couldn’t lose Sylvain, he couldn’t.

“I— I can’t—”

He choked off, could feel the warmth of blood seeping under the seams of his gaiters, warm as the tears falling down his face. Their paths were stopped by one of Sylvain’s thumbs coming up to weakly wipe them away.

“I’m… sorry.” Sylvain’s breathing was laboured, his skin disturbingly pale underneath brown freckles. “I never meant to break… our promise.”

“NO!”

Felix realized dimly that he was shouting into Sylvain’s face but he didn’t care; he couldn’t give up that easily, he wouldn’t. He whipped his head wildly around, realizing the predicament he was in. There was still a battle, he was a sitting duck, and he was lucky he hadn’t been found by other enemies. But he didn’t care, he needed to find Mercedes, Linhardt, Byleth... someone. 

“...Felix.”

“Don’t, Sylvain, don’t —”

A larger hand guided Felix’s to cracked lips, which were brushed softly against his knuckles as Sylvain’s eyes closed. 

“Gods, Fe... I’m... gonna miss you.”

Felix opened his mouth to argue, to say that it was ridiculous to think about missing someone in the afterlife, especially when no one was dying, when Sylvain let out a horrible, rattling breath and went limp in his arms. Felix stared down, completely frozen in disbelief, then—

Anyone left alive on the battlefield that day remembered the horrific, unnatural scream that spread across it, one so rare that few people before now could claim they’d ever heard it. It was this sound— so wretched and tortuous that it caused an actual lull in the fighting, with members of both sides pausing to locate the source— that led Mercedes to Felix.

“Felix! Felix, what—”

She broke off and gasped as Felix stumbled to his feet, eyes feral, face covered in blood from where Sylvain had wiped across it. He gripped at her arms so tightly it was a miracle he didn’t snap her bones as he snarled into her face.

“Fix it, fix it , Mercedes, do it now —”

He broke off with another wrenching scream and collapsed hard to his knees, one hand clutching his heaving chest as the other grasped for Sylvain’s. Mercedes eyes widened, dropping to her knees alongside him as she assessed the disturbingly still form of Sylvain. 

“Help me turn him over.”

He snapped into motion, guiding Sylvain onto his stomach and helping to remove his mangled back plate before cradling Sylvain’s head in his lap. The slash was deep and hard to stomach, but Mercedes only took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

She summoned the glowing runes of healing magic and poured light into his open skin, the blood finally slowing from a stream to a trickle to a few stray drops. Felix couldn’t stop his panicked breathing next to her; he could barely see, barely think, his entire torso feeling as though he’d been the one gashed open by the axe. He blinked down at himself and was shocked to find he wasn’t bleeding out.

A sound of wings and hooves behind them signaled the arrival of Ingrid, Byleth, and Marianne. The professor took one look at the scene, and worry filled her usually neutral eyes.

“Mercedes?”

She swallowed and shook her head. Next to her, another violent scream.

Byleth crouched down too, turning Sylvain back over and muttering something to herself, her own magic flowing through her palms over Sylvain’s heart. Felix clutched at Sylvain’s fiery locks, fingers trembling as they carded obsessively through matted dirt and dried blood. Ingrid was staring, completely shell-shocked; Marianne was hovering, already summoning her own runes in preparation to help.

Finally, Byelth shifted back, watching. Waiting. 

Through his haze, Felix could’ve sworn he saw Sylvain’s torso move.

“We need to get him back to camp.”

Felix reacted instantly, his hands sliding under Sylvain and hoisting him up, drawing him protectively to his chest, wild eyes daring anyone to challenge him. Ingrid opened her mouth to argue but Byleth jerked her head and she shut it again, silently pushing Felix up on the pegasus along with Mercedes, who continued her healing as they flew.

But once they arrived and Sylvain was pulled forcibly out of Felix’s arms, all went to hell. He clawed at Byleth and Ingrid, snarling and baring his teeth, only halted from drawing his sword by Dedue’s strong hand around his wrist. The rest of their group stood warily back, Annette’s eyes glazed with tears, Ashe’s shoulders slumped. The prognosis was bleak; Sylvain’s heart was somehow still beating, but no one knew if that was sustainable. Only time, along with the magical prowess of most of their healers combined, would tell.

And Felix— no one had ever seen Felix like this. And if Felix had been at all in his right mind, he would be torn between mortification and denial at his behavior. But that was the thing— Felix was always in his right mind, and no one knew how to handle him now— only Byleth and Mercedes seemed to know what was happening, faces grim with understanding. 

It didn’t help that Felix’s efforts to get back to Sylvain were punctured by horrible screams cutting through the still air, punched forcibly out of his chest and making him weak and dizzy. Why were they keeping him from Sylvain? His vision was narrowed only to the fluttering of the tent flap, which Sylvain had disappeared into, but it grew smaller and smaller as he felt himself being literally dragged away into the woods, his legs failing to support him as he tried to run.

“Let— go of me —” Felix managed to gasp out as he was propped against the rough bark of a tree, clumsily slapping away concerned hands as he tried to escape, but he felt like he was moving through water. 

“Felix, please, you just need to—”

“LET ME GO! ”

“Felix.”

He felt the sharp sting of what had to be reason magic, not strong enough to hurt but enough to momentarily clear the cloud in his mind. Panting from where he was doubled over, he stared up into the glassy eyes of Mercedes, Byleth hovering behind her, jaw set.

“Mercie, let me—”

“Felix, you need to listen to me. ”

And maybe it was from realizing the urgency of the situation, or just from the tremor in her voice, but Felix pushed himself to comply- trying to keep down the waves of nausea threatening to pull him apart. The feeling was strangely familiar, but he couldn’t pull his thoughts together enough to figure out why.

Mercedes kneeled down, looking up into his clammy face. Felix belatedly realized her hand was in his. He squeezed it weakly.

“I know you don’t understand what’s happening to you, and neither did I, at first, but—” her voice was really shaking now, a tear slipping free from the corner of her eye. “—oh Felix, I think you and Sylvain are soulmates.”

Sylvain. 

At the sound of his name, Felix broke all over again. Why was he just standing against a tree, in a forest, away from Sylvain, away from, from—

He was unaware of the hands restraining him, his vision going red, red, red, deaf to the horrible noises ripped from his throat, the pain all-consuming until everything finally, mercifully, turned black.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

Felix recognized this memory. It was one he replayed often— after a difficult battle, when sleep eluded him in the middle of the night, whenever Sylvain flirted shamelessly with someone and Felix felt the pang of jealousy deep in his gut.

He’d been roaming the Fraldarius grounds that day, wandering through thickets and jousting with imaginary enemies. It was Sylvain’s birthday and they were leaving soon for Gautier. Felix was ecstatic; his father had helped him find the best gift ever, a tack cleaning kit and engraved plaque for Sylvain’s stallion. The redhead was old enough now to ride and care for his own horse, and Sylvain spent hours upon hours in the stables doting upon him. Plus, Felix had managed to persuade Glenn to get Sylvain’s favorite candies from the stall in town— they were currently sitting, slightly melted, in Felix’s inner coat pocket.

But Felix never made it to Gautier that day. From what his brother told him after the fact, Felix had been jumping from rock to rock near the river when he suddenly dropped like a stone, wailing so loudly the servants heard all the way from the front doors. They carried him in as he thrashed, deaf to the words of their father and the healers. No one could figure out what was wrong with eight year old Felix, who had no fever and no other symptoms except blinding, debilitating delirium. 

All Felix could remember through the daze was calling out one name; Sylvain’s. Everyone else had assumed it was because the younger Fraldarius was missing his best friend’s birthday because he was sick, the two practically joined at the hip since they’d met a few years prior. Felix was always a crybaby. Always clinging to Sylvain. It made sense he was distraught. No one else assumed anything different. 

Except Glenn.

Felix was unaware that only his brother, after staring unblinkingly at Felix’s violently shivering form, rode out immediately for Gautier. 

It was fortunate the two estates were close enough that merely three hours later, Glenn was practically barrelling down the stout oaken doors demanding to see Felix’s childhood friend, with no explanation of why he showed up to the estate alone— not even bothering to stable his horse first as he stood, reins in hand, on the stone steps. The Margrave’s fury quickly morphed into panic when they realized no one in the house had seen Sylvain all morning, not since he’d disappeared into the grounds. With Miklan. Glenn flinched from the sound of the slap that rented the air, the older Gautier brother laying on the ground and screaming until Sylvain’s location was forced out of him.

They’d barely made it in time.

All Felix was told when he finally awoke the next day was that he and Sylvain were both sick, most likely infected with a seasonal cold traveling through Faerghus. He remembered the belated birthday visit a few weeks after, Glenn hovering closer than usual, Miklan nowhere to be seen, Sylvain strangely subdued and covered in scratches he insisted were from when he’d fallen from a tree— but the way he smiled when Felix shyly handed over the gifts, how his eyes crinkled while sharing the dark chocolate pieces and showing Felix how to oil his horse’s bridle, had stayed imprinted in Felix’s heart forever. 

That evening, a promise was made, whispered solemnly through the firelight as they huddled in their comforter fort at the foot of Sylvian’s bed. It was a vow to protect: Never leave the other behind, always stay together. Even in death.

Felix hadn’t found out the truth about the well until Glenn was long gone.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

He gasped awake in a cold sweat, bolting upright and immediately regretting it as the world spun dangerously. Retching, he forcefully swallowed down the bile that had come up his throat. Soulmates. How had he not realized? This wasn’t the first time either of them had been injured on the front lines, too many close calls to count. But not like this, his mind whispered, nothing like this. It didn’t even surprise him, really, now that he thought about it. He’d loved Sylvain forever, his feelings woven together and strengthened with each treasured moment spanning over years. When it came down to it, Felix wouldn’t know himself without the other.

It was dark. The flaps of the tent were secured tight to keep out the night's bitter chill. There were odd bandages here and there over his arms, and he could feel the scratch of another over his cheek. His chest was throbbing and he was struggling to take deep breaths, throat raw and torn from screaming for what felt like hours. He’d been stripped down to his underclothes at some point when he’d been unconscious.

But Felix didn’t notice any of that; his attention was drawn to his immediate left, to the ragged, uneven breathing and vivid red hair turned dull in the low light. 

He swung his legs over the side of his cot and staggered the few steps to Sylvain’s bed before falling to his knees, fumbling for one of Sylvain’s hands. He was startlingly cold. Felix brought it up to his face and pressed his cheek against it, dampening Sylvain’s palm as fresh tears escaped from his cracked, raw eyes. As carefully as he could with a body still sluggish and weak, he climbed under the covers with Sylvain and tucked against his form. He wasn’t leaving his side. Never again.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

Sylvain finally awoke one week later to the familiar sight of rich, wood-paneled walls and the faint smell of sterilizer. Garreg Mach infirmary. It was nauseatingly bright. Risking a deep inhale, he winced, lungs crackling in his chest and threatening to steal his breath entirely. He went to lift his hand, and fire shot through his nerves, leaving him reeling. But he was here. Alive. Distantly he remembered the battle, the soldier, Felix’s attempt to get to him… his failed attempt. Right, he’d been hit, and maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t remember the pain of it; the residual aches were enough to tell him it had been excruciating.

But Felix’s face hovering above him, tear-streaked and broken— that had been much worse. Gods, he’d really almost died, hadn’t he? And Felix, he hadn’t deserved to see that, to hear the ramblings of a pathetic man who could only apologize for breaking a promise that never should have been so in danger in the first place. 

Felix.  

Sylvain needed to see him, needed to tell him what he should’ve said then but was too cowardly to do so, needed to be better for him, needed to—

The blankets rustled next to him and Sylvain nearly jumped out of his skin, causing more jolts of pain to surge through his body. He winced, but managed to crane his neck down to see the person he’d just been thinking about, filling in all the dips and crevices of Sylvain’s body with his lithe figure. The weight of what Sylvain had initially thought were heavy bandages was Felix’s arm thrown across his chest, slender fingers resting over his heart. A strangled sob escaped his throat, and he forced his arm to move, even though it fucking hurt, to wrap his hand around the smaller one.

“Felix.” 

His voice was barely a whisper, all fragile and hoarse, but it was enough to cause the other man’s body to stiffen. Then Felix was moving, shifting up the bed, and Sylvain’s vision was suddenly taken over by frizzy black hair and a gaunt, pale face. He would always be the most beautiful thing Sylvain has ever seen.

“I could kill you,” Felix choked, pressing ever closer as though he was afraid Sylvain would somehow slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. “I could just—” he rested his cheek against Sylvain’s, and he caught the quiet hitch of breath near his ear as Felix tried and failed to hold himself together, “—kill you.”

Sylvain managed to pull his other arm from his side to wrap it around Felix’s torso. “Don’t let Mercedes hear that. Would’ve been pointless for her to put me back together if you’re just gonna pull me apart again.”

Felix jerked back slightly, and Sylvain felt his heart crumble at the sight of tears pooling in Felix’s fiery eyes. “Shut. Up, ” he ground out, his other hand coming up to painfully grip Sylvain's ratty hair. “Do you even know—” he broke off, not meeting Sylvain’s eyes as he tried to blink away the moisture before it fell. He was unsuccessful. 

“I’m sorry, Fe, that was stupid, I— what’s that look for?”

Because Felix was looking back at him, red-cheeked and angry and hurt, but there was also something else— hesitation, like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite made up his mind if he should. Sylvain stared dumbly back, caught within Felix’s indecision.

“Fe—”

“You almost died.” Sylvain opened his mouth to respond, but Felix cut him off. “You did die, I think. Maybe. I don’t know, the professor— whatever. When you went limp, when you stopped breathing, I— I—” 

He was struggling, and Sylvain could feel his body trembling. What could be so terrible that Felix couldn’t tell him? Did Felix try to throw himself on his sword? Turn into an animal like Dimitri and try to run the Empress through? 

“...I thought I was dying, too.”

Well that— I mean, Sylvain imagined he would feel about the same if he’d been in Felix’s position. He couldn’t bear to think about Felix’s grieving over his dead body. His chest tightened painfully.

“Felix, I’m so—”

“No, you’re— you don’t get it. Mercedes can explain it better than I can but I— The well. Your birthday. Remember I couldn’t visit for weeks, and I thought it was because we’d both been sick?”

Sylvain nodded, grimacing from the movement. Felix released his hair and cupped the back of his head instead, gently rubbing at the base of his skull.

“I didn’t remember much about it, just brief moments and what my brother and father told me. All I knew is that it was the most pain I’d ever been in— like I was being ripped apart from the inside out. When you fell on the battlefield, it... happened again. They said I was out of my mind. That at one point I was scratching through my skin, that I screamed so violently I was coughing out blood. They’d never seen anything like it before. I should’ve put two and two together but I—”

“Felix,” Sylvain breathed, his brain finally catching up to what was being implied. “You don’t think—”

“I didn't understand. But Mercedes did.” He took another shaking breath and stared right through him. “We’re soulmates.”

Oh. Oh Gods. If they were soulmates then— he closed his eyes and bit down on his lip to keep from screaming. He’d heard stories about what people went through when they lost a soulmate before confessions were made. When one dies in proximity to the other. Apparently it happened so rarely there were barely any records of it, of what happens to the other half. The few writings that did survive painted a disturbing picture, describing a shell of a person, blank and empty, the despair so great they could never recover. This was too much responsibility for him, he’d almost destroyed the very essence of the person he loved most, how could he possibly—

“Sylvain!” 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a rough hand swiping over his lips. The copper tang in his mouth told him he’d drawn blood. He swallowed and reluctantly opened his eyes again.

“I’m so sorry, Felix,” he whispered, “I’m sorry it’s me, I’m sorry I hurt you—”

“Will you fucking stop . Sothis in hell, I don’t care, I don’t care that it hurt. I just care that you’re back. I don’t care how, I don’t care why. You’re here.” Felix squeezed his hand. “I’m not letting you go again, Syl.”

“But Feli—”

“I love you. Soulmates or fucking not, I’ve loved you. For always. Forever. All that stupid bullshit. And if you don’t kiss me I’ll run you through.”

Sylvain blinked in disbelief. “You— you love me?”

“Idiot. You heard me.”

He absolutely had. But once wasn’t enough. “Say it again.”

“No.”

“ Please , Felix,” Sylvain begged, dragging his arm up Felix’s back until it settled in his hair. “Please.” 

Normally when Sylvain begged Felix would fight back— roll his eyes, call him pathetic. But this time his face only softened, and Sylvain could see just how tired and haggard he looked as he came to rest their foreheads together. It felt like coming home.

“Fine. I love you.”

Sylvain wasn’t sure how he had any tears left, but he felt them leak from the corner of his eyes as he tilted his chin up, guiding Felix down the last couple inches so he could kiss him.

Fire exploded through his veins. It was the strangest sensation, like he could feel Felix’s body meld into his, all the empty spaces he wasn’t even aware existed within him filled perfectly by the other. His heart was no longer alone in his chest- now Felix’s beat alongside it. Felix was in his mind, in his soul, a permanent brand as their strings of fate bound them together in a permanent hold. 

Gasping against Felix’s mouth, he dove in further, greedy and selfish and so, so desperate. He was barely remembering to breathe but it was like he was coming up for air, trapped under the surface of the ocean for years and years. Eventually their movements slowed from frenzied to languid to the slowest trail of tongues over lips. Sylvain finally dropped his head back, still cradled by Felix’s hand, and gazed up at the only person he’d ever want. His soulmate.

His Felix. 

He smiled, and when Felix returned it— smaller but just as sure— he realized he’d never said the words back. Maybe he didn’t have to now, but he wanted to, over and over again, so Felix would never doubt who Sylvain belonged to. He trailed a finger along Felix’s slender jaw.

“I love you too. It… it was always you, Fe.”

Felix fell forward again, clinging to Sylvain’s hand like a lifeline as he captured Sylvain’s lips in another kiss. They probably would’ve never stopped, except Sylvain made the mistake of trying to move and broke off with a hiss of pain, remembering he was still very much in the infirmary and very much still recovering. Honestly, he was shocked Manuela or one of the healers hadn’t been in to check on them yet.

Instead, Felix carefully settled back down against him, nose resting in the crook of Sylvain’s neck, hands still intertwined over his sternum. He felt Felix’s mouth move against his skin, the gruff tone not enough to cover the fear behind his words when he spoke.

“Don’t you ever try to leave me again.”

Sylvain shot a wobbly smile to the ceiling. “Never.” 

He squeezed Felix’s hand tighter, still unused to how their bodies synced as one, and repeated it a thousand times over— the word weaving their promise like silk ribbon through ink spilled strands.

Never. Never. Never.