Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They follow a trail of bodies to chase a ghost.

Maybe Sylvain should complain (he does, sometimes), but at least pretending to believe that Dimitri is alive somewhere makes the world seem a little less bleak. Felix is so sure of it anyway, the way that he’s sure of everything. Zoltan is the finest swordsmith, the sun rises in the east, and Prince Dimitri of House Blaiddyd is not dead.

Sylvain would rather be hunting a memory than serving among his father’s men, anyway. Even if Felix is the coldest he’s ever been. Even if it means picking through the remains of imperial scouting parties looking for some kind of sign.

Felix always finds it in the corpses themselves.

“This is the work of the boar,” he says. If Sylvain hadn’t grown up with him, he’d think that Felix’s face was expressionless. But there’s fire in his eyes - a harsh, angry determination. 

“Right.” Sylvain doesn’t bother to question or to argue. Four years ago, Cornelia overthrew the regent and executed Dimitri. But because there was no body paraded around the capital, and because Felix insists the boar wouldn’t have died so easily, there is now, supposedly, a rogue former crown prince slaughtering his way through Imperial-occupied countryside. “It’s going to rain soon, Felix. Come on. We should find somewhere to stay for the night.”

Felix ignores Sylvain like he usually does. He’s crouched next to an Imperial scout who was nearly cleaved in two.  

Sylvain looks away. Some things he can never get used to. He walks toward a crumpled tent not far from the dead scouts and begins picking through the scattered supplies. He crouches to find a few unbroken vulneraries and he slides them into his pack before pulling back a tattered piece of tent fabric. There’s an overturned table beneath, scrolls and pieces of parchment littering the ground around it. They must’ve been protected from the elements by the fallen tent. Sylvain unfurls a few - maps, mostly. Some letters from whoever commanded this particular scouting unit. 

“Hey,” Sylvain calls. “Look at this.”

“What?” 

Sylvain startles at how close Felix’s voice is. He can move so quietly now. “This mentions another scouting party setting up a camp to the east. Right on the edge of your father’s territory.”

Felix folds his arms over his chest, leaning over Sylvain’s shoulder. “How old is the missive?”

“It looks like the scouts were reading it the night they were attacked.” Sylvain gestures at the mess. “It’s not like they would’ve left something like this just out . Pretty sure Hubert would’ve trained them better than that.”

The mention of Edelgard’s second in command makes Felix’s eye twitch slightly. The last time they’d met was the battle outside of Garreg Mach, and Felix had nearly been blasted into pieces by one of Hubert’s nastier spells. Sylvain knows Felix doesn’t like to lose, and especially hates having to retreat.

“Let’s go.”

Sylvain groans as Felix starts to stalk over to the stand of trees where the horses are tied. “I’m not riding through the night again.”

“Then don’t.”

Charming as always. Ingrid was always the only one who could reign in Felix’s moods. Sylvain doesn’t bother trying to argue. 

He rubs the back of his neck with a gauntleted hand. Goddess knows he’s tired. Not just because of the non-stop movement over the last few months, but this exhaustion made itself an unwelcome guest in his bones years before. The war made it worse, yes, but it was there even earlier than Edelgard’s hellish campaign. Maybe it first came when he helped kill his brother. Maybe it was when his brother first tried to kill him. But Sylvain is good at distracting himself from it. Keeping up with Felix is as good of a distraction as anything. 

So Sylvain joins Felix at the little stand of trees and sets to untying his mount, a Friesian named Kala. She eyes Sylvain balefully, and he strokes her nose. “I know,” he tells her. “We’ll make sure you get more rest tomorrow, alright?”

Kala snorts like she doesn’t believe him, but gently nuzzles into Sylvain’s touch. Sylvain takes that as forgiveness as he puts one boot in the stirrup and swings himself onto the saddle.

It starts to rain - heavy and fast. In this downpour, the bodies of the Imperial scouts will soon begin to sink into the muddy ground.

Felix gives Sylvain a short nod of acknowledgement before he clicks his tongue to his horse and begins to ride east. 

Sylvain follows. He will not lose one of the few people he has left. 

-

The Imperial Army may have tried to set up a camp on the edge of Fraldarius territory, but it looks like the scouts barely even had time to unpack. Blood splatters the rocks and grass in the area, and Sylvain counts fifteen dead Imperial soldiers. He doubts whoever attacked them let any escape. 

“They’re still fresh,” Felix says.

Sylvain’s stomach churns a little bit at the choice of words, and turns to find Felix examining one of the bodies. “Lovely description, thanks.” Sylvain glances around the wrecked campsite. “You think whoever did this is still around?”

“Possibly.” Felix stands, sharp eyes scanning the surrounding area. The trees loom over them in the cloudy light. “We should split up and see what we can find.”

Sylvain spends the better part of the next hour winding his way through the woods. It’s quiet, save for the occasional bird call and Sylvain’s own footsteps. He’s looking for more Imperial soldiers more than anything else - a patrol coming to check on the camp, another scouting party. The last time he’d been caught unaware was two years ago in a supposedly secure area of Gautier territory, and he has a nasty scar along his side as a reminder to never let his guard down.

It’s why, when he hears some low and definitely not bird-like sound, his grip on his lance tightens and he immediately falls into a defensive stance. He freezes after that, listening.

There’s nothing for several moments, and Sylvain almost takes another step forward when it rings out again, louder.

Sylvain has seen enough of war to know it’s a moan of pain. 

He moves toward the voice slowly. He’s not as light on his feet as Felix, and leaves and brambles crunch under his boots. The gray skies and treetops don’t provide much light, but Sylvain can make out a large, hunched figure only a few paces away.

Whoever it is, they’re enveloped in a massive fur cloak, leaning against the trunk of an oak. They don’t raise their head, even with Sylvain’s less than stealthy approach. They’re not in Imperial colors, but that’s still not a guarantee. 

Sylvain glances around at the surrounding trees, checking for a potential ambush, and finds nothing. He’s only a few steps away from the crumpled figure now, and make out a mess of grimy blonde hair and a large frame.

It can’t be.

The figure jolts suddenly, and it’s a credit to Sylvain’s training that he doesn’t flinch. But the person doesn’t even look up, just wrenches what seems to be the shaft of an arrow out from the meat of their thigh. They groan again, bracing their weight against the oak before weakly throwing the arrow to the ground.

They’re covered in blood.

Sylvain’s voice is steady, somehow. “Your highness?”

Dimitri Blaiddyd, former crown prince of Faerghus, executed over three years before, looks up with a face that Sylvain recognizes only because he has known it since he was a child. His cheeks are gaunt and sallow. One unfocused, pale blue eye finds its way to Sylvain while the other is hidden beneath a blood-streaked patch.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says, low and pained. “Even you join them now.”

Sylvain has no fucking idea what Dimitri means, and at the moment he doesn’t particularly care. He drops to his knees, abandoning his lance so he can press both hands over the gaping wound in Dimitri’s thigh where he just wrenched the arrow free. 

Dimitri lets out a hiss, and his head lolls back. “I will avenge you, I swear.”

“Sure, your highness,” Sylvain says. Dimitri is alive. Dimitri is bleeding out beneath him. Felix was right . Dimitri’s blood is warm and wet and Sylvain’s hands are covered in it. “First thing though, we need to get you patched up, alright?”

Dimitri mutters something unintelligible, his eye falling closed. 

“Oh, fuck.” Sylvain presses down on the arrow wound harder. What a story it would be - finding the prince alive only to let him die within minutes of reuniting. 

More than that, though. This impossible new reality, one where Dimitri isn’t dead and Sylvain has him back again, is something Sylvain can’t let slip through his fingers. It was too much to hope for, but now it’s a fragile, tangible thing that could shatter so easily. The thought is enough to make Sylvain’s breath come in sharp, heavy bursts.

“Hang in there, your highness,” Sylvain says. He then does something very stupid, even thinking about how stupid it is as he does it, and starts yelling into the trees for Felix.

-

The first time Miklan tried to kill him, Sylvain was twelve years old. 

He doesn’t remember much of the whole ordeal, save for being pushed into the well. Everything else was just frigid fear, water sloshing into his nose and mouth as he scrabbled for purchase against the slick stone. 

He knows that he tried calling for help, but he isn’t sure how long he screamed before his throat was in shreds and any energy he had left was put toward staying afloat. 

He thinks that at some point, he called for the only people he knew would care that he was drowning. He called for Ingrid first, because she always had the answers. Dimitri next, because Dimitri was the strongest. And last, he called for Felix, who was small and wild and probably couldn’t have done much to help. But Sylvain called for him anyway.

Ingrid was home in Galatea, Dimitri in the capital, and Felix traveling with his father, so it was foolish to hope one of them would come for him. But he was young and delirious with fear and exhaustion, and he wasn’t sure if his father would care if Sylvain died, or if his parents would decide to just have another child in hopes it would bear a crest.

In the end, it was one of the cooks who found him. She lowered the bucket and the other kitchen staff helped haul Sylvain out of the well. 

Sylvain couldn’t stop shivering even once he had the ground beneath his feet again, his teeth clicking together and his vision blurry. But he remembers the cook pulled him close and held him to her as he trembled.

“It’s alright,” she said. “I have you. You’re safe now.”

There was no safe with Miklan lurking around every corner, seething at Sylvain’s existence. But the words were enough for the moment, and he remembers burying his face in the cook’s shoulder, his chest heaving with sobs.

-

“I have you,” Sylvain tells Dimitri, who is limp beneath his hands. He can hear Felix running through the trees toward them, a lifeline to cling to -  something to hold while Sylvain waits to be hauled out from the depths. “It’s alright. It’s alright, I promise. We’ll keep you safe now.” 

Dimitri, bloodied and scarred, doesn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Faerghus nights are cool in the summer and absolutely frigid the rest of the year. It’s part of the reason Faerghus isn’t exactly Fodlan’s top tourist destination. It’s particularly chilly out tonight, and Sylvain sits as close as he can to the campfire, flames licking the cold air before him.

Dimitri lies under both Sylvain and Felix’s blankets, unresponsive but breathing. Felix, who has always had steady hands, stitched up Dimitri’s arrow wound first, then the myriad of gashes across his arms, his chest, his back. And that’s to say nothing of scar tissue and bruising.

Even now, it makes Sylvain’s throat tight. Whatever happened in the nearly four years that Dimitri has been assumed dead, it was marked with pain. 

“He’s survived worse,” Felix says. He has the hood of his cloak pulled over his head, sitting not far from Sylvain. His eyes shine with firelight. “He’ll survive this, too. And then answer for where he’s been.”

Sylvain runs his hands over his arms, the friction a pitiful attempt at warming himself up. “Yeah, I don’t think that should be the first question we ask him when he comes to, Felix.”

Felix frowns. “Why not? While we’ve been fighting on the front lines for a splintered country, the boar prince has been alive all along.”

“I get that. And I want to know why he’s been in hiding, too. But he’s clearly been through a lot.”

“And we haven’t?” Felix challenges, lifting his head with that familiar stubborn tilt to his jaw. 

“We all have.” Sylvain sighs, then rubs absently at the bridge of his nose. “Look, let’s just wait to see what he says when he wakes up, okay? And we can go from there.”

Felix gives Sylvain an annoyed look for a few moments, probably deciding whether or not he wants to argue more now or argue more later. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hoots, high and ominous.

Sylvain shivers. “Have I mentioned how much I want to stay in an actual inn tomorrow night? Because I’d like to stay in an actual inn tomorrow night.”

“We’re not moving him any time soon.” Felix gets to his feet, pulling off his cloak for some absolutely insane reason. 

“I know you’re capable of saying his name,” Sylvain says, attempting to tease but failing as his teeth start to chatter. Felix probably wouldn’t have taken it as a joke anyway. 

“I’m going to get more firewood,” Felix mutters. Sylvain’s vision goes dark as the thick, winter-blue cloak Felix has worn since Annette gifted it to him lands on his head. He pulls it down from his face to see Felix stalking away into the trees.

“Hey, take your cloak!”

“You wear it,” Felix throws over his shoulder. “If you get frostbite you’ll just weigh us down.”

Sylvain hesitates for a moment as he watches Felix disappear into the darkness, then pulls the cloak around his shoulders and stuffs his fingers under his knees. 

“Happy to announce that Felix hasn’t changed in the time you’ve been gone, your highness,” Sylvain tells Dimitri’s sleeping form. He shivers again, but he can already start to feel his shoulders relax. “Somehow, I’m pretty sure that you have.”

The owl calls again, a little farther away this time, and Sylvain stops talking to himself. He stares into the fire again, wondering how much closer he could reach without getting burned.

-

Dimitri mumbles nonsense in his sleep. Sylvain wakes up multiple times in the night and catches that familiar deep voice that’s raspy and strained now in an unfamiliar way. He thinks at some point he hears a snippet of Dimitri’s unconscious argument with the ghost of his father, and close to sunrise Sylvain catches Dimitri repeatedly saying ‘kill you, pay for your treachery’ and Sylvain assumes this to be about Edelgard. Though who knows, there are plenty of Faerghus noble houses who betrayed Dead King and Broken Country over the course of the war.

Felix seems to have slept just as poorly as Sylvain, his eyes bloodshot as he moves around their makeshift camp. The sun peeks out from between the tree tops, clouds still golden from the sunrise. 

“Would you like dried jerky or dried jerky?” Sylvain asks, reaching into his pack for their sad little breakfast. 

That, at least, makes Felix snort. It’s always been a rare thing - getting Felix to laugh. It’s been even rarer since his world fell apart for a second time. “I could see about hunting.”

“There’s no game in these woods. I noticed yesterday when we were looking for… well, for Dimitri, I guess.” Sylvain tosses Felix a bundle of unappealing jerky. It mostly smells like the inside of Sylvain’s bag now. Or maybe it’s just that his whole bag smells like jerky. Probably both. “I think the most you could hope for is a pigeon. And no offense, but you’ve never been the best shot.”

“True enough.” Felix sits down again, this time next to Sylvain. They eat in silence, a few birds singing in the morning calm.

It remains quiet through most of their wake-up routine. Felix combs his hair with his fingers and pulls it back. Sylvain changes his socks because it makes him feel slightly less like he hasn’t bathed in almost a week. He makes sure the horses are alright and sneaks a bit of dried fruit to Kala, and he then watches Felix go through a series of stretches. He never neglects his training. Even in the middle of nowhere. Sylvain doesn’t respect him for it, though. He just finds it ridiculous. 

Felix is somewhere near halfway through his routine when Dimitri lets out a hoarse moan.

Sylvain’s attention immediately snaps over to the pile of blankets, and he walks a few paces over to crouch next to Dimitri’s head. Felix is hovering over Sylvain’s shoulder mere seconds later.

“Your highness?” Sylvain tries. He puts his hand over Dimitri’s forehead. “Shit. I know my hands are cold, but I think he has a fever.”

Felix breathes out sharply. “None of his older injuries were cleaned when you found him yesterday. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has an infection.”

“Great,” Sylvain says. He brushes Dimitri’s sweaty hair out of his face, the fraying fabric of his eyepatch rough beneath his fingers. “Hey, Dimitri. Can you hear us?”

Dimitri’s eye opens, roving wildly for a few moments before landing on Sylvain, then traveling over his shoulder. “You as well, Felix?” Dimitri’s voice is a miserable rasp. Sylvain winces just hearing it. 

“Felix, would you grab my water pouch?”

Felix doesn’t answer, just stares over Sylvain’s shoulder.

Sylvain realizes that this is the first time Felix has actually seen Dimitri awake since they found him yesterday, and he decides not to repeat himself. He straightens up and shuffles over to his bag, snagging his half-empty water pouch and returning to his spot beside Dimitri. 

“She will pay,” Dimitri tells Felix, not seeming to register that Sylvain is back. “She’ll pay for your deaths. I’ll take her head. You have my word.”

“I hate to ruin your revenge monologue, your highness, but Felix and I are very much alive,” Sylvain says. He uncaps the water and lifts Dimitri’s head up slightly. 

Dimitri doesn’t resist, and dutifully drinks for a few moments. Sylvain can see the confusion on his face as his brow furrows. “You’re… alive?”

“Yeah.” Sylvain tries to arrange the bedroll so Dimitri’s head is slightly propped. “Though I was more surprised to find you alive.”

“Yes,” Dimitri says. His voice sounds less like gravel now, but it’s still so low. Distant. Deeper than it was when Sylvain saw him last. “Alive only so that I may avenge those who have been lost.”

Sylvain hears Felix breathe in sharply and isn’t at all surprised that the first words he says to Dimitri in years are, “of course you abandoned Faerghus for your own thirst for blood. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

Dimitri’s expression turns cold and empty in an instant. “I have no other role to play. I seek only vengeance for the dead.” 

“No obligation to the living, then?” Sylvain finds himself asking. He must be out of practice. He used to be so good at holding things back. 

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Dimitri says flatly. He shoves back the blankets Sylvain and Felix placed over him the night before, and sits up, bracing one hand beside him. “I must do this. If you join me or spurn me, that is your choice.”

“You really are nothing more than a beast,” Felix hisses. “You think only of your next kill.”

Dimitri pushes himself up, and gets to his knees before Sylvain’s brain starts working again and he tries to put a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Hey, come on. We can argue later for old time’s sake, but you need to rest right now.”

Dimitri shakes Sylvain off. Even in his feverish, extremely dehydrated and still injured state, it’s with a force that nearly makes Sylvain lose his balance. “The dead don’t rest. They will not be at peace until I have taken Edelgard’s head.”

Goddess, what happened to him? Dimitri was different after Duscur, but he was still himself. He apologized for the tiniest things and went out of his way to show kindness to everyone. He used to have the politest arguments with Ashe about not being treated any differently than the others in their house at Garreg Mach. Sylvain wonders if Ashe would recognize the Dimitri before him now.

“Your highness,” Sylvain starts again, “at least recover a little more.” 

But Dimitri is on his feet, and Sylvain follows suit. Dimitri sways, and he hunches over on himself. His cloak is still piled on the ground with the blankets, but he doesn’t seem to realize this, or doesn’t care, as he starts trying to walk away from their campsite. 

“Do you even know what direction you’re going?” Sylvain asks. 

Dimitri staggers on his next step and is lucky enough that there’s a tree he can lean on as he regains his balance. He seems to notice the horses for the first time. “Give me a mount.”

Sylvain highly doubts that Dimitri could even get on a horse right now, much less ride, but before he can find a more diplomatic way to word it, Felix stalks over to Dimitri and stands directly in front of him, arms crossed defiantly.

“Get out of my way, Felix,” Dimitri growls. Sylvain can see he’s struggling to remain standing. 

“I don’t take orders from you,” Felix snaps. “Not anymore.”

Felix has never taken orders from anyone except Professor Eisner, and that’s only because she kicked his ass on the sparring grounds three times in a row. Sylvain decides it’s probably not a good time to mention this. 

“Let’s take a day,” Sylvain says instead. “We can figure out what to do tonight, after his highness has had some more time to rest and - oh, okay.”

Dimitri’s legs give out, and he starts to fall. Whether Felix actually wanted to or just acted on reflex, he manages to catch Dimitri, grunting quietly under his weight.

“That works, too,” Sylvain says. 

Dimitri’s head rolls listlessly to Felix’s shoulder, and the incredibly fucked up mess of the last five minutes can now be put off a little longer. Great.

-

Felix is biting the inside of his thumb. It’s a bad habit from when he was anxious as a child that comes back now when things are particularly stressful. He doesn’t ever realize he’s doing it until it starts bleeding. 

Sylvain watches him as he watches Dimitri sleep.

“The infection might not kill him if we let it run its course.” Felix found the wound in question. It’s a long, jagged gash on the inside of Dimitri’s arm that is mostly healed, but inflamed and a very unpleasant color. 

“The closest town is probably a day out riding. But I think we’d need a skilled healer. Preferably someone with magic.” Sylvain rubs the bridge of his nose. “And as soon as he’s awake again, he’s going to be like that again,” Sylvain waves his hand in the direction of Dimitri’s unconscious form. “Which would be a small disaster if we’re in a local town, anyway.”

Felix grunts in agreement and continues to chew on his finger. “Do you think Mercedes is still at the church in Itha?” 

Sylvain thinks for a moment and then nods. “When we saw Annie in the spring, she mentioned visiting Mercedes there.”

“I’ll go.”

“I’m the faster rider, Fe. You know that.” The childhood nickname slips. Sylvain doesn’t know if it’s from the stress or the exhaustion or the absolutely shit morning they went through together, but he can tell both of their guards are down. 

Felix looks for a long moment at Sylvain. “You’ll be on the edge of occupied territory.”

“I know. I’ll be careful. But I can make it there in two days. If Mercedes is still a good rider, we’ll be back before the end of the week.” Sylvain glances at Dimitri. “And maybe… maybe Mercedes can help with more than the infection.”

Felix’s eyes darken. “He’s been like that for far longer than most people realize. It seems he no longer tries to hide it.”

Sylvain has several things he wants to ask. Like: if you hate him so much, why did you put us both through the last several months to find him? Like: if he’s been like this for years, then how was he still so gentle at the officer’s academy? Like: deep down, do you still love him like you did when we were children?

Instead, Sylvain starts to gather his few belongings. It’s not midday yet. He can probably make it to the nearest town by nightfall. “Promise not to kill him while I’m gone?”

Felix makes an annoyed sound. “Go.”

“Alright, alright.” Sylvain tries to pull levity over them again. “I know, the sooner I leave, the sooner you can start to miss me.”

Felix repeats the annoyed sound. At least he’s not biting his fingers now. “You’re an idiot.”

“Love you too, Felix.” Sylvain swings his pack on and starts toward Kala. He pauses only to look over his shoulder to say, “stay safe, okay?”

Felix nods shortly, and Sylvain doesn’t turn back again - not for Felix, and not for Dimitri. He’ll have plenty of time to come to accept this new particular version of their grim reality while he rides. The reality where Dimitri is alive, but is not the Dimitri Sylvain knows. The reality where Sylvain is leaving Felix and Dimitri behind in nearly contested territory, exposed to the elements and to any imperial scouts who push into Fraldarius land. 

The new grim reality where everything is still extremely fucked, but now in a slightly new and sort of improved way.

Small victories.