Chapter Text
"This... Okay, this is perfect," Ingrid decides, standing in front of a wide wooden building, "we can stay here for the night, maybe two if we need it."
Ashe's shoulders relax and he breathes a sigh of relief. Poor kid. "I don't know about you all, but I'm looking forward to a proper bed," he says in his ever optimistic tone.
Sylvain can't help but think, looking up and down the width of the building, that a proper bed might be a bit generous for what this place has to offer. Several boards are rotting off the exterior from neglect and the sign — well, what used to be the sign — is completely unreadable, sun bleached and peeling, hanging despondently above the door. If a light weren't shining through the windows and laughter couldn't be heard from inside he would assume this was a thieves' hideout, or possibly the entrance to hell.
This, apparently, doesn't bother anybody else.
"Whatever," Felix grumbles in ardent agreement with no survival instincts whatsoever. That's fine. This is fine.
His friends push through the front door one-by-one with Sylvain taking up the rear. He considers sleeping outside as his eyes adjust to the dim light and he's able to take in the slight sheen on the walls and the dead moths in the corners because if this is how they maintain their front-of-house he doesn't want to begin to imagine what he'll find under the beds or in the kitchens. He eyes Ingrid, the only one out of his travelling buddies with any standards, but she doesn't seem to notice and that might be deliberate. Smart. Perhaps if he can drink himself into a stupor he'll be able to not notice, too.
Ashe and Ingrid make their way to the bar to speak to a middle-aged woman who could absolutely kick Sylvain's ass while Sylvain and Felix hover by the door. Sylvain keeps a watchful eye on the two — giving the bartender one of his famous lady-killing smiles when she looks his way — and lightly jabs Felix with his elbow. Felix, who's arms are crossed and eyes are closed, grunts.
"Odds we'll be murdered in our sleep?" he asks just loudly enough to be heard.
"Ten for ten if you keep touching me," Felix growls. Sylvain smirks and throws an arm over his shoulder.
"I like those odds," he says, earning a glare from Felix he refers to as his what-the-fuck-you-absolute-freak glare.
Ashe and Ingrid return before Felix can make another threat on his life. He shakes Sylvain's arm off as they approach.
"Great news, they have enough beds," Ingrid says, "And they have a job for us. Apparently a beast has been making travel difficult a bit south of here, so we'll be taking care of that for a bit of gold."
Gold has been weighing heavy on them as of late; House Galatea doesn't have much gold to speak of, Felix doesn't want to ask Rodrigue for anything, and if anyone asks, House Gautier is much too far to travel to and from for a bit of coin. He can see Felix relax a smidge at the edge of his vision.
"Good," Felix says tersely. Sylvain counts to three before saying anything else.
"That's great!" he says. It's not entirely disingenuous. "I'm looking forward to it. Say, I wouldn't say no to a drink or two before bed. What do you think?"
Felix growls and Ingrid looks unsure but Ashe, sweet Ashe, nods fervently.
"Yes, let's sit and relax for awhile!" he gestures to a table nearby. It's grimy, doubling the number of drinks Sylvain will need to get through the night.
This, again, doesn't bother anybody else. Sylvain holds back a full-body cringe and sits down, careful not to touch the table. Ingrid and Ashe both lean on their elbows and Felix sets his whole ass hand down and Sylvain wonders if it'll leave any residue behind.
"I wonder if they serve food," Ingrid says.
"Typical," Felix says under his breath. Ingrid glares and Sylvain snorts.
"As if you're not hungry," she says, offended.
Ashe cuts Felix off before he can respond. "They must have food! I'll ask — and I'll order drinks while I'm there."
Ashe smiles in a bright and genuine way that Sylvain tries to commit to memory to improve his own, and shutting up any further argument from Felix, who grumbles and looks at his own hand.
"Great! I'll be right back," he says before walking to the bar.
"Ah, the perfect man," Sylvain sighs dreamily once Ashe is out of range.
Ingrid rolls her eyes. "You know, you could copy some of his habits. Like how he doesn't make unnecessary trouble, is kind to others..."
Sylvain holds a hand to his heart in mock shock. "Ingrid! I've been following Ashe's example this whole time! Why, just the other day I told Felix he was my hero."
"Shut the hell up," Felix says predictably.
"Let me tell you the story of Felix, the knight — "
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"He believed in friendship and love! Chivalrous to the core — "
"I'm going to hit you."
Ingrid tries desperately to hold her laughter behind her fist, ultimately failing when Sylvain mindlessly rests his elbow on the table and recoils back.
"You two would make excellent street performers," she says between giggles. Felix's arm twitches toward his sword.
"I'm ba — oh, my, what's happened?" Ashe says, saving Ingrid's life.
"Ingrid, here, was just telling us about her death wish," Sylvain explains.
"Oh my! Well I do hate to interrupt, but I put in an order for drinks and dinner. The, ah, the menu isn't very robust."
"You've given Ingrid a reason to live," Sylvain says at the same time Ingrid says "Thank you."
She glares. He grins.
"Stop flirting right in front of me," Felix says, completely deadpan, pulling a groan from Ingrid and widening Sylvain's grin.
"How can I flirt with you if I can't do it in front of you?" Sylvain pouts. Felix scowls. Ingrid smirks. Ashe looks like he believes there's good left in the world. The bartender sets drinks in front of them.
And, oh boy, that gets the night started.
There's many things Sylvain is thankful for. One of those things being his friends' low alcohol tolerances.
The first two years after Garreg Mach fell were too chaotic for leisure, with the western territories falling to the empire immediately, opening the eastern territories to attack. Ashe had fled to Galatea with his siblings mere months into the war and helped Ingrid defend her territory. They were the first to hear rumors of a beast slaughtering imperial troops.
They say the bodies left behind are destroyed, brutally killed and torn apart, Ingrid had written, Merchants haven't seen anything and I don't have the troops to spare to investigate.
Not long after rumors reached Fraldarius and spread north into Gautier. Gilbert travelled to each of their houses himself to share his suspicions. It was incredible, two years after Dimitri's execution and he may be alive.
That was it, really. The four of them ensured their houses could manage without them and set off, following rumors from village to town to village. The attacks were scattered, though, and completely unpredictable. Sylvain puzzled over the movement for months before he finally conceded there was no path, no plan; if this thing really was Dimitri, then Dimitri had gone mad.
Despite all this shit, all the stress and the pain and the disappointment, Sylvain was still the only one to drink regularly, and the only one to regularly drink a lot.
"Hey, Ingrid, you okay?" Sylvain asks over his nearly finished plate. She groans.
"I ate too much," she says. She's leaning back in her chair, eyes partway closed, bright pink and grimacing. "I need... I need to digest."
Sylvain nods knowingly and checks on the next one in line. "Ashe, you look like you're having a good time."
Ashe, also pink, giggles even louder than he had been before. "I'm glad we — we get to relax like this," he says, stumbling over his words in his fit.
Sylvain nods knowingly and turns to the last person in the group, getting a mouthful of hair in the process. "Hey, Felix, are you asleep?"
Felix grunts and doesn't move from Sylvain's shoulder.
"If you're gonna fall asleep I'm gonna bring you to bed," Sylvain warns.
Felix groans and slowly, reluctantly sits up. He blinks around blearily. "I'm up."
Sylvain nods knowingly and doesn't take his eyes off Felix.
"Stop fucking looking at me."
"Oookay."
His eyes wander around the inn, taking note of the drunks passed out and the mercenaries buying rounds. It's not crowded by any means, but given the dilapidated state of the building he's surprised there's more than two people at all. The bartender is leaning over to speak to a blushing woman in leather armor. His eye catches on some movement to the left and he watches as a door behind the bar swings open to reveal —
"Oh! Hello!"
Sylvain's eyes follow the graceful movement of a short woman with blonde curls. She must be heading out for the night. She seems to be in a good mood.
She glances his way. He winks. She smiles and he feels a familiar thrill.
Women are just... they're ethereal. And they're fun. Ingrid would say his tactical mind is wasted on mind games, and she might be right, but he loves the build up and the subsequent crash. The women love it, too, when they don't misunderstand the nature of the game. It's a thrill he chases, shamelessly and enthusiastically.
"I'll be back later," he says to a protesting Ingrid. He pushes himself up from the table and makes his way to the bar, mere steps away from Miss Blonde Curls.
"Oh, I swear," hisses Ingrid, "I am not cleaning up this mess. The cook? Really?"
Felix scowls over his drink.
"At least it's not the bartender," Ashe snickers. Felix wishes Sylvain had gone for the bartender, if only to see him punched square in the jaw. Ingrid doesn't share this sentiment.
"Ugh, could you imagine?" she groans.
"I can imagine Sylvain missing a few teeth," Felix says.
Over at the bar Felix can see Sylvain nodding along to whatever the cook is saying, leaning towards her, smiling. It makes his stomach turn. It was annoying when they were children and Sylvain was practicing pickup lines on Ingrid's grandmother and it's disgusting now. The world's ending around them and Sylvain's still trying to crawl up every skirt that passes.
"Damn, you should lecture him next time," Ingrid says and Felix realizes he said that out loud.
"I don't have that kind of time," he says before he drinks the rest of his drink. It's, frankly, gross. Such is war.
"No, no, I'm happy to take a day off for this," Ingrid says, grinning.
"Absolutely not — ugh, seriously?" Felix stares, dumbfounded, watching as Sylvain follows the cook back through the door she came from. Ashe bursts into open laughter.
"Wow!" is all he says.
"Wow, indeed," Ingrid mutters.
"Wow," Felix breathes. Wow, Felix feels, and not in a good way. "This fucking moron. What the hell?"
"Are you seriously surprised?" Ingrid asks.
"No, I'm pissed," Felix says, "I'm fucking. Fuck this."
"Felix — "
Felix does not Felix. Felix stands sharply, sees black for a moment until his blood returns to his brain, and then he realizes how drunk he is and gets more pissed. Fuck.
"I'm taking a walk," he says. Ingrid reaches out a hand but he's much too fast. He's Felix fuckin' Fraldarius and he's fast and he's taking a fuckin' walk. The room moves around him and the walk to the door is long. His feet can't hit the ground and the floor feels like he's at sea but he makes it, goes outside, and looks around.
It's cold. It feels good on his warm skin. He breathes out and a cloud of air dissipates toward the sky, swirling around with the snow that's started falling, landing on his face and his shoulders. He lifts his arm and looks at a snowflake on his sleeve. It's a snowflake. He looks around and sure enough the building is still on a road to nowhere. He's getting antsy looking at nothing. He checks his hip. He has his sword, good. He'll train. He'll train until he's ready to sleep, and then he'll sleep and he won't think about Sylvain's aggravating habits and he won't think about why he thinks about Sylvain so much.
He steps off the road. His boot crunches into a fine layer of snow and ice and shit this is nostalgic. Memories of marching with the Blue Lions and their professor come flooding back to him for the first time in years. He thinks of the training, the dining hall, the training, the sauna, the training...
Perfect. This spot should be perfect.
He assumes training stance and begins his warmups. He can tell he's sloppy but he can't seem to get his feet in the right spot and his hands don't quite go where he wants. He grumbles to himself about doing better and tries again.
When he hears his name being called he scowls and moves to a clear spot deeper in the forest. Why can't anyone leave him the fuck alone?
"Sylvain!"
Sylvain rolls his eyes, ignoring Ingrid's yelling and giving all his attention to Miss Blonde Curls who has been so kind as to give all her attention to him.
"Sylvain! Now!"
"Don't pay her any mind," he whispers into Miss Blonde Curls' ear. Miss Blonde Curls whimpers and grinds harder against his hand.
"I swear, Sylvain, I know you're back there!" her voice echoes around the cookware and off the floor, "Felix just ran off into the damn woods and I can't find him!"
"Huh?" Sylvain pauses. Miss Blonde Curls squeezes his arm and he doesn't pay any attention.
"You need to go get him!"
"Shit," he hisses. Perhaps his friends' low alcohol tolerance wasn't so funny. "Okay, yeah, hold on."
He mouths sorry! at Miss Blonde Curls but offers her no other consolation. She looks pissed but that's not important. He's sure to wipe his hand on his pants and straighten his hair before facing Ingrid and, by the time he's back in the main room in front of her, he looks positively presentable.
"About time," she says, rolling her eyes. Sylvain shrugs. "He walked off maybe five minutes ago, but I'm too drunk to walk around the woods at night looking for him. You know how he is."
Sylvain nods. He does, indeed, know how Felix is.
And now he knows a way to sleep somewhere that's not here without being a dick about it.
"I'd better bring a tent and supplies," he says, making a show of reluctance, "If he's deep in there or passed out I need to have a plan, you know?"
Ingrid nods. "That's... actually a good idea, Sylvain."
"I'm full of those."
She stares at him in a silent dare for him to continue. He does not.
"Well?!"
"Right!" Sylvain leaps into action, reaching around Ashe to pack a basic overnight bag; tent, bedrolls, furs, rations, lantern, canteens, change of underwear —
"How are you going to carry all that?" Ashe asks him, amazed.
"Don't you worry about me," Sylvain winks, "I got it taken care of."
Ashe smiles. What a guy.
"Do you really need all that?" Ingrid asks.
"Nope!" Sylvain grins at his two friends, "but maybe I want it!"
Ingrid closes her eyes. Ashe leans his head on the sticky table. Sylvain decides to leave before he openly grimaces.
"I'll be back by tomorrow!" he calls over his shoulder.