Novel introduction/ Content warnings:

This is a long-ass story, but it will have a happy ending despite how dark it is! It is told first-person through Felix and Sylvain's point of views. The current narrator of the scene/chapter will be denoted in a header at the top of it.

This story contains: depictions of violence and corpses, psychological trauma, psychosis, sex. There is a scene where it is implied that the bad guy has raped someone but the act is not shown. Still figured I should say that as it can be a serious trigger.

Despite all that, there are some fluffy wholesome scenes too! Enjoy!

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1 – Peace & Quiet

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Great Tree Moon, 1188

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Felix

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"You're not working," I mutter at the tea, staring down into my cup suspiciously. "I don't feel calm. Do your goddamn job or I will dump you down the drain."

What is the point of chamomile if I still feel like a bag stuffed full of cats? It's not like anyone drinks this shit for the flavor. It barely even has any!

Steeling my nerves, I toss back the whole thing like a shot of whiskey and gag.

What is this? Cup number four? Or am I on five already?

I get up to make more, but my hands are shaking so badly the cup slips from my grasp and shatters. The sound spooks my strained nerves and I jump, knocking into the table and sending the whole pot crashing onto the floor.

The kitchen door bursts open and a servant girl rushes in, only to stop abruptly and look at me like a startled deer. After a second I realize why when I notice that my sword is drawn, the steel gleaming in the hearthlight as it quivers unsteadily in my trembling hands.

"Lord Fraldarius?" she asks. "Is everything alright?"

I sheathe the sword and give her an awkward nod. "It's fine. Go away."

She all but flees the room the second I give her leave to go.

"Fucking lot of good you did," I swear at the shards of the teapot as I sweep them into a dustpan. "I'm going back to coffee."

Leaving the kitchen, I return to my chamber on the eastern side of the manor house. And as I walk in, I notice that the first hints of sunlight are beginning to shine through the gaps in the curtains.

It's morning already. Too late to rest now.

I could try to go back to bed and hope for an hour or two of sleep before starting the day, but the routine that has structured my life for years is nearly impossible to break at this point.

Dawn means that it is time to head to the training hall, sleep be damned.

I pull on fresh clothes, splash ice-cold water on my face and run my hands through my hair, trying to tie it back in its usual knot. But I can't get it to stay put and strands keep breaking free and falling across my eyes.

For one moment, I consider grabbing my hunting knife and just cutting it all off right here and now. But some modicum of sanity blessedly remains in my brain and I decide against it.

Whether or not I like it, I am the head of my house now. I have to look the part.

Taking a deep breath, I leave my room and jog over to the training hall. Some of the soldiers are already there, waiting to spar with me, but I send them away. After they leave, I check to make sure I am alone, then lock the door to the hall and walk over to the wooden dummy.

I can't have anyone seeing how clumsily my swordsmanship is when I am in a state like this, but I also know the only way I am going to sleep is if I exhaust myself to the point where my body is forced to rest with or without the permission of my mind.

At least that's the theory. It hasn't worked effectively or consistently these past few months.

I inhale and exhale slowly, focusing my energy and mind as best I can. Then I spring into action, dodging and blocking invisible strikes, forcing my feet to move in the patterns that are normally second-nature to me but now require concentration.

Once my blood is pumping, I turn my fury on the wooden dummy, practicing my attacks. Midway through the exercise, I feel my whole body lurch off balance and my sword rebound off the stone floor with a piercing ring.

I freeze and look down at my blade. What happened?

Did I… did I miss?

"You aren't even alive!" I yell at the dummy. "How could I have missed you?"

Its lifeless eyes look at me mockingly and I growl out a curse, glaring back.

"In your defense, it moves pretty fast for an inanimate object," a voice says behind me.

"Shut up, Sylvain!" I shout.

"Hey, no need to yell. I was just trying to break the awkward silence. Your staring match with that thing was getting intense and I wasn't sure who was gonna win."

"I said shut-"

I stop mid-sentence and whirl around to see Sylvain leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"You did get my letter last week, right? And the one before it? And the one before that? I've been planning this visit for months!"

"No, what are you doing here? Did the soldiers let you in?"

"I picked the lock."

My heart is pounding, not from the exertion of training, but from the panic of being caught. I can't believe I slipped up and allowed someone to see me in this state. And that of all people it was him.

"It's funny - an outside observer would probably think you weren't happy to see me. Good thing I know you better than that," he says, giving me one of his big, stupid Sylvain smiles.

When he starts walking over to me, I try to sheathe my sword but I fumble and the blade misses the sheathe, slicing across my leg instead.

"Whoa!" Sylvain says, running over and snatching the blade away. "You need both of those legs, buddy. Don't go cutting one off."

"It's fine!" I snap.

His smile fades to a look of concern. "What's going on?"

"Nothing is going on."

I grab the sword back and slip it into its sheath without injuring myself this time. Turning away from him, I start to walk to the door but he grabs my arm.

"Felix…"

"What?" I ask without looking at him.

"I've missed you," he says. "I've been looking forward to seeing you so much. Are you really going to walk off without even saying hello?"

"I'm bleeding."

"Well then let me fix that."

Sylvain kneels down and holds out his hand, light glowing in his palm.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Healing you. Hold still."

"You're shit at magic!"

"Well, I've been studying it more. I'm pretty good with healing spells now."

"When have you ever studied anything?"

"Turns out studying is more fun when you're not actually in school," he says. "Now hold still damn it!"

I give in and let him work on patching up the wound. As the magic takes effect and my skin begins to painfully fuse back together, I clench my jaw to keep from swearing.

"See? Good as new," he says, glancing up at me with a smile.

But my vision is spinning and I feel so light-headed I can barely stand.

I need to get out of here. Now! Before I collapse and he sees even more how pathetic I am. When I last saw him a year ago I was still unstoppable Felix. I can't let him see how much has changed. I absolutely can't. Not him. Anyone but him.

I stumble towards the door but trip over my own feet and fall, hitting the stone floor hard enough to make my head reel even more.

"What the-?" Sylvain rushes over and lifts me up. He keeps his hands on my shoulders and studies my face in confusion.

I blink hazily, trying to focus on his face.

"Fee? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Nothing."

"Let's go, uh, have some breakfast. Yeah, breakfast will help. Come on," he says.

I manage to stay on my feet long enough to make it back to the house, but Sylvain walks closely next to me the whole way, ready at any second to catch me if I fall again.

Goddamnit. God DAMN it! He is going to just hover around me until I explain, isn't he? Of course he is. I'm not going to have a moment's peace and quiet.

I try to focus on the anger in my thoughts because it is the only thing keeping my shame at bay. But I can't hold the pretense up for long before I have to admit to myself that I have wanted just that.

The crushing weight of peace and quiet has been driving me mad to the point where I have started filling it with my own voice, talking to myself, to inanimate objects around me. I'm pretty sure even Wolfie is sick of my talking at this point.

I glance over at Sylvain while he is distracted by greeting my butler Oliver and I feel a bit of hope stir within me as I watch his bright, friendly manner. Maybe it won't be so lonely around here now that I don't have to fill the silence. Even his annoying voice prattling on is a much-needed improvement over me cursing at everything constantly.

Sylvain asks Oliver to have some breakfast sent to us, then he grabs my arm and practically drags me up the stairs to my room. When we reach it, I realize that it isn't me he is excited to see so much as my cat.

"Wolfie!" he cries, scooping him up the second he sees him and cuddling him happily. "How are you doing, you big fluffy bastard?"

Wolfie thrashes his way out of Sylvain's arms furiously, but once he is free, he saunters back and rubs up against his ankles, purring.

"You want attention but only on your terms?" Sylvain says, kneeling down to pet him. "You take after your owner too much."

Leaving the two of them to catch up, I sit down on the edge of my bed and pull my hair free of its knot since most of it has already come loose anyways. As I struggle to retie it, Sylvain comes over and sits down beside me.

"You look like hell," he says.

"Thanks. So do you."

"Now that's just hurtful. Most people just lie politely and say that the scar makes me look dangerous and sexy, not ugly."

Scar?

I look over at him in alarm and realize that earlier with my vision so blurry I didn't notice the scar tracing down the left side of his face, from his forehead to jaw.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I was out stag hunting, and this bear appeared and-"

"What girl's father did you piss off?"

"It wasn't because of a girl!" he says indignantly.

"What boy's father did you piss off then?"

"I didn't piss off anyone! No one gets pissed off by me these days. I'm a respectable and lovable man. But you're right, the bear story I tell everyone is bullshit. The truth is that I caught the tip of a blade while fighting off some bandits trying to rob a merchant caravan. I prefer the 'I went toe-to-toe with a bear in a fistfight' story though. After surviving a war, it's a bit pathetic to admit a petty bandit got the drop on me."

Pathetic.

He gets up and walks over to the mirror by my closet, examining his face worriedly. "Damn it! All I have are my looks. If I-"

"It doesn't," I interrupt.

"Doesn't what?"

"Doesn't make you look ugly."

He smiles over his shoulder at me. "Good. I wouldn't want you to have to stare at my face all month if it was hideous."

"Month?"

"You did actually read my letters, right? I'm staying for a month. I mean, you wrote me back and agreed and everything. Was it just Oliver forging your handwriting?"

"No, I… I remember now. I just forgot for a minute."

Sylvain snatches up Wolfie, dumping him into my lap. "Something's wrong with him. Cheer him up," he orders the cat.

Wolfie curls up resentfully and on reflex I pet his scruffy gray fur while I stare down at the floor.

Sylvain sits next to me but after several minutes, he swears and says, "That's it."

He nudges Wolfie off me and grabs my shoulders, pulling me around to face him and looking intently into my eyes.

"Tell me what's wrong or I swear to hell, I will-" He stops and sighs, knowing that threatening me is pointless. "Please," he says in a gentler tone. "Tell me the truth. I've never seen you like this. It's scaring me. What happened?"

"Nothing has happened."

"Then what's wrong?"

"That's what's wrong: nothing has happened. It's driving me crazy, and I mean that literally. I've lost my mind."

Why am I telling him this? Goddamn Sylvain and that stupid face of his, and those stupid brown eyes that trick me into talking!

I tell myself to shut up, but more words slip out before I can stop them.

"I haven't slept in three days," I say. "Sometimes I've gone even longer than that. I can't get my mind to quiet. It's like it's tearing itself apart inside my head."

"When did this start?" he asks. "Has it been going on this whole year?"

"Year?" I say with a hoarse, slightly hysterical laugh. "It's been going on for as long as I can remember! It's just that when we were at the monastery and then during the war, there were so many people and so many things happening. They all drowned it out. But it's so damn quiet now. It's just me and all that noise in my brain. I'm going crazy. It's finally happening."

"What's so scary about going somewhere you've been to many times before?" he says with a slight smile.

"Fuck off."

"Sorry. Wrong moment for a joke," he says. "But listen to me. You're going to be fine. I'll make sure nothing is quiet. I'll pester you until you are filled with so much rage and annoyance it drowns out every thought in your head. I promise. You're going to be okay."

I should say something sarcastic but I just nod.

Sylvain tugs me a little closer and I realize in horror that he is going to hug me. I try to resist but I can't fend him off in time before he throws his arms around me. Exhausted as I am, I know there is no chance of escape.

I stiffen but I'm pretty sure that over the years Sylvain has become immune to this tactic at getting him to stop hugging me. He doesn't let go and eventually I stop fighting my unavoidable fate and relax.

I rest my face against his shoulder and mumble, "I've missed you."

"What did you say?" he asks.

"Nothing. Get off me."

He lets go and says, "First on our list of things to do today is take a nap. I think that's even higher priority than breakfast right now. After sleep and food, we can go for a ride on that trail I like by the river, then maybe spar for a bit, then have a few drinks, eat some supper, play some chess - although, I'll warn you: I've gotten pretty good at it. I bet I can give you a run for your money now. After that more drinks, then back to sleep. I will knock you out with a bat if I have to."

"Sylvain…"

"What? Does that all sound boring? Because I think it sounds fun. What would you rather do?"

"It sounds fine."

"Good. Get to work. Sleep."

Hoping that my body has hit the point of exhaustion where it simply breaks down enough it is forced to rest, I give in and take off my boots and coat.

Sylvain kicks off his boots too and starts unbuckling the straps on his light leather armor when I ask, "What are you doing?"

"Taking a nap. I'm tired."

"I'm sure Oliver got the guest rooms ready."

"I'm fine here," he says, stripping off the rest of his layers until he is only wearing a thin shirt, boxers and socks.

He climbs under the blankets, rolling onto his side facing away from me.

"Get out of my bed," I tell him.

"No."

"Why? There's a perfectly good one in the guest room."

"I'm not letting you sneak out the window and return to the training hall. You'll chop your leg off on accident. I'm not good enough at healing magic yet that I can reattach it and then I'll have to spend the rest of my life waiting around for you to limp after me on a wooden leg. It's bad enough with you being shorter than me. I don't want you to slow me down even more."

I pick up Wolfie and set him down on the bed next to Sylvain. "Scratch him," I say.

Wolfie stares up at me languidly and I point at Sylvain. "Go on. Attack!"

He curls up on the pillows next to Sylvain's head and closes his eyes.

"Useless animal," I mutter.

I take off my sweater and bloodstained pants and slip under the covers, curling up on the edge of the bed as far away from the two of them as possible.

"Goodnight," Sylvain says.

"It's morning."

"Just go to sleep, will you?"

"You say that like it's easy."

"It's a lot easier when you're not alone."

"Hmph. Well, you would know."

"Yeah I would," he says quietly. "I've been sleeping alone for a while now and I haven't gotten the hang of it yet."

His words surprise me but there is nothing I want less than to hear him talk about his love life - or the apparent lack of one as of late.

Closing my eyes, I wait for the noise and mania in my mind to rear its ugly head.