"You're not demanding what I expected," Sylvain admitted, signing his name with a flourish.

They'd gone into the den of the enemy at the behest of their would-be ally—and with his signature it was in writing. Seated in a tucked-away room in Arianrhod, they ended the war. Not with the sword, but with the pen.

Augustus sat on one side of the table, alone save for Gwendal. The old knight stood, ever present at his lord's side. It bore stark contrast to the guards Sylvain had at his end. Felix's insistence, for his husband would not hear of Sylvain going unguarded into enemy territory.

"What I want for this nation can wait for the years to come," Augustus said with a light smile. "Do not think I've given up on my views, your highness. Peace is simply more important."

Your highness. Well, he was king now. An odd feeling.

"I'm glad you agree," Sylvain said. "I'm sure we'll be able to agree on a means to make this country into what it should be."

As the Kleimans and Charons were wiped off the map, their lands and duties would go to Crestless families. A slow step in the path of toppling the system. Neither Sylvain nor Felix would have heirs, and the throne would go to someone without a Crest. There were other terms and agreements met after hours of debating, but those two were Augustus' biggest wins.

Sylvain felt like he'd given nothing up. The Kleimans and Charons would need to be replaced anyway. He and Felix wouldn't have heirs anyway. Neither was a terribly big concession in his eyes. Though perhaps that was Augustus' intention, to get his foot in the door for a future plan.

Augustus nodded. "Of that, I agree. You're more reasonable than I hoped, your highness. We've done something important here today."

"I'd like to make a request of you," Sylvain said.

"Oh?" the man said, cocking his head to the side and letting the braid fall down his shoulder.

"May I address the Rowe soldiers?" Sylvain asked. "This is peace, yes, but I'd like to speak with them. As their king, to try and smooth any hostilities out of the way before they arise."

"Smart. I acquiesce," Augustus said. "I'll arrange something for tomorrow."

"Thank you. Let's adjourn, I'm sure we're each going to be terribly busy in the coming days," Sylvain said, his exhaustion for once vanishing. Oh, he had plenty in store for himself, but making peace was better than war.

He'd revel in it.

He found Ashe waiting for his return outside of the city. The man gave him a questioning glance, one Sylvain knew the nature of.

"It's done," he said, embracing his friend. "We did it."

The palpable relief in Ashe could be felt in their hug, the way five years of tension breathed from his body. Sylvain remembered just how young his friend was, in that moment.

"We're going to have a lot to do," Ashe chuckled into the taller man's shoulder.

"Tell me about it," Sylvain said with a laugh of his own.

"Oh, wait, you're a king now, aren't you?" Ashe gasped, pulling back. "I should kneel—"

"No." His voice was a command, though he said it with a smile. "I'll not have someone who has been with me every step of the way kneel to me. Not that I'm particularly excited about all the formalities, but I'll be selfish here."

Ashe grinned. "Such a selfish man, Sylvain. Putting your life on the line, risking everything for your country and people. So selfish to not have your friend bend the knee."

"Shut up," Sylvain said, playfully pushing Ashe. "That's your king you're teasing."

"He better get used to it," Ashe laughed. Goddess, the bliss on his face…he looked five years younger.

But they'd done it. They'd really done it.

"Let's make things better," Sylvain said, voice softer. "We can decide so much for the future…let's not waste it."

Ashe clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, nodding. Nothing needed to be said. They understood each other.

A makeshift stage was being constructed by the gates of Arianrhod. In an hour or two, the place would be flooded by Rowe soldiers listening to Sylvain speak.

In large, the news of peace was welcome. It was clear there was confusion amongst both armies, as both were ready to do battle with Arianrhod as the stage. But after years of war, no one was going to turn it away. Hopefully Sylvain's speech would alleviate all concerns.

Felix didn't particularly care any of that in the moment. His eyes were glued to Augustus, waiting to see if he'd prove malicious. Let Sylvain and Ashe worry about everything else. Felix didn't know how to make nice between people. He did know how to keep an eye on someone.

Not that he was subtle about it. Gwendal had caught on quickly, never letting him out of his sight as Augustus spoke to people around Arianrhod.

Good, Felix thought. Let them know. Let them know they were watched and better not put a toe out of line.

At least, he thought it good until Augustus started walking to him. Felix growled, but stood his ground as the man approached.

"You don't like me, do you?" Augustus asked, curious.

"I don't trust you," Felix said. "There's a difference."

Augustus nodded and looked to Gwendal. "Leave us, please. I'd speak to Lord Fraldarius alone."

Gwendal looked incredulous at the order, but obeyed. He walked a few dozen paces away, keeping them in clear sight. A threat against Felix, surely.

Ha, Felix thought, as if an old man could stop him from killing someone. He, of course, had no intention to, but the thought was amusing. "What do you want, Augustus?"

The Count sighed. "Well, we're allies. I'd assuage this mistrust, if I can."

Felix folded his arms. "You killed your father."

"Ah," Augustus murmured. "I see. Well, I can't fault you for that. I'm sure that must be a rather sensitive subject, with your father passing. My condolences."

At least he clearly had no idea the true nature of Felix's emotions. "I'm not here to talk about my father. I want to know why I should trust you when you killed someone close to you."

Augustus burst out laughing, causing Felix to reel back. When he noticed, he apologized, "Pardon, Felix, but I suppose to an outsider it would seem like that was the case. I'd tell you a story, if you don't mind."

Felix folded his arms, but didn't decline.

"I mentioned that Yuri was adopted for their Crest, yes? What I didn't mention was that my father wished me to wed Yuri and birth Crested children for him," Augustus said.

"Wed your own sibling?" Felix said, wrinkling his nose.

"Quite," Augustus said. "In his eyes, we'd solidify the House Rowe. But neither I nor Yuri wanted that. That's the reason Yuri ended up leaving, in fact. Hell, I helped him escape."

"And that caused a rift between you and your father?" Felix asked.

"Yes, but he also wanted a normal son, of which I am not," chuckled Augustus. "I'm rather like Yuri, in that regard. I'm Lord Augustus Rowe now, but sometimes I'm Lady August Rowe. That did not overjoy my father."

Fate was a cruel mistress to make Felix find companionship in someone he was trying to hate. The late Lord Rowe sounded like Rodrigue.

"I see," Felix said, not knowing what else to say. "And that led to murder?"

"In a sense. We disagreed on much and were never close. Killing him was…difficult." Augustus' voice hitched, but he pressed on. "But he'd have doomed many lives. I made the decision to pursue the path with the least casualties."

"Then you made the right decision," Felix said, swallowing his own feelings.

"I suppose," Augustus said, shrugging. "Right or not, that doesn't exactly make it feel any better. A sin for the greater good is still a sin."

The pulsing feeling in his chest, the one he'd tried so hard to ignore, threatened to break free. Guilt. Guilt for killing his father.

"Have you…figured out how to get past it?" Felix asked obtusely.

Augustus glanced at him, surprised at the question. "He was my father. I suspect I will never get over it."

"I see."

"But," Augustus said, watching Felix carefully, "I don't regret it. That, I know, will not change. Painful as it was, I made the right choice."

"You hide it well," Felix said, the words spilling from his lips before he could stop them.

"It's not like Yuri is here to talk about it with," Augustus said lightly. "I'm not blessed with the closeness you have with your friends. Were I, I'd have talked to them."

It was pointed advice, targeted. No doubt the man had intuited something behind Felix's words, though unlikely the true nature.

"Good advice," he said, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"I ought to follow it," Augustus murmured. "That is neither here nor there. I understand if you don't trust me for my past actions, Felix. But know that I will not jeopardize my dream."

"I believe you," Felix said. Goddess, admitting wrongdoing? Ashe was right, he had changed. "Thanks for talking with me."

Augustus smiled, nodding. "Now, you'd best stop following me or Gwendal will have your head. He can handle only so much suspicion."

Felix chuckled, taking the mirth as the forced end to the conversation. "He's a good guard dog."

"That he is. Now if you'll excuse me, I've Sylvain's speech to prepare for."

As Felix talked to Count Rowe, Ashe and Ingrid walked the hastily constructed wooden stage.

"I'll be at the base," she said, gesturing to the front of the stage. "You at the back."

Ashe nodded. "You expect trouble?"

Ingrid shrugged. "This all seems too easy. If Rowe's going to spring a trap, it'll be this moment."

She wasn't wrong. They'd all be exposed, perfect for execution. But Ashe didn't think Augustus was like that. Given everything he'd heard, it didn't seem like that would correspond with the man's motives.

Still, it would be quite the plot twist to lure them all into a trap like this.

"Felix said he'd be at Sylvain's side," Ashe said, not disagreeing with Ingrid's assessment. "There'll be a score of others on guard."

"Set your archers up along the walls," Ingrid ordered, pointing. "Equidistant from each other, full coverage of the courtyard. In pairs, if you've the numbers."

Ashe glanced at her with a half-smile. "I'm surprised you're putting in this effort."

She shot him an unamused look. "He's my friend, Ashe. Our disagreements don't change that."

That half-smile blossomed into full bloom. That was the Ingrid he'd always looked up to. "I'll station my archers up there. If we're looking for extra measures, there're some spots you could have pegasus riders hide between the towers." He pointed at Arianrhod Castle. "Backup forces, more or less. I doubt you'd be able to close that distance that quickly."

"My soldiers could," she said, indignant, but nodding along with the suggestion. "Good eye. We'll have this whole area covered."

"We've an hour or two," Ashe said, looking at the sun peeking through clouds. "Hopefully those clouds aren't a storm."

Ingrid mirrored his glance and bit her lip.

They weren't so lucky.

As Sylvain climbed onto the simple wooden stage, a light snow began. It wasn't uncommon in the summer, though the warmth wouldn't keep the snow on the ground for long.

He knew it was an issue for visibility for his guard detail (his royal guard detail, he mused) but admittedly, this was the kind of weather he loved. Scant flakes falling, not a nuisance, just a delight to behold. Romantic, he'd normally say.

Though he stood by his husband, the crowd in front of him wasn't exactly the material for romance.

Augustus had done well, he'd gotten quite a turn out for the speech. Soldiers of Rowe packed the area, along with some of Sylvain's army. Hell, there were even civilians sprinkled in. All of them stared at him, asking the silent question of, 'Is this really our king? This boy? This child?'

It was his job to answer it.

He'd ideas for what to say, some Ashe had helped him with. But as he stared at the group, they felt inadequate. Would a rehearsed speech impress the skeptical woman in the front row, still wearing her leather armor? The old man in the middle of the crowd, shawl wrapped over his head for warmth? The child next to his father, looking up at apparent royalty with wide eyes.

Rehearsed words felt trite in the moment.

"When I went to Garreg Mach," he found himself saying, "everyone called the Kingdom of Faerghus the land of knights. A nation of chivalry, of honor, of tradition." Sylvain could see Ashe give him a wary look on the right side of the stage. He continued, "We were considered paragons, the chosen knights of the Goddess in her Holy Kingdom. But…I never thought any of us fit that."

There were murmurs in the crowd. Whatever they'd expected, it hadn't been this.

"My brother," Sylvain said, "was the furthest from honorable as could be. My father, far from chivalrous. My brother tried to kill me, five years ago. My father clapped me on the back when I killed Miklan."

Some gasps rolled through the crowd, but most looked on. The soldier watched him, unimpressed. The old man listened keenly. The child, confused.

"I always knew this nation wasn't what it prided itself to be, but I am ashamed it took me so long to no longer ignore it. The tradition we hold so dear, how can we prize it so much when it pits brother against brother, father against son?

"That's not the country I call home." Sylvain looked across the crowd. "I do not want to rebuild our nation into that. I want to create a place that values its fellow person, not obey an antiquated system of worth—"

"Cry me a fuckin' river!" yelled the soldier, shaking her head. That drew gasps, people taking an instinctive step away of the commoner who spoke up against their new king. "You had a bad childhood. So what? The fuck should I care about that?"

Sylvain froze.

The woman continued. "You're a noble. You lived a posh life in a castle. I can't put food on the table for my wife. The hell does your brother have to do with me? How the hell are you better than what we've had?"

Other voices joined hers, yelling similar sentiments. Expressions darkened with anger that rose, though interestingly enough the soldier's didn't. She looked hopeful, like her fears could be assuaged. Goddess, she wanted to have something to cling to. She wanted to be proved wrong, desperately.

Sylvain could hear Felix mutter, not two steps away from him. "Just tell them what you feel."

He swallowed and raised a fist to the air, "Because I am not a Blaiddyd!"

The crowd hushed, all eyes back on him at the outburst.

"Because I am not part of that centuries old dynasty we've had," Sylvain yelled. "Because I have suffered. Because I've fought for this nation. Because I want to be better!" He took a shaky breath. "Because I dream of a country that's better. One that doesn't follow bloodlines for power." Goddess damn you, Augustus, was this your plan?

"One that doesn't stay beholden to Crests and tradition!" Sylvain shouted. "Five years of war, a decade of instability before, for what? For a line of succession, for Crests, for bloodlines. All at the people's expense. I say it's enough. To hell with what we've done before, because it didn't work!"

The soldier had a flash of hope in her eyes. The old man stared at him. The child's face fixated with wonder, not understanding his words.

"I might be king, but I don't intend to create another monopolistic ruling family. I've a husband, and will bear no children. The people deserve a voice in choosing their leaders, ones that have their best interests at heart. Because you're right!" he called out to the soldier who'd spoken up. "I don't know what you've been through. I am woefully unprepared to speak for your wants, as has every lord raised with a silver spoon in the past centuries."

"I do not intend to hold power for long," Sylvain said, his eyes finding Augustus off the right of the crowd. The Count smiled, both parts victory and respect. The king suppressed a smirk at how all he'd needed all along was someone to feel like he did. Someone to say what he'd secretly felt.

Angry at the system, at the world. No more. He'd fix things. They'd fix this country.

"When I yield it, it'll be to a leader the people choose. I will not make the mistake my predecessors did, by letting their wants and desires dictate a nation. A government serves the people, and that is what I intend to do.

"Give me your trust," he said, his heart laid bare, "and I will give you the country you deserve, and the chance to make it better."

Silence reigned; its court full of bated breath. None moved, far too interested in what their fellows did.

The soldier drew her blade and drove it into the ground. "King Gautier!" she yelled, kneeling.

Augustus drew his blade, and with a grin, echoed the chant. "King Gautier!" He knelt, facing Sylvain.

The cheer caught on, and more and more yelled. "King Gautier!" It was not King Blaiddyd like the nation had been saying for centuries. No, it was wholly different. New blood for a new age. "King Gautier!"

What had begun as a few became a tsunami. Be it by patriotism, desire for change, or following their fellows' lead, all fell to the ground kneeling before their king.

"King Gautier!"

All, that is, except for one.

"King Gautier!"

An old man, with an equally old shawl wrapped over his head, did not. He still stared at Sylvain, leaning on what seemed to be a walking stick. A tall walking stick.

"King Gautier!"

Felix was moving, noticing something Sylvain had yet to. He threw a hand in front of Sylvain, drawing his steel.

"King Gautier!"

The man threw the shawl off, exposing a familiar face and eyes of rage. Standing in the center of a kneeling crowd, the sole person to not bend the knee, stood their old friend.

Dimitri.

Author Notes: Augustus is genderfluid, changing between male and female (Augustus and August respectively). I've never written a genderfluid character before, so if I went about anything the wrong way, please let me know.

Editing Notes:
2/18/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments.