Sylvain was a liar.
He had grown so used to his mask of cheerful carelessness, he sometimes couldn't tell which of his feelings was true. Words of adulation rang before he could feel them on his mouth. Twisting reality was as simple as breathing, so long as it served him.
Spotting a fellow liar was no trouble.
The monastery at Garreg Mach was reclaiming its life from the fallen Empire's clutches. This year, the Horsebow Moon not only graced the harvest festivals scattered across the land, but the endless victory celebration brought to life by all in Fódlan. As if the stars had descended from the heavens, millions of lights adorned villages and cities alike, for the people danced and sang way after the sky grew dark. Children cried of happiness as they reunited with their families, war-hardened soldiers could rest and, for the first time in years, the promise of a better future brought a smile to everyone's faces.
But Ingrid's didn't reach her eyes.
Although his childhood friend had joined in the festivities with the rest of the Blue Lions, Sylvain knew something was wrong. She spent too much time in the greenhouse looking at—not tending to—the flowers. She sat on the edge of the fishing pond, contemplating some spot in the distance. When she exercised, her blows were so ferocious and clumsy that he feared for the training dummy.
During their childhood, Sylvain's usual strategy to deal with Ingrid's unspoken annoyance was to shut up and back off. After a couple of days, she came back to normal. As he grew older and became more familiar with the concept of empathy, he started to ask her what troubled her…which only seemed to upset her more as she growled that she was fine. Now, Sylvain had finally found a middle ground. He needed to reassure Ingrid, maybe through a knight's tale for her collection or a meaty meal, and let her decide whether she wanted to talk about it or not.
Hearing her voice through his door that afternoon served as his answer.
"Come in," Sylvain said as he sat up on his bed.
A slouching, sweat-covered Ingrid entered. With a heavy sigh, she closed the door behind her using her full body weight. She had just finished demolishing another dummy, he guessed.
"Hey," she mumbled.
"Yeesh, you look terrible." He threw her a small towel that she easily caught.
She shot him a glare. "Why, thanks. You know, I'm starting to reconsider my choice to come here."
"Wow, so soon? At least satisfy my curiosity a bit." He patted the spot next to him on the bed. "Come on, out with it."
Her frown softened as she let out another sigh and complied. "Am I that obvious?" She asked, her eyes still refusing to meet his, instead fixed on the floor.
"I'd like to think that I'm just that perceptive, but…yeah, you're not fooling anyone. Never been really great at that."
She gave a weak grin and pushed him gently. "At least I'm not allergic to sincerity."
He had made her smile. That small victory pushed him to continue. "Hey, we're not talking about me now, are we?" He sat closer and put a hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at him. "Something's been bothering you for way too long. You know you can tell me anything, Ing. Didn't you say we'd always be friends?"
Ingrid was quiet. When her gaze fell to the ground once again, Sylvain waited. She wouldn't have so much trouble speaking if it wasn't a big deal. That thought made his heart beat faster and the worry build up, threatening to combust.
He was about to break the silence when she took a breath. "I wanted to tell you that I... I have one last duty to attend to, Sylvain. For my family's sake."
He said nothing, a silent plea for her to continue.
"I wrote to my father about a week ago, and just received a response." Ingrid paused. "I...will depart for Galatea at daybreak to meet my fiancé. The wedding is scheduled for the next moon."
Sylvain stared at her. A hundred thoughts stormed through his mind, yet the only word that came out of his mouth was an almost inaudible "What?"
"We both knew this would happen, and yet..." She studied his expression and huffed out a mirthless laugh. "You're just as disappointed as I am."
He stood up. "But... But the war is over, Ingrid. Faerghus will get right back up on its feet, and your House—"
"And my House will still be in shambles. Our situation was precarious before the fighting broke out. Now, we are completely devastated."
Sylvain was speechless. He recalled the day of the Millennium Festival, when Felix and him encountered her on their way to the monastery. Her uneven locks of hair now hung above her shoulders and red tainted the tip of the silver lance in her grip. With Galatea on the brink of collapse, the Count had urged her to marry as soon as possible. Sylvain was glad she had run away, but guilt gnawed at Ingrid day after day. She never cried, but some nights she revived her habit of locking herself in her room or sat on the cathedral's pews to write letters she would never send.
Ingrid wrapped her arms around herself. "I was a fool to let our victory blind me from the problems we still face. Wounds don't heal overnight, and I should have that clear by now." She looked him in the eye. "Sylvain, when I left Galatea, I just made everything worse for them. For us. I can't... I can't neglect my responsibility any longer."
A million other options swarmed him, begging for his permission to manifest on his tongue. Sylvain wanted nothing more than for her to escape from this burden. Perhaps it was selfish, but the idea of his dear friend giving her life to someone who would only use her left a foul taste on his mouth. She didn't deserve that.
But Ingrid cared for her duty, unlike him, and wouldn't be happy if she were to abandon her family to serve King Dimitri. She had the heart of a knight, which beat only for the happiness of those around.
How he loathed that.
"...You'll really be giving your dream up..." was the only thing he managed to say.
Although her smile carried a deep sadness, at least it was genuine. "Sylvain. You're always so ridiculous. Don't you realize I got to become a knight, if only for a time? This last half-year... Truly, it has been the greatest honor fighting alongside His Highness, and alongside you. I can't put into words how much it means to me."
He sat beside her, defeated. "You deserve so much more than just half a year."
"I guess, but I'll take what I can get."
Sylvain opened his arms and Ingrid crashed into the hug before he could think. He cradled the back of her neck against his shoulder. When her cold tears wet his clothes and hair, he tightened their hold, as if she would disappear the moment she let go. Words evaded him once again, so he hoped to muster all the gratitude and care he could and kissed her cheek.
After all they had been through, it was unbearable to say goodbye.
Through muffled sobs, Ingrid whispered, "Thank you, my dear friend."