Sylvain had almost forgotten what a warm breeze felt like.

Living in Gautier territory meant suffering through an eternal winter. Although the noble heir preferred icy temperatures, he had never grown completely used to the kind of cold that permeates the skin and numbs the body. During his trips to the south of Faerghus, he fell in love with the weathers that weren't set on destroying his morale and instead welcomed him to the sunlit spring unknown to his home.

Urging his trotting horse to a more relaxed walk as he descended into the valley, Sylvain wiped the sweat from his brow. His travels through the bountiful Tailtean Plains and the western lands in Charon had brought him to the Barony of Reiner. The mountainous region was small and undistinguished. For that, it looked as if unaware of the bloodstained conflict that had plagued the continent mere months ago. A malicious envy clung to his chest before he smashed it down.

His hands rose to protect his ears from the piercing shrieks that rang through the air, and his heart almost burst out when he lifted his head to see a pair of wyverns circling around the mountains. The goddess had been merciful this time, however, since they bore green scales. He caught his breath. Tamed wyverns. Records back at Gautier noted that the governing family bred and provided mounts for the meager anti-Dukedom forces during the war, gesture that not only gained them the favor of the King, but piles of money.

The Galateas had better received a generous dowry, he thought.

He gave into the compulsion he had developed during his journey and reached into his satchel, counting the letters with his fingers until the knowledge that all eleven were still intact put him at ease. Sylvain blew scant hair off his forehead, feeling ridiculous. It was amazing how he could be another burden for Ingrid without even being beside her. When they were younger, he didn't care for her insistence on worrying over every unlucky soul who crossed her path, and learned to turn her sermons into meaningless noise in his mind. Now, his heart stung just thinking about how much pain he had caused her. Could he even explain his sudden disappearance?

Sylvain huffed. It had taken him until Ingrid was wedded to realize what a massive fool he was. When her first letter arrived at the Margravate, he flew to his writing desk with a quill in hand as per routine. There was so much he wanted to talk to her about. His exhausting new position, the fierce clans of Sreng and how much he missed her were few in the ocean of topics, so he began planning a list in his head to include a bit of everything.

Then, he read her message.

There was nothing unexpected in it. She only informed him of her wedding to Lord Philip Elias Reiner, like she had done back at Garreg Mach. Yet he could have sworn he was hearing the news for the first time.

Seiros, she really did it. She really got married.

After some time, the epidemic of proposals that Ingrid had to endure after Glenn's death lost meaning. Sylvain might have even felt a pang of jealousy once upon a time, but those unnamed, faceless suitors couldn't hold her attention if they tried. With more tangible problems at hand, he became quick to dismiss them. This. This was real.

Ink dripped from his plume, staining the parchment. The downpour of ideas that had once overwhelmed him turned into a desolate wasteland. He tried to salvage anything from the wreckage, but his duties soon demanded his attention. Hours later, he forced his heavy eyelids open to drag his feet to his chambers, but sleep abandoned him to be haunted by a new realization.

He couldn't help but laugh. Ingrid had once told him to consider his actions before following through with them, lest they come around to bite him. He wished he had followed the advice to the letter.

Although what he regretted most were the deeds he never carried out.

And so he postponed replying to her for as long as he could. That way, the pain in his chest dwindled and he could focus on handling his domain. Envelopes sealed with the Crest of Daphnel arrived at his doorstep every month. Each time, he forced himself to write replies, and not one saw success. His father, though stunned at the huge workload his son suddenly decided to take on, approved of the productive method of distraction. Before he knew it, winter turned to spring. The dawn of a new year motivated him to become the leader of a prosperous land.

Around that time, he read her eleventh letter. His persistent creative burnout subsided at last, allowing him to write a simple response. Not long after he had entrusted it to his fastest messenger, he began preparations for his departure.

Now, the tall gates of Reiner Manor welcomed him with deep, uncertain creaks.

He hadn't come unannounced, yet the servants gaped when they saw a beaming Margrave Gautier casually waving at them. He guessed it was because he had failed to specify an arrival date beforehand. In spite of that, the noble visitor was received with open arms. One of the servant girls hurried to take his horse to the stables and another offered him a lukewarm cup of tea. She explained that, while Lord Reiner was out on business, the Lady of the house would come greet him.

When they left him alone in the great hall, Sylvain fidgeted with his spoon and stared at the tiny ripples in a poor attempt to soothe his nerves. How would she react to seeing him? Considering how vehemently he had avoided responding to her letters, he came to accept the fact that she would slap him. At least, he hoped that she would. Not only because he deserved it, but because it would reassure him that she still was the same old girl that wouldn't tolerate his unruly behavior.

A terrifying prospect struck him. How much had she changed, had the circumstances made her change? And now, now that she was—

"Hey."

His gaze shot up to find Ingrid, a small smile gently crinkling the corners of her green eyes. His heart soared and he was on his feet before he could stop himself.

But his world came crumbling down just as easily. With a glance, Sylvain realized how the passage of time had shattered and rebuilt her life. Coiffed hair cascaded over her shoulders in a way he knew she felt obstructive. Not being able maintain her training took a toll on her now delicate arms. And, through the thin veil of her gown, he noticed the bump on her stomach.

Of course. She was expecting.

The notion that Ingrid had become the picture of the perfect housewife sickened him to his core. Nevertheless, seeing her again after such a long time was a breath of fresh air. It seemed that, no matter the situation, his lifelong friend had the ability to appease his thoughts with only her presence. For that, he couldn't help a budding happiness.

He gave her the smug grin that he had perfected over the years. "Hey. I gotta say, you're still as radiant as ever. Maybe even more so."

She rolled her eyes. Man, he had missed that. "I doubt it. Feeling bloated and nauseous all day surely doesn't make me feel like it."

Unshed tears began to sting. "Ah, but it's true."

He never knew who moved first, only that they met halfway in a hug. Sylvain couldn't believe she had been the taller one when they were kids. Those days seemed centuries away when he looked at the tiny woman engulfed in his embrace. With Ingrid nuzzling against his chest, he felt as though he could protect her from all harm. He loosened his grasp when he remembered she was with child, instead choosing to rest his cheek on the top of her head.

"I'm so glad to see you again," he said.

When her gaze met his, Sylvain made the please-don't-kill-me-I'm-sorry face he was sure she recognized from their childhood, back when he actually offered genuine apologies after her lectures. His mask was cracking, yet it somehow never mattered when the one looking was Ingrid, who relinquished her own disguise around him. Thinking about how that taste of freedom was worth it, he steeled himself for a slap.

Instead, she held tighter to him, her smile bright enough to illuminate the world around them. "What took you so long?"