Garreg Mach always changed as the sun set and a starlit mantle engulfed the sky. It was peaceful—even more so than when Sylvain studied at the Officers Academy, and certainly more relaxing than when the constant threat of the war meant unfathomable dangers could hide in the darkness. Dimitri could have given him a hundred lectures for roaming the streets until dawn, and he would not deny that he occasionally ran off to find some fun, but he had also grown fond of his solitary strolls along the monastery grounds.
Sylvain walked towards the greenhouse, carefully cut grass crunching beneath his boots. It had been just over a month since he had come with Felix in search of Ingrid and her children, but it felt like a lifetime ago, especially when a teary-eyed Isaac and a wailing Julia finally held their seemingly irretrievable mother in the tightest hug. Sylvain could only watch, his heart swelling with both happiness at their reunion and fury at destiny itself for depriving the kids of both of their parents, even if Ingrid was able to return to them.
He sighed. It was for the best that they stayed as far away as possible from their father. The trio's difficult travel to the capital had borne more than ideal results—being under house arrest must be driving Baron Reiner mad, and the Kingdom Knights would discover the truth about his connections with Imperial allies before long. A big part of Sylvain hungered to partake in the investigation, but Dimitri had dispatched reliable soldiers. Besides, he didn't trust himself to remain calm in the presence of that despicable man. Even if he didn't take the Lance of Ruin with him or went unarmed, the war had taught him that pretty much anything could be a weapon if thrown with enough force.
Near the fishing pond, high-pitched laughter burgeoned among the quietude. He instantly recognized the small figures of Ingrid's children crouching near the edge of the dock, pointing towards the shadows of some of the bigger fish that the moonlight made visible. Julia reached for one that piqued her interest, but, in a protective manner that reminded him of Ingrid, her brother held her back just as her fingers brushed the water.
Concern crept up on Sylvain. It was late, the kids were in their nightclothes and he would not put it behind them to have developed some creative techniques to elude their mother's vigilance. He was just about to hurry to them when a flash of blonde hair from atop the stairs caught his attention.
He went towards it instead.
"Well, look who's here!" He announced himself loudly.
Ingrid's head shot up from where she was cushioning it on her palm. Although he felt bad for interrupting her moment of repose, it wasn't usual to catch her off-guard, and her cute expression of surprise was a great consolation.
There was no way he could pass up the opportunity to tease her further. "And the kiddos… Shouldn't you be dragging them to their rooms?" He put a hand on his hip. "I'm sure it's past their bedtime."
She frowned, but a tiny smile revealed her amusement. "Oh, hush. They look quite pleased with themselves over there, so I figured I would let them stay awake for a while longer."
Sylvain almost said something along the lines of how the biggest worrywart was beginning to see the wonders of spoiling her children, but he considered her statement for a moment. The sudden and drastic change in Isaac and Julia's lives had affected them in ways he couldn't begin to imagine.
He sat beside Ingrid, his forearms resting on his legs, and asked softly, "How are they faring?"
She took a deep breath, straightening her posture. "Isaac couldn't possibly be happier. He was always bored back in the estate, and…" She glanced towards the floor. "Well, there's not much that he misses."
While that wasn't surprising, it was still enraging. The Crestless boy apparently wasn't worth his father's time, and so he probably never had the chance to build a meaningful relationship with him.
He recalled a young Miklan, sitting alone or begging his parents to play with him, only to receive annoyed scoffs as a response.
"Julia, however…" Ingrid continued, snapping him out of his memories. "She was asking about her father when we returned."
His face must have fallen, since Ingrid smiled sympathetically and held out a hand in front of her.
"Don't worry." She looked towards the dock, where Isaac lay on his back and pointed at several constellations with a finger, Julia's gaze following with amazement. "I'm just glad her brother is keeping her mind off of everything."
In all these years that Isaac had been pushed aside in favor of his Crest-bearing sibling, Sylvain had never sensed a drop of spitefulness in the boy's behavior. He could get jealous, sure, because it was natural for a kid to yearn for his parents' attention. Yet he had never acted on his hatred, instead choosing to defend and share his knowledge of the world with his younger sister.
It was more than Sylvain could have asked for, and he couldn't help giving Ingrid a charming grin. "He's a gallant knight, just like his mother."
As expected, she rolled her eyes. "You won't ever cease with the flattery, will you?"
"I'm afraid some things can never be helped."
They let the silence reign again, the playful banter of the kids interlaced with the symphony of nocturnal sounds. Although Sylvain wasn't particularly religious, he took a second to thank the goddess. If Ingrid hadn't attained custody of the children, he was certain she would have gone into hiding or even fled Fódlan altogether to keep them safe, but being a close friend of the King and a trustworthy guardian had its benefits. They should be able to carry out their lives in freedom and peace.
Nevertheless, he knew that their troubles weren't over. An aching feeling warned him of enemies that would soon strike, of a war left incomplete. Sooner or later, the margrave would be required to mobilize his forces in defense of the country.
He wondered about the role that Ingrid would fulfill in the future.
"So, what now?" he asked.
She let out a lungful of air. "Hmm, 'what now' indeed," she pondered, leaning back into a more comfortable position. "House Reiner might lose its noble status after betraying the Kingdom. They are no longer giving us financial aid, naturally…"
He kept quiet, allowing her to finish voicing her expectations.
"I suppose I will have to return to Galatea and deal with another wave of marriage proposals," she spoke after a while. "Of course, there would be fewer, considering the fact that a single mother is not as desirable a bride…"
"You can't be serious."
It was only when she tilted her head up to look at him that Sylvain noticed that he had stood up, his tone acquiring an uncommon seriousness. There is no way.
Her lips formed a hard line, and he braced himself for what she would say next. "I am."
She spoke forlornly, like this horrific fate was the most expected answer. Like this same decision hadn't led her down a path of misery.
It cut him like the sharpest dagger.
"Ingrid, are you really going to do this to yourself a second time?" When he realized that his voice kept rising, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Deep breaths. "OK, one of your crazy suitors tried to kidnap you years ago, the one who actually managed to succeed was literally affiliated with the enemy of our country, and you're just gonna shrug that off and try again? Can't you give a little importance to what you actually want?"
She stared at him, her bewilderment undeterred. Among his anger, an urge to apologize for his outburst arose, but she sighed before he could say anything else.
"There's nothing I would love more than that," she admitted. "But… Look."
Following her gesture, he sat beside her once again and beheld the scene that unfolded near the pond. Isaac was peering into a bucket when Julia rammed her fist inside, splashing water all over her brother. He caught hold of her and almost immediately exacted his revenge in a fierce tickle fight that saw the both of them bursting into a fit of giggles. The ire that had consumed Sylvain shortly before faded away, like these two had inherited Ingrid's ability to put him at ease.
"Look at them playing and laughing…" Her eyes shone with newfound mirth that somehow made her even more gorgeous. He could merely guess that it was a gleam only a loving mother could bear. "They can grow up in a world free of war, of hunger. I want to keep being able to give them this life."
But you shouldn't have to destroy your own to do that, he wanted to say.
She turned towards him slightly, but her gaze lingered downwards. "Do you remember what you told me before my wedding ceremony?" He hadn't so much as shaken his head before she continued, "You said that I deserved so much more than just half a year of being a knight. I suppose I should have been more selfish back when I actually could. But now, I would be glad to give up my dreams again if it meant that they would grow up happy."
Sylvain had spent almost every single one of his days surrounded by soldiers, whether it was his instructors at the academy, his peers in the anti-Imperial army or the battalions he commanded at the margravate.
All of them paled in comparison to the woman sitting in front of him, the most compassionate, virtuous, infuriatingly altruistic knight that the world had ever known.
"Although…" she unexpectedly began again. Her green eyes met his with the same resolve that she displayed during every battle, but a peculiar gentleness coated her features. "I would like to be selfish for just a short moment, if you will allow it."
Before Sylvain could ask her what she meant, before he could even utter a word, Ingrid held his face in her hands and pulled his lips towards hers.
For an instant, time stopped. Chilly winds no longer blew and the crickets' songs ceased. Like she had frozen him, his body kept deathly still as his mind raced in frantic attempts to process the situation.
He had barely managed to register that Ingrid really, truly was kissing him when she broke away. The absence of her feather-light touch burned at his skin, and he cursed himself for not taking the opportunity to bask in her taste.
The load in his chest grew into a throbbing pulse when her eyelids fluttered open, a rosy tint setting on her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispered with the softest of laughs. "I'm going to take the children to bed."
Reality hit him like a violent slap when he realized, a little too late, that she had begun to stand up. Without thinking, his hand shot up to grab her wrist.
"W-Wait, Ingrid!" he spluttered, yanking her back to where she had been sitting with way more force than he had intended. She stared at him, wide-eyed and expectant, and an apology got stuck in his throat. "What was— Did you— Do you, uh…"
A sheepish grin made its way onto her flushed features. "I-I promised that I would be honest with myself, now that I can."
Sylvain knew her. Kissing someone without it meaning anything could happen—he had experienced it firsthand, but this was a side of Ingrid that she showed to a select few. It was vulnerable, tender, and more than enough proof of her true feelings.
Yet his heart skipped a beat when the ghost of a spoken declaration, those three words that carried such an immense weight in them, grazed her mouth. I love you.
Instead, she bit her lower lip, averting her gaze. "I'm sorry. We can just pretend that this never happened."
"No!" he practically squeaked, his voice betraying him in a way that rekindled the fire on his cheeks. "No. You just, ah, surprised me, is all. I, um…" Oh, Seiros, he thought. This is not the time to become a bumbling mess!
Ingrid tried and failed to stifle a laugh, and Sylvain couldn't tell if he should feel relieved or mortified. The one thing that he knew was that the color of his face probably matched his hair's.
"It's unusual to see you at such a loss for words," she said.
"Wha— Hey! Ugh, I don't… Just..." He inhaled deeply, opened his mouth, and again heard nothing. Only a frustrated groan came out as he ran his fingers through his messy locks, wishing he were experiencing the fear of standing outside the Enbarr gates instead of this gut-wrenching terror.
When a soothing warmth nestled against his knee, he looked up to find Ingrid holding onto him with a hand. Her smile was not belittling nor mocking, but patient, quality that had best described her since childhood. With just a weary regard that braced for a rejection, she noiselessly told him that everything was all right, that she would wait.
But Sylvain had made her wait for long enough. If he could not talk, his actions would in his stead.
He rifled through layers of clothing for his leather collar and quickly unraveled it, holding onto both ends of the cord. Ingrid squinted at the precious item that hung from it.
She gasped, and he knew that she had recognized the ring's Crest of Gautier.
"Is that…?" she trailed off, and if she hadn't been right in front of him, her mutter might have been lost among the breeze.
At last, the raging tempest in his mind slowed down, and he caught hold of what he hoped was a decently coherent chain of thought. "Ingrid, there was so much—so much I wanted to tell you that night before you left the monastery. I wanted to tell you that you're my best friend, the person who understands me the most, even though you want to strangle me half the time because of all the trouble I drag us into."
He glanced at the antique marriage token before he stared directly at Ingrid, whose blush had dimmed into a paleness that capped her shock. Like a dam's gates had flown open, the truths that he had been restraining deep within him flooded out, as if they knew that this was their one chance to break free.
"The answer to your dilemma was right there, right in front of me," he said, recalling the tightness he had felt in his throat on the day she had departed for Galatea, "but I couldn't get the words out of my mouth. I don't intend to make that mistake again."
Her eyes darted back and forth between the ring and his face. "Sylvain… You— You can't, I…" her voice hitched. "You always hated that people only wanted you for your power or your Crest. I don't want to use you, Sylvain. You deserve so much more than that."
She sounded so caring, so worried for him, as if unable to bear the prospect of taking his agency away, of dragging him into the life of submission that she had suffered through.
Little did she realize, this was exactly what he wanted.
"I know you won't use me." He smirked. It was so obvious; it was kind of funny that someone as intelligent as Ingrid couldn't see it.
"How are you so sure?"
"Because it's you, Ingrid. I love you." At last, he had said it.
She reeled back slightly.
Sylvain gathered every bit of courage left in him. "I don't think I even realized it at the time, but…Ingrid, you make this hell of a mess we call life actually worth it. Seiros, you even made me enjoy school," he laughed, "and kept me sane during a war. I want to fight by your side again, to see you become the greatest knight in all of Faerghus, and to be with you as the kids grow up."
For a moment, only the familiar harmony of their home, the monastery, prevailed. He reached for her hands and found that they had become calloused again, likely from their arduous journey to Fhirdiad. They were a warrior's. They were Ingrid's.
He would not change them for the world.
Placing the ring on her open palm, he looked her in the eye. "That's why… Ingrid, will you marry me?"
The next few seconds drew out to become the longest in his life. His heart pounded so hard, he was certain that she could hear it.
Ingrid nodded once. Then, twice. Her lips curled up into the biggest smile, tears flowing down her face.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, yes."
Many times before, Sylvain had felt content. Yet this was a joy unlike any other, one that he could have sworn only existed in fiction and dreams.
He yanked her towards him and plunged his mouth into hers. Her rigid form quickly eased up in his hold, her fingers running up to tangle in his hair. Their current nearness suddenly didn't suffice any longer, and, eager for more of the warm and blissful feeling that surged through him, he moved his hand from her back to her head, messing up her braid as he pulled her closer. He took in her scent, memorized the curves of her body against his, and felt like the luckiest man to ever exist.
They were both panting when he broke away. He was afraid he might have gone overboard, but Ingrid's tender laughter alleviated his worries, and he touched his forehead to hers.
"Finally," he breathed, more to himself than to his surroundings.
"It's just like you to be late, you know," she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He returned her smile. "Better late than never."