Sylvain was as perplexed by his transfer to the Golden Deer as the rest of the Blue Lions were.
Born of Faerghus, son of a Margrave of Faerghus, someone personally acquainted with the Crown Prince of Faerghus himself … His application to the Blue Lions house was guaranteed and near automatic; save for his and his father's signature upon his enrolment at the Officer's Academy.
Yet here he was, seated between a commoner boy thrice his size, a commoner girl with shorter hair than his, and listening to perhaps the least… teacher-looking teacher he had ever seen.
His father had been spouting on about the Academy for years, becoming more fervent as Sylvain became of age, and there was probably some mention of the prestige of both the cohort this year and the academics teaching them, and…
Sylvain was quite sure there was more to the whole spiel, but he learned to tune it out early and often.
So, with all this expectation thrust upon him, how could he dare, how could he deign, to figuratively betray his homeland, his alliances, his friendships, to study from some… nobody?
Most of the student body were quite convinced that the new Professor was simply a prospective student, when she first arrived. Not that the rumour had ever dispelled since. With such odd clothing and way of expression, a few had suggested she was another foreigner from Dagda. Some students claimed to have paid her no mind, if you could ever believe that!
Sylvain was smooth, upon meeting her. Which was an incredible feat of restraint – given how Dimitri had failed to mention how stunning the person who saved his sorry hide would be. How he could neglect such important detail, Sylvain did not know.
Stunning, and so… Inexplicable.
Sylvain made sure to keep himself scarce whenever his father blathered on about any political endeavours, for they seemed always as long-winded as they were convoluted and infuriating.
But such experience in being caught in those lectures allowed him to theorise the fantastical: There must be some similarly far-reaching political machinations within the Church that allowed a person of seemingly no esteem nor education to teach the future heirs of the entire country.
Or perhaps Dimitri, struck by those icy eyes, pulled some strings to get her hired.
(He saw how Dimitri talked about her with reverence, and with a faint flush to his ears.)
Sylvain dismissed that theory outright.
(She would be teaching the Blue Lions outright, were that the case.)
Regardless of however she got here, and however she ended up as a professor, Sylvain now understood why Dimitri was singing her praises.
Professors Hanneman and Manuela had book knowledge, and Professor Byleth had experience.
Were he in a generous mood, Sylvain would have appeased both sides; neither was comparable to the other, both are valuable, so on and so forth – But Byleth tended to cut through the bullshit.
Form and philosophy… It gets boring. There is only so much theory that can be learned by rote, understood from rote – and the thing he was always frustrated with, never coming to know the why of it all.
Why?
Whoever assumed Byleth was a student obviously hadn't heard her speak or seen her in action, he thought, her brusque manner absolutely betraying her origin as a mercenary.
She had barely entered the training grounds before she had interrupted his and Ingrid's sparring match by simply walking through the line of fire and barking; "Why do we cross train?"
Well. Why bother learning about wielding a sword when he's better with a lance? He'd reach an opponent with the business end of a pike before they'd be able to swing.
He had said that as a joke, but… It had a little petulant exasperation hidden within it.
A bad habit that would very soon be beaten out of him, he supposed afterwards.
So why do we cross train?
The Professor had him stand ten metres away, and bid the others in the training grounds to watch. She chose a wooden dagger, and insisted that Sylvain use a lead training lance. Which felt like an unfair match, and a provocative insult.
Sylvain had reach, power, and even raw material strength on his side.
So, when she sprinted towards him, deftly parried his initial thrust, and slapped the shaft away as he tried desperately to correct his mistake – the duel quickly ended with her off-hand clawing his collar, and the dagger pressed against his throat.
She just as quickly discarded him and spun on her heel to address the bystanders.
Leaving Sylvain to attempt to dust off the embarrassment crawling up his face.
"I noticed that everyone fights fair here. At similar skill levels, sword to sword and lance to lance," she threw the wooden toy back down into some storage barrel, "Stiff, almost as if taking turns."
"We train with our favourite weapons so that we know how to best use them. So that it becomes instinct. We become used to them." she rested her hand on her sheathed dagger hilt, "but then we are… blinded."
"It is easy to become so familiar and confident in our own abilities, we can be blind to anything beyond it." She folded her arms. "The world is cruel. And the world is full of possibilities - and we cannot plan for all of them. You cannot train for all of them."
"Therefore, a working knowledge of what you may come across, and how it can happen, is necessary to prepare you for the circumstances that the world will throw you in." She paused, her eyes sweeping across the crowd.
"So if the formation is to break, if the terrain becomes unyielding, if all hell breaks loose … you will at least have a chance."
The Professor turned back to Sylvain.
"And that, is why."
She held her hand out.
He shook it.
Sylvain requested to transfer to the Golden Deer later that evening.
Tactics lessons with her necessarily reflected the real world, of the brutality and gore of fighting for one's principles, their safety (or purely for coin). Her face as bare of expression as any other time, recounting strategies, their uses – and importantly, how they could realistically be countered.
And never tip-toeing around the consequences.
She had told them as such. Between the etiquette classes, literature lessons, and seemingly endless preparation for him and his cohort to become next generation of the continent's leadership, government, landlords, those who command those to kill…
This path is paved with death.
The Professor read the missive from the church aloud.
"Those affiliated with Garreg Mach Monastery have a moral obligation to help those in need. This is regardless of social standing, homelands, and bloodlines." She said, perhaps more flat than usual.
"We, class 4D of the Golden Deer house, have been ordered to find and eliminate bandits in a place called Zanado."
Sylvain stiffened his lip.
Eliminate.
What a… clean way to put it.
The classroom felt colder without the din of the Golden Deer's cheer and voices.
The weedy boy, Ignatz, was the first to break the silence. "Professor… how do we prepare?"
The children looked at her expectantly. Wanting comfort. Craving platitudes.
She answered: "Expect blood."
She glanced around.
Sylvain… tried his best to stay stoic. After all, this was only a matter of time. It was what he was sent here for, was it not? The whole point of the academy was to learn how to befriend and/or fake it and politick, or how to fight were the politicking to fail.
Still… He was not ready for an answer like that.
"I…" Byleth trailed off, looking back at the papers on her desk.
Her brow furrowed. "I do not know how to prepare you for the blood on your hands."
"This is the reality of our lessons." Sylvain caught the moment where her lips drew thin. "I teach you to anticipate, to react as best you can, and that means I teach you to kill."
"What I can say…" she said, making sure to meet the eyes of each soul in the room, alarming Sylvain with the intensity of the stare, "Is that you need to remember why you are doing this."
The Professor pushed herself out of her chair and walked up to the aisle. As the students roused and swivelled to face her anew, she held a finger to her lips - as this whisper was unholy in itself - and said "You do not fight for the Church. You fight for each other."
She said, so simply. Like she would any other fact.
"Above all in this mission, you must protect each other."
Byleth reached for her dagger's hilt, and held firm. "I will be there. I will protect you too."
Sylvain, realising how sore his jaw had become, tried to unclench and relax his face. He did not look up at the Professor as she dismissed the class.
"Come find me, if you need to talk."
And come that evening, he would.
"Why?"
Byleth paused in the middle of a stroke on the whetstone, looking up at a pissed off Sylvain.
"Why what?"
Sylvain scoffed before he could catch himself. "Why are we hunting down bandits? How's that our first proper mission?"
"I've been told that students are no exception to that moral obligation I recited earlier." She said, flatly. As if that was an acceptable answer.
"Alright, besides that," he rolled his eyes, "Why are they sending us off to kill?"
She returned her gaze to the sword in her hands. Judging the edge in the dim of the candlelight. "Zanado is a place sacred to the Church of Seiros. Apparently trespassing on sacred and forbidden land is inexcusable, and due to this action, and their banditry, they must be executed."
"Oh, well then!" He barked a rueful laugh, "Now it all makes sense."
Sylvain sat on a ledge of a pedestal, staring at her. Seeking some sort of answer. Something… He could scarcely put into words…
What did he want from her? Was he too seeking some sort of comfort from his teacher, this otherwise stranger? No. Not comfort – It clicked for him – She was now the one who would control him. Who is controlling him. And for what purpose? Whose purpose? For Goddess' sake, why.
She hummed. A sound which ripped him from those ruminating thoughts. She flipped the sword in her hands, the lamplight reflecting off it in a glow.
"Were I just an ordinary person," she said slowly, drawing the blade back on the whetstone, "I would have thought the missions for all these seemingly important kids would be child's play. A peaceful patrol here, hunting wild animals there, countless marches and parading around…"
Another stroke along the whetstone. "Seems that person would be quite wrong." She muttered, dripping with emphasis.
Having spent a lot of his life learning to read between the lines, this confession felt obvious.
His anger still stewed beneath the surface. But, at least the woman with his life in her hands showed a hint of… Whatever could he call it? Sanity? Dissent? Humanity?
"So why don't we?" he said, flailing an arm out, "I'm sure there's some dirt road down the mountain that needs walking on. Why don't we go do that instead?"
"It's out of my hands." She responded, just as flat as any other time.
"How?" He asked, incredulous, winding himself up further. "They make you a professor and what, you have no actual authority in what we do?"
He saw her brows furrow, the movement shadowing her eyes – but infuriatingly no emotion in the action. "You might mean that as an insult, but you are close to the truth."
"Great!" Sylvain throws his hands into the air, that shift of air managing to cool his face but not his anger. "So the Church of Seiros sending us off to do its dirty work, and none of us have a say in it? Marching us off to mortal combat, then? I'm of age and all, but you have girls in class that can barely reach the top shelf, let alone kill! What's the Church gonna do when we all die 'cause the bandits realise they sent in kids to hunt them down?"
Sylvain looks up – just in time to see that there is a glint in her eyes. The Professor takes a moment to complete another stroke against the whetstone. Stalling for thought, or a dramatic flair, or just to annoy him, Sylvain had no idea.
"I won't allow it." She said. "I will protect you all."
"You say that, but anyone would, right?" He slumped backward into the column he rested on. Tired.
Tired from the late hour and the sheer frustration of it all. And somewhat regretting the outburst. He'd probably get 'The Belt' for that were he to talk that way to his father. But, he could not quite deny the relief of finally finding someone who was willing to listen.
Okay. More like he found someone to corner at night to rant at.
That was an uncomfortable thought. He rubbed his face and groaned.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
Sylvain cocked an eyebrow at her.
That was not anything like what he was expecting her to say next.
He sighed. "I don't know." And shrugged, looking away again.
"I'm scared."
He stopped himself short of chuckling. Her? The so-called 'Ashen Demon', scared? Seriously? He was not sure she had ever had an emotion before.
He unfortunately could not stop himself from shoving his foot in his mouth another way, though. "You don't look it."
"I've been told that before."
He sighed. And decided to push further: "Scared of what?"
"It's my first time leading such a mission. Anything could happen." She stood up and watched the gleam dance on the blade of her sword, before staying it by her side in a heavily worn leather sheath. "I'm damn well scared for my students."
Sylvain swore he could feel her stare pierce him down to the bone.
"Does that answer your question?"
Sylvain sighed, as he too stood up. "Let's say… yeah. For now."
Sylvain had fought, of course. It came with the territory his family laid claim on. But as he had only just come of age, his contributions were piddling. He would sit in on war councils at his father's behest and barely listening. In terms of actual combat, he would watch his father kill from afar, from a safe distance at some base camp, to stymy inconsequential Sreng invasion parties… And a year ago he tackled a cutpurse to the ground – and that guy only ended up with an elbow to the kidneys and a skinned knee.
Skewering this man in the stomach, watching him fall, feeling the lance lodge firm and pull Sylvain down as the man fell – making him drive the tip further into the bandit's unsettlingly soft flesh…
There was no way to prepare for it. She was right.
Sylvain wrenched his lance back out of the man, as dark blood burbled in their mouth. Sylvain realigned the lance over the dying man's heart, as the Professor had instructed them days earlier, and plunged it down with all his might. The cracking of bones seemed to echo in Sylvain's ears.
Sylvain's breathing was ragged, completely out of rhythm.
The bandit died with his eyes open and staring into him.
"I had to do it." he muttered, under those breaths.
He could hear Hilda and Marianne behind him, the former sighing in relief, and the latter whispering an anguished prayer.
Claude had collected the class one by one, summoning them for a debrief from the Professor. While the official debriefing would happen back at Garreg Mach with (little fanfare and more so lecturing by) Seteth and other officials, she apparently felt the need to call them together as soon as Sylvain finally managed to scrub the dried blood from underneath his fingernails.
Everyone looked exhausted. Even the huge cheery guy, Raphael, had half-lidded eyes and a shut mouth. From people just looking annoyed to have not been dismissed for the night, to some washed out faces who looked like they were going to vomit at any moment.
Byleth pulled a pouch from her marching equipment, and handed it to Lysithea on her left. "Take a few, and pass it on."
They dutifully did, pulling three or four or five small, wrapped balls from this purse. Sylvain pulled three for himself, and realised – they smelled sweet.
"You might not have an appetite, but everyone needs to eat." She said, finally sitting at the campfire with them. "The Knights are serving dinner soon. If you can't stomach a full meal, at least eat some candies."
That earned her a few quizzical looks and a couple unsure snickers.
"When we split off from the Knights and got struck by the enclave beyond the bridge – Lorenz, Hilda, Leonie." she said, and their heads snapped up from the sweets to look at her, "You held the line well. Our defensive wall allowed for Ignatz, Claude, and Lysithea to attack safely from behind us."
She cocked an eyebrow, "Raphael."
Raph's face blanked like a rabbit's would upon meeting a hunter.
"You broke away from us. That was dangerous. However, I realise that you were only doing so to stop an enemy from flanking us, and hurting Ignatz."
Raphael relaxed, and let loose a wide smile. "Nothin' was gonna get past us!" he said, clapping Ignatz on the back. Ignatz nodded, a short and somewhat forced smile breaking the pallor on his face.
"That's commendable. If you find yourself in a situation like that again, do your best to have others come with you too." She gazed over the flames at them. "You're strong, but there's more strength in numbers."
"Gotcha." He nodded eagerly, popping a sweet into his mouth.
"Speaking of," she nodded towards Hilda. "That bandit underestimated you. Your offensive manoeuvres had him on the back foot."
Hilda smiled it off, rolling her hand and trying to fob off the attention, "Aw, well, Sylvain's the one who saved the day."
The Professor shifted to face Sylvain, and he now understood why Raph pulled the face that he made.
"True, Sylvain took the opportunity you created, and eliminated the threat. You both kept Marianne safe."
Marianne sat to the right of her. She had picked one sweet from the pouch, and was turning it over in her hands. Her fringe shielded her from the rest of the group.
"A real debrief would take longer, but that's for another day." Byleth said, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees. "What matters is that you all did what you had to in order to stay alive, and protect each other."
"That's all I ever need you to do." She took the time to look each person in the eye. Save for Marianne. She instead patted her lightly on the shoulder which jolted Marianne out of her daze.
The Professor nodded. "Go eat, and then get to bed. We march at seven."
So why did a whelp of a lion strike out on his own to become one within a den of deer?
Reminiscing in the depth of night, when he just could not fall asleep, throughout that year of the academy and the harrowing years beyond, he began to piece it together.
It was a pitiful wish, with a hell of a slim chance of coming to fruition.
But as he and his steed rode up the mountain paths to Garreg Mach on the dawn of the Millenium Festival and heard whispers of battle on the wind, he grew even more foolishly hopeful.
He bid Cain to go faster, to race as well as he could up the cobbled, winding paths, until they came to a ruined market. A white wyvern with a glittering gold rider atop her crested the rooftops as if it were a dolphin breaching the ocean, and that was as good a sign as any.
"They started the party without us!" Sylvain laughed, "Come!"
He and Cain galloped past those enemies smart enough to flee the fray, and finally rounded the corner to witness a flash of pale green hair charging through the skirmish. Some man in front of her reared back with a hell of a war axe, ready to strike – Until Cain finally caught up, and Sylvain skewered the attacker from the side.
"Where have you been the last five years?!"
Byleth took the opportunity to gouge the man's jugular, before turning her back to Sylvain – "Talk later! Focus!"
He guffawed. Yeah, that was her all right.
As he charged round the markets, he saw more familiar faces. The whole damn class was here. When Byleth and Claude were sure that the enemy was routed, Claude called upon everyone to gather at the abandoned Cathedral.
Despite the bloodshed and all their own injuries, it was plain to see that everyone was relieved. Even Byleth's face relaxed. Everyone cheered and rambled on at her – Who had been asleep for five years? Which made absolutely no sense, but seeing as this was her first appearance ever since the Battle of Garreg Mach and only the second weirdest claim their professor had ever made… Sylvain chose to take it at face value.
They gathered a makeshift picnic, consisting mainly of dried rations and waterskins, but Leonie had happened to gather wild berries and fruits on her journey, and welcomed everyone to them. Claude and Lorenz took the chance to update Byleth on the war and the political turmoil within the Alliance. Well, Lorenz tried to shade the intrigue in metaphors and hushed tones, while darting glances at Sylvain, but he managed to understand most of it just fine. This stuff was basic knowledge for most people who cared to know – and it was not unlike the same types of civil conflict occurring within the Kingdom.
Regardless of the side-eye now, Lorenz did welcome him as warmly as he had the other classmates from The Alliance, and for that, he was grateful. Everyone had met Sylvain with a smile and kind words.
It was a hell of a risk. Born of Faerghus, son of a Margrave of Faerghus, Gautier territory one of the few bastions still fighting the Imperial incursion on the land of Faerghus… Could a single man affect the scales of civil war? Could Sylvain afford to chase some cheesy optimistic wish he and some other kids made in peaceful times?
He kept asking himself these questions as he stocked his pack with rations, supplies, and a sole bottle of wine, and rode Cain out under the cover of dawn all those days ago.
Sylvain rummaged through his pack, unwinding a spare saddle pad, and pulled the bottle out.
Claude and Lorenz had entangled Lysithea in their discussion about Ordelian territory, while Byleth seemed to tune out, choosing to watch everyone in their merriment. Sylvain got up, and walked over.
"Pop this open with me?" He asked, with a grin.
Byleth almost balked, her jaw bobbed down, about to chastise, before remembering.
"Right. I suppose you are old enough, now."
"So that's your first thought." Sylvain chuckled, sitting down beside her, and grabbing at some cups that Hilda thought to pack for whatever reason. "I was expecting some comment on trying to wine and dine my teacher."
She did not respond. She just blinked at him, blankly.
"Close enough." He shrugged, borrowing Raphael's knife from the picnic spread to pry open the bottle. He poured just a taste for both of them, before handing her a cup and setting the bottle down.
He sipped from his own. It was just a field blend from Mateus territory that had grown rather bitter. But that hardly mattered.
Byleth drank too, and sighed. He watched her, as she gazed upon every person before her.
"You all made it."
Sylvain hummed, choosing to swig the rest of the drink in his cup as he looked on to every else too.
Everyone sure was different. Mostly in terms of their hair. Thank the Goddess for whoever convinced Lorenz to grow out that horrific bob into something half-decent. What was also surprising was Ignatz, having grown some muscle in the last five years, and the honest smile that graced Marianne's face now.
Byleth turned to him. "Why are you here?"
Sylvain huffed, bemused. "What, was I not part of 'everyone'?"
"No," she started, before leaning back onto the pillar she rested against, and folded her arms. "What I mean is, considering what I've now been told about the war, why are you here? The situation in the Alliance sounds dire, but the Kingdom, with Dimitri dead…"
Sylvain looked to her again. She stared down at her cup on the floor, her eyes half-lidded, and he could swear she was frowning. Mournful.
Anyone would be, to find out that five years of life had passed without them. Powerless to have done anything. Having been told that many you knew are missing, dead, or out to kill your…
Could he say friends?
"It's been terrible, I won't lie. And I miss him." Sylvain sighed, and ruefully chuckled. "Yeah… it feels like Faerghus has gone to shit."
Byleth decided to swig the rest of her cup.
"So," she said, looking back up, the morose tone still colouring her voice, "Why are you here?"
He slumped over, leaning his hands on his knees. "Good question."
Sylvain took the moment to breathe, and finally answered that question which had plagued him for so long.
"I was a brat during our time at the Academy, do you remember?"
She nodded, her lips quirking for a moment.
"You taught me some valuable lessons, Professor." He said, holding his head high, looking to his classmates. "The one that got me here, was remembering why we fight."
He turned back to her, she who seemed to stare down to his soul.
"I offer myself here, along with the rest of the class, I'm sure, because we're fighting for each other. My dear friends in Faerghus, my family, the people, they may think I've abandoned them. But by being here, I'm trying to fight for them too."
"I've been losing faith in the reasons back home. For the sake of the Church, for the sake of my family's 'honour' and territory, the sake of a 'Kingdom' at all with no king, it all matters less and less to me the more time passes."
It spilled out of him. "Throughout the last five years, I've harboured this hope - however stupid it sounds – with every misstep, failure, and betrayal I faced at home, I wondered, could they pull it off? Could the Alliance? Could they push back against the injustice and inhumanity, what actually matters?"
Sylvain nodded, more to himself than anything. "Yeah. It was a risk to come here. I thought you were dead, after all. I had no way to know anyone else would have even remembered. But I thought, if no one came, then I only lost a fortnight and went sightseeing before it all goes to hell back home."
"But now that we're all here, now that you're here…" he sighed, as if something finally lifted this weight of a promise he had held tight at his core, "We damn well could."
He broke the stare, and finally noticed that the echoes of cheer had quieted down… and that everyone seemed rapt in his heartfelt confession.
"Wow," Sylvain chuckled, trying to ignore the flush blooming up his neck. "Got your attention, huh?"
Marianne snorted, and fighting her own fit of embarrassment, bashfully tried to hide her giggles with her hand. "Puh, pardon us! It's just…"
Claude offered a smile of his own. A big toothy one. "Glad to have you back too, Sylvain."
"Now come on!" Hilda held out her hand expectantly, "Share the wine! Or were you actually trying to woo her?" she crooned.
"Whatever." Sylvain rolled his eyes, grinning. "You're right on one thing at least, let's cheers, huh?"
It was an absurd mixture. Their two cups; Leonie's empty waterskin; a used tincture bottle Marianne had; Lysithea's now empty sweets tin; a (since washed) ornate goblet Raphael found in the rubble; Ignatz used a cap off his waterskin; Lorenz managed to find an actual glass, of all things; Claude settled for his cupped hand; and somehow more pathetically, a thimble Hilda had to settle for because 'someone stole my cups'.
Just as absurd as all of them, here and together, Sylvain supposed.
"To Teach!" Claude shouted, trying his best to raise his cupped hand without spilling (more) wine over the floor. Everyone raised their implements and cheered in kind.
"To us!" He continued, another drop from his hand racing out to splash on his shoes, over the cheer of the others.
"To a new dawn!" He roared with a laugh, finally bringing his hand up to drink and failing to contain most of it. The Deer hollered with him, everyone moving differently but together, and drank.
A few giggled at Lysithea almost spitting the foul drink out in disgust, some clinked their implements together awkwardly and spilling even more wine, and all felt at peace, if only for this moment.
And what is more, their stoic Professor Byleth smiled. And laughed with them.
Yeah. Sylvain nodded to himself. This was why.
Author's Notes:
Shout out to T is for Teacher by Recipe on Archive of Our Own for inspiring me to convince fictional characters to do what I want by invoking cross training.
Their reference to it throughout the fic had me Thinking, and inspired me to write down my own thoughts on the concept and how it could relate to the themes of the game.
Sylvain's father is a bit OOC, but that's because I wrote the introduction and came up with the idea before I played Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes. And I rotated this fic idea in my mind too much to change it so it's gonna stay.
I literally spent ten hours editing the first half and writing the back half today. I had no idea how I was going to finish it, initially, but I realised I need to have Sylvain answer his own question, and have Byleth hear. Having the Deer cheers with their random items surprised me, I never planned that, it just kinda happened as part of a segue and now I've fallen in love with the scene and it's now my new headcanon for what happens at their reunion.