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Dimivain Week: Day 8 - let's finish this fucking thing
Dimitri manages to hold back for an entire year, spent cleaning up Fhirdiad and then touring his new lands, before he proposes to Sylvain and asks him to take his place besides him on the throne.
For his part, Sylvain can't help but think it's kind of a terrible idea. He's not going to make a good queen. A part of him is almost dead certain on this fact. While he hasn't seriously flirted or gone out with any girls since - well, since before the day he made that stupid bet with Dimitri, that doesn't mean that the vast majority of people still don't think of him as that Gautier floozy. And he used to think that was fine, honestly? That was all according to plan, the plan to make no one want anything to do with him, even for the fancy prize of his damnable crest and last name.
It trimmed down on the amount of people who wanted to marry him, anyway, up until Dimitri latched on and never really let go even after five years of living in the wilderness haunted by the voices of the dead.
With that in mind, well, the reputation he worked so hard to cultivate back then to free him of any responsibility or marriage attachments has come back to bite him firmly in the ass. Sylvain loves Dimitri. It's an indisputable fact at this point, with how much they've kept close to one another after all the years. And because he loves him, he doesn't want to saddle Dimitri with something like that. Dating is one thing, but marriage? He's a terrible choice for marriage.
Of course, when Sylvain tries to point all of this out to Dimitri, all he gets for his trouble is Dimitri digging his heels into the mud on the whole damn affair. "Do you love me?" Dimitri asks.
"I mean, yeah, obviously, in case the kissing wasn't an obvious giveaway, and also that's the entire reason I'm trying to have you make a smart choice for once."
Probably, he should have just kept his mouth shut. All Dimitri has to say is that people who are in love get married, and that's that. Sylvain is pretty sure that a lot of people get married for convenience, or unfortunate accidents in the bedroom that make everyone miserable in the long run, or because of political choices that would make a lot more people more at ease and maybe something to do with money... But that's Dimitri for you. He always was something of a romantic at heart. Sylvain kind of loves it, even if it is kind of pulling his life along like this.
But, you know, in the end... He really does love Dimitri. He really does want to marry him, more than he's ever actually wanted to marry anyone in his life - which has been never, honestly, considering his track record.
So maybe... It's not that much of a surprise that Sylvain concedes to it all in the end. He concedes to getting married to Dimitri.
Maybe he should regret it. Maybe he should let himself be haunted even more by all his insecurities, by all his worries, by the fear of even more eyes on him like he's something special when he wants to be anything but. It's just really hard for any of that to happen when he gives his answer to Dimitri at long last, and has the pleasure of seeing that weary face blossom into a smile that could make the sun and moon jealous.
They let the news out in a natural way, which is to say that it's very carefully planned and coordinated with their friends first, like Felix and Ingrid and all the other original Blue Lions, and then some of their close allies and other friends, like Ferdinand and Lorenz. Only after all that do they make a public announcement.
And it's, uh, quite public, although not in the traditional manner. It's on the second anniversary of the war, as a matter of fact, during some great big festival down in, funnily enough, Derdriu. It's something of the perfect stage, actually. When Dimitri steps up to make his speech about how far they've come, how they've united properly after a bloody war, it's in the city square where nobles and merchants and the average citizen alike are all gathered. They're the ones who get to hear Dimitri proclaim that he is to be married, and that his marriage will be to Sylvain.
On one hand, Sylvain still really hates the expectations he can see already whirling throughout the crowd. He can almost smell it, like a bloodhound.
On the other hand, it's hilarious to see every single prettily dress noble (but not too pretty, trying to fall in line with Dimitri's tastes and messages) have their jaws drop open as they take in the fact that the King of Fodlan is going to be marrying not only a man, but him of all men. Sylvain takes what amusement he can take for something like this.
For any normal engagement between a noble couple, it would start with the suitor going to the other party's parents, and seeing about how a match would go. There are the occasional special cases - friends who've known each other and don't mind an alliance, like what had been planned with Glenn and Ingrid - but that's generally the way of things. Usually, it's nothing too wild or extravagant, so, of course, he and Dimitri do the exact opposite of what's expected.
Listen, if they were to just ask Margrave Gautier to let him get married to his only son and the inheritor of the Gautier Crest, it would be... something of a shitshow. It was always going to be a shitshow, of course, but this way, it's a shitshow that will be on their footing, and nothing else. That means sending a messenger to the Gautier territory with a letter from Dimitri declaring his intentions, only the day before the announcement is made in Derdriu.
Is it classy? Absolutely not. Does Sylvain still go with Dimitri back to Fhirdiad when everything is said and done, instead of stopping by traditionally by Gautier territory for a couple of days before running away? Of course.
Not like this is something his father just takes lying down, granted... That much shows when they get back to the castle, and there's already an antsy Gautier messenger right there at the gates with a reply letter. Sylvain doesn't have to read it to know the kinds of things that his father has written in there... And frankly, he just plain doesn't want to read it in the first place.
Dimitri does, although Sylvain can tell by the thin line of his lips that he doesn't really want to either. It's just that he'd rather be prepared than go in blind, Sylvain guesses... Or maybe it's some sort of obligation feeling. Even for all that he's breaking tradition after tradition, from this to Duscur to regular old politics, Dimitri is still the kind of guy who is into stuff like feeling obligated. For however much that Sylvain would never want to see his father again, he is still his father... and, at least possibly to Dimitri's eyes, he's still worth paying attention to for right now.
That courtesy seems to extend to only reading the letter once, before Dimitri tears it apart in his hands and deposits it into the nearest fireplace of the sitting room he takes Sylvain to so that they can recuperate from their trip. "He has protests," he states in a flat tone, even as he shrugs off his cloak to drape it across the back of a plush armchair. It's the same armchair that he guides Sylvain into; he's learned that Dimitri rather like fussing and spoiling the people he loves. "But I expected that."
There's no details given on the exact protests that were given, or any of the words that Sylvain's father tried to pass along to him. He's rather thankful for that. Sinking into the chair, Sylvain stretches his arms out in front of him as though he's a lot more relaxed than he is. Somehow, it's just easier for him to play pretend than break down into worry. So long as he can keep doing that... "Jeez, he's going to completely crash the wedding, isn't he?" he says, and tries not to think too hard on how the very thought makes his heart turn into a rock lodged in his ribcage.
The Gautiers are strict Faerghans in all the worst ways, the military kind who he knows most other nobles only few as attack dogs to keep the Sreng border in line. Was that something always attached with the title of a margrave, or was it something born from his family's history? Sylvain has no idea, and he supposes it doesn't really matter.
What matters is in the present, and, for the present, he knows that it's almost a guarantee that his father is going to raise some kind of hell. It's been bad enough that Dimitri has been trying to bring peace to the border between Fodlan and Sreng... That sort of goal means a margrave would be a useless role, not in the traditional manner, and Sylvain knows his family has centered its whole identity around that kind of useless thing. Add into Sylvain being stuck in a "useless" marriage that won't even produce a heir...
He hasn't even realized how much in his own head he's gotten stuck until Dimitri's fingers gently light upon the back of his hand, and Sylvain jolts in his seat. When he looks, Dimitri is kneeling right there besides him, looking up at him with that blue eye of his. "It is going to be okay," he promises him, gentle but sincere. "I will not let him take you back there."
Jeez... He must really be in a bad state if Dimitri is acting like this in front of him. That means his nerves and swirling thoughts are showing. It's kind of terrifying, actually. "Hey, it's fine, I mean, what is he going to do in the face of a king?" Sylvain says, trying to take on a joking tone.
And that's true, he reminds himself, in an attempt to calm down his own anxiety. While his father may have been a bastard in a lot of ways, the kind of man who let his eldest get away with numerous murder attempts before it became too much to actually hide or ignore, he's not the kind of absolute villain who would try to kidnap Sylvain from Fhirdiad Castle, or something outlandish like that. Not only would it not be in his personality, but it would take him away from hawkishly watching the Sreng border.
A lot could be said of his father, and Sylvain knows most of it couldn't be kind if it came from some of his closest friends, but the man is certainly dedicated to his duty. The fate of all Gautiers who fell in line to their parents before them eventually, who tried to make up for the lack of control being acting as though they were making a choice instead...
Sylvain knows he isn't a particularly good Gautier in that case - he never tried to be, went for the opposite even, and now it's basically set in stone. But it'd be nice to think that, just maybe, he can be a half decent Blaiddyd.
In the months that follow, the big source of bother becomes not his father, as it turns out, or even his mother, an entity who he sometimes felt never looked twice at him. Instead, well, it is what it was probably always going to be: noble politics, with everyone having their own opinion on the person who will step to the throne besides Dimitri. Some of it is expected, like people either vying for his favor or talking behind their back about how he isn't a good fit at all, and how the royal lineage will look like.... Lots of stuff like that. Sylvain can shrug that off easily enough.
It's the... other stuff that knocks him for a loop. Like when various young women try to come onto him or Dimitri as a concubine, or when some noble family tries to switch gears by introducing Dimitri to their sons. Some of them look awkward. Others are pretty stony faced and hard to read. And then there actually a couple who, when allowed into the room with them privately, or pulling them aside in the hallway when the parents are otherwise preoccupied, who ask just what kind of trick Sylvain and Dimitri pulled to be able to do this kind of thing.
The answer there is, admittedly, because Sylvain ended up having someone fall in love with him who ended up as the king of all of Fodlan. Him and Dimitri do those guys a solid, and introduce them to Byleth.
Of course, it's not all political bickering and dealing with unwanted suitors. When it comes to a royal wedding, there's a lot to do... and they have a lot of friends who are more than happy to get involved to make it a good event. Annette and Mercedes are especially excited about it all, with both of them planning to throw their all into it. At Sylvain's request, Dedue is going to be the one behind the main wedding feast before all of Fodlan, with Ashe happily playing a supporting role along with of course the royal chefs. Apparently, even their old Professor wanted to be in on everything... But something else apparently has their attention.
A bit of a disappointment, honestly, but Sylvain can understand. Their Professor - the person now in charge of faith in the entirety of the land, however much they seem to not care for it - has to have a lot on their plate. Can't bug them for just a wedding or anything.
It even works out, in a way - Byleth appoints Mercedes as the one who will give the Goddess's blessings upon him and Dimitri, and, well... If a lot of people want to get a way in through Dimitri or him, then the same is true for Byleth, and anyone who has their attention. Mercedes is almost lucky in a way. There's no romance or political drama involved there, just a lot of people who want to give her time or resources or help with her great big orphanage projects.
With that in mind, Sylvain would say that this whole damn marriage business is actually kind of beneficial.
Yet as the wedding looms ever closer, every moment that he doesn't spend busy or helping Dimitri with matters of state or sparring with Felix is a moment filled with anxiously swirling thoughts. He knows his father has sent more messengers, more letters, to Fhirdiad, but none of them have been towards him. It isn't that anyone has hidden them, he's positive about that... Well, he can't be surprised. Sylvain tells himself that, as though it can change the feelings that twist in his chest.
Sylvain has no idea what Dimitri's responses are to the letters, although he knows he could ask about them easily enough. Dimitri doesn't lie. He's the kind of guy that's painfully honest and sincere, no matter what his emotions are. But it's just that... Sylvain thinks he might be better off not knowing. At least for right now, if nothing else.
Of course, that means his brain is left running wild all the way up to the day of the wedding, where he's left to fiddle with his outfit while Ingrid goes to check in on him with Dorothea following behind her. "I never thought this day would come," Ingrid says, marveling at the outfit Sylvain is in. He doesn't think white suits him, honestly, not like it does on Dimitri... But he guesses there can be exceptions for things occasionally, even if he's hardly virginal white material. "You really are settling down with someone... and Dimitri, of all people."
"I mean, it was probably going to happen eventually," Sylvain says, trying to sound and look casual, sliding his hands into his pockets. It's going to rumple the material, but oh well. Most people won't be close enough to see or care anyway. "Noble duty, and all that."
"Right, noble duty - the driving force behind all of this," Dorothea saws with that particular roll in her tone, the kind that says there's no use in trying to be clever because she sees right through it, and it's all bullshit. Great woman, that Dorothea. Sylvain is pretty sure she's going to be the end of him someday without having to even lift a finger.
At least Ingrid keeps pressing forward, looking him over. "So... Are you nervous?" she asks, and that's when Sylvain notices the way her own hands are clenching. While it's a wedding, and everyone was encouraged to dress in their best, Ingrid of course is still dressed in as much armor as she could be allowed. Something, something, a knight's duty to the king... Something like that. Honestly, Sylvain feels that it probably has something more to do with how she was chosen to be his best man, while Felix went over to be Dimitri's. An unexpected combination, he supposes, but it's good to see that the two of them are slowly repairing their old childhood friendship. "I mean, I'm just asking. After all, well... Any wedding for me seems to keep getting put off."
Neither of them say aloud that she was robbed of a wedding from someone they all loved, all admired, but, well... It's there hanging in the air regardless. Sylvain tries to smile, reassure her. "All of it doesn't feel real, if I'm honest. I guess we'll see how I feel during the end of the day. Sometimes this stuff hits you later, you know?"
That's a little bit of a white lie. He feels more than a little dazed, and maybe kind of breathless in a way that makes it hard to take in air, and no small part of him wants to fling open the balcony doors in order to just vault over them no matter how high they may be. Maybe one day in the future, the near future even, he'll tell her about all his concerns and fears and everything else... But for just a little while longer, he'd like to play the casual and lighthearted fool. Maybe for her own wedding, in that distant future, she can think back on it all, and find some comfort.
Is she finding it right now? Who knows. She's certainly figuring out something as she nods, her gaze sort of distant. "I suppose that makes sense," she admits. "But I have to admit, while I know that such relationships aren't uncommon, to see a noble marriage ceremony between two men... It is a bit new, I suppose."
Well, he supposes this was always inevitable, it was just a matter of getting Ingrid to that very obvious conclusion... Sylvain goes to make eye contact with Dorothea, for reasons, only to find her already eyeing Ingrid like a kid who recognizes the sound of a puppy whining and wiggling when their parent has stepped out of the room to get them a "surprise".
Good for them. Sylvain grins, feeling more at ease, and just taps Ingrid's shoulder. "Well, something to think more on for the future, right? In the meanwhile, I think it's getting close to the curtain rising on our end."
Of course, saying that is one thing. It's another to actually step out into the hall where the ceremony is to be held, Ingrid at his side with a lovely ceremonial lance that seems almost more flower than metal. He can see Dimitri at the other end of the path, escorted by Felix in ducal finery, and... and...
Shit. He feels like he's sort of gone stupid, all of a sudden, as he stares over to where Dimitri walks as regal and splendid as anything. Anyone who looks at him in the present would never have made a connection with him and the person of fur and blood who haunted Garreg Mach but only a few years ago. He used to joke, back in that place when it was still a school, Dimitri was such a fairytale prince. He looked like it, back then, and certainly seemed to do his best in acting like it, too.
But now... It's like looking at something more than that. Beautiful patterns of blue and teal and white, one of those dumb capes he always wears that never fails to look majestic, his hair pulls back artfully...
Guilt suddenly hits him like a hammer to his skull, knocking him dizzy and unsteady. If not for Ingrid at his side, her presence somehow grounding him, he's not even sure how he'd start to take the steps down that carpet himself, all the way to where Mercedes is waiting for them with an absolutely beatific smile on her face. He shouldn't be allowed to have this. This isn't something that someone like him should be allowed to have. The feeling roots itself in his chest, threatens to grow and wind around his throat until he could choke. What does Dimitri even see in him? When there feels like just rot and misfortune growing in his gut?
Before he knows it, he's right there before Mercedes, with Dimitri there in front of him. She begins her speech - and who wouldn't listen to Mercie speak, like a proper priestess? Despite that, only some of it filters into Sylvain's head as he stands there, and is hit by the force of Dimitri's smile.
After all this time, practically a lifetime of misery... and Dimitri can still smile towards him, of all people.
He thinks of somewhere quieter, of more distant, of seeing Dimitri alone there silhouetted by the light of Derdriu's post-battle celebration. Back then, Dimitri had asked him about what he really wanted, instead of his thoughts on how people would perceive them, or how things would be difficult. If he wanted to stay with Dimitri, or if he was in love with him, all sorts of things that happened in the aftermath.
Mercedes asks them to exchange blades, and then rings, and then their vows.
Sylvain says yes to all of it.
"Are you all right?" Dimitri asks him during the reception, when they've all cleared away from the fancy speeches and now are engaging in the tried and true human tradition of stuffing themselves after any big event. Certainly the food keeps otherwise chatty mouths occupied to some degree, which Sylvain can appreciate as he and Dimitri have their own table at the head of it all. He needs the space.
A low whistle flits out of him. "I guess it's just now hitting me that I guess I'm finally a married man," Sylvain admits, while they have plenty of space away from other people they like significantly less than Ferdinand, or Leonie, or anything else. "I think I'm going to be in a daze for at least a whole year."
Will he get used to it? He can only hope so. But then, he thinks he got used to a lot of things with Dimitri - going out for rides, taking care of him, letting Dimitri convince him to not let go of this romance in the first place. When he tries to think of it like that... Well, maybe it's just him fooling himself, but he thinks this really could become something incredible in the end, even if just for him.
And hey, being Dimitri's queen could have some benefits. Sure, there's all the annoying gossip and politics he's going to have to deal with after trying very hard to have no spotlight on him, but, well... He can also be a bit of a dick sometimes, too. He's never really tried to be one on purpose before...
Before they can really get too caught up in any other details on this particular conversation, a couple of guests start to approach their little marital spot, and Sylvain grins as he makes eye contact with them. "Can't leave us alone in married bliss for long, huh?" he asks Claude, nodding to the two people who are following him not far behind him. He's familiar with both of them, ever since a certain someone sprung the great big surprise that he's the king of Almyra not that long ago. The great general Nader, and the apparently up and coming lancer, Vorah. He likes both of them, honestly, although he thinks the relaxed nature of both individuals throws Dimitri off occasionally.
Or maybe that's just Claude, honestly, who's grinning right back at them with a wide smile of his own. "Hey, someone has to break the ice and come up to congratulate the two of you," he says cheerfully, coming to a stop with his hands resting on his hips. Even dressed up in Almyran finery, a king that can match anyone else, it's still undeniably Claude. It's kind of reassuring, in some way. "Although this is a slightly plainer wedding than I think some people were expecting."
"That is certainly something for those people to believe, considering the grand feast that is happening today," Dimitri says dryly, raising an eyebrow. "If they do not appreciate it, then they can certainly trade their place with someone who will appreciate it more."
Behind Claude, Vorah lets out a sharp and bright burst of laughter, while Nader just grins. It's hard to match the glitter in Claude's own eyes, however. "I think they were expecting a bit more eye candy than anything for their mouths," Claude says. "But that just shows there's some good priorities going on here. I brought some gifts, but now I'm wondering if they're a little too much..."
"It's always too much, coming from you," Sylvain teases, "and not in the way some of the other gifts are going to be, I bet."
Before he can say much more, however, the doors at the end of the room open up, and a guard hurries past all the tables to head straight for Dimitri. She leans over to him, her words so quiet that not even Sylvain can hear what's being said, and Dimitri frowns. "I see..." It's a quiet murmur of his own, before he turns his head to look back to Sylvain and Claude. "I do apologize for this being so abrupt, but it appears there is a matter happening in another part of the castle. I will go attend to it quickly, but... Claude, if I could request you to carry on your pleasant conversation with Sylvain? Ah... If you wish it, beloved."
What did he just call him. "Sure," Sylvain answers, maybe something of a squeak, and gets the pleasure of all three Almyrans just grinning. Is that a cultural norm over there? Unabashed delight at people being embarrassed? They all grin way too similarly, he's gotta say.
Dimitri takes him by the hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles just above the wedding ring, before he quickly gets up and makes his way out alongside the guard. It's only when he's out of the room entirely does Claude speak up again. "It looks like you're taking pretty well to married life already," he says, his gaze pointedly flicking down towards the hand that Sylvain is idly rubbing. "And who was that guy back in school who claimed that he wasn't much of the type to settle down?"
"Listen, how could anyone fight against a powerhouse like that?" Sylvain groans, although a smile of his own has made its home on his lips. "He just hits people with stuff like that, and you're done for. Anyway, I'm glad to see that your congratulations involves teasing me to death."
"You wouldn't have it any other way," Claude laughs. "Anyway, it really is great to see you this happy. Actually happy, even."
If there's one thing he doesn't need, it's Claude calling him out on the fake smiles he used to wear back in school... Although maybe in this context, it's not so bad. "Thanks," Sylvain says, watching from the corner of his eye as he watches Ingrid go out the doors, only to come back and whisper something down at Felix and Mercedes. "Honestly, the credit should go to Dimitri. Once he got the idea in his head, it just wouldn't leave, I guess, and I got dragged into it."
Felix and Mercedes get up as well, following after Ingrid, with Felix's in particular having a rather stormy expression. Sylvain isn't the only one aware of it, considering how Lorenz gets up to follow too, and Naders's gaze is idly on the whole affair. "I mean, it sounds to me like you jumped in with both feet instead of getting dragged into anything," Claude points out idly. There's no way he isn't somehow aware of whatever fuss is lowkey happening in the background. What the hell is going on outside? Does it have to do with what Dimitri was informed about? "Well, that's the best way to go about marriage, really, when you think about it."
"Uh huh," Sylvain says, watching as Vorah just.... gives up all excuses by straight up walking away, leaving behind her king without a care in the world. The politics and expectations of Almyra sure can be fascinating to watch, let alone learn about... Well, if she's just going for it, he'll take that as a sign himself.
Of course, when he pushes himself up onto his feet, that's not the kind of thing Claude is likely to ignore. "The main star of the show leaving already?" he says, like he's not already following Sylvain around for this whole thing. Nader is rubbing his hands at the prospect of a show. Good man, that Nader. "And we're already down the leading man... Oh well."
Bernie is gone too, Sylvain notes as he makes his way through al the different tables, but he suspects that has nothing to do with the current situation at hand, and more that she just slipped out to get some space for herself before she hyperventilated herself out of existence. "I'm sure everyone here can deal with an intermission," Sylvain says, smiling dashingly at people even if they glare at him. Best not to let them know he's bothered or curious, even if only an absolute idiot would miss what's going on. "I'd say that's why you're here, except I guess you're just following around the leading duo..."
Of course, there has to be another reason why Claude is sticking to him so much... And he gets it at the sound of an unfortunately familiar voice echoing off stone walls, and right when he almost runs right into the Professor of all people right at a corner.
"Oh, hello Sylvain," they say, as though this is Garreg Mach and they've both just run into each other while skipping class for entirely different reasons - Sylvain because he went on a date, the Professor going off fishing in the monastery pond. "Congratulations on your marriage. You look very dashing."
Underneath their steady voice, Sylvain can still hear the sound of his father's voice echoing throughout the hallway. "Uh," he says, "hey. Good to see you too, Professor."
With the customary greetings done with, Byleth gives a satisfied nod, like, yes, this is exactly how things are supposed to be. Human conversation has been Accomplished. Even now, with much more serious matters just around the corner, Sylvain has to kind of marvel at it and be fond. Even with how stupid and bitter he was as a youth, well, he knows how the Professor is. Just, you know, not enough to get used to sudden bombs of information. "I tried to delay him long enough so that the ceremony could go nicely, and maybe even the party, but I suppose the Gautier battle ability is as good as one could expect it to be. I suppose it would be foolish to expect just brute force to be enough to hold the border."
Wait. What? "Hold up," Sylvain says, eyebrows going to his hairline. "Are you... Did you go off to fight my old man when he was trying to make it here to - I don't know, presumably object to the wedding?"
"Oh, we had to do a little bit more than just that, because he wanted to get here sooner," Byleth says airily, as though this both isn't a big deal, and also as though the subject that they're talking about isn't literally just down the hall. "But everyone in the fortune didn't mind doing a little bit of dirty work for a while, so it's alright."
Did he just.... Sylvain stands there for a moment, reeling at the implications of it all. Byleth took the old Eisner mercenary group and made trouble for Margrave Gautier, in the days leading to Sylvain's wedding, all the way up until presumably today when it couldn't be held off, just to... Just to give him this. A wedding where he and Dimitri could exchange their vows in peace, only focused on one another.
"Wow," Sylvain says breathlessly, only vaguely aware of how Claude is smiling gently to the side. "Okay - if you ever get tired of running a whole religion, Professor, you're more than welcome to hide here in the castle whenever you want."
Byleth isn't the most expressive person. It leads some people who don't know them well to be left a little uneasy at that blank and intense stare, or the way they often get all up in a person's business like during tea time. But when they do show feeling... It's quiet, subtle, but so full of depth that it's not wonder Dimitri had a schoolboy's crush on them once upon a time. "I will keep that in mind," they say, and there seems to be something unspoken to those words. You better invite me back soon... Or something like that. Then that expression fades back into intense blankness, and they glance back to the corner they just turned from. "Are you sure that you want to see him?"
On one side, he has Claude. In front of him, he has Byleth. Sylvain has to admit that there's probably no point in trying to hide anything from these two, even if he doesn't particularly care for the extra ears that Nader and Vorah make. "I don't want to see him much at all, but I don't think it's a great idea to just stay oblivious," he says, grimacing. "So I'll see him... but from a distance. I sure don't plan on talking with him."
What could would that do, anyway? Nothing. Sylvain can't think of a single thing. His father will never accept a marriage like this for his only heir, and, even if it's only a little bit... He still wants to keep some scrap of happiness, while he's dressed in this silly groom's white.
Byleth considers his response for a moment, before nodding, and they step to the side. It's just enough for Sylvain - and the small peanut gallery that's ended up with him - to peer around the corner and see just what kind of shitshow is happening down there and which hasn't stopped, ever since he and Byleth ran into each other.
Every single person he saw slip out of the main dining hall is there - Felix and Ingrid, Lorenz, Mercedes, and of course... Dimitri. So many people, it would normally be hard to make out who they're opposing, if the halls of the castle were not so wide. That means there's still just enough room for Sylvain to see that unfortunate shade of red, the red that has traditionally marked out Gautiers for probably generations now. In his gut, something uncomfortable squirms, and thrashes all the harder when he spots the familiar pale hair of his mother close by.
Wow. The old woman even got involved. He guesses he stirred up more of a hornet's nest than he thought he did.
For all that he can hear his father's voice - the outrage, the accusations of theft and ruining the Gautier lineage, et cetera, et cetera - Dimitri's is a lot quieter and harder to parse out. In comparison to the margrave, it could almost be mistaken as calm. Sylvain knows it is anything but, however. Probably all of the people gathered around Dimitri could. Who else stood by his side in that rundown cathedral, watching the storm that lay about his shoulders like a cloak?
That storm is in his expression, now, as he looks upon Sylvain's father, the margrave, and Sylvain would be a liar if he said it didn't stir something in him.
It's a feeling that he'll return to later, probably, when there isn't a far more pressing matter happening not that far from him. It's clear that this sort of argument isn't going to end anytime soon, he suspects, not with Dimitri clearly doing his best to remain calm in the face of his father's outrage and insistence. Maybe he should send someone down this way, try to figure out a way to break it up... Is there a servant he could give enough money to in order to stumble their way into this mess? It'd be pretty risky business, dropping a bowl full of soup or something onto even a margrave and the head of a Crest family, but...
In the time that he spends in his own head, his father says something to the outrage of the others. Sylvain isn't exactly sure of the details; that's what getting lost in his own head gets him. But he can see the way Mercedes' spine straightens like an arrow going for its target, and how Annette lights up with a fury the divine could only envy.
Yet, to Sylvain's absolutely hog-shit-wild shock, the first person to actually react is Lorenz fucking Hellman Gloucester. In the blink of an eye, he tears off one of his fine and pristine white gloves, only to fling it right into the Margrave's face. "How dare you, you absolute cur-!" he says, voice rising to the ceiling.
Sylvain's father swipes the glove off of his face just in time to see Felix's running leap of a punch straight for his nose.
Needless to say, everything descends into an absolute clusterfuck quicker than a wasp can sting. Sylvain almost feels that, if not for his experience on the chaos of the battlefield, he wouldn't know where to look first. The brawl happening between his blood and one of his dearest oldest friends? How Annette starts taking off her shoes so that she can start smacking at Sylvain's mother when she tries to draw a sword? Vorah's delighted cackle of accented Fodlish as she exclaims, "They use swords in a wedding day!?"
"It is a Faerghan wedding," Sylvain says, a little dazed as he watches Ingrid do the very unlady-or-knightly thing of taking a flag from a nearby suit of armor only to smack it straight into the face of both Gautiers - a name, he realizes, that no longer need hang over his head.
Ingrid doesn't stick around long, after that one last hit. Dimitri barks a command over at her, and she leaves pretty damn abruptly, spinning on her heel and making a mad dash - straight towards him.
This apparently shocks Ingrid as much as it does Sylvain, because he sees the way her jaw goes slack in shock at the sight of his very blatant red hair. To her credit as a knight and eternal tomboy, however, Ingrid doesn't miss even a step. If anything, she just moves faster. "Sylvain!" she hisses. "How much of that did you hear!? Actually, it doesn't matter!" And Sylvain obligingly closes his mouth.
Smart move, in the end. Ingrid doesn't lose a single bit of momentum to herself as she leans down and just hauls him straight the fuck up into her arms, like he's a damsel in all those cheesy ass bodice rippers he knows more than a few people hoard behind closed study doors. Ignoring his squeak, Ingrid looks straight to Claude. "I hope you understand that I'll be taking my leave along with the Queen of Fodlan," she says hastily, even as she's already moving while Sylvain scrambles to hold onto her shoulders.
When he finally manages to stabilize himself, holding onto Ingrid for dear life, he looks over her shoulder too where Claude is. The other man, his old chess buddy, the king of a nation, doesn't seem to have minded Ingrid's words at all. Instead, he's focused purely on where Felix already has his sword drawn against the Margrave Gautier, while Dimitri is at his side, pointing an accusing finger towards the man responsible for one half of Sylvain's blood.
When he finally manages to stabilize himself, holding onto Ingrid for dear life, he looks over her shoulder too where Claude is. The other man, his old chess buddy, the king of a nation, doesn't seem to have minded Ingrid's words at all. Instead, he's focused purely on where Felix already has his sword drawn against the Margrave Gautier, while Dimitri is at his side, pointing an accusing finger towards the man responsible for one half of Sylvain's blood. He thinks he can spot his mother's hair in complete disarray, after being assaulted not by weapons or words, but a shoe and a flag.
News of this is going to get out pretty quickly. Anything to do with nobility tends to. And boy, what a mess it will have to be, dealing with all the politics, and trying to face his parents again because he surely will have to eventually...
And yet, with Dimitri as his husband, and Felix taking up a sword against his father, and Ingrid carrying him away while running as fast as she can to who knows where... Sylvain can't help it.
He starts to laugh, louder and more sincere than most of his life, and feels chains fall from him.
The world seems wide and free to him, for the first time in years.
For his part, Sylvain can't help but think it's kind of a terrible idea. He's not going to make a good queen. A part of him is almost dead certain on this fact. While he hasn't seriously flirted or gone out with any girls since - well, since before the day he made that stupid bet with Dimitri, that doesn't mean that the vast majority of people still don't think of him as that Gautier floozy. And he used to think that was fine, honestly? That was all according to plan, the plan to make no one want anything to do with him, even for the fancy prize of his damnable crest and last name.
It trimmed down on the amount of people who wanted to marry him, anyway, up until Dimitri latched on and never really let go even after five years of living in the wilderness haunted by the voices of the dead.
With that in mind, well, the reputation he worked so hard to cultivate back then to free him of any responsibility or marriage attachments has come back to bite him firmly in the ass. Sylvain loves Dimitri. It's an indisputable fact at this point, with how much they've kept close to one another after all the years. And because he loves him, he doesn't want to saddle Dimitri with something like that. Dating is one thing, but marriage? He's a terrible choice for marriage.
Of course, when Sylvain tries to point all of this out to Dimitri, all he gets for his trouble is Dimitri digging his heels into the mud on the whole damn affair. "Do you love me?" Dimitri asks.
"I mean, yeah, obviously, in case the kissing wasn't an obvious giveaway, and also that's the entire reason I'm trying to have you make a smart choice for once."
Probably, he should have just kept his mouth shut. All Dimitri has to say is that people who are in love get married, and that's that. Sylvain is pretty sure that a lot of people get married for convenience, or unfortunate accidents in the bedroom that make everyone miserable in the long run, or because of political choices that would make a lot more people more at ease and maybe something to do with money... But that's Dimitri for you. He always was something of a romantic at heart. Sylvain kind of loves it, even if it is kind of pulling his life along like this.
But, you know, in the end... He really does love Dimitri. He really does want to marry him, more than he's ever actually wanted to marry anyone in his life - which has been never, honestly, considering his track record.
So maybe... It's not that much of a surprise that Sylvain concedes to it all in the end. He concedes to getting married to Dimitri.
Maybe he should regret it. Maybe he should let himself be haunted even more by all his insecurities, by all his worries, by the fear of even more eyes on him like he's something special when he wants to be anything but. It's just really hard for any of that to happen when he gives his answer to Dimitri at long last, and has the pleasure of seeing that weary face blossom into a smile that could make the sun and moon jealous.
They let the news out in a natural way, which is to say that it's very carefully planned and coordinated with their friends first, like Felix and Ingrid and all the other original Blue Lions, and then some of their close allies and other friends, like Ferdinand and Lorenz. Only after all that do they make a public announcement.
And it's, uh, quite public, although not in the traditional manner. It's on the second anniversary of the war, as a matter of fact, during some great big festival down in, funnily enough, Derdriu. It's something of the perfect stage, actually. When Dimitri steps up to make his speech about how far they've come, how they've united properly after a bloody war, it's in the city square where nobles and merchants and the average citizen alike are all gathered. They're the ones who get to hear Dimitri proclaim that he is to be married, and that his marriage will be to Sylvain.
On one hand, Sylvain still really hates the expectations he can see already whirling throughout the crowd. He can almost smell it, like a bloodhound.
On the other hand, it's hilarious to see every single prettily dress noble (but not too pretty, trying to fall in line with Dimitri's tastes and messages) have their jaws drop open as they take in the fact that the King of Fodlan is going to be marrying not only a man, but him of all men. Sylvain takes what amusement he can take for something like this.
For any normal engagement between a noble couple, it would start with the suitor going to the other party's parents, and seeing about how a match would go. There are the occasional special cases - friends who've known each other and don't mind an alliance, like what had been planned with Glenn and Ingrid - but that's generally the way of things. Usually, it's nothing too wild or extravagant, so, of course, he and Dimitri do the exact opposite of what's expected.
Listen, if they were to just ask Margrave Gautier to let him get married to his only son and the inheritor of the Gautier Crest, it would be... something of a shitshow. It was always going to be a shitshow, of course, but this way, it's a shitshow that will be on their footing, and nothing else. That means sending a messenger to the Gautier territory with a letter from Dimitri declaring his intentions, only the day before the announcement is made in Derdriu.
Is it classy? Absolutely not. Does Sylvain still go with Dimitri back to Fhirdiad when everything is said and done, instead of stopping by traditionally by Gautier territory for a couple of days before running away? Of course.
Not like this is something his father just takes lying down, granted... That much shows when they get back to the castle, and there's already an antsy Gautier messenger right there at the gates with a reply letter. Sylvain doesn't have to read it to know the kinds of things that his father has written in there... And frankly, he just plain doesn't want to read it in the first place.
Dimitri does, although Sylvain can tell by the thin line of his lips that he doesn't really want to either. It's just that he'd rather be prepared than go in blind, Sylvain guesses... Or maybe it's some sort of obligation feeling. Even for all that he's breaking tradition after tradition, from this to Duscur to regular old politics, Dimitri is still the kind of guy who is into stuff like feeling obligated. For however much that Sylvain would never want to see his father again, he is still his father... and, at least possibly to Dimitri's eyes, he's still worth paying attention to for right now.
That courtesy seems to extend to only reading the letter once, before Dimitri tears it apart in his hands and deposits it into the nearest fireplace of the sitting room he takes Sylvain to so that they can recuperate from their trip. "He has protests," he states in a flat tone, even as he shrugs off his cloak to drape it across the back of a plush armchair. It's the same armchair that he guides Sylvain into; he's learned that Dimitri rather like fussing and spoiling the people he loves. "But I expected that."
There's no details given on the exact protests that were given, or any of the words that Sylvain's father tried to pass along to him. He's rather thankful for that. Sinking into the chair, Sylvain stretches his arms out in front of him as though he's a lot more relaxed than he is. Somehow, it's just easier for him to play pretend than break down into worry. So long as he can keep doing that... "Jeez, he's going to completely crash the wedding, isn't he?" he says, and tries not to think too hard on how the very thought makes his heart turn into a rock lodged in his ribcage.
The Gautiers are strict Faerghans in all the worst ways, the military kind who he knows most other nobles only few as attack dogs to keep the Sreng border in line. Was that something always attached with the title of a margrave, or was it something born from his family's history? Sylvain has no idea, and he supposes it doesn't really matter.
What matters is in the present, and, for the present, he knows that it's almost a guarantee that his father is going to raise some kind of hell. It's been bad enough that Dimitri has been trying to bring peace to the border between Fodlan and Sreng... That sort of goal means a margrave would be a useless role, not in the traditional manner, and Sylvain knows his family has centered its whole identity around that kind of useless thing. Add into Sylvain being stuck in a "useless" marriage that won't even produce a heir...
He hasn't even realized how much in his own head he's gotten stuck until Dimitri's fingers gently light upon the back of his hand, and Sylvain jolts in his seat. When he looks, Dimitri is kneeling right there besides him, looking up at him with that blue eye of his. "It is going to be okay," he promises him, gentle but sincere. "I will not let him take you back there."
Jeez... He must really be in a bad state if Dimitri is acting like this in front of him. That means his nerves and swirling thoughts are showing. It's kind of terrifying, actually. "Hey, it's fine, I mean, what is he going to do in the face of a king?" Sylvain says, trying to take on a joking tone.
And that's true, he reminds himself, in an attempt to calm down his own anxiety. While his father may have been a bastard in a lot of ways, the kind of man who let his eldest get away with numerous murder attempts before it became too much to actually hide or ignore, he's not the kind of absolute villain who would try to kidnap Sylvain from Fhirdiad Castle, or something outlandish like that. Not only would it not be in his personality, but it would take him away from hawkishly watching the Sreng border.
A lot could be said of his father, and Sylvain knows most of it couldn't be kind if it came from some of his closest friends, but the man is certainly dedicated to his duty. The fate of all Gautiers who fell in line to their parents before them eventually, who tried to make up for the lack of control being acting as though they were making a choice instead...
Sylvain knows he isn't a particularly good Gautier in that case - he never tried to be, went for the opposite even, and now it's basically set in stone. But it'd be nice to think that, just maybe, he can be a half decent Blaiddyd.
In the months that follow, the big source of bother becomes not his father, as it turns out, or even his mother, an entity who he sometimes felt never looked twice at him. Instead, well, it is what it was probably always going to be: noble politics, with everyone having their own opinion on the person who will step to the throne besides Dimitri. Some of it is expected, like people either vying for his favor or talking behind their back about how he isn't a good fit at all, and how the royal lineage will look like.... Lots of stuff like that. Sylvain can shrug that off easily enough.
It's the... other stuff that knocks him for a loop. Like when various young women try to come onto him or Dimitri as a concubine, or when some noble family tries to switch gears by introducing Dimitri to their sons. Some of them look awkward. Others are pretty stony faced and hard to read. And then there actually a couple who, when allowed into the room with them privately, or pulling them aside in the hallway when the parents are otherwise preoccupied, who ask just what kind of trick Sylvain and Dimitri pulled to be able to do this kind of thing.
The answer there is, admittedly, because Sylvain ended up having someone fall in love with him who ended up as the king of all of Fodlan. Him and Dimitri do those guys a solid, and introduce them to Byleth.
Of course, it's not all political bickering and dealing with unwanted suitors. When it comes to a royal wedding, there's a lot to do... and they have a lot of friends who are more than happy to get involved to make it a good event. Annette and Mercedes are especially excited about it all, with both of them planning to throw their all into it. At Sylvain's request, Dedue is going to be the one behind the main wedding feast before all of Fodlan, with Ashe happily playing a supporting role along with of course the royal chefs. Apparently, even their old Professor wanted to be in on everything... But something else apparently has their attention.
A bit of a disappointment, honestly, but Sylvain can understand. Their Professor - the person now in charge of faith in the entirety of the land, however much they seem to not care for it - has to have a lot on their plate. Can't bug them for just a wedding or anything.
It even works out, in a way - Byleth appoints Mercedes as the one who will give the Goddess's blessings upon him and Dimitri, and, well... If a lot of people want to get a way in through Dimitri or him, then the same is true for Byleth, and anyone who has their attention. Mercedes is almost lucky in a way. There's no romance or political drama involved there, just a lot of people who want to give her time or resources or help with her great big orphanage projects.
With that in mind, Sylvain would say that this whole damn marriage business is actually kind of beneficial.
Yet as the wedding looms ever closer, every moment that he doesn't spend busy or helping Dimitri with matters of state or sparring with Felix is a moment filled with anxiously swirling thoughts. He knows his father has sent more messengers, more letters, to Fhirdiad, but none of them have been towards him. It isn't that anyone has hidden them, he's positive about that... Well, he can't be surprised. Sylvain tells himself that, as though it can change the feelings that twist in his chest.
Sylvain has no idea what Dimitri's responses are to the letters, although he knows he could ask about them easily enough. Dimitri doesn't lie. He's the kind of guy that's painfully honest and sincere, no matter what his emotions are. But it's just that... Sylvain thinks he might be better off not knowing. At least for right now, if nothing else.
Of course, that means his brain is left running wild all the way up to the day of the wedding, where he's left to fiddle with his outfit while Ingrid goes to check in on him with Dorothea following behind her. "I never thought this day would come," Ingrid says, marveling at the outfit Sylvain is in. He doesn't think white suits him, honestly, not like it does on Dimitri... But he guesses there can be exceptions for things occasionally, even if he's hardly virginal white material. "You really are settling down with someone... and Dimitri, of all people."
"I mean, it was probably going to happen eventually," Sylvain says, trying to sound and look casual, sliding his hands into his pockets. It's going to rumple the material, but oh well. Most people won't be close enough to see or care anyway. "Noble duty, and all that."
"Right, noble duty - the driving force behind all of this," Dorothea saws with that particular roll in her tone, the kind that says there's no use in trying to be clever because she sees right through it, and it's all bullshit. Great woman, that Dorothea. Sylvain is pretty sure she's going to be the end of him someday without having to even lift a finger.
At least Ingrid keeps pressing forward, looking him over. "So... Are you nervous?" she asks, and that's when Sylvain notices the way her own hands are clenching. While it's a wedding, and everyone was encouraged to dress in their best, Ingrid of course is still dressed in as much armor as she could be allowed. Something, something, a knight's duty to the king... Something like that. Honestly, Sylvain feels that it probably has something more to do with how she was chosen to be his best man, while Felix went over to be Dimitri's. An unexpected combination, he supposes, but it's good to see that the two of them are slowly repairing their old childhood friendship. "I mean, I'm just asking. After all, well... Any wedding for me seems to keep getting put off."
Neither of them say aloud that she was robbed of a wedding from someone they all loved, all admired, but, well... It's there hanging in the air regardless. Sylvain tries to smile, reassure her. "All of it doesn't feel real, if I'm honest. I guess we'll see how I feel during the end of the day. Sometimes this stuff hits you later, you know?"
That's a little bit of a white lie. He feels more than a little dazed, and maybe kind of breathless in a way that makes it hard to take in air, and no small part of him wants to fling open the balcony doors in order to just vault over them no matter how high they may be. Maybe one day in the future, the near future even, he'll tell her about all his concerns and fears and everything else... But for just a little while longer, he'd like to play the casual and lighthearted fool. Maybe for her own wedding, in that distant future, she can think back on it all, and find some comfort.
Is she finding it right now? Who knows. She's certainly figuring out something as she nods, her gaze sort of distant. "I suppose that makes sense," she admits. "But I have to admit, while I know that such relationships aren't uncommon, to see a noble marriage ceremony between two men... It is a bit new, I suppose."
Well, he supposes this was always inevitable, it was just a matter of getting Ingrid to that very obvious conclusion... Sylvain goes to make eye contact with Dorothea, for reasons, only to find her already eyeing Ingrid like a kid who recognizes the sound of a puppy whining and wiggling when their parent has stepped out of the room to get them a "surprise".
Good for them. Sylvain grins, feeling more at ease, and just taps Ingrid's shoulder. "Well, something to think more on for the future, right? In the meanwhile, I think it's getting close to the curtain rising on our end."
Of course, saying that is one thing. It's another to actually step out into the hall where the ceremony is to be held, Ingrid at his side with a lovely ceremonial lance that seems almost more flower than metal. He can see Dimitri at the other end of the path, escorted by Felix in ducal finery, and... and...
Shit. He feels like he's sort of gone stupid, all of a sudden, as he stares over to where Dimitri walks as regal and splendid as anything. Anyone who looks at him in the present would never have made a connection with him and the person of fur and blood who haunted Garreg Mach but only a few years ago. He used to joke, back in that place when it was still a school, Dimitri was such a fairytale prince. He looked like it, back then, and certainly seemed to do his best in acting like it, too.
But now... It's like looking at something more than that. Beautiful patterns of blue and teal and white, one of those dumb capes he always wears that never fails to look majestic, his hair pulls back artfully...
Guilt suddenly hits him like a hammer to his skull, knocking him dizzy and unsteady. If not for Ingrid at his side, her presence somehow grounding him, he's not even sure how he'd start to take the steps down that carpet himself, all the way to where Mercedes is waiting for them with an absolutely beatific smile on her face. He shouldn't be allowed to have this. This isn't something that someone like him should be allowed to have. The feeling roots itself in his chest, threatens to grow and wind around his throat until he could choke. What does Dimitri even see in him? When there feels like just rot and misfortune growing in his gut?
Before he knows it, he's right there before Mercedes, with Dimitri there in front of him. She begins her speech - and who wouldn't listen to Mercie speak, like a proper priestess? Despite that, only some of it filters into Sylvain's head as he stands there, and is hit by the force of Dimitri's smile.
After all this time, practically a lifetime of misery... and Dimitri can still smile towards him, of all people.
He thinks of somewhere quieter, of more distant, of seeing Dimitri alone there silhouetted by the light of Derdriu's post-battle celebration. Back then, Dimitri had asked him about what he really wanted, instead of his thoughts on how people would perceive them, or how things would be difficult. If he wanted to stay with Dimitri, or if he was in love with him, all sorts of things that happened in the aftermath.
Mercedes asks them to exchange blades, and then rings, and then their vows.
Sylvain says yes to all of it.
"Are you all right?" Dimitri asks him during the reception, when they've all cleared away from the fancy speeches and now are engaging in the tried and true human tradition of stuffing themselves after any big event. Certainly the food keeps otherwise chatty mouths occupied to some degree, which Sylvain can appreciate as he and Dimitri have their own table at the head of it all. He needs the space.
A low whistle flits out of him. "I guess it's just now hitting me that I guess I'm finally a married man," Sylvain admits, while they have plenty of space away from other people they like significantly less than Ferdinand, or Leonie, or anything else. "I think I'm going to be in a daze for at least a whole year."
Will he get used to it? He can only hope so. But then, he thinks he got used to a lot of things with Dimitri - going out for rides, taking care of him, letting Dimitri convince him to not let go of this romance in the first place. When he tries to think of it like that... Well, maybe it's just him fooling himself, but he thinks this really could become something incredible in the end, even if just for him.
And hey, being Dimitri's queen could have some benefits. Sure, there's all the annoying gossip and politics he's going to have to deal with after trying very hard to have no spotlight on him, but, well... He can also be a bit of a dick sometimes, too. He's never really tried to be one on purpose before...
Before they can really get too caught up in any other details on this particular conversation, a couple of guests start to approach their little marital spot, and Sylvain grins as he makes eye contact with them. "Can't leave us alone in married bliss for long, huh?" he asks Claude, nodding to the two people who are following him not far behind him. He's familiar with both of them, ever since a certain someone sprung the great big surprise that he's the king of Almyra not that long ago. The great general Nader, and the apparently up and coming lancer, Vorah. He likes both of them, honestly, although he thinks the relaxed nature of both individuals throws Dimitri off occasionally.
Or maybe that's just Claude, honestly, who's grinning right back at them with a wide smile of his own. "Hey, someone has to break the ice and come up to congratulate the two of you," he says cheerfully, coming to a stop with his hands resting on his hips. Even dressed up in Almyran finery, a king that can match anyone else, it's still undeniably Claude. It's kind of reassuring, in some way. "Although this is a slightly plainer wedding than I think some people were expecting."
"That is certainly something for those people to believe, considering the grand feast that is happening today," Dimitri says dryly, raising an eyebrow. "If they do not appreciate it, then they can certainly trade their place with someone who will appreciate it more."
Behind Claude, Vorah lets out a sharp and bright burst of laughter, while Nader just grins. It's hard to match the glitter in Claude's own eyes, however. "I think they were expecting a bit more eye candy than anything for their mouths," Claude says. "But that just shows there's some good priorities going on here. I brought some gifts, but now I'm wondering if they're a little too much..."
"It's always too much, coming from you," Sylvain teases, "and not in the way some of the other gifts are going to be, I bet."
Before he can say much more, however, the doors at the end of the room open up, and a guard hurries past all the tables to head straight for Dimitri. She leans over to him, her words so quiet that not even Sylvain can hear what's being said, and Dimitri frowns. "I see..." It's a quiet murmur of his own, before he turns his head to look back to Sylvain and Claude. "I do apologize for this being so abrupt, but it appears there is a matter happening in another part of the castle. I will go attend to it quickly, but... Claude, if I could request you to carry on your pleasant conversation with Sylvain? Ah... If you wish it, beloved."
What did he just call him. "Sure," Sylvain answers, maybe something of a squeak, and gets the pleasure of all three Almyrans just grinning. Is that a cultural norm over there? Unabashed delight at people being embarrassed? They all grin way too similarly, he's gotta say.
Dimitri takes him by the hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles just above the wedding ring, before he quickly gets up and makes his way out alongside the guard. It's only when he's out of the room entirely does Claude speak up again. "It looks like you're taking pretty well to married life already," he says, his gaze pointedly flicking down towards the hand that Sylvain is idly rubbing. "And who was that guy back in school who claimed that he wasn't much of the type to settle down?"
"Listen, how could anyone fight against a powerhouse like that?" Sylvain groans, although a smile of his own has made its home on his lips. "He just hits people with stuff like that, and you're done for. Anyway, I'm glad to see that your congratulations involves teasing me to death."
"You wouldn't have it any other way," Claude laughs. "Anyway, it really is great to see you this happy. Actually happy, even."
If there's one thing he doesn't need, it's Claude calling him out on the fake smiles he used to wear back in school... Although maybe in this context, it's not so bad. "Thanks," Sylvain says, watching from the corner of his eye as he watches Ingrid go out the doors, only to come back and whisper something down at Felix and Mercedes. "Honestly, the credit should go to Dimitri. Once he got the idea in his head, it just wouldn't leave, I guess, and I got dragged into it."
Felix and Mercedes get up as well, following after Ingrid, with Felix's in particular having a rather stormy expression. Sylvain isn't the only one aware of it, considering how Lorenz gets up to follow too, and Naders's gaze is idly on the whole affair. "I mean, it sounds to me like you jumped in with both feet instead of getting dragged into anything," Claude points out idly. There's no way he isn't somehow aware of whatever fuss is lowkey happening in the background. What the hell is going on outside? Does it have to do with what Dimitri was informed about? "Well, that's the best way to go about marriage, really, when you think about it."
"Uh huh," Sylvain says, watching as Vorah just.... gives up all excuses by straight up walking away, leaving behind her king without a care in the world. The politics and expectations of Almyra sure can be fascinating to watch, let alone learn about... Well, if she's just going for it, he'll take that as a sign himself.
Of course, when he pushes himself up onto his feet, that's not the kind of thing Claude is likely to ignore. "The main star of the show leaving already?" he says, like he's not already following Sylvain around for this whole thing. Nader is rubbing his hands at the prospect of a show. Good man, that Nader. "And we're already down the leading man... Oh well."
Bernie is gone too, Sylvain notes as he makes his way through al the different tables, but he suspects that has nothing to do with the current situation at hand, and more that she just slipped out to get some space for herself before she hyperventilated herself out of existence. "I'm sure everyone here can deal with an intermission," Sylvain says, smiling dashingly at people even if they glare at him. Best not to let them know he's bothered or curious, even if only an absolute idiot would miss what's going on. "I'd say that's why you're here, except I guess you're just following around the leading duo..."
Of course, there has to be another reason why Claude is sticking to him so much... And he gets it at the sound of an unfortunately familiar voice echoing off stone walls, and right when he almost runs right into the Professor of all people right at a corner.
"Oh, hello Sylvain," they say, as though this is Garreg Mach and they've both just run into each other while skipping class for entirely different reasons - Sylvain because he went on a date, the Professor going off fishing in the monastery pond. "Congratulations on your marriage. You look very dashing."
Underneath their steady voice, Sylvain can still hear the sound of his father's voice echoing throughout the hallway. "Uh," he says, "hey. Good to see you too, Professor."
With the customary greetings done with, Byleth gives a satisfied nod, like, yes, this is exactly how things are supposed to be. Human conversation has been Accomplished. Even now, with much more serious matters just around the corner, Sylvain has to kind of marvel at it and be fond. Even with how stupid and bitter he was as a youth, well, he knows how the Professor is. Just, you know, not enough to get used to sudden bombs of information. "I tried to delay him long enough so that the ceremony could go nicely, and maybe even the party, but I suppose the Gautier battle ability is as good as one could expect it to be. I suppose it would be foolish to expect just brute force to be enough to hold the border."
Wait. What? "Hold up," Sylvain says, eyebrows going to his hairline. "Are you... Did you go off to fight my old man when he was trying to make it here to - I don't know, presumably object to the wedding?"
"Oh, we had to do a little bit more than just that, because he wanted to get here sooner," Byleth says airily, as though this both isn't a big deal, and also as though the subject that they're talking about isn't literally just down the hall. "But everyone in the fortune didn't mind doing a little bit of dirty work for a while, so it's alright."
Did he just.... Sylvain stands there for a moment, reeling at the implications of it all. Byleth took the old Eisner mercenary group and made trouble for Margrave Gautier, in the days leading to Sylvain's wedding, all the way up until presumably today when it couldn't be held off, just to... Just to give him this. A wedding where he and Dimitri could exchange their vows in peace, only focused on one another.
"Wow," Sylvain says breathlessly, only vaguely aware of how Claude is smiling gently to the side. "Okay - if you ever get tired of running a whole religion, Professor, you're more than welcome to hide here in the castle whenever you want."
Byleth isn't the most expressive person. It leads some people who don't know them well to be left a little uneasy at that blank and intense stare, or the way they often get all up in a person's business like during tea time. But when they do show feeling... It's quiet, subtle, but so full of depth that it's not wonder Dimitri had a schoolboy's crush on them once upon a time. "I will keep that in mind," they say, and there seems to be something unspoken to those words. You better invite me back soon... Or something like that. Then that expression fades back into intense blankness, and they glance back to the corner they just turned from. "Are you sure that you want to see him?"
On one side, he has Claude. In front of him, he has Byleth. Sylvain has to admit that there's probably no point in trying to hide anything from these two, even if he doesn't particularly care for the extra ears that Nader and Vorah make. "I don't want to see him much at all, but I don't think it's a great idea to just stay oblivious," he says, grimacing. "So I'll see him... but from a distance. I sure don't plan on talking with him."
What could would that do, anyway? Nothing. Sylvain can't think of a single thing. His father will never accept a marriage like this for his only heir, and, even if it's only a little bit... He still wants to keep some scrap of happiness, while he's dressed in this silly groom's white.
Byleth considers his response for a moment, before nodding, and they step to the side. It's just enough for Sylvain - and the small peanut gallery that's ended up with him - to peer around the corner and see just what kind of shitshow is happening down there and which hasn't stopped, ever since he and Byleth ran into each other.
Every single person he saw slip out of the main dining hall is there - Felix and Ingrid, Lorenz, Mercedes, and of course... Dimitri. So many people, it would normally be hard to make out who they're opposing, if the halls of the castle were not so wide. That means there's still just enough room for Sylvain to see that unfortunate shade of red, the red that has traditionally marked out Gautiers for probably generations now. In his gut, something uncomfortable squirms, and thrashes all the harder when he spots the familiar pale hair of his mother close by.
Wow. The old woman even got involved. He guesses he stirred up more of a hornet's nest than he thought he did.
For all that he can hear his father's voice - the outrage, the accusations of theft and ruining the Gautier lineage, et cetera, et cetera - Dimitri's is a lot quieter and harder to parse out. In comparison to the margrave, it could almost be mistaken as calm. Sylvain knows it is anything but, however. Probably all of the people gathered around Dimitri could. Who else stood by his side in that rundown cathedral, watching the storm that lay about his shoulders like a cloak?
That storm is in his expression, now, as he looks upon Sylvain's father, the margrave, and Sylvain would be a liar if he said it didn't stir something in him.
It's a feeling that he'll return to later, probably, when there isn't a far more pressing matter happening not that far from him. It's clear that this sort of argument isn't going to end anytime soon, he suspects, not with Dimitri clearly doing his best to remain calm in the face of his father's outrage and insistence. Maybe he should send someone down this way, try to figure out a way to break it up... Is there a servant he could give enough money to in order to stumble their way into this mess? It'd be pretty risky business, dropping a bowl full of soup or something onto even a margrave and the head of a Crest family, but...
In the time that he spends in his own head, his father says something to the outrage of the others. Sylvain isn't exactly sure of the details; that's what getting lost in his own head gets him. But he can see the way Mercedes' spine straightens like an arrow going for its target, and how Annette lights up with a fury the divine could only envy.
Yet, to Sylvain's absolutely hog-shit-wild shock, the first person to actually react is Lorenz fucking Hellman Gloucester. In the blink of an eye, he tears off one of his fine and pristine white gloves, only to fling it right into the Margrave's face. "How dare you, you absolute cur-!" he says, voice rising to the ceiling.
Sylvain's father swipes the glove off of his face just in time to see Felix's running leap of a punch straight for his nose.
Needless to say, everything descends into an absolute clusterfuck quicker than a wasp can sting. Sylvain almost feels that, if not for his experience on the chaos of the battlefield, he wouldn't know where to look first. The brawl happening between his blood and one of his dearest oldest friends? How Annette starts taking off her shoes so that she can start smacking at Sylvain's mother when she tries to draw a sword? Vorah's delighted cackle of accented Fodlish as she exclaims, "They use swords in a wedding day!?"
"It is a Faerghan wedding," Sylvain says, a little dazed as he watches Ingrid do the very unlady-or-knightly thing of taking a flag from a nearby suit of armor only to smack it straight into the face of both Gautiers - a name, he realizes, that no longer need hang over his head.
Ingrid doesn't stick around long, after that one last hit. Dimitri barks a command over at her, and she leaves pretty damn abruptly, spinning on her heel and making a mad dash - straight towards him.
This apparently shocks Ingrid as much as it does Sylvain, because he sees the way her jaw goes slack in shock at the sight of his very blatant red hair. To her credit as a knight and eternal tomboy, however, Ingrid doesn't miss even a step. If anything, she just moves faster. "Sylvain!" she hisses. "How much of that did you hear!? Actually, it doesn't matter!" And Sylvain obligingly closes his mouth.
Smart move, in the end. Ingrid doesn't lose a single bit of momentum to herself as she leans down and just hauls him straight the fuck up into her arms, like he's a damsel in all those cheesy ass bodice rippers he knows more than a few people hoard behind closed study doors. Ignoring his squeak, Ingrid looks straight to Claude. "I hope you understand that I'll be taking my leave along with the Queen of Fodlan," she says hastily, even as she's already moving while Sylvain scrambles to hold onto her shoulders.
When he finally manages to stabilize himself, holding onto Ingrid for dear life, he looks over her shoulder too where Claude is. The other man, his old chess buddy, the king of a nation, doesn't seem to have minded Ingrid's words at all. Instead, he's focused purely on where Felix already has his sword drawn against the Margrave Gautier, while Dimitri is at his side, pointing an accusing finger towards the man responsible for one half of Sylvain's blood.
When he finally manages to stabilize himself, holding onto Ingrid for dear life, he looks over her shoulder too where Claude is. The other man, his old chess buddy, the king of a nation, doesn't seem to have minded Ingrid's words at all. Instead, he's focused purely on where Felix already has his sword drawn against the Margrave Gautier, while Dimitri is at his side, pointing an accusing finger towards the man responsible for one half of Sylvain's blood. He thinks he can spot his mother's hair in complete disarray, after being assaulted not by weapons or words, but a shoe and a flag.
News of this is going to get out pretty quickly. Anything to do with nobility tends to. And boy, what a mess it will have to be, dealing with all the politics, and trying to face his parents again because he surely will have to eventually...
And yet, with Dimitri as his husband, and Felix taking up a sword against his father, and Ingrid carrying him away while running as fast as she can to who knows where... Sylvain can't help it.
He starts to laugh, louder and more sincere than most of his life, and feels chains fall from him.
The world seems wide and free to him, for the first time in years.