the fell star

With the bodies still cooling on the battlefield, Sylvain tugged on his horse’s reins to change direction and search the western part of the plains. He hadn’t grouped up with anyone else yet, seeing as he still had to look for survivors.

His horse picked her way delicately through the remnants, avoiding hands and feet and some caved-in skulls. Sylvain pointedly looked away. He didn't want to marvel at the carnage and become more desensitized to this than he already had. 

There was a ruin nearby— a blasted out shell that hadn’t been habitable for ages, it seemed, but his gut told him to investigate. Sylvain dismounted and left his horse a safe distance away, fumbling for his lance. 

“Hello?” he called. Sylvain stepped through the crumbling arch and peered around. “Anyone in need of rescuing?”

A sound alerted him, somewhere to his left, so he hurried over. The only thing there was an ancient pile of crumbling rock, but was that the corner of a cloak pinned underneath?

“Hold on!” He tossed his lance carelessly to the side, almost certainly earning him a lecture from Ingrid later. His gauntlets scraped against the stone, making a truly terrible sound. 

Once a few stones were removed, Sylvain could see a pocket inside the pile of rubble where someone could fit, cramped as it was. There you were, huddled under an old beam that was your only barrier between staying alive and being crushed. 

Sylvain stared at you, astonished, then got his act

together and held out a hand. “Need a lift?”

You groaned loudly, despite your injuries. “Stop. I don’t need to be rescued by a punny knight.”

“How about a friend, then?”

You hemmed and hawed, then took his hand. Sylvain grinned and helped pull you out. It took a bit of fancy maneuvering to avoid collapsing the whole thing before you were free, but after a few minutes you popped out, safe and sound. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, losing your voice in favor of hissing in pain when you put weight on your bad leg. “Don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

Sylvain waved his hand and clapped you on the shoulder, unaware of how you looked at his hand, then gazed at his face. “Let’s not linger on that. Let’s linger on me being gallant and brave! Like a true knight.”

“I don’t know if knights go around bragging about their heroics.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with drumming up a little st—“

Sylvain stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, stunned silent for once in his life when you tugged him down into a kiss. This might be your concussion talking, but it seemed like the only way to shut him up. 

When you two broke apart, Sylvain looked very much like someone had just yanked a rug from under his feet. “I—“

“What?” you asked, trying to play coy as best as a concussed person can. 

“I’ve never…” Sylvain rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking at you with wide eyes. He looked uncharacteristically flustered. “Never… kissed another man before.”

“Did you not like it?”

Even with the winter chill permeating every part of the monastery it could reach, the ballroom was somehow unaffected. All the bodies pressing up against each other warmed the room to almost uncomfortable levels. How did nobles keep their faces straight when they were sweating through all their fancy clothes and makeup?

You were fine at the edge of the crowd, thanks very much.

“Not much for dancing, are we?”

Claude leaned into your field of vision with his classic, “up to no good” smile. “Y’know, I’m not one for all the pomp and circumstance, either. I’m a sorry excuse for a noble, huh?”

“I don’t think that’s fair to you,” you reply, tapping one finger to your temple. “It’s all in the mindset.”

“You mean to say I’m not a soul-sucking aristocrat?” Claude feigns tears and presses a hand to his chest. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Laughing, you push his shoulder and he stumbles, one dimple showing through on his cheek. Dancers whirl around the floor, picking up speed to match the quickening tempo of the music. Cyril, ever the hard worker, was stocking the food table while Annette loitered, eyeing the baked treats.

“But here’s the thing,” Claude said. “What if we went in there and showed everyone up?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him. “Like, dancing? Can I trust you to lead?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I can act proper if I want, but only for competitive purposes like this.” With that, Claude extended his hand with a flourish and bowed halfway at the waist. “May I have this dance?”