Chapter Text
Today was by far the worst day of Sylvain’s life. Even the time Miklan stole the Lance of Ruin paled in comparison to the reality of getting married. He’d done his best to ruin all marriage prospects his parents had put forth, but he’d only been fighting the inevitable.
Even his reputation did nothing to dissuade the match between him and Archbishop Rhea’s long-lost niece. As far as everyone else was concerned, getting married would force him to settle down. His parents didn’t care if he strayed from his marriage bed as long as he also spent some time in it too. Sylvain wasn’t sure how the Archbishop felt about that, but after the wedding in the Monastery, her dear niece would be shipped north to Gautier territory and her reach was weak up there.
A part of him felt bad for his bride-to-be. From what he remembered from the various briefings his parents had given him, the woman had been raised by her father as a mercenary. She’d only found out about her Crest and her relation to the Archbishop a few years ago. The info about her Crest was what stood out to Sylvain. He couldn’t imagine growing up without knowing about Crests. It seemed freeing. It seemed incredibly spoiled. No pressures of duty, no older brother hating you for stealing his inheritance, no reality that your goal was to knock up a woman with as many Crest babies as possible.
He assumed that since she was pretty much the Archbishop’s only family, this had been her idea. She must’ve wanted the title, the power, the seemingly cushy life of nobility. She’d tasted what she could have with a Crest seemingly lost to history and Sylvain was her ticket to securing all of that wrapped up in a nice little title.
It disgusted him. But he’d been warned again and again to play nice, to remember his duty. And if there was one thing Sylvain had learned over the years, it was how to make a woman fall in love with him. His only issue was that this woman wasn’t one he could dump. Short of a tragic accident, they’d be stuck with each other until one of them croaked.
But he’d still have his friends and once he knocked her up, his parents would be off his back. And she wasn’t weirdly young like some other pairings he’d seen. If he remembered correctly, she was almost a full year older than him.
The bell tolled, jarring Sylvain out of his downward spiral of self-pity and hate. His father opened the door and appraised him. Seemingly satisfied with Sylvain’s forcibly gelled hair, he nodded and then jerked his head, indicating Sylvain should leave.
It was time. The knot in his gut tightened and he walked out.
Sylvain entered from the east and saw who he assumed to be his bride entering from the west. He hadn’t had the chance to meet her and this far away with the packed pews between them, he couldn’t make out much. What he did notice was her stern-faced father, Jeralt the Blade breaker, who looked just as menacing as all the rumors made him out to be.
The voices of the choir swelled as the four figures came to stop in front of the Archbishop. His father and Jeralt shook hands and then they retreated, leaving Sylvain almost alone with his soon to be wife. This close, he noticed she was short, barely coming up to his chin even in the heeled boots she wore. He also noticed just how ample her bust was. That he could work with.
The Archbishop welcomed everyone in attendance and then indicated that Sylvain should unveil his bride. He did so slowly, drawing out the process as much as possible to take in her appearance. She was doe eyed with pale green hair and eyes, which erased any doubts he had about her not being related to Rhea. Her face was carefully blank, and it took Sylvain to remember both her name and nickname. Byleth the Ashen Demon. And Ashen was right. He wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or something else, but she was pale.
His appraisal ended Archbishop handed him a candle and another was given to Byleth. Sylvain didn’t bother to pay attention to the bullshit being said. Instead, he focused on the dripping wax and slight sway in Byleth’s stance.
When offered his wedding ring, he took it and slipped it on as Byleth mirrored his movements. Then their candles were taken away and Rhea indicated that they should hold hands. Sylvain offered his left hand, palm side up, and Byleth placed her hand in his. Her hand was comically small in comparison to his, but the calluses on her hand gave him pause.
Hands clasped and facing each other, it was finally time to promise themselves to each other.
“Under the light of the Goddess I promise to love and protect you. I will cherish you for all the days we have each other and …” Sylvain easily repeated the vows his father had drilled into him, projecting so their audience would have a good show.
Byleth’s voice was quieter but just as strong. She said her vows with only a slight pause when it came to her part about children. Interesting.
And then Rhea was wrapping their clasped hands together in a scarf with the Crest of Gautier embroidered on it. She led them in a procession five times around the table where their candles were placed, once for each of the Saints.
When they stopped in front of the table, Sylvain was already moving as Rhea proclaimed that their marriage would be finally sealed with a kiss. He brought his hands to Byleth’s face, which brought one of her own up with his, and ducked to press their lips together. She was stiff at first, but relaxed and with practiced ease, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. Someone in the crowd whooped and Sylvain didn’t hide the grin as he broke off the kiss. He had a reputation to uphold after all.
Unsurprisingly, his father looked on with exasperation. Far more interesting was the still neutral face of his now wife and the murderous intent radiating off Rhea.
But she didn’t have the opportunity to act on it before Sylvain and Byleth were whisked off to the banquet with their hands still tied together. They were seated at an intimate table just for the two of them on a raised dais. Waiting for them was food and already poured shots.
After everyone was seated, they stood again, each of them grabbing a shot.
“Welcome!” Sylvain said, his voice carrying through the hall. “It’s the day I’m sure some of you never thought would come and the day others have been counting down to. And even more of you are finally grateful your daughters and sons are safe from me.” That earned him raucous laughs from most of the crowd and a barely perceptible shifting of Byleth’s hand against his.
“Today is a day worth celebrating and I hope all of you have great time. I know I will.” Another round of laughter and he turned to look at his new wife with a smile plastered to his face. “And now to my beautiful wife who is lucky to have a husband such as handsome as me.”
“Thank you all for coming,” Byleth said. Her voice was louder than it was at the ceremony. “I am grateful for all of you celebrating this special day with us.” She raised her glass high in the air. “To this new path my husband and I tread together. To the renewal of the bonds between the Church of Seiros and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.”
Byleth knocked back her shot easily and Sylvain was only a second behind in finishing his. The alcohol burned as it worked his way down his throat and then the crowd was chanting kiss over and over again. He made a show of waiting for the chanting to build even louder before dipping Byleth with one arm and kissing her as tradition demanded. This time, she was expecting it. She opened her mouth without prompting to deepen the kiss. Sylvain didn’t let up until he was practically dizzy and the taste of alcohol was almost gone. They broke apart to loud cheers and both of them a little out of breath.
With that, the banquet began in full force. They were forced to give another speech, each of them thanking their parents. Both of their toasts sounded generic with Byleth even getting choked up when she gave hers. Food and drink were passed around with various entertainers moving through the crowd. More toasts were given from guests.
So far, the most interesting had to be from one of the Knights of Seiros, Alois. Sylvain remembered the boisterous man from his time at the Academy. Today, Alois was plastered, and his speech was one long death threat about what would happen if Sylvain didn’t treat Byleth right. Byleth looked almost looked mortified which was the most expressive she’d been all day.
Next came the dancing. Sylvain didn’t dislike dancing, but he did dislike all the eyes on him and Byleth as they moved across the floor in the first dance. He much preferred to watch people dance than be one of the objects of attention like this, but it was a good opportunity to study his wife further. She’d been largely passive so far. He’d been the one to initiate all their kisses and she seemed content to go along with what he was doing.
Until now. Sylvain had danced enough to know when his partner was leading. Sure, it was his hand on her waist, but she wasn’t letting the slight change of pressure of his grip guide her. Instead, she was pulling him along. It was so subtle he doubted anyone else could notice. And he couldn’t deny that they probably looked better for it. She was an amazing dancer. Under other circumstances, he’d be appreciative of the way she moved, the way her dress flowed and accentuated her body, but her hand tied to his seemed to burn him.
They danced for a few more songs until the dancefloor was crowded and Sylvain was thirsty. Byleth clearly wanted to dance longer but she didn’t protest as he led her back to their table.
“You dance like a wave across the water,” he said. Not his best line, but it got his point across. It was also the first unprompted thing he had said to her.
“You dance well too,” she said.
“Not as well as you do, my flower.” That earned him a slight frown. It was so brief, if he hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have caught it.
“Thank you,” she said and turned to pick at her food. That line of conversation was over.
Sylvain didn’t care. Instead, he focused on enjoying himself and working the crowd. Every time he stole a kiss from Byleth, they’d cheer.
But the cheering made for stolen kisses was nothing compared to the cheering as he and Byleth were escorted to their chamber to consummate the marriage.
The door had barely shut behind them before Sylvain was unwrapping the scarf that tied their hands together. He let the scarf flutter to the ground as he massaged his hand. It had cramped being stuck like that for hours. Byleth seemed to be in the same boat, but her gaze was fixed on a stain Sylvain couldn’t see in the carpet. His gaze went towards the bed and he began the mental preparation of willing himself to fuck her.
Sure, he’d fucked numerous people he hadn’t been that into and Byleth certainly was a looker, but putting it in the context of him trying to pump a Crest baby into her left a sour taste in his mouth and his dick limp. He knew plenty of men with pregnancy kinks but any image he conjured of Byleth heavy with his child made him feel even worse rather than horny.
“We can’t consummate our marriage tonight,” she said, startling Sylvain out of his thoughts.
“What?” he said, still trying to process what she had said.
Her verdant eyes met his. “I’m bleeding,” she said simply, and his brain finally put it all together.
“I’ve fucked women during their cycles before,” he said with a shrug. “Fingered them and ate them out too.”
Byleth’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “What? I wasn’t –"
“Relax. If you aren’t comfortable with it, we can wait.” Internally, he was thanking the Goddess. Nothing would have made this day worse other than not being able to get it up.
“I’d like that.” Then she turned, showing her back to him. “Will you unlace me?”
“I thought you didn’t want to have sex,” he teased.
“I can’t get out of this dress on my own unless I ripped it.”
Sylvain took his time undoing the laces. He undoes more than he needed to, but it gave him the opportunity to study the creamy flesh it exposed and the scars that marred her form. He traced one particularly nasty looking one and Byleth shuddered.
“Arrow. It didn’t want to come out,” she said.
He returned to his work until the entire thing was unlaced and Byleth was forced to press the front to her chest lest it fall off her entirely.
“Thanks,” she said before retreating to the bathroom.
Sylvain took the time alone to strip himself of his ceremonial armor that Kingdom tradition demanded he wear. Without it he felt lighter and exposed. Byleth fit the ideal Faerghus noblewoman in the sense that he had no doubt that she’d be able to put him into the ground. But he doubted the Archbishop would go through this much trouble to marry him to his assassin.
His mind was fixated on the thought of her small hands around his neck when she emerged from the bathroom. She had removed the makeup and without it she looked less like a doll playing dress up and more like a person. Surprisingly, she looked better without it. Less surprising was the gauzy nightgown she wore. It was so sheer, he easily made out her nipples through the fabric.
Wordlessly, she moved across the room and into bed. Byleth laid down before sitting up again and looking at him.
“I’m exhausted. Is it okay if I sleep?” she asked.
Sylvain nodded and she laid back down. He took that as his cue to retreat to the bathroom and wash up. In the mirror, he saw that the dark circles his mother had tried to valiantly cover up with makeup were ever present. Other than that, he looked good. He knew he was attractive and even without his armor, he looked sharp in his wedding clothes.
It made him sick.
He washed his face and brushed his teeth before deciding to strip himself of all his clothes. Nightclothes had been left for him, but he’d started sleeping in the nude years ago and saw no reason to go back now.
Now cleaned up, he padded back into the bedroom and blew out the candles before slipping under the covers. Even with the slight moonlight streaming in through the window he could barely make out Byleth’s form. He stared at her back until sleep finally claimed him. He dreamt of broken lances and mint green rivers.