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A whistle rings in his ears over the deafening chaos of the blizzard around them. He has come this far, he has found him, curled up in the freezing snow, shaking like a leaf. Seeing him in this state makes Sylvain remember Miklan’s wicked smile and the glint in his eyes, the knowledge that he had won even after death by causing this mess.
There’s no point in dwelling on that. Sylvain will find his retribution eventually; Felix’s safety comes first. He pulls the scarf away and shouts, hoping his voice pierces through the frozen gale.
‘Felix!’ His head perks up, glowing red eyes staring at Sylvain like a beast about to jump on its prey. The look is dangerous, but he still responds to his name; there’s still some humanity in him, and that spurs Sylvain on. ‘Felix, it’s me, Sylvain! Felix!’
A beat passes silently, and then Felix growls and jumps towards him. Sylvain’s first instinct is to back down a step, but then he stays still, letting Felix throw him on the snow and tear apart the warm clothes that shelter his neck from the cold. He needs this more than Sylvain, he deserves it more than Sylvain does, and he’s happy to oblige.
After all, all of this is his fault.
Felix stops suddenly, whining and sobbing, and his nails dig into Sylvain’s skin, so hard they might even draw blood. ‘Felix,’ Sylvain calls, trying to spot his eyes under the mess of dark blue hair, ‘Felix, don’t hold back. It’s okay. I’ll be okay,’ he lies, raising a gloved hand to rub Felix’s cheek, and he growls pitifully in response. ‘I’d rather die than let you rot, Fe.’
‘...Idiot.’ Felix manages, with his low and raspy voice that makes Sylvain’s stomach churn.
‘That’s me, alright,’ he whispers, and it doesn’t look like Felix can hear him over the snowstorm raging around them. But that’s fine, because there’s only one thing Felix has to understand right now.
Sylvain’s hand moves to the back of Felix’s neck and gently pushes him down. It’s both an embrace and encouragement, and he pays no mind to the way his own body shakes in fear from what could happen if he lets Felix feed on his blood.
But whatever happens, he’s ready to accept it, as long as it saves Felix.
Felix opens his mouth, and his still-warm breath gives Sylvain shivers. He closes his eyes and presses his eyelids together when Felix’s teeth start to sink into the flesh that connects his shoulder with his neck.
He starts to suction his blood, and Sylvain grinds his teeth together, keeping a scream curled inside his throat. He must be strong, he must live and take Felix back home to his family, he must-
The pressure of his teeth on Sylvain’s skin vanishes, and, instead, Felix licks it. Faint and tired as Sylvain is, the motion reminds him of a kitten, which sends a wave of warmth through his chest. Even the pained whine that comes from Felix’s mouth feels warm. ‘S-Sylvain- Urgh…’
‘It’s fine,’ he lies, because he’s bleeding and weak and it’d be a miracle if they were found soon. ‘If you need more-’
‘I-I’m not,’ he sobs out. ‘I want to go home.’
Then go , he wants to say. Rotting away in the snow feels like a fitting end for him, the one who couldn’t protect his best friend from his own brother, the one who couldn’t see Miklan’s cruelty extending to Felix as well. He deserves to lie here, engulfed by the snow and remembered only as the end of the Gautier line, a failure to his house, but having saved Felix. That would be enough.
But Felix doesn’t allow that, because Felix is stubborn and so very kind. He pushes Sylvain up by the hand, and Sylvain tries to prop himself up, crying out in pain when his shoulder pulsates. It’s still bleeding, and so close to his neck, and he should be dead already.
When he manages to sit up, Felix picks up a handful of snow and presses it on Sylvain’s shoulder. The boy groans and shudders in response, but there is some relief in the biting cold on his skin.
‘I-I’m not leaving you here,’ Felix assures, sounding angry and terrified at the same time. ‘I’m not.’
Sylvain smiles. Right. Be together until they die together. How could he forget about something so important?
‘Yeah,’ he murmurs, breathless, and manages to get up on his own feet by leaning on Felix. It makes his lightheadedness worse, but they can’t just stay here in the middle of nowhere and Felix refuses to go without him. The younger boy is still shaking. If it’s from fear, weakness, or loss of control, Sylvain doesn’t know. ‘Home. Right?’
Felix nods.
‘Do you feel better?’ His father’s voice is merely a whisper, and if it were anyone else, Felix probably wouldn’t have noticed it.
‘I’m fine,’ he lies, because he still has shudders, his hands and legs are still shaking, and he feels like he’s out of his own body, watching the real world from a crystal cage. But, compared to Sylvain, he is fine. ‘And him?’
‘He has woken up.’ A weight disappears from Felix’s shoulders instantly, and Rodrigue smiles. ‘He has a high chance of making it.’
Felix nods, closing his eyes again and turning around and away from his father, hoping he’ll get the message. As per usual, he doesn’t, sitting on the edge of the bed instead. ‘The Margrave and I… have been discussing the situation.’
The situation. Being turned into a vampire by Miklan is, simply, a “situation”. Not a life changing event someone will have to take accountability for. Not like Miklan can, because Felix killed him, good fucking riddance.
‘So?’
‘I argued with him that the best thing for your health would be for Sylvain to stay by your side, since he was your first donor.’ Felix frowns and feels Rodrigue’s weight shift on the bed. ‘Finding another person with suitable blood for you now will be complicated. There aren’t that many Gautier Crest bearers left, after all...’
His father sighs, and Felix tries to decipher what those words could mean. Because they can’t travel up to Gautier once a month for some blood - that’s inconvenient. Even alternating months between them would be bothersome. ‘And?’
‘There is… Well, I thought it proper to ask for your opinion on one of the possible solutions.’ The way he’s wording it makes Felix’s stomach churn, and Rodrigue must notice it, because he clears his throat, his usual gesture for when he’s searching for the right words. Tiptoeing around Felix and trying not to trip. ‘I was considering the possibility of Sylvain joining House Fraldarius as your partner.’
At first, Felix thinks he has misheard him. He turns around on the bed, and a look at his father’s face tells him he’s completely serious.
“Joining House Fraldarius”. What a stupid euphemism for “arranged marriage”. As if he would push Sylvain into the thing he has always hated the most.
‘We will ask him as well, but I wished to know your thoughts as well.’
Felix huffs. ‘He won’t want it. So I don’t want it either.’
Rodrigue doesn’t insist, and Felix almost wishes he did, because this is one of the infuriating things about his father: how artificially collected he is. But, for once, he’ll appreciate the silence and the comfort that comes with it.
His father gets up, sighs, and readjusts his tunic. ‘I’ll let you rest now. We’ll ask him when he recovers.’
Felix hums and his father leaves, not without giving him a last, worried look. But he isn’t the one anyone should be worried about. Sylvain almost died out there, risked everything to rescue him, and is probably wasting every single second of mental clarity blaming himself for everything.
Miklan’s cruelty and Felix’s own naiveté were at fault, not him.
It is not the first time Sylvain wakes up, but it is the first time that the real world doesn't make him feel lightheaded. The first thing he notices is Duke Fraldarius' soothing voice talking to someone else, probably a servant, and his figure standing by his bedside. Has he come to check on him? He’s more welcome than his own father, that’s for sure.
‘Oh.’ The Duke turns to him, and Sylvain feels another wave of relief when he smiles, serene as usual. ‘Sylvain, you’re awake. You look better than before.’
He sits on a chair by the side of the bed, and Sylvain turns to look at him. ‘I… feel better,’ he admits. ‘My shoulder…’
‘It should still hurt when pressure is applied on it.’ The duke sighs, disappointed in his own work, but the smile returns to his face shortly after. ‘A newborn vampire’s bite is no joke, after all… But you’re young. It will heal properly.’
He nods, but now there is something more important in his mind. ‘What about Felix?’
‘He is recovering properly as well.’
‘But- Sir Rodrigue.’ His voice comes out weaker than he’d like, but the Duke is looking at him, listening. ‘He’s a vampire now, isn’t he?’
‘...Indeed.’ Sylvain notices Rodrigue’s fingers fidgeting. ‘The transformation was complete by the time you two were found.’
Which means he will need to be fed blood sooner than later, and he needs a specific type Sylvain’s father probably won’t be willing to give. ‘What… will happen to him?’
‘He will go back to Fraldarius manor with me,’ Rodrigue explains, ‘as soon as both of you are fully recovered and… some other problems are solved.’
Problems that are most likely related to his father. ‘...Sir Rodrigue. What did… my father say about this?’
Duke Fraldarius sighs, dropping his shoulders. ‘You should rest, Sylvain. You still have a fever.’
‘I want to know- Please.’
The Duke stays still for what feels like an eternity, and finally runs his fingers through his hair before leaning towards Sylvain. ‘The best thing for Felix’s health would be if the first person he fed on after the transformation - or someone related to said person - came with us and kept offering him their blood, but… As you might have imagined, your father isn’t particularly thrilled with this. I suggested an official adoption through marriage, but…’
Sylvain doesn’t need to hear more to know that suggestion angered his father. However, this is still the Gautier family’s fault, and Lord Rodrigue is, technically, a superior to Sylvain’s father. If he wanted, he could ask the Margrave for Sylvain, and he wouldn’t be able to refuse without a breach in etiquette.
Thinking about it, it isn’t that bad of a prospect. This is partially his fault, and ensuring that Felix is safe is a way of paying for his stupidity. For not seeing it coming, when he’s lived with Miklan all these years.
And it’s a golden chance to run away. From Gautier, from his father, from the Lance of Ruin, from the suitors. If he can make his way out of all those cages while also helping and protecting his best friend, the man he loves, using the same blood that had seemingly condemned him to an, at best, apathetic existence, then… What could be the catch?
‘...Lord Rodrigue. If it helps at all - I’d be content with that.’
‘Hm?’ He frowns, looking up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’d be,’ he stops, breathless, before going on, ‘happy to join House Fraldarius. And help Felix.’
The Duke blinks, surprised, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Is that relief? Amusement? ‘I see. You’ve always loved Felix dearly, haven’t you?’ He doubts Rodrigue can imagine just how deep his affection for his son goes, but he won’t mention it out loud. ‘...I’ll tell your father then. We’ll see what can be done. Sylvain…’ He breathes in, and finally lets that smile happen. ‘...Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.’
His father chooses a small chapel near Fraldarius manor; cold, dark, and damp as most things in Faerghus are, during a cloudy day of early spring. The sun now hurts Felix’s skin, so he’s grateful for it, but the place still has him scrunching up his nose and looking at Sylvain. He looks so sure of himself, of his own fault, despite owing Felix nothing. They’re both dressed so casually, with the colors of their respective houses. Far from fitting for a wedding, but nothing about this ceremony feels official.
He has asked more than enough times, but he does it again. ‘Are you sure?’
And, like every time he asked, Sylvain smiles and nods calmly. ‘Completely, Fe.’ Felix huffs, and Sylvain laughs. ‘I’ve told you already. I’m doing this because I want to - it’s not a forced marriage for me.’ Sylvain squeezes Felix’s hand in his, and his expression softens. ‘You don’t have to worry so much about it.’
But he does. Because Sylvain is his friend, and for all his reassurance, Felix still feels like he’s forcing him into this. That his own mistakes have put Sylvain in this situation.
But he accepted, and that’s Sylvain’s decision alone. Felix can only try to help him make the most of it.
‘What about you, Fe? Are you sure?’
It’s not like there is anyone else he’d rather be married to, thinking about it. Being with Sylvain, despite everything, feels like the most satisfying scenario: his vampirism won’t be a problem, Sylvain is away from his father, he gets Felix, and Felix gets him, for the most part. It’d be too hard to achieve that level of closeness with someone else, and Felix isn’t all that willing to try anyway.
‘Yeah. I am.’
His father calls them to the altar, where Margrave Gautier also stands, acting as witness with Felix’s nanny. There isn’t anything fancy about this: a quick, simple union to write on paper and seal with the Fraldarius and Gautier coats of arms. There is no banquet, no fancy clothing, and Felix is almost grateful for that.
‘Through this union we declare,’ his father announces, with a professional, neutral voice that gets to Felix’s nerves, ‘that Sylvain José Gautier, son of Margrave Julien Maxim Gautier, wishes to join house Fraldarius through union with Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Do you consent to this union?’
Felix looks at Sylvain, whose answer is quick and firm. ‘Yes.’
Rodrigue looks at Felix, perhaps expecting him to refuse, and Felix frowns.
‘Yes.’
His father nods, and Felix notices his eyes turning to Margrave Gautier before he speaks again.
‘In that case, may the Goddess bless this union.’