Chapter Text
Felix dodged to the right, his sword a gleaming silver arc in the air as he brought it down across Miklan’s outstretched arm. The other man pulled back at the last second and pulled his lance around, but his movements were easy to follow, and Felix rolled under the blow to come up on Miklan’s other side.
“I should have dealt with you when I had the chance,” Miklan growled. He feinted, but Felix had retreated far enough back that he could clearly see through the movement. “You know what we did when a runt was born back at House Gautier?”
“You talk too much,” Felix replied coldly. He parried the lance with his sword and swung around to catch Miklan in the side with a powerful kick. “Guess you two have that much in common.”
Miklan managed to catch his leg, but Felix was too close for him to strike effectively with his lance. He tried to grab the front of Felix’s armor instead, but the smaller man easily twisted away and danced back a few steps.
He’d spent years training with Dimitri and Sylvain. Miklan’s skills with the lance paled in comparison to theirs.
“That the best you’ve got, runt?” Miklan beckoned with his fingers, his grin feral across his face. “I could take you with one hand tied behind my back.”
Felix snorted. He held his ground as Miklan charged, deflecting the lance up and away with his shield and stepping in to draw a couple of quick slashes across Miklan’s face. “You couldn’t take me on my worst day,” he taunted.
Miklan reared back, temporarily blinded, and Felix took advantage of his movements to aim a strike at the underside of his arm, across the lacing of his braces.
“And this isn’t even close to my worst day.”
…
“All right,” Shez hoisted herself out of the well. “Ready?”
Miranda had threaded the other end of the rope through the pulley above the well’s mouth and stood waiting, rope wrapped around her forearm. “Ready.”
Shez took up position behind her, twisting her own arms into the rope. “On three.”
They pulled. Shez wound up the slack as Miranda passed it on, always keeping the rope taut. Slowly, little by little, a limp form was pulled out of the well. Shez dropped the rope, leaving Miranda to anchor it, and hurried over to haul Sylvain free of the inky depths.
“You with me?” she patted his face and chafed his wrists. “Come on, Sylvain. I need you to wake up.”
Miranda was beside them, cutting the rope free from around Sylvain’s chest. “He’s cold.” She pulled off her outer robe and draped it over his shoulders, then braced an arm behind him to help sit him up against the side of the well. “Those bruises.”
“I know.” In the strong morning light, Sylvain’s condition was even worse than she’d thought. His face was swollen, and dark, finger-shaped bruises circled his throat. Peeking into the torn neckline of his tunic, she could see even more bruises on his chest, along with some discoloration over his ribs on one side. “We need you, friend. Come on.”
Miranda cursed and rose to her feet. “I left my staff with the horses, give me five minutes.”
Shez raised her eyebrows. “You know healing magic.”
“Not much,” Miranda hesitated. “I think Simeon had some vulneraries.”
“Anything would help,” Shez said as she shook her head. “Thank you.”
“Add it to my bill.” Miranda winked, then was off across the field.
Shez turned her attention back to Sylvain relieved to see his eyelids flutter. “Are you with me?”
He sucked in a ragged breath, eyes barely flickering open before closing again. “In-Ingrid?”
“Sorry,” Shez winced. “She wanted to come, but…it’s just me.”
This time, he managed to open his eyes enough to focus on her. “Oh. Hi.”
Shez laughed weakly. “Hi, yourself. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you home.”
“We?” He stared at her. His eyes were sunken, his face pale beneath the bruises and bristly scruff on his chin. Her heart ached at the sight of the flamboyant, exuberant man she knew made pale and weak by his captivity.
“Felix is here,” Shez explained. She made the mistake of turning around to look for him, and Sylvain followed her movements in time to see Felix duck a blow from Miklan’s lance.
“No!” Sylvain surged forward, though Shez held him in place with a hand on his shoulder. “No, he…he can’t fight him. You can’t…don’t do this.”
“Hey, hey,” Shez put both hands on his face to turn him away, shifting until she was directly in his line of sight. “You don’t need to watch that. Just look at me.”
Sylvain’s fist curled uselessly in her sleeve as he weakly pushed at her. “You can’t…don’t kill him.”
“Look at me,” Shez repeated. She stared into his eyes, willing his focus to stay on her. “You have to trust Felix on this, all right? He’s doing what he has to in order to protect you.”
He stared at her, eyes wretched, then Sylvain’s face crumpled, and he tipped forward until he was resting his forehead on her shoulder. “You can’t kill him,” he said, voice cracking with a sob. “He’s my brother.”
“Oh, Sylvain.” Shez wrapped an arm around his shoulders to hold him close, bringing up her other hand to card her fingers through his hair. His hair was matted with sweat and dirt and blood, and he shuddered in her arms at the touch. She rested her cheek on the top of his head and held him, barely looking up when Miranda returned with her healing staff.
That was how Felix found them a few minutes later, striding up to their little group as he slid his sword back into its sheath. “How is he?” he asked, coming to a halt next to Shez.
She looked up at him, her own eyes damp with unshed tears. “Did you kill him?”
Felix snorted. “Does it matter?”
Sylvain was quieter now, but it seemed more from exhaustion than any lessening of emotion. “I think it does,” Shez murmured.
Rolling his eyes, Felix dropped to one knee next to Shez and put a hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “We’ll contact Margrave Gautier. His can take responsibility for his oldest son.”
That wasn’t really an answer, but Sylvain stirred a little at his friend’s words. He twisted in Shez’s arms to look at Felix, then he was reaching for the other man, struggling out of Shez’s grip. Felix, for his part, let Sylvain fall against him and wrapped his arms around him to hold him close.
Something seemed to loosen in Felix’s expression then, some softening emotion or fading fear. He tipped his head back, eyes closed, and rested his chin on the top of Sylvain’s head for a long moment.
“Come on,” he finally said, pushing Sylvain back enough to cup both hands around his face. “Let’s go home.”