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missionkitty · 5 months

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Cold and Warm - Dorothea/Sylvain (FE3H)

a short one-shot fic i've been writing on and off for the better part of a year and finally managed to finish. i've always liked dorothea's and sylvain's dynamic and wanted to try writing something a little angsty but also fluffy with them. hope you enjoy. no major warnings, just sylvain trying to reminisce about his academy time with dorothea after they reunite post-timeskip and have their a-level support.

***

Sylvain held the dance pose he was in for what felt like an uncomfortably long time. He tried resisting the urge to glance at Dorothea, who he had managed to recruit to help him practice for the White Heron Cup in a few days.

He didn't want to risk looking at her and seeing a look of disgust or…whatever a professional performer would look at him with after what he felt was surely a poor show, based on her silence.

He started to sweat when he thought he heard a giggle. Sylvain whipped his head to see Dorothea stifling a laugh, her hand covering her mouth.

"Wh–Dorothea!" Sylvain whined, dropping his arms.

"Sorry!" Dorothea said, letting out a louder laugh and defensively shaking her hands. "I just wanted to see how long I could get you to stand there like that."

"Come on…I'm being serious, I need your help! I don't wanna let everyone down."

"I know, I know." She settled her laughter with a sigh. "But you looked great. I don't really have much to say, which is why I figured I could mess with you a little."

Sylvain frowned and put his hands on his hips.

"Well, you could stand to loosen up some. It's not like you to be so worried about something like this,” Dorothea responded with a joking pout.

"I'm just nervous! Like…why did the professor have to pick me to do this–why didn't she pick you?" Sylvain groaned, running his hands through his hair. "I mean, you did this kind of stuff for a living, right?"

Dorothea looked at Sylvain, thinking. She hummed and shrugged after a moment, walking up to him.

"Is all this practice cutting into your dates?" She cooed sarcastically.

"Well, sure, but I really do want to do a good job. I still have my pride as a member of the Blue Lions," Sylvain sighed.

"I don't claim to know what the professor is thinking, but I think her judgement has been really good so far–I mean," Dorothea said, dramatically flourishing her hands as she continued, "She let me join you Blue Lions, after all."

Sylvain chuckled and nodded, looking back at Dorothea.

"That's very true."

"Besides, I think I'm getting pretty good at black magic. You can help me fire off a few extra spells on the battlefield once you get that dancer certification," Dorothea added with a wink.

Sylvain smiled at Dorothea. Her apparent confidence helped push away some of his nerves. They had known each other long enough that she never really minced words with him…

Honestly, she could see right through him.

"...Do you think the professor really isn't trying to punish me or humiliate me by having me be the Blue Lions' rep for the Heron Cup?" Sylvain slowly asked, wanting to divert his current train of thought.

"Well, if what you said was true about that pass you made at her during the Horsebow Moon is true, then…maybe she's only trying to punish you a little bit." Dorothea smirked, tugging and adjusting the collar of his white shirt.

Sylvain sighed and gave a sheepish smile as he glanced down at Dorothea.

"What do you think she'll do to me if I don't win?"

"What, Sylvain Gautier scared of a teacher?"

"Did you know the professor's nickname when she was a mercenary was 'Ashen Demon?'" Sylvain faked a shiver, though it was certainly rooted in a real awareness of their professor's abilities.

"I think I've heard that floating around the academy once or twice," Dorothea said with a laughing hum. "She sure likes fishing a lot for being called a demon…"

"And tea." Sylvain gave Dorothea an astonished look. "You know, I still don't get how all these tea invitations are supposed to help me win."

"Sylvain, are you taking all these tea dates with a pretty lady for granted?" She teased, forcefully tugging and adjusting his academy jacket.

"As mysteriously beautiful as our professor happens to be, I think I'd much rather have tea with you," he replied, habitually turning on his charm.

"Oh really?" She looked up at him with a smirk and an accusingly-cocked eyebrow. "Then what's my favorite tea?"

"Sweet-Apple. Or Albinean Berry."

Dorothea looked at him with a mixture of shock and amazement. Sylvain had an unfamiliar feeling churn in his stomach as he processed her wide, green-eyed stare. He felt his ears start to burn and began stammering.

"I mean, I uh, I…I asked the professor…what your favorite was," Sylvain admitted, somewhat embarrassed. Their banter had disarmed him and he felt nervous again, but now for a different reason.

Dorothea's stunned silence eventually gave way to giggles as she shook her head.

"And for what reason did you want to know, dare I ask? If you're trying to flirt again…"

"No, no, nothing like that," Sylvain responded a little more frantically than he intended, "I just…wanted to thank you for helping me with this after it's all over."

"My, that's very considerate of you," she said with a smile. "Though I haven't done much more than just watch. Our professor seems to have done most of the heavy lifting."

"Sure, but for some reason I felt like getting your stamp of approval would help me feel more confident about this whole thing–which I was right about."

Dorothea smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad I could be of help. I look forward to your win."

"I guess I'll practice a little while longer if you don't mind staying," he said, putting his hands behind his head.

"Sure, but…one question." Dorothea looked at Sylvain. "What's your favorite tea?"

"Hmm…well, if the lovely Dorothea is inviting me for tea, then any tea is my favorite."

"Sylvain."

"Sorry, just trying to be funny." He crossed his arms and smiled. "Bergamot, or if you can find it, Seiros tea."

"Hmm, good to know," Dorothea said, smiling in return.

***

Dorothea smiled as she waited for Sylvain to emerge from a darkened corner of the training grounds wearing his new dancer garb. She wished she could have somehow saved the shocked expression that quickly played across Sylvain's face before he quickly resumed his confident demeanor when they announced his name as winner of the White Heron Cup.

She had begged him to show her what he looked like. Sylvain insisted that she would see it on their next mission, but Dorothea had convinced him to give her an early view.

It was kind of late, and hopefully no one would show up in the training grounds tonight–though Sylvain was a bit concerned about Dimitri appearing if he couldn't sleep, which was apparently a common occurrence.

Dorothea assured him she would protect Sylvain's honor and keep the crown prince of Faerghus from intruding on the dancer outfit sneak peek if worse came to worst.

It wasn't much longer before she heard some light jingling and saw Sylvain step into the light of one of the lamps they had lit.

Dorothea was impressed with his color choices–black with red and purple accents, very striking.

"So? What do you think?"

"I think that it suits you surprisingly well," Dorothea said with a smile. "The professor knew what she was doing when she picked you."

Sylvain smiled and chuckled, but stayed silent for a moment after.

"What do you say to that tea invitation now?" He asked, still smiling.

"Ooh, an evening tea…that sounds lovely. You should stay dressed in this though," Dorothea said with a teasing giggle.

"Is it doing anything for you?" Sylvain teased back, making a pose.

"Oh, absolutely! Our next opponents won't know what hit them."

***

Sylvain sat quietly in the monastery in one of the less-ruined pews, staring absently at the pile of rubble that obscured the altar.

He had been pondering those last few months leading up to the Empire's invasion of Garreg Mach after having dinner with Dorothea earlier that night.

It had been five years since he had won the White Heron Cup. However, after Edelgard revealed herself as the Flame Emperor and Rhea and the professor had gone missing, he hadn't really done much dancing. His other talents were needed to help fend off Cornelia's soldiers from absorbing the Gautier territory into the "Faerghus Dukedom."

He was skeptical that anyone would be at the monastery like they had planned five years ago, but amazingly they had found the professor, along with Dimitri. While the professor was the same kind, quiet presence he remembered, Dimitri was…a far cry from the prince he thought he knew.

He shook his head, hoping to push that thought out of his head.

"Here you are," a comforting voice said from behind him.

Dorothea walked up to where Sylvain sat, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, just thinking…not a whole lot of people here, and thankfully Dimitri is off prowling some other part of the monastery for now."

He resisted the urge to turn his head so he could brush his cheek against Dorothea's hand.

The relief he felt when he saw her standing in front of the mess hall, staring at the fishing pond, was immeasurable. He hadn't really had the luxury of trying to keep in contact with anyone besides Felix and the other nobles still loyal to the late royal family.

He had only heard whispers of the Mittelfrank Opera closing after the war spread and had half-resigned himself to the awful idea that he may never see Dorothea again.

She was a vision in red, but he recognized a familiar sadness in her eyes. The war had taken a lot from everyone.

But now, all the former members of the Blue Lions class, originals and additions, were there at the Monastery again. It was both comforting and bittersweet to see. The memories he recalled were the same.

They had found time to converse after meeting again (perhaps unfortunately right after another of his botched relationships) and seemed to fall right back into lockstep with each other, despite the hard edges the toll of war had sanded onto them.

Some lively banter, an admission of affection from both of them.

Sylvain wasn't sure why the words fell so freely from his tongue about spending the rest of his life with Dorothea, but it happened all the same–and to his surprise, his lovely classmate-turned-confidante seemed to feel the same.

But in solitude it felt unreal. Maybe it was the dark cloud Dimitri now occupied, or seeing the Monastery in ruins and overrun by thieves, or the Faerghus soldiers he had to–

He felt Dorothea’s hand gently run through the hair on the back of his head, pulling him out of his ruminating.

“It’s unlike you to look so serious, Sylvain,” she mused. The tone of her voice was soothing, making his troubled mind settle.

“I haven't mentioned it yet, but I like this length on your hair,” she said quietly. “If we weren’t in the middle of a war, I’d say the past five years treated you well…”

Sylvain finally looked up at Dorothea, concerned with the growing grief he could hear in her voice.

“Dorothea…” he said in a low voice. He scooted over, glancing at her and then at the open space next to him. He patted the pew and tried mustering a small smile.

Dorothea pulled her hand from Sylvain’s hair and sat next to him, her arm touching his. Sylvain automatically tried to scoot away to give Dorothea a little more room, but her hand swiftly touched his leg and gently pulled toward her.

Sylvain looked at Dorothea with a bit of surprise before letting out a breathy chuckle through his nose and stayed where he was.

“I missed you,” Dorothea murmured, squeezing Sylvain’s thigh.

Sylvain could feel his cheeks burning, but kept his eyes down on his feet. Her words felt undeserved. Even with what they were to each other now, the bitterness the war had etched into his skin tried to convince him that he didn’t even deserve her company.

He looked at her hand, five years of suppressed worry and longing rising in his stomach.

“I missed you too.”

Sylvain removed his glove and carefully lifted Dorothea’s hand into his. Was her hand smaller than he remembered? The thought was quashed when she firmly intertwined her fingers with his. Her hand was strong, holding his tight.

The soft warmth of her hand broke the floodgates open.

“I was scared I might never see you again. I had no idea how or when I could even get any kind of message to you…” Sylvain’s voice began to rasp as he held back the ache rising in his chest.

“But we’re here now. Together,” Dorothea responded quickly, surely.

Sylvain looked at her before pulling her hand up to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles. He could feel his heart trying to pound out of his chest.

“Sylvain…” Dorothea’s voice was angelic in his ears. She pulled her hand from his to softly caress and hold his face.

“Truly, being so serious doesn’t suit you,” she continued in a shaky whisper. Her thumbs gently swept over his cheeks. A weak laugh escaped her mouth and a tear rolled swiftly down her face and dripped onto her dress.

Sylvain sighed and placed his ungloved hand on hers.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

They sat in silence, leaning in to each other until their foreheads were touching.

The only thing they could hear was each other’s slow breathing, though Sylvain made note of the occasional tear drop leaving a dark spot on Dorothea’s dark red dress. He cherished the feeling of her fingers brushing against his skin and let out a long, relieved sigh.

He pulled his face far enough away to see Dorothea clearly, but still close enough to feel her warmth. Her green eyes shimmered, though it was due to tears. He gently swept a teardrop away with his index finger as it escaped the corner of her eye, doing his best to keep himself from crying as well.

She was too lovely–even in sadness.

A shiver gently rattled Dorothea’s body and Sylvain let out a small chuckle.

“Come on,” Sylvain began quietly. “Let’s go somewhere a little warmer. Quiet as the chapel is, it’s a bit drafty.”

“Oh?” Dorothea replied, some vitality returning to her tone. She quickly, yet carefully wiped a tear from her other eye. “And where do you propose we go at this time of night?”

Sylvain was relieved to see a small, teasing smile play on Dorothea’s lips.

“Perhaps…my room?” He couldn’t resist falling into an old habit, a playful smile forming, fully prepared to receive a quick, clever retort from Dorothea.

She stared at him, her expression somewhat unreadable to Sylvain. He began to wither a bit as he could only identify a hint of contemplation in her eyes.

He began to try and mentally salvage what he was now beginning to think was a poor joke. He wracked his brain trying to think of where else they could possibly go–but wait, why wouldn’t he want her in his room?

His mind began to buzz with thoughts, having difficulty focusing on any one in particular until a cool draft blew and gently rustled his hair.

He recalled the cold winds of Faerghus at his back as he would ride home from whatever conflict he had quelled. His memories of the Academy becoming more and more like a faint dream. The cold relic spear in his hand twitching, the stone at the base of its blade like a mercilessly unblinking, uncaring eye. His bed, even warmed, was lonely.

Dorothea’s warm hands brushed through his hair again, shaking him from his thoughts again. Her eyes were kind and alive. Her breath, warm and soothing.

“Serious again,” she murmured, smiling sadly. She went silent, but supportive as she awaited his response.

Sylvain smiled slowly as he pulled Dorothea’s palm to his lips, kissing gently and then adjusting her hand to kiss her knuckles again.

“Please,” he said in a low voice. “Would you like to come to my room?”

Any hint of his old, cold, habitual levity was gone from him in this moment. All he could imagine now was Dorothea pulled close to him, her warmth pushing away the cold winds and her eyes illuminating his vision.

Dorothea’s smile was warm. Warmer than any he had possibly seen from her ever.

Sylvain realized that must have been what she was waiting for.

“I would love nothing more.”

As they stood to leave, Sylvain instinctively tried to hold her close, to press her back against his chest, but a slight wince and jump from Dorothea surprised him.

“Sorry, your armor…it’s rather cold.” Dorothea turned and smiled apologetically.

“No, I’m so sorry, I…forget I’m wearing it sometimes,” he replied, looking down at the dark gray chestplate on his torso.

Before he could remember the cold, Dorothea giggled and pulled him along out of the pews.

“Once we get to your room, I’m sure you’d like to change into something a little less bulky,” she said with a hint of mischief.

Sylvain felt his cheeks begin to burn as his thoughts traveled on their own.

“I seem to recall a certain someone being a certified dancer…” Dorothea giggled, her eyes sparkling.

Sylvain’s cheeks burned for a different reason now.

“I, ah, I’m not sure I know where that outfit is…or if I’d still even fit into it…”

“Well, I’m sure we can figure something out. It’s not hard to take measurements, you know.” Dorothea squeezed Sylvain’s hand, still smiling.

Sylvain’s heart raced as he squeezed her hand back.

“Thank you, Dorothea,” he replied gently. “For remembering me.”

“Thank you, Sylvain. For not forgetting me,” her reply was equally gentle.