Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To be honest, Sylvain enjoyed the chase more than the reward. 

He knew well what he offered in name—a conventionally handsome face and body that was a perfect blend of romantic charm and masculine ruggedness, an esteemed noble lineage complete with a sizable territory and estate, inheritable wealth, a direct and well-founded connection to the royal family, and a Crest to boot, even incredible etiquette and social skills. Contrary to popular belief, Sylvain wasn't stupid; he easily understood how he drew all types of people to him, all of them eager to get a taste, to take bits and pieces of him for themselves. Hell, if he had kids in some sick, alternate world, he'd want them to marry into someone with those material things as well. 

It was because of this, however, that he found the ones who turned him down most interesting, whether they be the shy, chaste type or the domineering one. He thought of it almost as a game of sorts: what made them reject his advances, when he's one of the most eligible bachelors on the continent? Was there anything he could do or say that would convince them otherwise? He often answered these questions within only a few dates with his wily charms, and the gratification he received from doing so was an addictive high. But he was a fickle lover, and well, sue him for getting bored after getting what he wanted. Hence, his long, extensive list of ex-lovers that constantly got him into trouble.

Ingrid had called him cruel and callous before. Felix, insatiable. Dimitri had always urged him to do better, be better. But old habits died hard, and today, he continued to let them down as he eyed his next target with a smile.

Sylvain often avoided the people in his house—they worked too closely together, saw each other too much—because the fallout from their inevitable breakup would be too much of a nuisance to deal with. However, he found his goal a little too tantalizing to deny himself the chance. This was new ground, after all, something new and exciting and fresh compared to his constant dating through the Garreg Mach town, and he would be damned if he turned down a challenge.

Once Professor Byleth had called for a break from their strategy lecture, Sylvain jumped at the chance to stroll over to Annette Dominic's desk and lean on it as the classroom erupted into conversation. He put on a signature Sylvain-smile, unwavering as Annette looked up from her messily-written journal with an unimpressed expression.

"What do you want, Sylvain?" she asked, more exasperated than anything, before he could open his mouth. He was caught off guard for a split-second—Geez, what happened to the peppy Annette? he wondered. Even to him, Annette was usually a bit more enthusiastic than this—before he centered himself and continued forward.

"Hey, Annette. I couldn't help but look at you during that whole lecture. You know, you're pretty cute when you're all focused like that," Sylvain said with a wink. He let out a laugh when Annette scrunched up her face in distaste at his comment. On anyone else, it might've been insulting, but on Annette's soft and sweet features, she looked more like a cute, angry pomeranian.

"Ugh, gross, Sylvain," she groaned with a roll of her eyes. She tapped impatiently on the pages of her journal and said with a frown, "Listen, I'm trying to figure out the incantations and formulas from lecture, so I'm busy. If you're looking for someone to hit on, I am not your girl."

"Aw, c'mon, Annette!" he pouted, moving around her desk to now stand directly in front of her. "I just wanna get to know you. What's wrong with that, huh? We're teammates, aren't we?" he reasoned, pausing to run a hand through his perfectly tousled hair—a signature move. 

She sighed, then turned back to her messily scrawled notes and began to flip through them. It hurt Sylvain's pride just a bit to see that she wouldn't even look at him. "You don't have to hit on me to get to know me, Sylvain. Goddess, surely you don't hit on every being with a pulse like the rumors say, right? You can be normal, can't you?"

Sylvain placed a hand on his chest and let out an affronted, dramatic gasp. "You wound me so, Annette! You're surprisingly cutting for such a cutie, you know that? No wonder you like wind magic so much," he noted with a sage nod.

There was only a non-committal huff for a response from the red-headed girl as she picked up her quill and scribbled something down into her notebook. After several moments of no rebuttal, he realized that she had entirely checked out of the conversation, and he was left standing there like a big old fool. Sylvain frowned, a call for her attention on the tip of his tongue as he leaned down to get closer to her face, only for him to pause mid-movement at a certain all-too-familiar sound.

"Sylvain José Gautier! You better get your ass over here!" he heard Ingrid roar from across the classroom, followed by heavy stomps in his direction. As if it were second nature, Sylvain's head whipped around like a deer to meet his demise with wide eyes.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. Why was it always Ingrid that interrupted his fun? Quickly, he turned to Annette and, with a smile in the face of impending doom, rushed out, "Listen, Annette! Let's have a study date sometime, yeah? I sure could use the help, and I know you're just the girl to do it! Just think about it, just—OW, INGRID!"

He fought off the flush of embarrassment creeping up his face from Annette, who had finally looked up from her journal with wide blue eyes, having to watch him whimper in pain as he was pulled away by the ear at the hands of Ingrid, who was already beginning her tirade as she tugged him to the corner of the classroom. If it was anyone else, Sylvain would've been sure he was in for some hot makeout sesh or some secret classroom tryst, but when he looked at Ingrid's pretty-but-seething face, all he could see was all the times she had beat him over the head for his escapades over the years. Something in her irritated expression told him he was close to another club on the head now too.

"What is wrong with you, Sylvain?!" Ingrid demanded, her voice a practiced harsh scold she had honed over many, many years. It was soft enough as to not invite anyone on their one-sided conversation, but loud enough to strike fear into Sylvain's heart. It was something she was good at, definitely too good at, after many years of practice. "Annette is too nice and good for your bullshit, so do not rope her into your antics!"

His sore ear began to ring from her voice, and he only huffed. "I haven't even done anything, Ingrid! How can I with your and His Highness breathing over my shoulder all the time," he sulked with a pout. Ingrid crossed her arms and fixed him with an evil eye.

"Yeah, like that's stopped you before," she barked sarcastically before gesturing wildly to the red headed girl, who had definitely been watching them but now ducked behind her journal cover with a loud eep! sound. "And why Annette anyways? She's not even your type!"

It was true. Sylvain wasn't a picky person when it came to hot and fast attraction—why should he be, when it was so short-lived anyways?—but he most often gravitated to sweet-faced, mature, curvier women (Mercedes came to mind as an example, but the one time he had tried to talk her up at the cathedral had ended in disaster as she openly called him out and shut him down with a sweet smile and no remorse). Annette, cute as a button as she was, didn't exactly fit the bill.

He shrugged. "Dunno. Never tried to get with a girl like Annette, is all," he said simply. With a yelp, he ducked a swing from Ingrid, though the edges of her knuckles still clipped the side of his head and struck him in the temple painfully.

As he whined to her about the pain and the marks she would surely leave behind ("This face is a Fodlán treasure, Ingrid, how could you mar it?!"), she snapped, "There will be no getting with Annette, Sylvain! Not as long as I'm here, you can be damn sure of that."

"Ugh, you're no fun, Ing, you know that?" he sighed.

"Oh, just shove it, Sylvain," Ingrid huffed before turning away with a swish of her thick blonde braid. "If it weren't for me saving your ass so many times, you'd be six-feet in the ground several times over. The least you could do is not ruin my friend."

Professor Byleth called for everyone to return to their seats, and Sylvain rolled his eyes at the sight of Ingrid's stink eye as he walked back to his desk towards the back. Goddess, his friends were such buzzkills sometimes. Couldn't a guy hit on a girl in peace?

As Professor Byleth continued their lecture, Sylvain just stared into space. Did Ingrid have a point like always? Yeah, of course she did, but since when did Sylvain listen to her?

He glanced at Annette again, with her furrowed brows and manic scribbling as the professor talked. All of her was cute, from the way her pigtails bounced as she tapped her feet on the floor to her concentrated expression. After a quick moment of deliberation about whether he was about to risk Ingrid's wrath again, he thought to himself surely, I'm gonna make this shit work one way or another. He was gonna make sure he got something out of this, and shit, he wasn't the type to give up.

Chapter Text

"The mark of an adept fighter is adaptability. Learn how to fight in every environment, with every weapon, and you will never be backed into a corner," Professor Byleth said sagely as they paced along the limestone floor of the training grounds. They nodded to the racks of training weapons that lined the walls and ordered, "Today, we shall be learning the axe. Though it is an unwieldy, difficult thing to use, it is a heavy and unyielding weapon that can smash through even the hardest of armors, should you master it. Please, everyone, grab a training axe and stand at the ready."

Practical weapon training was probably Sylvain's least favorite part of the school week. It took up hours of his time he could spend parading around the town, it made his muscles ache terribly, and it made him sweat like a sinner in church from both the exertion and the humid late spring heat (gross). It didn't help that he already spent a disgusting amount of time here, courtesy of his three friends but especially Felix Fraldarius, who seemed to just enjoy slapping him around and nagging him (just his luck for all of his closest friends to be on his ass all the damn time).

Still, the professor had chosen the axe—Sylvain's weapon of choice. He was proficient in the lance as all Faerghan nobles were according to ancient tradition, but he was from the far north; home to tall, snowy mountains, dark forests that seemed to swallow anyone unprepared for its frigid clutches, and a ravaged battlefield only a few miles from his doorstep, all of which required a stronger, less pretty weapon. He learned how to chop logs and fell trees before he could write, so when it came time to pick a training axe off the rack, he felt his hand close around its thick wooden handle comfortably. He swung it experimentally a few times through the air and found himself surprised that the heft of the wooden axe mirrored that of a standard iron one shockingly well. It was quite the design, and he had half a mind to dissect its mechanism before a voice broke his thoughts.

"Sylvain!" the professor called. With her stood Dedue and Ashe, both wielding their own axes as they chatted idly to each other. Briskly, he jogged to them with a flirty smile and waved.

"Hey, Professor. Beautiful as always, huh?" he said idly. The professor only rolled their eyes before pulling him into the haphazard circle.

"Listen, you three. All of you have shown good proficiency in axes over these past few months, so I would like you all to help the rest of the lions with their skills."

Sylvain frowned. For one, he didn't like the sound of extra, burdensome work—not when it was just another boring and awful expectation of him when he'd much rather laze around. Secondly, he looked at Dedue's incredibly large and muscular form, then at Ashe, who was cute but almost stick-like in comparison. He himself was fairly tall and well-built, enough to be at least somewhat comparable to the Duscurian teen, but Ashe? He jerked a thumb in the younger boy's direction and asked, disbelieving, "Really, Professor? Ashe looks like a proper axe would crush him."

Dedue and Professor Byleth sighed, while Ashe adopted a sheepish expression as he rubbed his nape with his free hand. At their expressions, Sylvain decided to scrutinize Ashe. With squinted eyes, he could see the faint, surprising outlines of taut muscles underneath Ashe's form and the comfortable grip he held on his axe.

"Well, I used to work odd-jobs to bring money in. Lots of strength-training in transporting goods and lumber work, is all," Ashe said softly, a red flush creeping up his neck and face. The red rushed immediately up his head as Sylvain whistled appreciatively and gave him a thumbs up.

"Not the point," Professor Byleth cut in, their expression suddenly more irritated. "Dedue, please teach Dimitri and Felix. I think only you could stand up to their strength and tenacity, and you would be able to handle Felix's... tenacious nature." The professor shot a glance at Sylvain, who was trying unsuccessfully to not smile as he made a note to poke fun at the scowling Felix for this later. "And Ashe, if you could teach Ingrid and Mercedes, I think they would respond well to your, let's say, gentler way of teaching."

Dedue gave a dutiful nod while Ashe stammered out a meek, "I'll do my best!" before they immediately headed towards their respective groups. Sylvain noted that while Dimitri gave a glowing smile as his retainer approached, Felix nearly snarled at the sight of Dedue. Conversely, Mercedes took Ashe under her arm immediately, a warm smile on her face as Ingrid began chatting up the young boy quick. Well, then that left him with...

"Sheesh, Professor. You trying to single the poor girl out?" Sylvain asked with a mock-disapproving shake of his head.

"Rather, I see that Annette has huge potential for axe-wielding, so I was hoping for my other gifted student to teach her," the professor said mildly as they looked over to the student in question. Sylvain couldn't help but splutter for a bit at the comment before he quickly regained himself and let out a laugh that may have been a tad too loud.

"Gifted? Professor, you must've mixed me up with someone else," he said breezily. His smile faltered as Professor Byleth fixed him with an uncanny look that seemed to see right through him and into his deepest, darkest self. He didn't like it, and had a sudden urge to clam up and keep the professor several arms lengths away.

"Don't think I don't see you fall asleep in my class then pass my reason and strategy exams without effort. I checked for cheating, too, but after extensive investigation, this was the only conclusion I could come to," they said with a shrug. They pointed to Annette, who was already starting to practice swinging her own axe with a tongue poking out in concentration. Her stance was wobbly and unsure as the axe was a bit heavy for her, but the arc of her weapon was damn near perfect. He watched with widened eyes as the professor continued, "Teach her, Sylvain. Maybe you can learn something from each other."

Sylvain raised a brow. He didn't much like being told what to do, even from a hottie like his teacher. "And what would we be learning, exactly, Professor?"

They both watched as Annette stumbled, yelping as the momentum of her axe spun her. "You could learn to apply yourself and make use of that potential you have, and she could learn to go a little easier on herself. It'd be good for you, I think."

"Professor—"

The professor turned away with a swish of their cape, pointedly ignoring him as he protested as they instead went to supervise the already-harsh clash between a calm but furrowed Dedue and an irate Felix (which was normal, now that Sylvain thought about it). Sylvain scratched his nape and sighed before walking over to meet his charge.

Annette was mid-mumble as he approached, leaning on the axe like a cane while muttering under her breath something about physics and torque calculations about how to most efficiently swing the weapon. It was clear that she was hot under the sweltering spring heat in her training clothes, as well as the exertion as she took deep breaths, and with a quick surveillance of her immediate surroundings, Sylvain realized she didn't bring a water skin or anything like that which was... typical of her.

"Never fear, your teacher is here," Sylvain sang as he strolled up to her. Smoothly, he handed her his water skin that he had on his belt, which she took with a confused expression. "Axe training is no joke, so make sure you're staying hydrated. And don't worry, I didn't put my lips on it yet. If you want me to change that, you just let me know, 'kay?" he added with a wink.

Annette snorted, rolling her eyes so hard Sylvain was surprise they didn't pop out her head. Still, she chimed out a tired "thank you" before gulping down several swigs of water. Soon, she closed the skin and tossed it to the side before standing straight, grabbing her axe, and staring at it glumly.

"Sorry, Sylvain," she sighed, "I thought I'd pick this weapon up easier given my background but it's proving more difficult than I originally imagined." Glumly, she turned the training axe in her hands and said, "It really is crazy what magic can do with the weight of the weapon. I can't even imagine how heavy Crusher would be without it."

"Crusher, huh? That's the Dominic Relic, isn't it?" Sylvain asked. He had grown up with Crest studies forced down his throat, for better or for worse, and it included knowledge of all the Relics associated with his type of blood. Fighting down a shiver, he continued, "I heard it was some kind of... hammer of sorts, and I know the Dominic family has always been armored knights, so I always wondered how you ended up in the mage business. Is it magic?"

"Well, it's kinda hard to explain," Annette said with a pondering frown, placing the wooden blade on the ground so she could lean against the hilt wearily. "My uncle has only ever let me use it in a limited practice setting under his eye, so I'm not entirely sure on the mechanism. It's only magic in the sense that it weighs pretty little compared to how heavy it looks, and in the way I can channel magic through it to power it up. It's still a melee weapon, however—I can't use it to cast spells or do long-range attacks. I just gotta go up and—" the small girl smashed her fist into her palm, making an explosion sound effect, "—crush them, so to speak."

Sylvain blinked. He tried to imagine sweet, kind, bubbly Annette swinging a hammer larger than herself onto an unsuspecting enemy and splattering their innards all over the place, orange pigtails stained in red flying through the air, and found the image more than a little horrifying. Actually, he felt a little sick that he could imagine it so vividly.

Delicately, he said after a few moments, "...I see. Well, even if Crusher is magic, you should probably still have the fundamentals of axes down before you go crushing people's skulls, don't you think? Can't be letting a pretty girl get hurt from her own weapon, can I?" Sylvain winked at her.

She sighed, turning away as if his advances were nothing but the dirt under her feet that she was currently kicking like a petulant child. She seemed more bothered by her struggle with the axe than Sylvain blatantly flirting with her (which, to be fair, had never stopped Sylvain before). "Yeah, I guess that makes sense," the ginger said eventually in a glum tone. "You would think, though, that I'd be better at this stuff off the bat, what with having Crusher and all that. I mean, I'm literally from a family of knights! It's embarrassing!"

Sylvain watched her complain while pouting, and he rolled his eyes. "Relax, it's only as embarrassing as you make it out to be, Annette. Most people understand that the axe is one of the hardest weapons to master, waaaaay harder than a sword or lance. Why do you think damn near every noble in Faerghus uses a lance as their preferred weapon?"

Annette frowned thoughtfully. "Well, historically, Faerghus has a long-standing cavalry tradition to help traverse the craggy, snowy plateaus that are common in the region, which lent itself to a knight class that heavily relies on horses. I suppose weapons with long ranges such as lances are better suited for horseback, though I personally have no experience in that realm and am relying more on anecdotes from other nobles rather than proper academic journals and studies. You could also posit that the sociopolitical influences of the knight class that so highly values lances as a straight-on, some say honorable approach to battles may have had a greater effect on the popularity of the lance in our culture overall—"

He began to wave his hands through the air, warding off her sudden onset of words. Really, he should've expected that she would give a true scholar's answer if given a question, and he wasn't sure why he expected otherwise.

"All true. I think. But my main point is that, the axe is a stronger weapon than either a sword or a lance. However, it's not the preferred weapon because it's super hard to pick up—literally and figuratively. It's easier to teach a group of soldiers to use a lance than an axe without hurting yourself, which is important if you don't want it to take forever to raise a half-decent army, right?"

"Riiiiiiight...?" Annette drew out as a puzzled expression rested on her face. Sylvain could see the gears physically turning in her head, so he made a motion for the training axe which Annette relinquished to him. With experienced hands, he brandished the axe in a way that made the girl oooh appreciatively.

"Unlike the sword, an axe is usually a two-handed weapon, so your hands aren't free to hold a shield or anything, making it a weapon that is neither versatile nor conducive to defense without armor, which has its own learning curve. And unlike a lance, it can get heavy as hell, which takes a greater physical toll on the user and requires more precise control." Sylvain began to swing the axe as demonstration, moving through the well-practiced forms of his childhood as the wooden blade sliced through the air. One tree in the forest, then the other. A Sreng soldier falling before his weapon, then another. He grimaced at the way the movements came so naturally to him.

"So, overall, it takes far more training to get even close to being proficient at the axe. It's more efficient for only a select few to be really good at the axe, like generals and armored knights, so more resources can be allocated to recruiting and training a larger group of foot soldiers using swords, lances, or bows, which is more cost-effective and easier to train to proficiency."

With a spin and a deft twirl with his fingers, Sylvain placed the axe back down on the ground as Annette clapped. As the small girl cheered with a bright smile, Sylvain felt his cheeks get a bit hot, which he did his best to will away as he bowed with a flourish.

"So, I guess what I'm trying to say is to go easy on yourself, Annette! The axe is a clumsy, brutish weapon that takes forever to learn. It's not the end of the world if you don't get it right away," he said breezily, taking a moment to preen at the way she grinned widely at him.

"Please, it's not clumsy and brutish—it's cool! You're just saying that to make me feel better, Sylvain," Annette she said with a wry smile. Sylvain shook his head, an affronted look crossing over his face.

"I would never!" he exclaimed in a mock-hurt tone, hand pressed delicately against his chest for extra effect. "Us redheads gotta stick together in these tumultuous times. Don't let the blondes of this house sway you, Annette!"

At that, the girl began to giggle heartily, hunched over at the violence of the laughing fit that overcame her. Sylvain couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight; a real, genuine, and tiny one, before he heaved a big sigh, "So you think my red hair is that funny, huh? Just 'cause I'm a real red head while you have orange hair? Puh-lease." He huffed loudly, tugging at his red locks as Annette continued to guffaw till tears rolled down her round cheeks.

Discretely, Sylvain nudged the water skin towards Annette again, who took it as her shoulders began to shake no more from the laughter. Wiping a tear from her eye, Annette breathed out with a wide grin, "Woah, Sylvain. You're good! No wonder so many girls like you."

Sylvain smirked. Maybe the Professor was onto something after all. Who didn't like a strong, handsome, older boy to guide them? Leaning down, he got close to the smaller girl's face and murmured, "Oh? Does that include you too, Miss Dominic?"

Nothing could have prepared him for the snort of amused laughter and the pushing on his chest that knocked him away. From someone as sweet and small as Annette, it somehow stung even more.

"Oh, no, Sylvain. Don't get me wrong; I have absolutely zero interest in you at all in the romantic way," she said in a matter-of-the-fact tone with that same bright smile, painfully unaware that each word she uttered was akin to taking a dagger and stabbing him over and over again. "But, how should I say it? It's like, from a theoretical standpoint, I understand the characteristics that might make a girl want to pursue dating you despite your... storied past, if you get my drift? Charismatic, strong, attractive, an upper echelon noble... Some things are just objective! You're like a research paper!"

The pout he wore had real hurt in it now. Damn, he didn't know a cute girl like Annette could dish it out so savagely and with no remorse as she just did. It didn't feel too good that she called out all those traits either as his good points, though wasn't that the exact image he always tried to project?

"I... I don't even know what to say that. I need to sit down," Sylvain muttered. He plopped down onto the ground and stared vacantly into the blue sky. Maybe he would find new meaning in the puffy white clouds and sunshine if he stared hard enough. Or maybe he'd go blind.

Annette laughed. She walked over to him, leaned down, and lightly patted his head (which he frowned at. He was pretty sweaty and gross at this point).

"There, there, Sylvain," she cooed.

"I don't wanna be a research paper," he whispered sadly.

"Oh, you big baby, research papers are cool! I just meant you're interesting psychologically," she said in a comforting tone, though Sylvain definitely didn't feel comforted by that last part in particular. "I definitely don't want to date you, but I still think you're cool and good at axes! If you're ever in the market for friends, I'm happy to apply for the position!"

From his position on the ground, Annette towered over him. Her twinkling smile was nearly as blinding as the sun, and in his current heartbreak, almost as painful.

"You're a heartbreaker, Annette," Sylvain said accusingly, "which I didn't even know was possible. You know how many times I've actually been beaten up by people? Somehow, everything you just said hurt worse."

Annette shrugged. "You'll get over it. You're a big, strong axe man. C'mon, get up!"

He pouted as he took her outstretched hand, only a little bit cheered up when he saw how much effort the smaller girl had to put in to even get his larger frame off the ground. "I don't feel like a big, strong axe man," he muttered, picking up the axe off the ground and handing it to Annette. "Here. Practice using the axe in the ways I demonstrated. Put me out of my misery."

"Okay, now I feel you're milking it a little too much," she replied with a raised brow. "I'm not interested in dating at the moment, and you're definitely not my type. However, I was serious about being friends! Beneath all that playboy glitz and glamor, you seem like a nice guy that is actually really knowledgeable about certain things. Plus, your axe skills seriously impressed me, and I wanna use you to spar against and improve!"

"Nooooo, don't tell me you're gonna use me like a punching bag like His Highness, Felix, and Ingrid too, Annette!" Sylvain wailed. He was playing it up now, in an attempt to distract himself from just how badly he had been rejected and friend-zoned in the span of only a few minutes. Though, he had to admit, he was intrigued by the thought of this burgeoning friendship.

Annette hummed thoughtfully and rubbed her chin. "You're right. It's not very fair; you're not getting very much out of this," she muttered with a serious nod. After a few moments of pondering, she snapped and said, "I know! I'll ask Mercie for some of her famous sweet honey buns! How about that?"

Sylvain gave it some serious thought. Yeah, he was still in emotional distress, but Mercedes was a mean baker.

"Seems still kinda one-sided. But I acquiesce; maybe you'll fall for me if you spend more time with me, huh?"

"If I say maybe, will you say yes to being friends?"

"...Maybe."

Annette rolled her eyes with a big, signature toothy grin. "Sure then. Maybe."

Sylvain finally gave her a smile. "Sweet," he hummed, clambering back onto his feet. The door of opportunity was yet to be closed, it seemed, though this whole series of interaction had been very strange and probing today (maybe that was Annette's way of flirting? Doubtful, but seriously, who calls someone interesting psychologically?!). "You ready to keep practicing then?"

The girl gripped the handle of her axe firmly, pure determination all over her cute, squishy face. "I'm ready to crush everything," she declared in a low voice.

"Um, maybe in lesson two. For now..."