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sylvains
[ faerghus feels like a whole world away when she's back in enbarr. the parties, the nobles, the people - everything was whisked away as soon as she got home and settled into her normal routine. she's starring in two shows the company is putting on, one that's running and one that's still in rehearsals, so most of her day is spent in the theater.
she throws herself back into her work with renewed enthusiasm for focusing on something other than herself. she tells herself it's because the couple days off rejuvenated her, but she knows that's not the case. part of her is glad she has something to put all of her energy towards so that she doesn't keep thinking about what exactly she did at that party in fhirdiad.
not that it was a bad thing. it was good. it was fine. it had no moral significance. it was just a nice time spent with an old friend.
anyway. the point is that she's here, throwing herself into being a senior diva again, ignoring mail and keeping fit and wearing herself out so that she sleeps as soon as she crawls into her quarters by the theater every night. so everything is back to normal, really, and she can almost forget that she ever made a promise to go back to faerghus, because who has the time? not her, certainly not this season.
so it surprises her, one night she steps out for her first aria. she performs to the whole audience, of course, and that means making eye contact with the high-rollers in the boxes. they want to feel like the opera is just for them, and singing a line or two in their direction usually keeps them coming back. halfway through her piece, she turns to the box on the lower stage right, and even past the blinding stagelights, she thinks she recognizes who's there.
she doesn't react at all, because she's a performer before anything else and nothing, not even sylvain gautier showing up at the mittelfrank, will keep her from singing her heart out. but after the performance is done, she'll hang around backstage, throwing a robe on after she removes her costume instead of retiring to the dressing room to pack up and leave.
who knows if he'll come? but judging by the way the other girls are giggling (and come to think of it, they'd been making faces at each other before the show had even started, dorothea should have known something was up), she's not making a fool of herself in expecting him to arrive. ]
You didn't tell me you were coming. [ she'll say when she sees him, in lieu of a greeting. her tone is even, but it isn't angry. just... bemused. ]
she throws herself back into her work with renewed enthusiasm for focusing on something other than herself. she tells herself it's because the couple days off rejuvenated her, but she knows that's not the case. part of her is glad she has something to put all of her energy towards so that she doesn't keep thinking about what exactly she did at that party in fhirdiad.
not that it was a bad thing. it was good. it was fine. it had no moral significance. it was just a nice time spent with an old friend.
anyway. the point is that she's here, throwing herself into being a senior diva again, ignoring mail and keeping fit and wearing herself out so that she sleeps as soon as she crawls into her quarters by the theater every night. so everything is back to normal, really, and she can almost forget that she ever made a promise to go back to faerghus, because who has the time? not her, certainly not this season.
so it surprises her, one night she steps out for her first aria. she performs to the whole audience, of course, and that means making eye contact with the high-rollers in the boxes. they want to feel like the opera is just for them, and singing a line or two in their direction usually keeps them coming back. halfway through her piece, she turns to the box on the lower stage right, and even past the blinding stagelights, she thinks she recognizes who's there.
she doesn't react at all, because she's a performer before anything else and nothing, not even sylvain gautier showing up at the mittelfrank, will keep her from singing her heart out. but after the performance is done, she'll hang around backstage, throwing a robe on after she removes her costume instead of retiring to the dressing room to pack up and leave.
who knows if he'll come? but judging by the way the other girls are giggling (and come to think of it, they'd been making faces at each other before the show had even started, dorothea should have known something was up), she's not making a fool of herself in expecting him to arrive. ]
You didn't tell me you were coming. [ she'll say when she sees him, in lieu of a greeting. her tone is even, but it isn't angry. just... bemused. ]
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so, he'd sought to remedy that. especially since a period of calm had settled in, sylvain both knew he needed a holiday away from anyone talking about law, and he had a promise to keep. despite being a , he'd always been a man of his word. and that's why he did as dorothea suggested; ridden south, bought out a box at the mittelfrank opera, and attended her show.
right - he may have done some reconnaissance beforehand like a diligent knight. he may have managed to sneak his way into the common area of the opera when dorothea happened not to have been around, may have asked them a few questions about what she liked, and may have actioned that advice. why he's going to so much effort when all he really wants to do is sleep for the next month or so is anyone's question, but as he saunters backstage after the opera is done to see her standing there - hair done beautifully, wearing a robe and looking both effortlessly gorgeous and like she could melt him into a pile of ash where he stood - sylvain knows why he's really here. ]
Should I have? I mean, you invited me.
[ dressed formally for once (even he knows the proper opera protocol), he grins at her bemused expression as he comes to a stop before her. one hand had been hidden behind his back, and when he reaches her he reveals it to her - holding a ridiculously resplendent bouquet of a specific arrangement of flowers sylvain definitely wouldn't have known she loved. but, somehow? he does. ]
A gift for the leading lady and her stellar performance.
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dorothea thinks about how quick she was to discard her own promise as a flight of fancy, and wills herself not to get red. if she's honest with herself, she never expected sylvain to follow through. it's clear now that she was being unfair. which she hates - she doesn't like being wrong, and she doesn't like thinking of herself as someone who's quick to judge or assume.
and when he reveals his gift - a sparse arrangement of orange columbines - she knows he hasn't just dropped by. he's put in some sort of effort, because she makes it very clear to most people that she doesn't like flowers at all. it's only her troupe who knows that she prefers smaller bouquets, and rarer flowers, and now apparently sylvain knows too. ]
Thank you, Margrave. [ she takes the bouquet from him, shoots a glance to the dressing room - and sure enough, the door closes slightly and there's the distant sound of giggling from the other side of the wall. she presses her lips together, either fighting a smile or a grimace (she's not sure), and takes a step closer to sylvain so she can lower her voice.
she's not sure why she wants to keep this private - he's just a friend, after all - but something feels weird about having people see this. like worlds colliding, and she's not quite ready for them to yet. ]
I did invite you, that's true. You still could've sent a letter. I could've pulled out all the stops. [ she glances down at the flowers in her hands, and she can't help looking back up at him with a proper smile. ] You certainly seem to have. Have you been snooping around my theater, Sylvain?
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You're most welcome.
[ sylvain, of course, hears the giggling - it seemed to be coming from all around them, which shouldn't be surprising considering the sheer size of the troupe he'd met when he'd snuck around earlier in the day. all of them charming, and all of them seemingly very invested in dorothea's wellbeing which was wholesome. it... was wholesome, right?
either way, he's not going to give away the tricks of his trade, especially if her colleagues hadn't spilled it yet either. ]
Of course not, I'm a knight. Wouldn't even know where to start with breaking into an opera house.
[ sylvain's grinning now, because it makes something inside him feel lighter when he sees that beautiful, genuine smile on dorothea's face. going to the extra trouble of ingratiating himself with the mittelfrank troupe had absolutely been worth it, just for that. and he's just going to file that away with all those other overly flowery thoughts he'd been having on the long ride down, because they were most certainly piling up, whether he liked it or not.
in a smooth, fluid motion, he raises a hand and affectionately brushes a lock of her chestnut hair from the frame of her face and tucks it behind her ear, his hand lingering against the skin of her cheek for just a fraction of a moment too long to be totally innocuous. sylvain's wearing that mischievous grin he does so often, but there's something warm hiding behind that facade that's not normally there. ]
You look beautiful, [ and his hand drops back. ] - and you sung beautifully, too. Just as expected from Mittelfrank's star performer.
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his smile, lacking mischief for once (or, well, lacking as much mischief as usual) just makes hers shine brighter, which is such a silly, giddy thing to feel. something she hasn't felt in a long time. but she keeps her mind in the present, doesn't allow herself to think back to garreg mach and make the mistake of conjuring up memories.
she just wants to be content. is that so difficult to ask?
she doesn't lean into his touch, and she rolls her eyes when there are audible gasps coming from around them as his sweet gesture. he'll know it's not at him. ] Thank you. Spread the word up in Faerghus. There's still time yet to make a trip down this season.
Come on, let me get into some real clothes. [ she walks past him, ducking her nose into the flowers to smell them as she moves towards the dressing room door. three sharp raps at the door, and in a commanding tone - ] You're all done dressing, go home. [ - and six girls come scurrying out, murmuring fake apologies as they head down the hallway back to their quarters. dorothea ruffles the shortest one's hair, while some of the older ones wink boldly in sylvain's direction, or point at the flowers and give him a thumbs-up.
menaces, all of them. but once the room is cleared out, dorothea holds the door open for sylvain, waving him through. the room itself is neat as a pin, except for one vanity that has a mess of cosmetics and clutter across it. it's there that dorothea sets down the flowers and picks up her bag before stepping behind a screen and beginning to change. ]
I can't believe you talked with the girls. And don't deny it! [ she points at him over the top of the screen, but there's barely suppressed laughter in her voice. ] I don't know if I like you making friends with people who know so much about me.
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following her into the dressing room, whatever sense sylvain gets that he's terribly out of place (in the opera house, that is - it's not like he's not seen the inside of a ladies' dressing room before) is replaced by being slightly stunned that dorothea simply disappears behind the screen at the end of the room. like, y'know, that's nothing - like she's not just disrobing on the other side of that divider, and - hm, you know what?
sylvain turns around and faces the other way because as much as his mind is encouraging him to be devilish, he's also much taller than most people that use this room, and well. riding for a week and a half to get slapped in the face would be a decidedly bad outcome.
folding his arms, he laughs quietly at her accusations, and tries to take his mind off of the fact that this gorgeous woman is unclothed feet behind him by looking over the items on her dressing table with extremely mild interest. ]
I don't know what you're talking about, but speaking as someone who's never met them before in their life? They seem like good people.
[ you can almost hear the grin in his voice. ]
Good people that are definitely not invested in your romantic life.
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when she sees him turn around, affording her even more modesty than just the screen, she's not sure what she feels. security, she supposes, that he's here for a good reason. confusion for what that reason could be. disappointment lurking beneath, that it looks so easy for him to resist.
but as long as he's not looking at her, her eyes roam over him while she dresses. the line of his shoulders, the cut of his suit, the mop of red hair that she can't even call a mop anymore because of its neatness. it's been a long time since she's let herself look at anyone like this. ]
They're very disheartened that I don't have a romantic life for them to be invested in. [ they're all i have, she nearly says, but she doesn't want to be depressing. ] So they have a lot of pent-up energy I'm sure they'd expend on any friend of mine. Not that you'd know anything about that.
[ she hesitates before she goes on, asks the question that's been on her mind since she saw him in the audience. ] Did you have plans for us this evening, after surprising me at my show?
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[ sylvain would be lying if he said he hadn't used the 'romantic life' quip to test the waters, but as much as dorothea and him were cut from the same cloth in terms of the way they thought, she was still incredibly hard for him to understand. guessing what she's thinking, that's a challenge he's balking at. then again, he's probably the same to her, isn't he? they'd both made their masks their defense, and habits were so hard to break.
idly, sylvain picks up something from the dressing table and feigns interest in it, like he needs to keep his hands busy lest his body take over from his more reasonable mind and do something unbecoming like, look over there. where she is. ]
Well, nothing in particular. I didn't want to assume you'd be free, since you're in pretty high demand around these parts.
[ he puts whatever-that-was back down and slips his hands into his suit trouser pockets, glancing down at the flowers he'd brought her on the dressing table. sylvain had pegged her for more an exotic rose type of character, but again - they seemed to be doing their best guesses at each other. ]
What do you usually do after you finish up here? Some sort of raucous theatre afterparty?
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[ her age isn't the reason she's stopped partying - sylvain knows, after all, that she isn't opposed to knocking back several drinks and, well.
in any case, it's just that she's so tired these days. what had once been a delight (being a part of the company, sneaking into the parties when she'd been too young to be invited along) has now become routine. and she's never particularly keen on being sought after and flirted with by strangers, not like she used to be before. she hates being in high demand. it all leaves a hollow feeling in her stomach.
that's an awful lot to explain to sylvain - and it doesn't apply to him anyway, so why bother? she steps out from behind the screen, back in her usual clothes. tall boots, a hat at a jaunty angle, a daringly cut dress with a jacket thrown over it. nights in enbarr are pleasantly cool these days. ] I'll do you the favor of keeping myself awake for you, if you'd like. [ her smile is easy as she comes up next to him, sweeping all the little things from the table into her bag and tucking it under the chair. the flowers, she sets in a vase she grabs from someone else's table, a finger running along the tip of one of the blossoms before she looks up at him. ] I'd prefer something on the quieter side, though, if that's alright by you.
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[ staying awake for either of them at this point is nothing to sneer at, considering dorothea had been performing her heart out and sylvain had just ridden across the continent to see it. truth be told, the combination of the past few months of intense work and the long ride had left him pretty exhausted as well - and as much as his mind was willing in terms of a slamming party, his body was very much opposed to it. maybe he'd just asked out of force of habit, not quite willing to accept that slowly but surely, he was getting older.
as he hears her voice come closer, emerging from the screen, sylvain dares to look around again and hopes that his timing is correct. luckily, it looks like he won't be incinerated on the spot this day, though he does look rather struck by what she comes out in - it's incredibly hard not to appreciate dorothea's beauty, and each time he catches her in something different, it's like he's realising how stunning she was all over again.
it occurs to him that the silence has gone on for just a second too long to be appropriate, and that he's probably staring, so he quickly covers his tracks by doing his go-to move when he's got no idea what to respond with - a grin, and half-baked wit. ]
To be honest, I'm not in the mood for a large party anyway; the ride here was long, and sitting down is still a challenge.
[ funny that now they weren't being deployed every other week, sylvain had fallen out of practice with riding. a week and a half in the saddle would probably wreck anyone, though. ]
What does your maiden's heart desire? A walk, perhaps? A candlelit dinner? Or I could just accompany you home and serenade you while you stand on your balcony. If you have a balcony.
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A maiden's heart? The opera is over, Sylvain. [ she turns to lean back against the table, looking up at him. she knows what men look like when they stare at her. she can tell easily, at this point, when someone is particularly struck by her beauty. she knows what the look on sylvain's face was when she stepped out from behind the screen.
he's seen her look far worse, is the difference. and yet, he still pauses to look at her, still sees her for what she is now. wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, freckles on her complexion, all tiny things that she's vain enough to enumerate every morning in the mirror. ]
I don't have a balcony, no, though I'm very curious about your serenading skills. [ she smiles, a little impish. ] And for the sake of your riding-impaired self, I won't force you to sit through dinner. We could have a walk, though. There are some food stalls I've heard are good nearby.
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[ at least, he'd taken the bare minimum of music lessons when he was growing up in the gautier household - for now, he could keep that a secret, though. sylvain is still rather unused to playing all his cards, used to hiding his hand much in the same way dorothea does too. then again, that almost makes everything new he finds out about her that much more exciting - especially when everything was so protected, so guarded from others. it's an interesting dance that they're doing, and it's likely contributing to the fact he's here right now.
there's definitely... multiple reasons. anyway; ]
And, I'm humbled for your concern about my health. Honestly. Sounds like a walk it is!
[ taking a small step towards her, sylvain extends his elbow outwards slightly as an invitation for her to take it - more decorum, and at this point the lines are a bit blurry as to whether he's taking all this protocol seriously, or making a small mockery of it as someone who's entirely tired of all the rules and guidelines.
either way, last time they'd seen each other, he'd offered to take her to dinner - and regardless of what form that dinner took, he'd come to enbarr with at least the intention of staying true to that offer. a low bar, maybe, but he's learning to pick bar up. ]
Shall we, my lady?
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it's made dorothea smug more than enough times in the past, watching auditions for the company and confirming that talent is truly blind to class.
all thoughts of interrogating sylvain further on the matter fall away from her mind as he takes a step towards her. her mind fills in the rest: he'll take another step, and another, and set his hands on the table on either side of her waist, caging her in, and he'll slowly press one of those kisses to her lips, and they'll pick up right where they left off, and--
he lifts his arm in her direction and it's like a cold bucket of water dumped over the anticipation she's built up in her head. stupid, really. stupid and girlish, and she hates feeling like she's not in control of her own mind.
she knows she's been silent for a fraction of a second too long, so she injects eagerness into every movement as she steps forward, slips her hand into the crook of his arm, giving him a wry grin. ] If you're going to call me "my lady", you can't stop me from calling you "your Grace". At least one of those is a true title.
[ and as she speaks, she'll tuck her bag over her shoulder and steer them out of the dressing room, down the hallway to a back door, and into the city at night. ]
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Ugh, point taken, point taken. I'll refrain.
[ sylvain still sounds rather cheerful despite the threat though, as they step out into the warm night air of an enbarr evening. he's just never been able to get used to this - the heat of the south was almost overwhelming to someone from faerghus, a land that was more often than not covered in a blanket of freezing snow. it had been just as unbearable when they'd taken the capital as it was now, but dorothea? she looks perfectly in her element, in the summer adrestian fashion. he, however, was going to have to try not to sweat straight through the suit he was wearing, and likely not just because of the heat. ]
So, how've you been? It looks like your operatic career is as successful as ever, judging by the faces of your adoring fans.
[ innocuous smalltalk, perhaps. it's not like he hadn't wondered how she was doing down in enbarr as his mind had drifted to thoughts of her, thoughts of them back at the king's party in faerghus. more than he'd like, and more often than any other dalliance had snuck into his mind, proving this entire situation to be rather foreign to him. sylvain had certainly never ridden across a continent for any other individual, that's for sure.
the streets are humming with activity as the city settles into a night market atmosphere, merchants hawking their goods from either side of them as they worked their way through the throng of people lining the street. every now and then, someone stares at them or whispers behind their hands to their companion, most certainly talking about them - and don't think sylvain doesn't notice the effects of dorothea's fame in these parts. it almost makes him firm his grip, until he wonders - just why is he jealous right now? ]
I would've ridden down sooner to fulfill the 'promise', but it's been difficult to get away; the king's finding fun in keeping me busy. I feel he thinks he's keeping me out of trouble, more like.
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when sylvain ask how she's been, it's not easy to find an answer. oh, she knows what she'd tell most people - it's a thrill to be on stage, she's so lucky to still have her job after the war, her parts are delightful, and so on. but it doesn't feel right to go through her regular spiel when sylvain already knows she's more often satisfied than truly happy with where she is.
so she lets out a soft laugh, doesn't bother hiding the weariness that accompanies her answer. ] I've been busy. Sometimes I wish I were worse at singing, or acting. I'd just be more stressed about making a livelihood then, but at least I wouldn't be so in demand.
[ that makes her focus on work sound less self-inflicted, surely. it's not like she's lied - and she's not about to tell him the full truth, that she's been slaving away at her parts and at rehearsing to stop herself from thinking about that night in faerghus constantly. whatever he may want to hear, it's definitely not that. ]
You? Getting in trouble? Now, why would his Majesty think that of you? It's so uncharacteristic. [ she dares a glance up at sylvain, all innocence and bright eyes in her look. ] I thought you'd been behaving yourself now that you've got your fancy title. At least, that's what I gleaned from my visit.
[ sneaking out from a party with stolen food and drink to make out: you may not like it, dima, but this is what peak behaving looks like. ]
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[ there had certainly been reputations attached to students at garreg mach, and sylvain hadn't had a particularly fantastic one in terms of being sensible and diplomatic. he'd like to think that's at least changed a little, but the mischievous side of him was one he'd never shake - he liked it far, far too much. what dimitri didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and even if he found out? he was much too busy to galavant over to gautier territory and slap him on the wrist. sylvain would take his chances.
and dorothea seems to bring that side out of him, he's coming to discover. sylvain certainly hasn't thieved anything from a party since, and maybe part of why he's drawn to her is that she coaxes out the parts of him that he likes instead of having to pretend - be someone he's not, say things he doesn't mean, constantly be guessing their intentions. it's so easy to be here with her, and that's something significant, he's discovered.
it's enough introspection to almost drag him into a reverie, but the street was too loud and busy to do much of any deep thinking - probably for the better, right? sylvain was only on leave in enbarr for a few days before he had to ride back for a faerghus council, so he should probably make the most of his time here. they were out for, what did dorothea mention? food stalls? and he did intend to treat her to something, so as he keeps her arm linked in his, brown eyes stay peeled for what he guesses she might like. ]
So, what are you feeling? Fried? Baked? Both?
[ though he pauses a moment as a stall catches his eye- ]
Elaborate dessert? That sounds like something celebrities would enjoy, right?
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what's hard is figuring out what sylvain expects from her, what sylvain wants from this. whether she's striding ahead confidently or tripping all over her own feet, he doesn't seem to mind. it should make her feel at ease, but it fills her with anxiety instead. she likes to know the whats and whys of every situation she's in, but asking why sylvain likes her, what he's doing here, is a non-starter.
you're overthinking things, manuela would tell her. she hasn't seen manuela since the war ended and she went off to teach goddess-knows-where. somehow, dorothea misses her guidance in this moment more than anything. ]
I don't really like food. [ she wrinkles her nose. ] I mean, it's not as if I hate it. But I don't have many preferences.
I'd hate to be stereotypical, but elaborate dessert sounds fun.
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[ out of habit, he flashes dorothea an easy grin - sylvain can't particularly relate to not liking food, not after being friends with ingrid for any length of time, but he's not here for his stomach; he's here for the company. it's actually not as hard sylvain thought it'd be to cut across the thick crowds in the streets, since for some reason they seemed to almost part in front of them like waves as they moved. dorothea's fame combined with the fact that sylvain wasn't exactly an unknown face after the liberation of enbarr proved to be giving them a certain kind of berth that he's not going to think too far into.
instead, he steers them towards a half-inside, half-outside dessert outfit at the beginning of one of the street's alleyways - it looked like it was just quiet enough and afforded just the right amount of privacy for them to actually talk. truth be told, there were several reasons behind his sudden appearance at the opera, and sylvain would prefer to actually fulfill these without being accosted by the adoring public. hers, not his.
there's a two-seater table under an awning that he brings them to, making a good show of pulling out a seat for her, though it's still a gamble whether he's taking chivalry seriously or making mischief out of it. ]
At least now I can say I make good on my promises. I mean, this isn't dinner, but I'm still taking the win.
[ and when she's seated, he'll sit across the table from her, relaxed and sitting improperly as usual. ]
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Let's get the deluxe special, shall we? [ the most expensive item on the menu, of course - not that it'll be anything much to sylvain, seeing as it's a food stall rather than an actual restaurant. ] And maybe if you let me know next time you arrive, we can grab dinner rather than something so impromptu.
How long are you staying, anyway?
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[ sylvain grins at the slight admonishment - it had, after all, been quite the trip. he wouldn't have managed to sneak into the opera, ingratiate himself with all her co-stars and do important reconnaissance if he'd planned ahead and warned dorothea first. no, sylvain much more enjoys the element of surprise on his side, and it's definitely not because he's mildly concerned about rejection if he'd let her know beforehand. better to take the risk and charge in head-on, just like he lives the rest of his life.
someone pops by to take their order briefly, and he repeats dorothea's request - a deluxe special with two spoons, thanks - before turning back to her and leaning casually forward on the table. here's his undivided attention again, and despite the easy-going air he maintains, sylvain's attention has always been... a bit of an intense thing. ]
A day or two; not long, unfortunately. Someone's gotta make sure that Duke Fraldarius gets his naps, otherwise he gets crotchety and politicking is out of the question.
[ a joke, but more to deflect that he can't stay. ]
Though, I do admit I came here with some ulterior motives before I get found out. Though I'm obviously here for your charming company, I also have a proposition, if you will.
[ it definitely sounds like a flirt, even if it's not. ]
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when his attention turns to her, she can feel it. his gaze is palpable. there's really only one way she's ever learned to deal with being overwhelmed - which is to match the other person at every move, of course. so she doesn't let it fluster her (that is, she doesn't let it show on her face), and she leans forward as well, hands politely folded in her lap like they're at a proper dinner instead of a little stall on the road.
when he admits how short his stay is going to be, she keeps a perfectly even expression on her face, because she won't dare to let the disappointment she feels shine through. no, that's a feeling to lock in a box, shove to the back of her mind, and interrogate later. she hadn't seen sylvain for nearly a year and she'd lived a perfectly fine life. it doesn't make sense for her to be so eager for him to stay now. ]
If you pull out a ring right now, I will smack you. [ for many, many reasons - but she's teasing. mostly. maybe? god, she has to stop letting her mind wander like this. ] What did you come all the way here to ask me?