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Linhardt had maybe conversed with Sylvain, oh, once or twice in his life. They never had occasion to talk. Sylvain had no interest in crests or even knowledge at all, and Linhardt had very limited interest in flirting with women, which was what Sylvain seemed to do all the time. So, it was quite a surprise to find what was about to be a lovely nap under a nice shady tree interrupted by Sylvain shuffling up to him, looking...nervous? Constipated? It was hard to tell. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and Linhardt just looked at him expectantly.
“Um...hey,” he said. “Are you doing anything at the moment, or can I talk to you?”
"I was about to take a nap," he said.
"Great, so you're free," he said with a smile. Linhardt was awful at reading people, but even he could tell that it was insincere. Then again, Sylvain was far from the most sincere person Linhardt had ever met.
“...Sure,” he said wearily, because clearly Sylvain wasn’t going to take a hint and let him nap.
“Thank you! I, uh, wanted to talk to you. I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you for a while, but I just...never found a good opportunity. You’re always reading, or...asleep.” Sylvain lifted a hand to scratch the back of his head. He was waffling, trying to put something off. Even Linhardt could tell that much.
"Spit it out, Sylvain," he said. "I'm sure neither of us have all day for this conversation, so stop torturing yourself with preamble."
"You don't mince your words, do you?" he asked, and the chuckle that left his mouth was completely lacking in any humour.
“Nope.” Linhardt leaned forward and rested his chin on one hand, watching Sylvain expectantly. The silence hung in the air for a few moments before Sylvain finally spoke again.
“...Fine.” He sighed. “You, uhm...you don’t make it a secret that you, uh...like men.” Just getting that one sentence out had turned Sylvain red as a tomato already. This was going to be painful. Linhardt just nodded slowly, and waited for him to continue. "And I, well, also like men." There was a moment of silence that even Linhardt felt obliged to fill.
"Is this an attempt at flirting with me?" he asked. Sylvain wasn't unattractive, he supposed. But there were so many things that were far more interesting than flirting and relationships. Not to mention that Sylvain's rather forward approach was quite distasteful.
“What?” The bright red colour drained out of Sylvain’s face so abruptly that it was actually kind of funny. “I- uh, no! No! Not at all. I’m not- I’m not flirting with you. I just- uh, wanted to tell you. Since I think you’re better at keeping secrets than any of the other, uh...men who like men.” Saying that seemed to be almost physically painful for him. Again, absolutely fascinating to watch, and almost funny. This was an odd conversation, but more interesting than Linhardt had expected.
"If it's a secret, why did you just tell me?" he asked. He got the distinct feeling that Sylvain was somehow trying to joke around. His nervousness was real enough, but there was something off about the whole exchange. "We don't know each other."
“Because- you’re a noble, like me, and I thought you might...get it.” Sylvain put a hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes, then all of a sudden dropped it back to his side. “Actually, just...forget I said any of this. I’m gonna go now.” He turned on his heel, walking away a lot faster than he’d approached. Strange.
In fact, the whole conversation had been odd. Perhaps Sylvain had been expecting a particular reaction, or for him to say something useful. But Linhardt didn't see what the problem was, or the point of coming to him about it. Especially if he wasn't actually going to say what was wrong. Unless...he had said what was wrong.
The slow realisation of how badly he’d just messed up took a full minute to sink in, at which point Linhardt groaned, scrambling to his feet and glancing around to try and figure out where Sylvain had run off to. The monastery gardens were usually a good quiet place to brood (or nap), and they were in the direction Sylvain had run in, so Linhardt, unable to quite believe that he was actually doing this, took off running in the same direction.
It didn't take him long to find Sylvain, sat with his back against a tree where no one else was around. Where no one would bother him unless they were looking. "Sylvain-" he managed, skidding to a stop. He was maybe a little too out of breath for a proper conversation. "Hang on- just a minute."
Sylvain looked up, surprise clear on his face. That surprise hardened into a surprisingly dark look that Linhardt had never seen on him before, and then vanished entirely, replaced by a decidedly thin smile. Even Linhardt could tell that Sylvain wasn’t very happy with him. “Come to taunt some more, have you?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” he said, barely getting the words out between deep breaths. Perhaps he did need to take a slightly more proactive stance to his training. “I didn’t understand what you were saying. I do now.”
“...Oh.” The thin smile faded, and Sylvain sighed and patted the grass next to him. “Sit down, catch your breath. I’m...sorry for walking away so soon, but I thought you were- I don’t know, making fun of me. Being purposely obtuse about everything.”
“No, I’m actually just spectacularly incapable,” he returned, sitting down on the grass. Spectacularly was perhaps an exaggeration, but he was undeniably slow on the uptake. That said, he still didn’t know what Sylvain was expecting him to say. “You’re not obliged to share, but I’m listening.”
“Right. Yeah. Ah...you like Crests, do you know my family history?” Linhardt shrugged. He was more interested in the science than the politics of it all. “Alright. I’m the only one in my family with a Crest, and according to House Gautier tradition, my heir has to have a Crest in order to succeed me. It’s stupid, but...my family really sticks to it. I guess you heard about Miklan, I think everyone in the monastery has by now.” That was true. Sylvain’s disinherited brother turning into a giant monster had been quite the hot topic for a few weeks, despite the fact that no one was meant to talk about it. Linhardt was lucky that Claude had a big mouth.
“Being the sole heir isn’t all that unusual,” Linhardt said. “In fact, it works more to your advantage than anything else, on this...topic. Noble propriety and old, stuffy prejudices mean very little in the face of the fact that your family needs you. Why, it’s the only reason I never get in trouble for caring so little.”
“Yeah, they need me to get married to a noblewoman with a Crest, and have babies for the next decade until one of them has a Crest.” Sylvain picked glumly at some of the blades of grass around them, scattering them idly around. “Which is a problem, if I don’t fall in love with a woman. I thought if I just ignored all of this, flirted with enough girls, then I could forget about ever liking boys. But it doesn’t seem to work like that, and that...scares me.”
Linhardt could be honest and say that he didn’t quite see the problem. He was not so attached to his family that he cared about things like that. If his noble bloodline ended with him, that was fine. Edelgard could assign anyone she liked to his house when she was Emperor, for all he cared. No use for riches once he was dead.
But somehow, he didn’t think that would cut it for Sylvain. If he didn’t care about his family, he wouldn’t be so conflicted. “Why does your family need someone with a Crest?” he asked. His grandfather had been head of House Hevring without a crest to speak of.
“Tradition,” Sylvain said, shrugging sadly. “And I think I’m the only person in the whole of Fódlan with a Crest of Gautier. You share your Crest with Flayn, don’t you? So even if you never have kids, she might, and your Crest will live on. If I never have a child, that might be the end of Gautier for good. As much as I hate the importance my father places on Crests, it still feels...wrong, to be responsible for letting it die out.”
"Tradition is a chore," Linhardt said simply. "And that's not how Crests work, I'd have you know." It would be a shame for research, and a risk, if they let the bloodline die out, but that didn't mean it wouldn't return. "Crests can appear in anyone in the bloodline, even if their parents have no Crest. Your friend Felix is the first to bear a Major Crest of Fraldarius for generations. I'm sure you have relatives?"
“I have relatives, and more distant ones in just about every noble house in Faerghus. But none of them have a Crest, as far as I know. If any of them did, they’d be sniffing around the estate the moment that anything ever got out about...my, uh...inclinations. And my father would probably be happy to give them my inheritance.” Sylvain sighed. “It’s really great, growing up knowing full well that the only reason you have a warm bed to sleep in is because of your blood.” Even Linhardt could detect the sarcasm there.
“I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “Our outlook on this is very different. My father has long since been used to the fact that he may be the last Count Hevring.” That wasn’t a satisfactory solution, though. He needed to give Sylvain more reassurance than that. “And tradition is the only reason you need a Crest?”
“Yeah. My father has my whole life planned out for me. Attend the academy, then immediately come home, find a nice noble wife, and spend the rest of my days surrounded by wailing children until I grow old and die. Oh, and wave the Lance of Ruin around until the people of Sreng back off again, but I...don’t really agree with that. It’s really not the life I want. But unless my father dies exceptionally young, I don’t know how long I can wriggle out of doing what he wants.”
And there it was. “So it’s not just tradition,” he said.
“What?”
“The tradition serves a function,” he said. It made a lot more sense, now he knew the supposed reason that the Crest was so important. “The head of House Galatea does not bear a Crest, but they also don’t have a border to defend. If you no longer have to defend a border, you don’t need a Crest. And that means you don’t need an heir with a Crest.”
“So...fix the massive relationship difficulties between Sreng and Gautier territory, and then I can date boys without worrying about my bloodline.” Sylvain dragged a hand across his face, giving a weary sigh, but Linhardt thought he saw a hint of a smile on his face. “That’s...quite the task. I can’t say I haven’t thought about it before, but…”
“It’s all I can think of,” he said, “unless you were to take my advice and ignore expectations altogether.” Somehow, Linhardt didn’t think Sylvain would be taking that advice. He cared a lot more about things than he let on.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be very good at that.” Sylvain straightened up a little, reaching out and resting a hand on Linhardt’s knee. “Thank you for listening to me. It...it’s weird, but it feels good to tell someone else about this. About...who I like. I know you probably didn't want your afternoon interrupted by someone you barely know, but I appreciate it anyway.”
“No worries,” he said, though he really would have liked to have been able to take a nap instead. Sylvain had all the answers right in front of him already. But if he’d provided some kind of comfort, maybe it wasn’t time and energy wasted. “And hey...you’re not so bad. If you ever need someone to talk to again, I’ll try and be awake.”