Sylvain's eyes go wide. There's no way he's heard that right. 'You're coming with me' as easily as that. Like somehow Felix can read his mind, or read his memories. Entertaining Sylvain's grand plans- well, not really grand and not really plans; they're more like fantastical machinations. How he'd thought of an end to the war. Peace with Sreng. Dissolving Gautier into Fraldarius- after all, it's essentially what they'd done after Dimitri's supposed 'execution.' A single front line they'd desperately held against the Western Lords for five long years. But maybe it could be permanent. Maybe there wouldn't be a need for guard dogs like Gautiers. Maybe in a world at peace there could be room for Sylvain, and not Gautier. Not the Lance of Ruin.

But they'd all been stupid, childish fantasies. Peace is never permanent. So on the eve of storming Enbarr, he'd settled for a compromise. If they both lived, he'd ask Felix if they could spend their well-earned peace together. At least for a little while. Enough time to sort some things out. Silly, useless things, really. Things like childhood crushes and death pacts.

And yet Sylvain had entertained working them out just long enough to want to ask Felix to be a part of it. That day in Enbarr...

"I'd wanted to ask you something just like that." His gaze is still wide, the sudden rush of adrenaline making his pupils large and dark against the normally coppery tint of his eyes. "How... How did you know? You said you hadn't made it that far."