The Great Imitator

Knock knock knock. She had to be in; it was too early in the morning for classes or even breakfast, and while Mercedes was known for early starts, Sylvain knew for a fact that she'd been up late the previous night helping Manuela in the infirmary.

Knock knock knock. Was he wrong? Shit, Sylvain didn't know what he'd do if she wasn't in- Manuela was only discreet when she wasn't drunk, and he didn't trust Linhardt or Marianne enough for this.

Knock knock-

"Sylvain," Mercedes said, finally opening the door. "Do you know how early it is?"

"I need you to heal me," Sylvain whispered, ignoring the question as he glanced over his shoulder to look for anyone who might have gotten curious about the noise. "I can't talk about it out here."

Mercedes looked profoundly unimpressed- just what did she think he needed help for?- but stood aside to let him in her room anyway. Good. Maybe he could get this over with quickly, then get back to his room in time to crawl back into bed and pretend it had never happened.

As Mercedes began striking a firesteel, Sylvain started talking. "I need you not to tell anyone about this. I can't go to anyone else."

Sparks flew, most dissipating into the air. One landed on a tiny pile of charcloth. Mercedes made a noise of acknowledgement, but was clearly focused on the task at hand. Lighting a fire took concentration. Sylvain leaned back against the door and waited, barely able to see anything in the momentary flashes of light- the sun was still down, and though the sky was starting to brighten, it was still quite dark out, and therefore quite dark in.

After a few minutes, Mercedes managed to light a taper. Passing it from candle to candle, she finally asked, "What do you need me to heal?"

"It's this," Sylvain said, taking off one of his gloves and holding his palm out to Mercedes to examine. The dark red rashes, almost like pockmarks, stood out harshly in the candlelight. He'd noticed them starting to form the previous night, but had hoped it was just scrapes from sparring earlier in the day. When he woke up, though, they were unmistakeable. They were everywhere- up his arms, on his chest and back, extending down his legs and even on the bottom of his feet.

Mercedes knew what it was the moment she laid eyes on it, he could tell from how her face changed from annoyance to something that looked almost sad. "Sylvain..." she said, and oh no she didn't just look sad. "This is..."

"Second stage Srengi pox, I know. Or Dagdan pox, I guess," he corrected. Mercedes had originally been from the Empire, and that was what it was called there. The Alliance called it the Almyran disease, the Almyrans called it Fodlani disease. The Srengi called it Gautier pox, which was both far too specific and far too accurate in this case. The only thing anyone could agree on what that it came from somewhere else.

Mercedes fixed him with a serious look. "I need to know everyone you've been sleeping with at school. This is very important."

Yeah he should have figured she'd react this way. Discretion was less important than making sure the disease didn't just go right through the monastery's population of horny teenagers. Srengi pox was usually deadly if it went untreated, which it often was- it could easily be mistaken for other, less dangerous diseases. "I've been being safe about it. No one will catch it from me."

"Condoms are only effective-"

"If I'm healed I have about a week's grace period before I can spread it," Sylvain interrupted. "I usually only do a few days, just to be safe. Speaking of healing, though..."

The faith magic was cool to the touch as it swept through his body. The rashes disappeared after only a few seconds of it, but Mercedes kept up the spell for several more regardless. Thorough. Sylvain liked that in his healers. He wished the Gautier family doctor was like this.

"I still need to know who you've been sleeping with," Mercedes said. "Whoever you caught it from needs to be warned, if they don't know already."

Sylvain almost wanted to laugh. He would, if the whole thing didn't make him feel sick to his stomach. "It's been seven years. I think she already knows."

There was that sad look again. Great. Sylvain just couldn't do anything right today, could he? He should have just let her think he caught it from a fellow student, instead of a prospective fiancee looking to try out the goods before committing.

It had taken three years of Ingrid giving him that exact same look for him to realize that wasn't normal. And it was four more and counting without him ever having the balls to confront his father about it. All he could do was, well, exactly what his father wanted him to. Keep the pox under control. Don't spread it. Make sure his inevitable crest-bearing wife didn't catch it from him, lest his heirs be born with the disease. The Gautier family line was doomed if Srengi pox became established in it.

Sylvain knew well enough that he was an asshole, but he wasn't that bad of one. The pox was incurable. It could be treated, with magic for those lucky enough to have access to skilled healers or with a variety of dubious concoctions for those who weren't, but not completely cured.

For a short period of time, rumor had it that breathing mercury vapor would do the trick, but the Archbishop had been very firm in declaring that any would-be doctor claiming such was a charlatan and that mercury was a poison that shouldn't be used for anything medical. And so ended the one hope that had appeared for it.

"Look," he finally said. "The... culprit, I suppose, isn't anywhere near the Monastery, and I've been taking all the precautions I need to. There's really no risk to the other students. So can I please count on you not to talk to anyone about this? My father already knows, but if he finds out someone else does..."

The easiest way to fix the Gautier reputation would be for the Margrave to get rid of the erring heir and hope the disgraced older brother could give him a grandchild with the right crest. Maybe marry him to the Galatea girl, in the hopes her bloodline could bolster whatever had failed in Miklan's. Sylvain wouldn't wish Miklan on anyone, much less Ingrid.

Mercedes couldn't have known what was at stake, but she at least seemed to understand how generally bad it would be, because she nodded. "I'll keep it a secret," she agreed. "But I want to keep track of this, just in case. Come see me every week for healing."

Yeah, he could do that. It was better than trying to find an excuse to get full body heals for training injuries instead of letting Manuela just target the afflicted area. He nodded back at her, then slipped out the door and started on the short trip to his dorm.

That had gone better than he'd feared.