Chapter Text
Imperial Year 1180
24th Day of the Ethereal Moon
Jeralt disliked parties.
By now, he couldn’t even count the amount of nights he’d spent overseeing security as a knight of the Kingdom and eventually the Church. Like it or not, he was an old man now. One with a very low level of patience for drunken noble brats and an even lower tolerance for the noisy ones. He’d had his fill of balls and galas when he was younger, and made enough memories to last a lifetime. He’d met Sitri at one, after all.
He’d been lucky enough to avoid such parties for the last 21 years. The life of a travelling mercenary wasn’t a glamorous one, but it granted him the freedom to do as he pleased during their rare down time between jobs.
Down time usually consisted of drinking whatever cheap whiskey filled his flask. It involved he and his daughter sitting idly on the dock of whatever river or lake they found themselves near to fish. That was enough for Jeralt, especially once he deemed Byleth old enough to drink with him.
Usually, as Captain of the Knights of Seiros, that meant Jeralt would be on duty throughout the ball. As a professor, Byleth would be expected to chaperone, make sure those noble twits kept their hands to themselves.
But no, Lady Rhea told them both to take the night off to quote unquote bond . Jeralt recognized the silent order.
Talk to your daughter or I will.
With the new free slot they had, he planned to take her fishing before their next mission. It was time they’d talked about why they left the monastery, why her mother was dead, and why she should absolutely not trust their boss, Lady Rhea.
Then something unexpected happened the morning of.
He’d called her into his office to discuss their outing. She’d looked down at her shuffling feet, and in a very quiet, shy voice, said she wanted to go to the ball.
Jeralt could only blink at her.
Byleth. She wanted to go to the ball.
His daughter, Byleth.
Any coherent thought he could form was stuck in his throat as he wondered why.
Did she even know how to dance? Of course she must, that grumpy looking brat she taught had won the White Heron Cup under her tutelage.
Thoughts swirled around haphazardly in his brain. If he didn’t know her better, he’d think this was completely normal. She’d never been to a ball before, and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
But this was Byleth.
She’d never cared much for frivolities, she kept to herself, and she never said no to fishing for no reason.
Maybe her students had encouraged her to go.
Maybe she’d been asked on a date.
He hoped she didn’t catch the way he shuddered at the thought. Jeralt didn’t want to think about that, but he couldn’t deny that it was a possibility. She was an adult, and she probably thought about adult things.
Sure, he’d known this day was coming, but it didn’t mean he looked forward to it. He dreaded it. He’d known Byleth was popular amongst the student population at the monastery. She was basically their peer, only a few years older than most of her students. Students from the Alliance and Empire had flocked to the Blue Lion House to study under her.
“Byleth,” he finds himself saying suddenly, and her head snapped up from the book she’d taken from his shelf. “I need...to talk to you.”
She blinked up at him, her face so innocently curious. “About what?”
”About adult stuff.” Man, he wished Sitri were here to tell him how to do this.
Byleth didn’t say anything, simply tilting her head as she studied his face. “Would this ‘adult stuff’ be on the topic of sexual relations?”
Jeralt fixed his gaze on the wall behind her and wondered how much force it would take to ram his head into it. “Um...yes?”
“Dad,” she exhaled, and he could sense the hesitation in her tone. “You don’t have to…I gave this talk to my students already. I know what goes where, that protection is a must, and that no means no.”
Jeralt leaned back in his chair. “Okay. Well that saves me—wait, who gave you the talk?”
“Manuela during the last faculty bar night she organized,” she shrugged. “Dad, are you okay? You look somewhat disturbed.”
Of course he was disturbed, how could he not be? Manuela Casagranda gave his daughter the sex talk. Hells, he would have preferred Seteth. “Why did she tell you?”
“I’ve fielded too many complaints from female students about Sylvain and Lorenz,” she frowned, “I asked Seteth what to do, and he suggested a sexual harassment seminar and a sexual education lesson. Manuela was the only one confident enough to explain it to me.”
“What did you think about what she told you?”
Byleth simply shrugged again, not saying anything.
Her silence was suspicious, but he feared the answer may be the one thing to kill him in his hundred plus years of life.
“Noted,” he hums, squinting down the bridge of his nose at her. “So, why do you want to go to this ball?”
Her cheeks are tinged pink as she shrugs yet again. His daughter was blushing.
“Do you have a date?”
Her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of pink. “No!”
Jeralt examines his daughter’s face. In the span of twenty seconds, she’d emoted more than he’d previously been able to get in a week. Though he’d never seen the look on his daughter’s face, it was familiar. It was Sitri . The first time he’d seen his wife smile like that was when he told her he loved her.
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He knew why his daughter wanted to go to the ball.
She was in love .
But with who?
He needed to figure that out before the ball.
__________
Byleth had chosen to teach the Blue Lions. Jeralt couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when she’d told him. He was a Faerghan, after all.
Due to this, Jeralt knew the brand of the Kingdom nobility like the back of his hand. Rough and tough men hiding surprisingly soft hearts. Strong but graceful women that possessed unmatched determination.
Powerful and militaristically advanced as they may be, they were all notoriously bad liars. He could read their intentions like a book.
When usually gathering reconnaissance for a mission, Jeralt — who liked things quick and simple — liked to start at the top of the chain. In this situation, that would be the crown prince. He was the house leader, he would know what was going on with his daughter, wouldn’t he?
But no, the prince, unlike the nobles he was destined to lead, was hard to read. Byleth had mentioned that she’d seen a darkness lurking behind that princely facade. He’d seen it himself in Remire. The way his face had contorted with such anger that he’d been nearly unrecognizable.
Maybe it’d be best to steer away from that one for now.
So, he does the opposite, and knows exactly who he’ll start with. Someone who wouldn’t lie to him, and wouldn’t dare to play any games.
“You, get over here,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger at the boy seated comfortably in a corner of the library.
Ashe jumps, the book slamming shut in his lap as he scrambles out of his seat. “J-Jeralt—Sir Jeralt! Captain mister Jeralt sir!” He stammers, giving an awkward salute.
“Settle down, you aren’t in trouble,” he assures the kid, who seems to be shaking in his boots as he stands to attention. “I just have some questions. Think you can help me out?” He asks, holding up his quill and parchment as proof.
The kid still seems scared shitless, eyes wide as a doe as he processes the request. “Q-questions, sir? Yes— yes sir, I think I may be able to help— Unless I can’t, then I’m terribly—”
Jeralt sighs deeply, and the kid flinches as if he’d breathed fire or something. “Yes or no?”
He hesitates before answering, and Jeralt fears he may pass out. “Yes,” he squeaks.
“Good. I’ve seen you around. You’re agile, quick on your feet, stealthy even. If anyone were to notice any changes around the classroom, it’d be you, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jeralt crosses his arms over his chest, leaning down so he’s almost eye level with the boy. The kid holds his gaze steadily, but Jeralt can see his hands trembling as he clutches a book over his chest. “Your professor— my daughter — she’s been acting weird. I want to know why.”
“W—weird sir? How so?”
“She wants to go to the ball,” Jeralt sniffs, his nose wrinkling in disdain at the memory of their conversation this morning. “And she was all...blushy about it.”
Ashe blinks at him, but a slow smile spreads across his trembling lips. “Ah, the ball. Yes, the professor seemed...unusually enthusiastic about it. She mentioned that Sylvain—”
Jeralt immediately scowls. Gautier. Of course it would be him. The boy hit on anything with a heartbeat, including the females in his mercenary group.
Including his daughter.
“Where can I find him?”
__________
“Captain Jeralt!”
The blonde brat — Ingrid, he thinks — greets him with a bright smile and steady salute. She elbows Jeralt’s next target beside her, and Gautier throws him a lazy smile.
“To what do we owe the pleasure, sir?”
Jeralt wants to wipe the smile off that annoyingly smug face of his. “I have some questions. About your professor.”
Sylvain’s smug smile only grows, and Jeralt feels his temples begin to throb. “What about our lovely professor?”
Ingrid jabs him in the abdomen with the butt of her lance, and he doubles over. Jeralt decides he likes Ingrid.
“Ashe mentioned…” He actually didn’t know what he mentioned, everything after the name ‘Gautier’ was a blur. “...something about you and my daughter at the ball.”
Gautier’s eyes brighten with a spark of remembrance. “Right! Obviously when I asked her to be my date, she’d turned me down. Gently, but it still hurt nonetheless. So, I asked her to save me a waltz instead, and she said she didn’t really know how, so I taught her. If you ask me, I think she just wanted to impress—ow! Ingrid!” He groans, jumping back. “Don’t go stomping on my toes! I need to be able to dance with the ladies all night long.”
Jeralt tunes out the scolding as he processes the red heads words. She turned down Gautier, asked him to teach her how to waltz, and wanted to impress someone.
Whoever she wanted to impress was clearly who she liked.
He’s about to press further when he hears it. It’s a gentle, bubbling laugh that floats through the training grounds. Jeralt turns towards it, and sees his daughter across the room, a bright smile on her face.
His brain short-circuits. Byleth. Laughing. Smiling.
She isn’t alone.
Grumpy Looking Brat is in front of her, chest heaving as he shakes his head, mutters something incoherent, making Byleth laugh again.
His baby...is happy.
“You’re getting better, Felix,” she says, and the way she says his name is unlike any way he’d ever heard her use for her other students. “You almost had me that time!”
She offers him a hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it, letting her pull him up.
“He’s so smitten,” he hears Gautier snicker behind him to Ingrid. “Who would have thought that Felix Hugo Fraldarius would have the hots for our professor?”
“He doesn’t have the hots for her, he isn’t you ,” Ingrid retorts in a harsh whisper. “But he obviously fancies her to some extent, which I will admit is a little unexpected, because, well, you know how he is.”
“Yeah.” Jeralt can hear the smile on Gautier’s face. “Think he’ll ask her to the Goddess Tower tonight?”
Ingrid snorts. “I doubt it. You think Felix is one to believe in those silly legends?”
Felix, Jeralt repeats to himself as he watches them reclaim their stances, circling around each other, swords drawn.
They hit him like a flash flood, a current of memories from the Great Tree Moon until now.
Felix is the only one that studies swordsmanship.
Felix complimented my fighting style.
Felix wants me to teach him the move you taught me.
Felix wants to spar after dinner.
Felix this, Felix that. It’d always been him.
Well, shit, he thinks, unable to hide his smile as he watches them dance around each other, blades in hand, exchanging glancing blows. Their movements are perfectly in sync with one another. When she steps forward, he steps back. With every sidestep and sweep, he’s there, meeting her in the middle. They maneuver around each other with practiced ease, a sense of familiarity that it took years for him to find with her.
A Fraldarius. His daughter likes a Fraldarius. He’d have to have a drink with Rodrigue next time he came around to discuss this unexpected development.
It was unexpected, initially unwanted, but Jeralt found himself suddenly wholeheartedly embracing it.
His baby...could love.
__________
Jeralt lounges on a bench outside, letting the cool wind caress him as he drinks his cheap whiskey and stares up at the night sky. It’s...nice. If Byleth wanted to stay, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and sees Felix tread through the courtyard. Jeralt has a feeling he knows where he’s headed.
As expected, Byleth trails out a few seconds after, sending him a small wave when she spots him across the court. She’s dressed up in the Academy’s evening wear, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders in soft waves. She looks like Sitri.
He lifts his flask in greeting, and the smile she sends him makes his chest feel warm. Then she’s off, headed the same way as Felix.
Jeralt winces as he takes a particularly long swig from his flask. He’ll probably be able to get better alcohol at a Fraldarius wedding.
He screws the cap back on, returning his gaze to the sky. “You see that, honey?” Jeralt sighs to the heavens, where his love watches. “Our baby is going to be okay.”
Imperial Year 1185
15th Day of the Lone Moon
Rodrigue liked parties.
He liked to socialize. With the continent in conflict, he seldom got to catch up with his old friends nowadays. Even before the war, he’d been too wrapped up in holding a crumbling kingdom together by the seams.
Now that he was back in Garreg Mach, he supposed he could afford one night of relaxation. It was a free day, after all. It was in the name.
The get-together he’d organized could hardly be called a party, but he’d call it one, nonetheless. It was a gathering, there was food, and more importantly there was alcohol. What more would anyone need?
He’d invited the students of the Blue Lion house to their old classroom. All were present, even His Highness had abandoned his post in the cathedral to scowl at nothing in the corner of the classroom.
It hurt Rodrigue to see it, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
So, he mingles. He makes the rounds to talk a bit with everyone. It’s good to know who he’s fighting this war alongside. He chats idly about battalions and tactics with the Church of Seiros folk; Seteth, Catherine, even the arguably odd little girl, Flayn. With Gustave— no, he was Gilbert here — they shared their concerns about their prince.
It seems that the Blue Lions themselves have been sequestered off into their own little groups, talking amongst themselves as they sip on ale. He sets his sights on the one closest to the fireplace, a lively bunch consisting of Gilbert’s daughter, a familiar looking bishop, and the adoptive son of the late Lord Lonato.
“Good evening,” he smiles warmly. “I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.”
Gilbert’s daughter — Annette that was her name — startles and whirls around. “Bah! Sorry, Lord Rodrigue! It’s just— now I know where Felix gets all his stealthiness from. He’s so quiet, you’ll never know he’s behind you! Isn’t that right, Mercie?”
Rodrigues heart jumps into his throat at the mention of his son. “Felix?”
The bishop— Mercie, — nods enthusiastically as she giggles. “Felix is very silent on his feet. He’s always lurking around the monastery and sneaking up on everyone. Just like when we were in school!”
Rodrigue chuckles at the thought of Felix following his classmates around in the safety of the shadows. His youngest had always been oddly withdrawn, preferring to watch the merriment from afar rather than immerse himself within it. So different from his big brother.
“Unless he’s with the professor,” Lonato’s adoptive son pipes up, the shy boy he’d met five years ago sounding more confident than the last time they’d spoken. “He can never sneak up on her, she always seems to know when he’s there!”
“You’re right, Ashe!” Annette agrees. “She won’t even turn around, she’ll just be like ‘Felix, I could hear your boots on the pavement from a mile away,’ or ‘Felix, I could set that bush on fire before you could jump out at me from behind it.’” She recites the lines with a stoic face, in a voice he assumes is the professor’s. “It was like some sort of game for them.”
Rodrigue isn’t quite sure why he’s so amused by this tidbit. “Well, as a child, Felix did always enjoy hide and seek.”
The group looks highly amused at this, shouting goodbyes as they follow Annette, who says something about blackmail.
Now alone, Rodrigue saunters over to where Ingrid and Sylvain are chatting. He’s comfortable with these two, he’d known them since they were in nappies. “Ingrid, Sylvain,” he grins, clapping Sylvain on the shoulder and giving Ingrid a chaste kiss on the cheek. “How are you two holding up?”
“Much better now that you’ve joined us,” Ingrid answers, the relief evident in her exhale. “While I’m not confident that we can prevail against the Empire, it’s greatly reassuring to have you fighting alongside us.”
Rodrigue silently agrees. While Faerghan soldiers are amongst the best of the best, their numbers were significantly lower than their opponents. In war, quality over quantity just didn’t cut it.
“We’re hoping that you can talk some sense into His Highness,” Sylvain adds, eyes flickering to the hulking shadow in the corner of the classroom. “He’s so hellbent on killing Edelgard that he isn’t thinking about the rest of us.”
Rodrigue had hoped to talk some sense into him as well, but his countless efforts had borne fruitless. Just what would it take to make the troubled prince see the errors of his ways?
“I assure you that I am working on it,” he grounds out, “Until then, I ask that in return, you keep an eye on Felix for me. You two are the only ones I can trust to do it.”
Ingrid and Sylvain exchange a look, goofy smiles plastered onto both of their faces. “Trust me,” Ingrid laughs, “you don’t have to worry about Felix.”
“Yeah, and not because of us, either,” Sylvain tacks on, throwing an arm around Ingrid’s shoulders. He juts his chin at something behind Rodrigue, and he curiously turns his head to peek over his shoulder.
Across the room, Felix is conversing with the professor. He isn’t just conversing though, conversing was the neutral term for making small talk with an acquaintance.
Judging from the way both their cheeks were flushed a light shade of crimson, Rodrigue could only conclude that they were flirting.
His son was flirting. With the professor.
How unexpected.
“What do you think he’s saying?” Ingrid amusedly asks Sylvain.
“Probably some double entendre about swords. ‘Hey, By, let me stick you with my pointy end,’” Sylvain guffaws, and Rodrigue turns back just in time to see Ingrid slap the back of his head.
“Please excuse his crude sense of humour,” Ingrid apologizes, looking more embarrassed than Sylvain. “What we meant to say is that Felix and the professor are very…close. You won’t need to worry about him.”
The pair step out of the classroom without so much as a goodbye, and Rodrigue finds his feet moving to follow them. He bids farewell to the kids, keeping considerable distance between himself and the… couple?
He ends up hiding behind a pillar in the training grounds, peeking around as Felix tosses the professor a training sword. She catches it with ease, spinning it deftly between her fingers before charging at him, sword raised to strike.
Her fighting style was unlike anything he’d seen before. It wasn’t like the traditional Fraldarius style with strong, devastating blows. It was mix of brawling and swordfaire, and it worked. He did recognize a few moves from the times he’d watched Felix spar, and now he knew where he had learned them.
It was clear that Felix was stronger, his major crest activated often, giving him the upper hand in terms of strength. She was faster though, smarter. She effortlessly glided past the blade of his sword, always coming back with a counterattack of her own.
She managed to disarm him with a well timed flick of her wrist, sending his sword clattering across the floor. He felt a bit of disappointment bubble in his stomach. Not at Felix, but for him. He knew his son hated to lose.
Then Felix did something Rodrigue didn’t expect. A glyph crackled on the tips of his fingers, and a bolt of thunder appeared in front of the professor. Magic! His son knew magic! It provided enough of a distraction for Felix to lunge for his sword, bringing it up to rest under the professor’s chin before she could collect herself.
She dropped her sword. “I yield.”
Felix smiled. Rodrigue hadn’t seen his son smile like that in years. “Finally, I notched a win against you.”
She let out a breathless laugh as he lowered his sword. “I almost had you.”
“True. It was a narrow victory.” They move to take a seat on one of the steps. Felix stretches his legs out as Byleth crosses hers. “When we spar, I feel like I’m revisiting my past.”
“Why?”
“It’s like training with my brother.” Rodrigue stills, his heart hammering in his chest at the rare mention of Glenn. “He always won — always — and died before I could win a single bout. From the first time I’d held a sword, all I wanted was to surpass him. And that’s what drove me to become so strong. Perhaps it’s absurd to say such a thing but...I’ve spent all my years training for a duel with a corpse.”
“It’s not absurd,” Byleth says with a slight shake of her head. “You found an answer to my question.”
Felix pauses at this, and Rodrigue holds his breath. He’d never seen his son bare his raw emotions like this. Not to him, not to Sylvain or Ingrid, especially not to Dimitri.
“Yes, I suppose I did. I can never again spar with my brother. Not unless he crawls out of his grave. Still I continue my endless pursuit of strength. Maybe because I have a new opponent to measure myself against.”
“Who?” She asks, a teasing smile on her lips. “I want to hear you say it, Felix.”
He releases a frustrated groan, and she nudges him playfully. “You, obviously. I beat you this time, but when we next cross swords, who knows what might happen. It was a close match, not a crushing victory. I know that I can do better. I will surpass you in strength, and then I’ll become stronger still.”
Rodrigue suppresses a roll of his eyes. Now that sounds like his son.
“Don’t count me out yet.”
“Ha. Just what I was hoping you’d say,” Felix chuckles, turning to face her. “Anyway, thank you. For helping me find the answer to the question you asked, all those years ago.”
He raises a hand to her cheek, brushing a strand of hair from her face before carefully, tentatively cupping her face. She leans into his touch, and Felix leans in—
Not wanting to intrude on the tender moment, Rodrigue walks brusquely out of the training ground, hoping he gets out undetected.
He can’t hide the smile on his face or the skip in his step when he returns to the Blue Lions room.
His son had finally opened up to someone.
__________
“Ah, you came,” Rodrigue greets, shutting his tactics primer as Felix closes the door behind him.
“Senile already, old man? This is my room,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest and staring — quizzically, not aggressively, — at Rodrigue. “Well? Any reason in particular that you’re here, disturbing my peace?”
Rodrigue reaches behind him and pulls out a fine bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Is it so wrong to request a drink with my son?” He pours a bit into the glass, but the look Felix shoots his way reminds him that his son is 23 now.
“Nothing wrong with it,” Felix sniffs as he takes the glass. “Just unusual. What do you want?”
“I just want to talk,” Rodrigue shrugs.
Felix scoffs disbelievingly. “We’re marching to our deaths in Gronder tomorrow, and you want to talk? Didn’t take you as the sentimental type.”
The high likelihood of death is exactly why he wanted to talk. “I want to know if you’re courting the professor.”
Felix chokes on his drink, alcohol sputtering. “W—what?” He asks incredulously, setting the glass down on the desk.
“The professor,” Rodrigue repeats, slower this time as to not startle him. “Are you courting her? Or is it just sex?”
Felix seems to choke on air this time. “What are you going on about?” He snaps, but the look on his face screams ‘guilty as charged.’
“Don’t be coy,” Rodrigue laughs heartily. “I’ve been here for two months now. You aren’t as good at hiding your feelings as you think.” He pauses, wondering if he should continue. He should. “Also, you seem to forget that you aren’t the only ones living in the dorms. Sylvain tells me that it’s odd that two usually reserved individuals are so loud in—”
“Damn Sylvain,” Felix’s ears turn a deep shade of red at that, and seems to be staggering over his words. “Ridiculous,” he huffs eventually, turning away to look any way but Rodrigue’s. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
“You say that,” Rodrigue grins wolfishly, leaning forward in his seat, “yet I do not hear you denying it.”
“Yes!” Felix groans loudly. “Yes...I suppose I’m...courting Byleth.”
Was that so hard? Rodrigue certainly didn’t think so. “Do you intend to marry her?”
“We’re fighting a war. I don’t have time for thoughts like that.”
“Wars begin and end,” Rodrigue shrugs in response. “But it’s what you do after that counts.”
Felix stays silent as his face returns to a normal colour. “I don’t know…” he admits softly. “She’s inevitably going to become Archbishop. I’m...I don’t know what I’ll be doing— if I live to see the end of this, that is.” Rodrigue hands him the glass, and he takes a larger than normal swig, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“I know I’m your father and you’re inclined to take everything I say with a grain of salt,” he starts, sighing. “But I’ll tell you what I make of the situation at hand. It’s just a suggestion.”
His silence is enough for Rodrigue to continue. “I know you’re a warrior at heart, Felix, but one day, you will become the Head of the House. You’ll take over leadership of Fraldarius territory. Now, there are two ways you can proceed from there. You can do this alone, the meetings, the missives, the negotiating, all the things I know you will despise. You can drag yourself through it day to day until you die. Or, you can wake up in the arms of your loved ones, and eventually make it easier to bear.”
Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “She’s just as bad at it as I am. We’d make terrible rulers.”
Rodrigue takes another sip of his scotch. “Well, isn’t that what love is? Growing together? I’ve been doing this by myself for a long time, you know. It gets lonely.”
Felix frowns as his forehead creases with thought. “Since when were you so sappy, old man?”
“Since I found out that my son was in love.”
Ah, to say the L word. If he were being honest, he never thought he’d be saying it to Felix. Since the death of Glenn, he’d been cold. He’d been quick to freeze them all out. People didn’t understand the way he dealt with his pain, Rodrigue included.
How lucky Felix had been to finally find someone who did understand him.
And she was the Blade Breaker’s daughter! Who better to spar with for the rest of his days?
“I have something else to give you,” Rodrigue remembered, digging into his pocket. “It’s yours to use as you see fit.” He places the ring into Felix’s palm, closing his fingers around it. It’d belonged to his mother, nearly a lifetime ago now. “Perhaps with a worthy opponent like her at your side, you can finally...know peace.”
Felix doesn’t say anything, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as he places the ring in his pocket. “Thank you, Father. I...Thank you.” He downs the rest of his drink and turns on his heel, striding out of the room.
Rodrigue hopes he will live to see the day his son places the ring on her finger.
Present
Midwinter
Felix used to dislike parties.
He used to dislike balls and galas, anything that meant he would inevitably be dragged around by Sylvain as he gallivanted around the room to entertain an endless train of women.
It was different now. Sure, he didn’t look forward to them, but he certainly didn’t mind them.
First of all, Sylvain was married now, he didn’t drag Felix into any more insufferable gaggles of girls.
Second of all, Felix was married to the Archbishop. After a brief round of mingling, he could sit in her dais above the swarm of people with the only woman that mattered to him.
Third of all, he had kids. Kids that he could see at all times from the very dais he occupied at this very moment.
He watches as Glenn twirls Astrid around the room with the grace of a professional dancer. Like she had taught him all those years ago, Byleth had taught Glenn just as well.
His eyes find Byleth standing next to Dimitri and Ingrid, donning her Archbishop regalia and headpiece, looking absolutely stunning as always. Her eyes seem to sparkle as she watches their son.
“Father?”
Sitri stands beside him, hugging the shawl he’d made her wear tightly around her shoulders. “Sitri? Are you alright?” He asks on instinct.
She seems hesitant, her expression clouded. “I...I’m okay. I think. I just...you were right,” she mumbles quietly.
Felix flexes his fingers before giving them a few audible cracks. “Ah, about Mikael? Where is he?”
“You don’t have to be so smug about it,” she grumbles, dropping herself into a chair. Felix was going for threatening, but smug worked too. “Ugh, why are boys so stupid?”
“Hey, we aren’t all bad,” Felix protests lightly, taking a seat beside her. “We all mellow out eventually,” he adds, brushing teal hair over her shoulder. “Are you going to tell me what brought this sudden revelation on?”
“I don’t think I love Mikael,” she admits, and Felix’s heart doesn’t just jump for joy, it does backflips and cartwheels. “But...I think I really like Christophe.”
The cartwheels screech to a halt as his heart skips a beat. “Christophe?”
“Yes. He’s nice to me.”
Felix cocks a brow. “So, does that mean you like him as a friend or...something more?”
“I don’t know— I just, I like him, that’s all.”
Felix doesn’t quite know what to say. He’d never been good at the advice thing, that was Byleth’s specialty.
“Daddy? Can I ask you something?” She requests, looking up at him with her big doe eyes.
No. “Of course.”
“When did you know you liked Mother? Like, really liked her?”
Huh. That, he actually could answer. “The first time I kissed her.”
“Awe, really? Father, that’s so sappy and totally unlike you,” she teases, nudging him a little.
It was disgustingly sweet, he knows. “It’s true. I’d kissed a handful of girls before, but the day I kissed your mother...it was like none of them had even existed. It was just...her. The feel of her soft lips on mine, the way she ran her fingers through my hair, the way she moved against me. I’ve never liked heat, we Faerghans thrive in the chill of winter. But Sitri, the first time she kissed me, I felt warm all over, and I liked it. I never wanted to be cold again.”
“Father…are you telling me I have to kiss Christophe to figure out whether I love him or not?”
“What— no! You’re absolutely not allowed— Sitri?! Where are you going?” His daughter shoots up out of her seat and darts out of his range.
“Thank you for the advice, Daddy!”
“I swear to the goddess above if you lay a lip on that boy I’ll—”
“What do you swear to me, husband?” Byleth interrupts from the doorway. Glenn trails in behind her, dragging a wriggling Sitri along in a headlock. “I caught your daughter making a break for it.”
“Let me go, you brute!” She argues, gripping at his arm.
“What, so you can go kiss your prince?” He teases, ruffling her hair.
“Ah!” She shrieks loudly, all composure lost as she tries in vain to save her pretty updo. “Mother! Make him stop!”
“Glenn, let go of your sister, please,” Byleth sighs tiredly, giving him a pointed look. Glenn relents, letting his sister wiggle out of his grip and attempt to fix her hair.
She points a finger at him, a fire blazing behind her eyes. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have the guts to kiss Astrid!”
Glenn looks absolutely scandalized as he looks between him and Byleth. “I told you that in confidence!” He hisses, his hand flinching towards his sword.
Byleth recognizes the look of a Fraldarius when threatened, and immediately moves to dissipate the situation. “Settle, you two,” she says in her best Professor Eisner voice. “We are at an event, and you are expected to be what?”
Glenn stands up straighter, and Sitri rolls her eyes. “Model citizens of Faerghus and upstanding members of the Church,” they grumble together. Byleth nods approvingly, but when she turns to face Felix, he catches Sitri stick her tongue out and Glenn, who returns the gesture with a flip of his middle finger.
“What’s gotten into them?” She inquires curiously, looking back at the children, who are still glaring at each other.
“Sitri asked me about love,” Felix replies.
“Ah, and you told her the first kiss story, didn’t you?” Before he can ask how she knows, she continues. “You tell everyone that story, darling.”
“Are you tired of hearing it?”
She closes the short distance between them, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing her soft lips on his. “Never,” she whispers, earning a collective groan from Glenn and Sitri.
When she pulls away, she holds her arm out, inviting their children into their warm embrace. “Oh, come here you lovesick fools.”
Sitri doesn’t hesitate to run in, wrapping her arms around both of them and tucking her face into Felix’s chest. Glenn shows a bit more restraint, long legs carrying him over gracefully, but the hug is strong and full of love.
The noise from the party below disappears, and Felix feels that familiar warm feeling seep through every molecule of his body, enveloping his heart and squeezing out every bit of love it can. A love that Felix hadn’t realized he harboured until he met Byleth.
A love for his family.