Chapter Text
Rodrigue Fraldarius was awoken at just past one in the morning by an unusual commotion in the entrance hall. He rolled out of bed, unnerved, as he pulled a dressing gown on over his nightshirt and stuffed his feet into his fur lined slippers. Opening the door of his bedroom and venturing out into the hall it wasn’t long before one of the servants came to a halt as soon as they caught sight of him.
“My lord, I was just coming to wake you. We have some...unexpected visitors.”
“Who?” Rodrigue frowned as he fell into step beside the frazzled looking young man. Unexpected visitors at such an hour- during a rain storm no less- were never a good sign. Rodrigue patted the pocket of his dressing gown where he had hidden a dagger. It never paid to go into situations unprepared for the worst possible outcome- the near death of his friend at the hands of his queen had taught them that lesson the hard way.
The servant hesitated for a split second- just long enough to put Rodrigue even more on edge. “Your sons, my lord, and the Crown Prince among several others. They have a gravely wounded man with them.”
Lord Fraldarius briefly faltered in his steps, feeling his apprehension grow even more. “My sons?”
“Yes, my lord. Your eldest was carrying the wounded man, his brother was not far behind.”
“Glenn...” Rodrigue quickened his pace, a profound nervousness seeping into his bones. He hadn’t seen his first born in over a decade and there were a million questions going through his head. Where had he been? Why did he leave? Was he okay?
Rodrigue rounded the corner and, reaching the main staircase down to the entrance hall, took a deep breath before he began his descent. There were a buzz of voices and his blue eyes flicked from person to person- looking for his children among the group of youths.
Rodrigue studied the faces filling his entrance hall, his eyes moving between the faces of Felix’s childhood friends to the face of his best friend’s child who he thought of another son. Dimitri’s face was a picture of exhaustion and apprehension and, despite knowing that he was in good hands with Dedue, he felt the desire to soothe the prince’s worries away regardless. After all, one cannot be handed the only child of one’s dearest friend- still only a few minutes old- and not want to protect him. Still, Rodrigue tore his eyes away from Dimitri and scanned the rest of the vaguely familiar faces- like the ones of Gustav’s daughter and Lonato’s adopted son- and the others who could only be the remaining Blue Lions and their teacher.
Finally, Rodrigue’s eyes fell on a pair of raven haired boys. One stood at just above the shoulder of the other but there was no mistaking that they were brothers- and that they were his sons. Felix caught sight of him first, his dark eyes flicking towards him and his mouth shutting. Upon the faintest tilt of his younger brother’s head, the taller boy stopped and turned and Rodrigue froze on the staircase, his heart in his throat.
Glenn looked exactly the same and yet so very different all at once. His hair was longer, there was a sharpening of his jawline that came with age, he had a new scar running through his left eyebrow, and several piercings ran up the sides of his ears but that did little to diminish the things that were still exactly the same. Features Rodrigue had memorized from the moment his firstborn came into the world like the exact pattern of freckles that dotted his son’s face and the shape of his features from the slope of his nose to the curve of his lips, and the exact shade of blue-green his eyes were. He could still read his eldest’s face like a book- could see the anxiety and fear and exhaustion etched into his features as clearly as printed words on a page- and all Rodrigue wanted to do was run down the rest of the stairs and embrace him, make sure he was really here- whole and safe and sound, but he felt frozen. Was this actually happening or was it just another one of the cruel dreams Rodrigue sometimes had? Dreams where he was reunited with his child only to wake up and realize that it was nothing more than wishful thinking.
For a long moment nothing happened. Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye Rodrigue was standing in front of his eldest and embracing him, pulling him against his chest trying not to gasp at how much taller he was. When Rodrigue had held him last, Glenn had still been just a teenager and had only come up to his shoulder but now? Now he was nearly the same height as him.
Glenn didn’t return the embrace right away- his whole body tensed up like a frightened deer before it gradually relaxed and he curled his arms back around the older man.
“Glenn...” Rodrigue’s voice cracked as a few tears slipped out of his eye. “Thank the Goddess you’re alright.”
“It’s...good to see you too dad.”
After several moments Glenn started to make a movement to step back only for Rodrigue to tighten his embrace, unwilling to let his son go so soon- fearful that as soon as he released him he’d disappear again. Glenn indulged him for another few moments before he extracted himself from his father’s arms, squirming like a irritated cat except much, much stronger. “I have to go- I need..” Glenn looked away from his father’s insistent gaze “I need to be with him. Excuse me...”
Rodrigue watched his eldest turn away from him and swiftly leave the entrance hall, making his way towards the infirmary. For a few seconds, the older man did nothing but stare after his son’s retreating figure, feeling almost as though what just happened was only a result of his overactive imagination. Movement in his peripheral vision snapped Rodrigue back to reality as he watched his other son anxiously shift his weight from foot to foot, obviously just as uncomfortable and exhausted as everyone else surely was. Burying his feelings deep inside, a process Rodrigue had perfected over the years to prevent his heart from shattering every time he visited Lambert in Fhirdiad, he gave a small smile to the assembled group before him.
“It is clear that you have been through much but for now, you should get some rest. My servants will attend you if you require anything. Felix?” Rodrigue turned towards this youngest and held out an arm. “If you would?”
Felix signed and dropped his arms to his sides, rolling his eyes in that spectacular way only a teenager could. Still, the young man stepped forward and allowed his father to put an arm around him and lead him out of the hall and into his private office. No sooner had the door closed behind them did Felix cross his arms again and plaster his usual scowl across his youthful features.
“Don’t even think about asking me anything about him because I don’t know much more than you do and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”
Rodrigue suppressed the urge to sigh. His youngest had become so...irritable lately but he supposed that it was likely just a phase. After all, Rodrigue had also gotten moody as a teenager and had dreams of defying his father until he matured past it. “I wasn’t going to ask you about Glenn,” he patiently corrected, “I wanted to ask you what happened.”
Felix eyed him suspiciously as he carefully lowered himself onto the sofa in front of the fireplace, his eyes still hard and locked on Rodrigue while he got a fire going. “That’s it?”
Rodrigue held his palms together until he felt the oddly shivery heat grow into an actual flame that he carefully held in cupped hands and deposited in the hearth. He stayed crouched on the flagstones, watching the magically ignited fire for a moment to make sure it had caught the logs before he stood and settled himself in the armchair next to his son. “I won’t lie and say that I’m not curious about your brother but that is a discussion I will have with him. For now, tell me what happened.”
Felix studied his father’s face for a long moment, looking for any sign of a hidden motive. Satisfied, the young swordman nodded once and looked away, unable to have a genuine discussion while maintaining eye contact. Rodrigue suppressed the urge to sigh in frustration as once again he was faced with the impossible realization that Felix was not suited to politics- couldn’t even fake it the way Glenn had eventually learned how to- and yet had no choice but to become the next Duke Fraldarius after Glenn had renounced his title.
“We were sent to retrieve the Lance of Ruin from a group of bandits who had holed up in Conand Tower. We fought our way through to their stronghold, our troops splitting up to better deal with their reinforcements. Sylvain and Miklan has gone ahead on their horses while Glenn and I were further back with some of the others taking care of any stragglers left behind.” Felix paused, a look of unease flitting across his features and Rodrigue shifted forward a bit, frowning. It was rare to see Felix uneasy about discussing a battle- especially one they had apparently won if the lance shaped bundle in Dimitri’s arms had been any indication.
“I didn’t see what happened next but from what Sylvain managed to tell me they cornered their leader and demanded he return the Lance. Instead of surrendering, the bandit made a lunge to attack Sylvain and Miklan stepped in front of him and took the Lance right under his rib cage. Glenn and I heard the scream and-“ Felix swallowed, his face pale. “Sylvain said Miklan had stepped forward and punched the guy before he pulled the lance out and finished him off but by the time we got there Miklan was unconscious on the floor...there was blood everywhere...”
Rodrigue reached across the gap between the chair and the sofa and gently placed a comforting parental hand on his youngest’s shoulder. Felix flinched, giving him a half hearted glare, but didn’t shrug it off and that, more than anything, told Rodrigue just how traumatizing the scene must have been. Felix hadn’t been receptive of any kind of comfort or physical affection from him in at least 3 years. After a moment of silence during which he pretended not to notice his son’s faint tremor, the older man gently prompted his son to keep going. “Then?”
“Glenn ran over and started trying to heal him but the wounds weren’t closing and Sylvain was freaking out and I could tell Glenn was starting to panic as well. Glenn told me to get Sylvain out of there and not to look but...” A single tear slipped down Felix’s face and he impatiently brushed it away, giving his palm a brief disgusted look that screamed how dare you show emotion without my consent. After a moment of glaring, Felix huffed a barely noticeable sigh. “I saw Glenn lifting up Miklan’s tunic with one hand and casting fire with his other and I looked away but...”
Rodrigue immediately felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably as he stood up and moved to sit beside his son on the sofa, putting an arm around his shoulders. Cauterization was a nasty business and one that he had hoped neither of his children would need to witness. Just thinking about it was enough to make Rodrigue nauseous- his memory unhelpfully reminding him of the time he’d had to hold his twin brother Serene still while Prince Rufus had cauterized a deep cut made by a cursed ice blade. Sometimes Rodrigue would wake up in a cold sweat, still hearing his brother’s barely muffled screams of agony. Goddess and Glenn had been the one to do it...
“Glenn,” Felix swallowed harshly then continued through gritted teeth, “stopped the bleeding and while we waited for the others to catch up the thief’s body started jerking and there were these black tendrils coming from the Lance and then they were covering the body and it looked like it was eating him until-“
“They turned into a demonic beast,” Rodrigue finished, a deep frown on his face. Felix whipped his head around, surprised.
“How did you..?”
Rodrigue shook his head. “Later. The bandit turned into a demon and...”
Felix stared into the fire, eyes glazed over in an attempt to not relive the whole ordeal- a useful tactic for any warrior. “Glenn carried Miklan out of the way and when the others came we fought it. The professor felled it and the black stuff fell away until all that was left was the body and the Lance. Sylvain was too upset and distracted over Miklan to want to grab the Lance but eventually the Bo- Prince Dimitri- collected it for him, and wrapped it up in the bandits’ flag, knowing Sylvain wouldn’t want to see it. Glenn carried Miklan over to his horse and rode tandem out of the tower. After that, we went to get help.”
Rodrigue frowned, wondering if he was somehow misremembering where Conand Tower was. “If you needed emergency medical attention then why are you here? Gautier’s estate is considerably closer to Conand Tower.”
Felix grit his teeth and a look of pure fury crossed his face. “He refused.”
“What?”
“Margrave Gautier refused to treat Miklan. He wouldn’t even let him into the estate. He said ‘it’s none of my concern what happens to him, he’s no son of mine and he’s not welcome here.’”
Rodrigue felt a chill run up his spine. He knew Gautier had disowned Miklan but he never imagined he would go so far as to refuse to aid his gravely injured son. What kind of father did that? Just the thought of one of Rodrigue’s children- his babies- bleeding and nearing death sent his heart racing and there wasn’t a single thing his children could do that would make Rodrigue change the deeply rooted fact that he would do anything to prevent that scenario from coming to pass and until that moment, he had assumed every parent felt the same way.
Red hot rage quickly followed the shock, the hand curled protectively around his youngest tightening. Later. He would deal with Gautier later.
There was a profound stillness to the room, the only sounds being the fire crackling in the hearth and the rain pattering against the window. Felix sniffed once and stared intently at the fire while Rodrigue absentmindedly rubbed small soothing circles on his youngest child’s back as struggled to find anything to say in the face of these revelations.
“...why wouldn’t they close?”
Rodrigue blinked and looked over at Felix, unsure if he had imagined his question or not. “Pardon?”
“The wounds. Why wouldn’t they close?”
The older man sighed, pushing his wavy hair back off his face. “Hero’s Relics are mysterious and powerful objects- each with their own unique properties. Wounds sustained by the Lance of Ruin cannot be closed by anything save extremely advanced healing magic or, as your brother was unfortunately forced to demonstrate, drastic emergency medical intervention.”
“Is that also why he turned into a demon?”
“Most likely. The relics...they don’t like to be handled by anyone who does resonate with their associated crest and the phenomenon you witnessed is a well-documented if not well-known one. No one understands why it happens, just that the longer someone without a crest handles a relic, the more the relic- for lack of a better term- fights back.”
Felix nodded once and Rodrigue looked him over. Whenever anyone saw him with his children they immediately remarked on how alike they looked- a undeniably true statement- but they never mentioned the features that were so obviously from their mother. Felix’s eyes, Glenn’s smattering of light freckles, both of their smiles...they were all Cora. Rodrigue rubbed at his eyes, trying not to think about how his late wife would have known exactly what to say in this situation. Rodrigue had never been very good at this sort of thing and suddenly he felt as tired as Felix looked.
“Go wash up and get some rest, son. Goddess knows you need it.”
“Fine,” Felix stood and walked towards the door only to stop with his hand on the knob. “-and dad?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you dare give Glenn a reason to leave again. Not after we just got him back.”
—:—
Glenn sat on the stiff, hard backed chair and tenderly ran his thumb back and forth over his husband’s pale hand, the pad occasionally brushing the simple silver band he wore- identical to his own in every way. It was far from his first bedside vigil and he prayed desperately that it wouldn’t be his last- that Miklan would make a full recovery and live to recklessly fight another day.
Because right now Glenn wasn’t sure if he’d make it through the night.
The healers has done their best, undoing the bloody field dressings and pushing healing magic into his too still body. The ugly burn that Glenn had made to stop the majority of the bleeding faded and- to the healers’ horror- the underlying wound, without it’s gruesome bandage, just reopened, looking as deep and deadly as it had back at the Tower. Repeated attempts to heal didn’t help and it wasn’t until he head healer cast Fortify that there was any noticeable change at all and even then...
In the end they’d had to delicately cauterize the damaged blood vessels, stitch it up, and slather the whole wound with antiseptics. Worryingly, or perhaps mercifully depending on how one looked at it, Miklan hadn’t so much as twitched during the whole process- still unconscious from the blood loss, shock, and pain. About an hour ago the healers had retired, unable to do anything else for the red head at the time, and left Glenn to his silent vigil.
They had recommended he also rest but the idea of leaving Miklan alone while on death’s door was so abhorrent that Glenn balked at the very idea. No, he would not leave. He would never leave his husband- not for anyone or anything. Whatever they did, they would do together. For better or worse.
If they wanted Glenn to leave and ’get some rest’ they would have to physically drag him away kicking and screaming.
Glenn’s eyes trailed up Miklan’s arm and settled on his face. While Glenn had his own fair share of scars littering his body, Miklan collected them like some people collected coins or books- the worst of which being the nasty scar cutting across his face. That was received when he ran ahead to stop a group of soldiers from killing a young Duscan boy they had been intending to sell into slavery until he escaped their captivity. Miklan had rushed ahead and taken out 2 of the three slavers but the leader had slashed him across the face with a Devil Sword before Glenn could cast Bolting and end his miserable life.
Glenn had of course healed what he could but he was a mercenary, not a healer, and a wound from a cursed blade was beyond his skill to heal but Miklan never seemed to care about that particular scar.
Not like he cared about the one on his jaw- the one he would still shy away from letting Glenn touch, the memory of receiving it enough to leave a sort of phantom pain he was unable to talk about until he was well and truly drunk.
Glenn stood, his body protesting the movement loudly after continuously riding and carrying his husband for hours, and retrieved a wash cloth from the basin of water the healers had left on the bedside table. The medicinal herbs the water had been boiled with in preparation for surgery now floated in the cool tea-like mixture. Gently, he wiped away the dried blood sticking to Miklan’s temple- a wound he had healed himself before they even got to the Gautier estate.
Glenn’s jaw clenched and he forced himself to relax it. Any fleeting remnants of respect he had once had for his husband’s father had been destroyed when Sylvain- frantic and terrified for the sake of his brother- had begged his father to help Miklan only to be told he didn’t have a brother anymore- that the fate of some “disgraceful vagabond” was none of his concern. Sylvain had started to cry and Felix had been the one to escort him away, giving the man the coldest scowl he could muster.
If Glenn hadn’t literally been carrying his husband, he would have stabbed the Margrave right in his ugly black heart.
Behind him, the door to the infirmary opened and closed. Glenn didn’t turn to look, focused on the task at hand, but knew who it was regardless just by his footsteps: a smooth and purposeful gait that spoke of both political and physical power but weren’t light enough to be a swordsman’s.
“How is he?” His father’s voice broke the silence of the room, genuine concern along with some unnamed...emotion Glenn couldn’t place coloring his usually boisterous way of speaking.
“Not good. He’s lost a lot of blood and it looks like he might be fighting an infection too.” Glenn tenderly brushed a few strands of red off his clammy forehead, resisting the urge to press a kiss to his brow in front of the current company. “He’s burning up...”
Rodrigue pulled another chair up to the opposite side of the young man’s bed, settling himself into the uncomfortable seat as best he could. He watched as his eldest placed a cool compress over his brow and sat down on Miklan’s left, taking his cold hand in his own.
For a few minutes no one spoke and Rodrigue studied his son, taking in the wedding ring on his finger that matched the one in his hand. Miklan. In hindsight it was obvious- he should have known.
They had been friends since they were toddlers- had shared everything with each other. He remembered how Glenn would insist on coming with him when he had to travel to the Gautier estate and how he’d beg to stay longer- just one more day. He remembered how they had grown even closer once Sylvain and Felix had been born, bonding over their shared experiences as brothers- trading tips on how to best soothe away nightmares and bandage scraped knees among other brotherly wisdoms they had accumulated.
He should have known they were in love. Sure they probably tried to hide it but if he had just taken one second to read between the lines...Goddess he had been so stupid.
Glenn had asked him. He had fucking asked him why he had to marry Ingrid. Why he couldn’t marry who he wanted. Then there had been his sudden interest in romance novels, digging ever deeper in their library to find one that matched the way he felt.
Rodrigue wasn’t sure if he had just been blind or if he had purposely tried not to see what was happening right in front of his face. He used to lie awake at night, wondering why Glenn had left. What happened? It had been tempting during the first few years to blame Miklan- think that he coerced him into running away with him but he knew that wasn’t what happened. Miklan wouldn’t have made Glenn do something he didn’t want to do- even before Rodrigue knew what he did now, it was clear they respected each other too much to force the other to do something.
But in the end it was Rodrigue himself who had pushed his son away. He had been so wrapped up in securing a future for his children, arranging a life of success so that if something ever happened to him, they wouldn’t be thrust unprepared into a role they had no idea how to fulfill like he had, that he had forgotten that perhaps Glenn might have wanted something else. Maybe he didn’t want to be a knight- didn’t want to carry on a line of noblemen and uphold tradition. Maybe he wanted something different.
Maybe he wanted Miklan. Rodrigue could understand that. He too had wanted what he couldn’t have when he was younger. Hell- he still wanted what he couldn’t have.
“I’m sorry.”
Glenn started, glancing away from Miklan for the first time since he sat down and looking at his father. Outwardly he looked much the same as he had a decade ago but he seemed...older. There was a weight in his words, a sadness in his eyes, and Glenn couldn’t help but think that he was partially to blame for that. Before he could figure out what to say, Rodrigue continued.
“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t come to me about this,” the older man nodded to Miklan’s prone form. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you the impression that I would love you less for who you loved.”
Unbidden, a tear slipped out of Glenn’s eye and before he could wipe it away more fell. It was like the dam he had built to keep his emotions in check had been cracked and was now rapidly falling apart.
Tears turned to sobs and before he could even process what had just happened there were arms around him and his face was pressed up against a warm muscular chest.
“It’s ok...let it out. I’m here.”
Rodrigue slowly began to sway as Glenn sobbed against the tunic he had pulled on when it had become clear he wouldn’t be finding his bed again that night, falling back on his deeply engrained parental instincts cultivated over nearly 30 years. His eldest clutched at his back, desperately holding him closer, the sobs wracking his body. Rodrigue quietly hushed his child, stroking his rain dampened hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.
Glenn cried harder than he had in years- decades even- and wrapped up in his father’s strong and loving embrace, a wound he hadn’t even realized he’d had healed and a relationship he had been afraid to miss mended- he slept.
—:—