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It's strange, really. Or at least it should be strange, but as Felix feels the blood start to flow freely from his leg, a gruesome mix of copper and ichor, he does not feel anything at all. There is certainty in his choice as the cold, more sinking than any Faerghus winter, threatens to set in his wrecked body.
It's definitely annoying more than strange, Felix thinks. He could pretend that his body moved automatically, but he'd hesitated before making his mind.
He'd chosen to throw himself in front of Dimitri. Not for the goddess, the country, his father, Glen. Not because of the oath Blaiddyd and Fraldarius had sworn all those years long past.
Why he'd chosen, Felix does not have time to ruminate on.
Felix slams an open fist against Dimitri's armor, and although his voice is not for everyone, there is still strength in it as he lets out a yell. Slamming his forehead against Dimitri's, the pain starts to clear his head.
"Get going, you ," he growls out, and the silence of the room breaks him. Far off, he can hear the sounds of battle, but behind the two of them lay nothing but corpses.
Even the dark mage that had aimed for Dimitri at the last moment had died with his a flick of his blade before turning into green flame and ash. There was no one left to fight, at least not for him.
And loathe as he would be to say it, Felix cannot picture anyone else's blade delivering the final blow to Edelgard.
Felix closes his eyes, scowling and pushing Dimitri away from him. His hand ends up against Dimitri's face, only for Dimitri to clasp it there as he meet's Felix's eyes head on.
They are not the eyes of the broken soul that Dimitri has had for so long. No, they are as bright and determined as the prince’s Felix remembers of his childhood days. Perhaps even more brilliant, enough that it burns him to look at. Head bowed as he tries to escape Dimitri's gaze, Felix pushes himself free from Dimitri's embrace before setting to his pockets as he lay on the blue stone floor.
" Now Dimitri." Felix pulls at the cork of a bottle of pure water, pouring it over the wound in his leg. Smoke starts to billow immediately as it tries to fight against whatever toxins that spell has left him with. "Don't get distracted."
Dimitri bites his lip, a king soft enough to ignore the time spent leading up to this moment for his childhood friend. But he stands anyway, a squeeze of his hand before he gives Felix what's left of his elixirs.
He says something to Felix before he's out of sight, but the blood roaring in Felix's ears keeps the words unspoken.
They both know that Annette and Mercedes are not far behind. As Felix begins to use whatever energy he can into tying a belt around his leg to stop the blood loss he feels impossibly light, laughter bubbling from his lips.
Perhaps it's the fact that Sylvain had gone on and on about how no one needed that many belts. Or the look on Ingrid's face when she would realize that she was right, about everything. He knows Dimitri will cut through, into a world where with any hope there is no need for people like Felix.
The tears are hot against his cheek, pain wracking his body. But he has a promise to keep. This will not be where he takes his final breath.
He breathes, thinking of his golden king as the darkness begins to consume him.
-
Felix lives, but just barely. It's weeks before they can even move him from Enbarr, and even then he's on his way to Fhirdiad by cart. He spends most of his time sleeping, only getting bits and pieces of what's happening as the new dawn of Fodlan begins.
While the majority of the nurses and guards seemed to be in better spirits Felix can't help but notice the exhaustion that's set deep into them and everyone else surrounding him. Even his friends that visit the castle to have their hands full, eyes bleary and bodies running thin. He had not the been only one with an injury, but Felix was the only one with an injury that would not be so easily pressed aside.
At first the healers had done their best to detox his body, doing what they could to save his organs. While they'd been successful there had been little time to focus on his leg. The injury seemed to be immune to most healing magic, and the spells that did work did so just barely.
It's two moons before he begins to finally feel well enough to move around, only to fall to the stone ground, body weak and bruised.
The doctors had warned him about it, over and over. Felix hadn't understood any of it, except for the fact that his right leg can't support his weight.
He'd never done well with listening.
"Reason magic is the opposite of faith magic," Annette says one day, arranging the flowers in a vase next to his bed.
They're white roses from the garden, clumsily cut. Felix had awoken to one one day, and then another and another. Felix doesn't mind them as much as he thought he would, perhaps because he's seen these flowers before, perhaps given to him by the same hands. They grow even in the snow and as Felix's eyes fall on them he feels himself start to calm down.
"I remember that much," he says, sighing once and closing his eyes. "You told me before, that dark magic is an extension of black magic."
"Well, that's how it's designated," Annette says matter of factly, finally finishing her work keeping up the flowers. "White magic is the same. Reason magic is as close to a neutral as we'd get. When emotions are running high it distorts the magic. Faith is easy for most people. It draws on the good things, joy, devotion, love."
Felix feels his stomach drop, fingers curling into fists. His voice is soft as he says, "That woman burned herself to death trying to kill me."
Annette is too kind to mention that the mage had aimed for Dimitri, not Felix. She sings him to sleep after brushing his hair, voice soft enough that he doesn't feel empty inside.
-
Felix reads whatever books from Ashe and Ingrid he can get. When he's done with them he reads it again, this time his quil ready Sentences are rewritten, scenes drawn out, words underlined. By the time Felix is done with the book it's become a part of him, only to move onto the next.
He doesn't really enjoy the books themselves, but it keeps his mind busy. Felix also knows that he cannot practice juggling daggers from where he lay in bed every hour of every day. Even if Flayn would be his happy audience.
Dimitri finds his way in while Felix is working on his thirty-first book. He'd run into a wall with his sketching and instead has spread the book against his face. Felix grumbles, hand going out to grab at Dimitri's wrist even as the book covers his eyes.
"Why do you only come when I'm asleep?" Felix asks, pulling down the book with his other hand as he opens one tired eye. He tightens his grip on Dimitri's wrist, forcing his gaze.
"Felix, I—" Dimitri starts, a white rose bruising underneath his grasp. He stops himself when Felix raises a hand for him to stop.
"I'm told this room is in your apartments. How far is your chamber?" Felix asks, voice cool even as his skin burns, still holding onto Dimitri's scarred wrist.
"Next door." Dimitri says, blush rushing to his cheeks. Felix scowls, shaking his head and finally letting go before scooting over on the bed.
Dimitri hesitates only until he gets another glare, sitting down and allowing himself to settle in on the bed. Felix can feel the tension in him, the torment and guilt. This time the problem isn't a spectre, but something they both have to live with. To keep Felix so near and still feel the way he did, he'd never understand why Dimitri did this to himself.
Felix sounds rather annoyed at having to speak first as he says, "Now tell me about the pushback you've been getting from the former noble houses of the Empire."
Dimitri still has yet to be fully comfortable, huddling in on himself. His fingers seem to be tearing at a small paper into scraps gently, more of a coping mechanism than an anxious tic.
It makes Felix's stomach turn just looking at Dimitri. Felix is still learning to reconcile the many faces that Dimitri has worn through the years they've known each other. His body's immediate reaction has always been at odds with this, even as he keeps his eyes on the other man. Some might think he would be leaning too close, but he's long since learned that Dimitri is weak to him when he does this. Felix is not above using this to his advantage.
Dimitri relents, a small reluctant smile on his face as he recalls the day's events. It turns out that Felix's guess had been right, and emissaries of the former Lord Varley had been there today.
The merchants had been hired months ago, almost immediately after the war had ended, to oversee the construction contracts with the worker's guilds. They'd done an excellent job so far, so their sudden and blind support of Varley had been rather shocking.
"He bribed them," Felix says quickly. He feels the thrill of the hunt for the first time since he'd been bedridden.
When he shakes Dimitri he earns the dark laugh that escapes Dimitri's throat. It's enough to stop Felix's lungs for a moment, that sickly sweet feeling clawing at his body.
Oh. He wants to touch Dimitri.
He settles with tales of the day, giving Dimitri his counsel till they've stayed awake long into the night. Dimitri falls asleep on Felix’s shoulder, leaning into Felix’s warmth greedily. This, too, is a wholly new feeling. They’d leaned against each other just like this as small children, but allowing themselves this…
Felix continues to read, fed up with his time being stolen from him by his body. If he happens to cover Dimitri or move the hair from his face every so often, so be it.
-
They fall into a steady rhythm like this.
Felix doing his best to make his own time and schedule, his independent streak still alive and well even if his limbs have not yet received the message. He trains in secret anyway, against the royal healer's advice. While it isn't anything he can be proud of yet, Felix can scarcely find a way to reconcile not trying.
Dimitri keeps his secrets well. The first night that he sees one of Felix's many stacks of books knocked over on the stone he does not say a thing. He simply picks up every volume, stacking them neatly back where they should be before he moves to take off his coats. He does not ask or question, and instead acts as if nothing is amiss.
It is at least two weeks before Dimitri walks into an empty room. The panic sets in, almost immediately as his pulse begins to quicken. While he's frantically turning his head he seems to have missed Felix, who gives a sharp whistle from where he’s seated at the vanity.
Felix's expression is unreadable. Whether it's apology for panicking him or embarrassment at the situation Dimitri cannot say. Instead he presses a hand to his chest, palm digging into the scar tissue there before smiling at Felix.
"Felix," Dimitri breathes out, bright enough to warm even Felix's expression. "I'm so proud of you."
He does not say you walked because they both know that Felix did anything but with the mess on the floor. The tips of his fingernails are rimmed with dirt and blood, clothing askew.
Felix still seems as if he has everything under control anyway, the poise of a man that cannot be mistaken for anything but noble.
At least until he snorts, anyway. "It's pathetic," he says, turning back to where he's seated at the vanity. He does not meet Dimitri's gaze, and instead begins to pick up the hairbrush in front of him. Felix's eyebrows narrow, frustration clear on his face as he drags the brush through his hair roughly. "I couldn't even make it back to the bed. The last thing I wanted was for you to see me like this."
"This isn't about me," Dimitri says almost immediately. Felix determinedly avoids Dimitri's eye even then, even turning as Dimitri began to move closer to him. "Felix, you-"
Dimitri's voice catches the moment Felix slams the brush down and reaches for his hand. He tugs at Dimitri, letting his fingers support their match. He examines Dimitri's knuckles, thumb pressing against them before he finally squeezes Dimitri's hand once.
Felix had never been much for the idea of fealty, but now that it's all but impossible with his body in the condition it's in Felix cannot help but pause.
Every day has been more and more trying than the last. Felix asks for warm water and bandages for his hands, only chuckling once at the apologies that seem to stumble and trip out of Dimitri's mouth for not getting them faster.
Dimitri's reliance on propriety may have made Felix fume before, but seeing it now from his overgrown and war-hardened body Felix can't help but find it somewhat endearing. Even if he picks at Dimitri for it all the same.
-
They make a habit of this, too. Felix making his way to the mirror, each day easier than the last. Some days he allows Dimitri to braid his hair as they go over documents Dimitri has brought for him. Or Felix reads the letters that seem to pile up, skimming the sometimes intelligible script and only forwarding the most important information back to Dimitri.
This is how he learns of his death.
Or at least, the rumor of his death. It's been more than seven moons since the fall of the Empire, and while nobles have messengers with the finest steeds, the common people of Fraldarius have anything but. This letter to the king must have been pressed into the pile by a soldier or a guard secretly. With good reason; Although the king had named one Felix Hugo Fraldarius as Duke, said Duke’s uncle, Columb Fraldarius, seems to be slandering the King’s word by claiming that the truth has been hidden from not only him but the people of Fraldarius.
It’s headache-inducing to even think about. Not to mention the argument they have
“Invite him here,” Felix finally settles on, biting at his cheek after having already worried his lip thin. He grins once he sees Dimitri’s horrified face, rocking slightly on the bench they both sit. “That’s his plan, I know. If I’m dead he gets to weaken your position on the throne, making him one of the most powerful nobles in the newly unified Fodlan.”
Dimitri shakes his head tiredly, the bags underneath his eyes familiar to Felix's in a way he does not like. He leans against Felix, knowing that, even though most tires him these days, Felix enjoys being depended on like this. “But alive you are, Felix. He’ll claim that you’re not fit to lead your house, and demand you abscond your title.”
“I’ll take care of him, Dimitri,” Felix says brashly, raising an eyebrow at Dimitri’s reflection as if he dares him to insist that Felix can’t. “I will.”
Felix softens, his fingers digging through Dimitri’s golden strands to return the favor and braid them as well. He presses the back of his hand to Dimitri’s cheek before he decides to continue. “Why you even gave the title to me I’ll never know. You continually wound me.”
Dimitri simply stays quiet, shoulders hunched in more than usual. The worry has already set in, along with the sting of Felix’s words.
It hasn’t escaped his thought, about how Dimitri must feel having Felix so close. Their past differences have led them to this exact moment, whatever this little back and forth may be. Whether or not they would have begun to mend their relationship had things been different he cannot say. But Felix has grown stronger with every rise and fall of the sun, and every smile Dimitri has given him that is impossibly brighter than any star.
When Felix is finished with the braid he presses his lips to Dimitri’s neck, chuckling at the shiver that makes its way through Dimitri’s body.
“Lame as I am, I can still bring a king down to his knees,” Felix says slyly, and Dimitri groans, hand in face. “Now take me to bed.”
The teasing comes easily now, after all these nights. Even as the heat begins to lick at Felix’s ribcage, warm fluttering spreading easily through his lungs, he scowls at Dimitri for being a brute, leaning into him all the same as he allows himself to be carried.
They sleep together, as they have begun to most nights. Dimitri falls asleep first, Felix staying awake only long enough to make sure that nightmares do not plague either of them. He presses his face against Dimitri’s chest, timing the rise and fall of his own breath with Dimitri’s own. When he falls asleep, it’s with his arms wrapped around Dimitri’s broad body.
And although he cannot rest soundly just yet, Felix is grateful for this.
-
One of Ingrid’s pegasus knights comes by way of Gautier the morning of Columb's visit, exhausted from the haste. She heralds news of Ingrid’s arrival in the following night on wings of black. Felix snatches the letter as soon as Dimitri brings it over, his eyes bright as the early morning sunbeams.
When he grips the parchment enough to tear, Dimitri tries to steady him but Felix just bats him away.
He pushes himself out of bed, his first five or so steps steady before his knee begins to give underneath him. Felix falls to the ground as gracefully as one can, rolling and immediately dragging himself forward. Dimitri can't help but rush towards him, doing whatever he can to help only to be pushed away again, this time with a growl.
"She says Sylvain found it," Felix says, breath ragged as he shakes the letter. He finally settles himself against the pile of books, his eyes seeking the right tome. "On one of our borderlands."
He finally finds the page he wants, the watercolor portrait of Fraldarius soft against the striking black ink of her pegasus. Spreading his fingertips against it, he looks to Dimitri, a plan already forming between the two.
It’d been ages long since passed the last time anyone had even seen a black pegasus, and yet the storybooks were all the same. Fraldarius, given her black winged horse for her tribute to the goddess, cutting through whatever lay before her path. It was said that when Fraldarius had died her noble beast had been lost to the northern lights. While there’d been a scarce few after, the black-winged children of the original, imbued with magic and might, they eventually became nothing more than a story.
Until the dark night that Sylvain had come across the myth, wounded and scared. From his own letter, the red-inked parchment tucked into Ingrid’s envelope, it seemed as if the beast could scarcely stand the sight of people. The only ones it’d let close had been both Ingrid and Sylvain, the only ones with the blood of heroes flowing through their veins. Anyone without a crest had been unable to get near it, let alone ride it.
So Ingrid had sent her flyer before her, racing Columb even as they speak.
It’s enough that Felix can finally begin the arduous task of standing up once more, only leaning on Dimitri for help once he has. For perhaps the first time in months, Felix sees a silver lining, no matter how small.
“Help me get dressed,” he says, fingers tightening their grip on Dimitri’s shirt. “I have a fight to win.”
-
When Felix had been younger he’d never gotten along with Columb. It would have been easy to, given how his uncle had never been as strict as his father, but something about the man had always rubbed him the wrong way. It’d taken Glen’s death to make Felix realize that nothing truly mattered to his uncle, so long as he got his way. Columb relied on others' weaknesses rather than his own strength - so unlike Rodrigue that Felix had never been able to trust the other man.
Even as they sit here, across from each other he can feel his body tense.
“It truly is a blessing from the goddess,” Columb starts, looking at Felix as if he’s covered in filth. “For my dear nephew to be alive and well. So many rumors these days. Our people worry for their Duke, I am but a poor replacement even with your council, Felix. If you had the time to reply to my letters, of course.”
Felix feels the anger rip through his skin, but he does his best to stay calm before he replies back. Better to be the one directing the conversation than allowing his uncle to treat him like a spoilt child.
“The healers would like for me to stay here for the winter,” he begins, folding his hands into themselves. “I’ve sent word to our foot troops, however I believe our soldiers are sound in their training. While we’ll be needed in the upcoming months, his Majesty and I have arranged for them to only do humanitarian missions as a thanks for their service during the war. As for the winter, the first shipment of aid should be there in the upcoming days.”
“Much appreciated,” Columb says, folding one leg over the other. He stares down Felix with his father’s eyes, but the same wicked smile that Margrave Gautier seems to always be sporting. “Are you sure you don’t need to spend longer here? I know little of your… health, but I worry for my kin. It’s been no issue, to serve as your interim. After all, I’ve always happily done the same for your father during trying times like these.”
“I will be back within due time to lead my men, uncle. Do not make yourself comfortable,” Felix says, chin tilted upwards. Columb preens, as if he’s caught Felix in a lie.
He isn’t expecting a yes when he challenges Felix to a duel. But Felix says yes all the same, standing up and never once showing the slightest hint of pain. They’re to spar at sunrise tomorrow, the footsoldiers of Fraldarius there to cheer them on.
After months of learning how to crawl and then walk, this is nothing. They shake hands, Felix’s grip tight and posture straight as he waits for his uncle to leave the study, eyes sharp.
-
One day is not enough for his body to be ready for a spar. Although he can stand now, even walk a few steps, Felix can only do so for so long before his body begins to work against him. Any normal man would have given up on the idea, but Felix Hugo Fraldarius is anything but normal.
He spends the day preparing however he can, given the circumstances. When Dimitri finally comes to bed that night, late from watching for Ingrid’s return, Felix can’t help but feel a slight annoyance.
“She’ll be here soon,” he says without any concern. “If anyone is stubborn enough to fly through the night, it’s Ingrid.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dimitri says softly before taking his usual spot next to Felix on the bench. “It’s going to start to snow tonight.”
He braids Felix’s hair, doing his best to be delicate with the dark strands. Felix allows himself this, humming a small song before he turns around by kicking his one good leg up and over the bench.
When he leans up and forward, it feels right. The warm feelings that he’s pressed down for so long bloom up in spite of the ever encroaching cold. Felix presses his fingers against the back of Dimitri’s neck, urging Dimitri on. He’s rewarded with the first press of Dimitri’s lips against his own, insistent and desperate. It takes time, for the gentle urging of Felix’s lips to calm Dimitri’s frenzied movements down, but as much as Dimitri wants to put everything he can into this moment, Felix needs to as well.
He needs to make sure that Dimitri knows that this is his choice. That it had been his choice, even as he lay on the marble floors of Enbarr, expecting death.
Felix would always choose Dimitri, in this life or the next. As he finishes the kiss, a soft press of his lips, he pulls away with the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.
“I make for a poor Duke,” he says, pulling at Dimitri’s hand.
He holds it there, pad of his thumb pressing against the knuckles there before he leans in. The kiss against the skin there is chaste, and yet it feels as if it’s too much all the same.
“I have no interest in power nor glory,” he murmurs against Dimitri’s hand, before he looks up. “But I will fight, for neither king nor kin. But for the man that I am, and the man I will follow to the very end. ”
Dimitri takes him to bed, lips against Felix’s skin and voice soft against the silk sheets. No matter what tomorrow holds, he insists, they will see it through together. Just as they always have.
-
When Felix rises in the morning, he does so lightly. No matter what lay before him he has to see it through regardless. As he begins dressing himself, his old battle clothes familiar in a way that aches, he steadies. There has been no word of Ingrid throughout the night, but even without her Felix is true to his word.
Dimitri carries him down to the sparring room, arms hooked underneath Felix’s legs. The guards that have yet to see his state seem to bore holes into him, but Felix does his best to remain with his head upwards, shoulders straight. It does not matter what anyone else thinks, he tells himself.
Even as Columb’s eyes fall onto him as he gently slips out of Dimitri’s grasp. Still, he is in his spot, standing tall as the darkness of the open arena begins to lessen.
While it’s not a formal duel, Felix is aware of the effect his condition revealed has already had on his men. He knows them better than any man can know another, after all the blood they’ve spilled together. Felix can feel the pity in their eyes as he pulls his blade, but he will make certain that it does not stay that way. .
“At first light, uncle,” Felix reminds the man in front of him, tossing off his jacket. He will not make it past one strike, and he refuses to leave anything to chance. “Be on your guard.”
Dimitri stands there behind him, his hand pressed against Felix’s back in support. Felix graciously accepts it, even as he keeps his eyes trained on Columb.
Light falls on the gleaming walls of the grounds, and in an instant, his uncle is upon him. Felix lurches forward, body moving as it should for once. He has more than simply luck and skill behind him, the resolve pushing him forward even as the pain rushes through him.
They crash together, his blade against his uncle’s own. Felix is able to throw him off, but in a moment he’s upon him once more.
As the electricity flows through his veins, bursting to come out, Felix lets out a roar of a battle cry, enough to drown out the crowd as he drops his uncle to the ground, his own body leverage in their deadly game of back and forth.
It’s then that he hears it, the gasps of astonishment and wonder as he slams his fist directly into Columb’s jaw with a ragged breath.
“Now now,” Ingrid says, voice carrying through the early morning light. Felix turns to see her as she lands, the pegasus drawing the stunned silence of every man present. "Surely that's enough, isn't it?" She asks, stepping gracefully down from the horse, and giving it loving drag of her fingers.
" Surely you would not want to take advantage of family when they are so clearly in a moment of need," she says, voice more chilling than the air around them. She stares Columb down, making the intention of her words clear even as he's covered in dirt, hair and clothing singed.
Felix lets go, his eyes going back and forth from both Ingrid and Dimitri before he lets out a breath. He lifts his hand up, allowing Dimitri to help him to his feet. Not a single man rushes to his uncle's side, their eyes instead on their Duke, as he begins his steps towards the creature they've only heard of in legends.
Everyone seems to be giving the pegasus it's space, which is a wise choice. It's sturdier than the ones Felix is used to, and even as he gets closer he feels the pressure it gives off, eyes dark as night staring straight at him.
He's able to press his fingers against its fur, slipping into its wings before she startles, lifting her front legs upwards with a cry.
"I am Felix, son of Rodrigue," Felix says, although he is not sure why he says it. This time, when he presses his hand against its neck, he feels the magic in his blood alight, desperate to prove itself. “Bow.”
When the pegasus lowers its head, pressing against him it is clear for all to see. Felix moves forward, body carried by crest and spite. His good leg goes up easily, even the injured one doing whatever it can to see him seated where he belongs.
Felix allows the pegasus to move forward, its hooves crashing dangerously close to his uncle as he attempts to move.
“The roads back will be covered with snow before long,” Felix says, the black pegasus’ wings threatening to open once more. With the might of Fraldarius’ best soldiers, the king’s most trusted knight, and his King behind him, he says the next words without pause. “I believe it’s time you take your leave, uncle.”
-
Felix retires early, even as the castle demands both his and Dimitri’s attention. It seems that the spectacle of the early morning has become all anyone wants to talk of, the stables filled to the brim with those that wish to see Fradlarius’ gift to her blood.
There is no doubt, the healers say as they demand to poke and prod, that Felix is stronger than before. Whether through his own will or his crest finally beginning to break through the curse that had been placed upon him they cannot say.
It’s much ado about nothing, as far as he’s concerned. Even as he moves himself into bed, his body for once responsive, even as the pain shoots through whatever concoctions they’ve shoved down his throat.
When Dimitri finds him, later in the afternoon, they spend the remainder of the day together. Their legs tangled and hands on each other. Felix kisses him, again and again. He is not making up for time long since passed but rather beginning their life together, anew.
There is no mistaking that his old life is lost, that things will never be the same again. But as Felix allows himself this, he knows that he could walk any path.
He threads their fingers together, the answer to why he’d leapt simple as he looks back. When he utters the words that he’s been so afraid of, soft and true, Dimitri returns them happily. He presses every adoration into Felix’s skin, never once letting him go.