Work Text:
.
.
.
They came through the forest.
And he’s not sure why.
For the longest time, since his first awakening, he felt his spirit wander through the forest grounds as if lost in limbo. Beside the creatures, whom the Goddess has blessed the land with, not a single person has dare set foot within the area. For a while, isolation was his friend, his only companion, and perhaps it would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for a simple yet familiar tune that captures his attention every waking moment.
Once upon a time, they called lone wolf. His sense of humor rather dole, and his spent every waking second mastering the blade.
His upbringing would be followed by a trio of voices, one who would laugh, another sigh, and the third would never speak. Yet he could hear the smile that teethes through the back of his lips, and it irks him to no end. If he - a now wandering spirit - used to have companions of the such, he wants no part of it.
However the time of solidarity would soon cease, and in came a woman, along with a child. Hand in hand, one who’s expression holds in a somber smile, that heavily contrast her marigold locks. While the other’s expression stood strong for the older person.
They came in two.
Yet, the moment they parted hands, the little one decided to dash across the open field and deep into the forest. Their tiny legs, as ever high and mighty a single child could possess, made haste to speak tongues with the older woman and ran. An arm was outstretched, followed by parted lips to cease his movement - but it was too late, he noted, he noticed, he marked - as the child simply became one with the wilderness, and the woman was left alone to cling onto whatever sight behold her.
Shouldn’t you chase after him?
Shouldn’t you run after him?
Shouldn’t you-
He paused, the ambers in his gaze lines into a narrowed slits and it didn’t take long to notice why she failed to follow suit. What came after was the sound of giggles, almost fairy like. A tune to dance under the autumn breeze, yet no words came out. Not even a single syllable.
“I’m sorry Felix.” She finally speaks, a brush of a smile graced her lips, and he - who knows very little of himself - came to a grinding halt. Dark eyes found hers, but she never found his. In fact, the depth of her sky blue eyes bored straight through him, and towards the open skies. “He’s grown so much since we’ve last spoken.” At this, the smile drops, and her age catches up to her. He notice the stress lines above her forehead, the dark circles which shadows the hollows under her eyes, and her chapped lips, seemly bruised from the capital winter. Even so, he took pause once more, as if his breath was taken away from him. Admiring the woman, who seamlessly stood before him.
Was she always this beautiful?
Did she always took a moment of his time to be at awe at her presence?
Yet the women couldn’t see him, as her gaze finally lower back down to land, and further down, down, down, until all that stood before her was a tombstone.
A name was engraved, one that reads of a name that lingers on the tip on her lips just a few moments ago.
“How long has it been since I last came here?” She wonders, aloud. Hands clasped together, and he felt the urge to take a step closer.
Yet he cannot.
He must not.
They speak to him, to keep his distances.
“Our child has grown since we’ve last spoken. He just turned 5 not too long ago.” At this, she took another pause. The tip of her heart grew heavy, and a raging storm clouds her vision, as if battling oneself to keep herself from causing a flood. The tune of her tone turns formal, yet light, as if she was preparing to speak to an audience of starry eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have come sooner. After the war, I managed to get a job back in the Royal School of Sorcery, and looking after the little one has kept me busy.”
“Mother! Mother!” Finally, the boy returns, with an abundance of flowers and weeds and everything green came to tow. The said mother giggles at the sight. Thought much more mature than her child’s carefree one, it shares a similar light of glee.
“Oh you.” She couches down, her pale blue and white dress dust across the earthly ground and her thumb rubs her child’s cheeks, removing the added dusting of brown. “You’ve gotten dirt all over your face. I told you to not wander too far from the grave.”
At this, the child pouts, his eyes, whom matches his own mother’s colours, dims it’s tinkle. “But mother, we didn’t get him flowers, so I thought-”
“I know.” She cuts him off, her tone firm, but gentle. Slender fingers wove through the mismatched bouquet, and began to take the freshly picked flowers - more so, the ones who’s petals has yet to wilt.
“Uncle Ashe said carnations and daffodils are a great choice, but I think father deserves them all.”
He’s not a flower person, she wanted to say, yet the words linger at the tip of her tongue unable to make the final step towards the outer world. Instead the woman settles with a sigh, and brush through her son’s unruly dark locks.
Navy like his, tied in a bun like his, loose strands fall out of place like his.
“I’m sure he’ll love them all.” She said after a brief moment, fingers twist and pull some of the loose ends, tongue poking out in concentration.
The floating spirit resisted the urge to brush her bangs aside, comb her hair behind her ears. His fruitless attempt to ease her burden would end with little avail, as her hair falls through her shoulder, shadowing the sides of her face once more. Yet he would do it again, and again, if the present allows him to do so.
Her name is Annette.
It says.
He doesn’t know why they’re so confident that her name is Annette, yet it stands, and it echoes proudly.
Once they cleared through the flowers, the pair clasped their hands together and spoke a pray.
“Mother, did father bear the same crest as me?”
Crest?
Amber eyes latched onto the child in utmost haste, confusion presents itself, but waits for an answer.
“I guess you deserve to know the truth.” Annette said, in a somber like tune. He’s a big boy now, his crest activated not too long ago, and it didn’t take much for the child to take notice that he does not bear his mother’s crest. Yet it takes on the shape of something else completely. “Your father bears the crest of Fraldarius.”
Alarm bells rang, and the little one felt the urge to take over. “But isn’t it the same man that comes over to ask for your hand in marriage?”
Annette squints, his lips pulled into a grimace. “Yes… but- he has his reasons.”
Who was this man?
Why does it feel like, that he knows this person?
As if he’s related to them?
“Your father was heir to House Fraldarius, or he would have been if he hadn’t died back in the war. And now, you are one of the few who posses his crest.”
Not that it means much in a world recreated under the wings of the Hegemon. Even so, it meant something to Annette - now survivor, now mother, now teacher - who’s scars carries the weight of the war that has reshaped all of Fodlan.
A piece of him still exist within her son. That very few, perhaps less than a handful is able to have that only her past lover possessed. Anyone could be a powerful swordsman, anyone could have his blunt manner of speech, anyone could shoot lighting at the tip of his fingers from her guidance. But not anyone could bear his crest.
Pride, joy, love, merged into one that day. When words of his son’s crest lighting up for the first time made its presence known. Of course, since then, so came the countless marriage.
It would have been easy to remarry, to ease not only for herself but also her son’s burden. To give him the proper education without the extra hassle and cost due to her non existing noble status. Yet in return, they wish of her son to take over as heir. Just like Felix.
Even Ashe asked her hand in marriage once, but only when he was made aware of her soon to be a mother status. Now that he’s the leader for House Gaspard, he too also possess a large sum of wealth, an army, and land. Deep down however, remains a heart of gold, and his desires to support the sole person who remains in the Blue Lions.
The war took everything.
Her family to the ashes.
The friends she made along the way to war.
Her best friend in the whole wide world to the open fields.
And now her dead beloved who failed to protect those he loved.
Sure, there is Ashe…
… but there is only Ashe.
There is no one else.
“Mother?”
“Yes?”
The child’s lips tremble slightly, doubt plagued his mind and stringed the following sentence carefully. “Did I… Did I made you sad again?”
“No.” She smiles, tries too, it’s convincing enough, but just so. “Never.”
Annette would never lie to her child, not when the only thing she has to lose is the boy right in front of him. One who’s growing to look more, and more like Felix. One who grows to get stronger, and stronger like Felix. One who yearns to protect those he loves like Felix.
This alone, is enough reason to push forth and smile.
“If anything, you have made me very happy person.”
He doesn’t believe it, and quite frankly, neither does the spirit.
“Did father made you happy?”
“Yes.”
“And perhaps until I am on age of old, I will never stop loving your father, even though I spent half of my life thinking of him as a villain.”
It hurts watching them, yet the spirit couldn’t find reason to drift into the wilderness like he usually would. He knew this woman was of importance to him, the son more so. Yet he could never put a name on him. Was he the man she speaks fondly of? The man who died in the man? Along with many of her loved ones?
Could he?
Could he?
Was he Felix?
“Did you have anything you want to say to your father?” Annette changes the subjects, a gentle breeze sways through the forest, marigold locks flies along. The discharged flowers also took a trip with the wind, but neither took notice.
He wasn’t a man of flowers and pretty things after all.
“A few.”
The woman gestured him to come forward, and he did just that, bowing his head upon the tomb stone.
“Father. I hope you’re happy in the afterlife. I know you did all you can to protect mother and the Kingdom, and died along the way, but really I kind of hate you for that.”
At this, Annette grasped, eyes widen. “Anatole!”
There it was.
The spirit smirked, his expression cracked and for once a heat of emotions flood through his very core. This kid… is definitely something.
“I know you love him mother, but if he loved you back he would have stayed with you during the war! Now he’s dead and you’re all alone, and I rarely see you smile!” Rage boiled through his veins, like his mother’s eyes - a storm, like steel, clouds his vision - and takes in a deep breath. “I know I’m not suppose to be mean, especially to those who lost their lives to the war, but I hate people who make mother upset.”
“I told dear, I’m not upset.” She assures him, thin arms wrapped around her son’s shoulders. “I miss him yes… but you know he couldn’t just protect me, especially not during the war.”
He resist and in turn, stands stronger. Sky blue eyes made its connection to the open clouds. “This is where he fails, and this is where I step in! I will take over in father’s place. I’m going to grow stronger than him, suppress him in strength, and not only that, I will always make sure to make you always, always happy and never have to feel sadness again! I am telling you this now so both you and father knows!”
He should be hurt, especially if he was suppose to be Felix, yet Anatole’s comment brought a spark in its place. The smirk only grew in size, but so too another’s desires.
“That is my promise to you.” Tears pool on the corner of his eyes. “I hope father is watching over us.”
At that moment, his resolve breaks, but not all. Just enough to break down into tears, and Annette followed suit. Arms eloped her son once more, and head burying on top of his shoulders.
“I’m sure, he’s watching over us even as we speak.”
The pair stayed a little longer, until the sun began to take course and dip towards the east.
When they were gone, all that remained was a small bouquet of flowers.
As the kid wanted to add, some carnations and daffodils, even a rose. To how one would even grow in the forest baffled the spirit himself, but lastly, forget-me-nots.
And what followed was a soft tune, that hums it's strings through the forest.
Yet not a single syllable sang with the tune, and he wonders why.
.
.
.