Archive of Our Own

Felix is stuck in Gareg Mach for a few days while he waits for the Knights to be ready for their mission. He doesn't usually take these on, but he's a little short on funds so he can't really argue. The Professor (well, leader of United Kingdom of Fodlan, but that's a rather irritating mouthful) is always overly generous with these, and so it means he won't need to take on jobs quite so frequently.

So, while he doesn't like it, he'll put up with it.

"Felix!" The voice is unmistakable, far too cheery for the time of day.

He turns. Annette bounds toward him, grinning brightly. A little ball of sunshine, even though the spring winds are forceful and chilly. In truth, she hasn't really changed much in the last four years. True, her clothing is more suited to her profession and less to travel now--otherwise her students might mistake her as one of them. But otherwise, she seems pretty much the same. It's very nearly refreshing.

Well, he hasn't really changed much, either. "Professor." He says, offering her a small nod.

She scowls immediately, punching at air like she's a kid again about to have a tantrum. "We're friends, Felix! You can call me by my name!"

"Old habits." He mutters. He watches as students walk by, some annoyingly curious about their conversation. It's not infrequent that he hears whispers about the two of them being "a thing". It would have been infuriating before, but now it's but a minor irritation. Their opinions don't particularly matter.

"I was . . . hoping I could ask a favor of you." Annette asks, head dipped. Her hands clasp in front of her like a meek thing--like he doesn't know she'll use those same hands to drag him around if he shows only slight disinterest.

Of course, it's not like he has anything else to do. "What is it?"

That grin returns immediately. "I want you to help teach my students!"

"And why would I do that? You're the better mage."

"It's not just magic! A bunch of them want to be Mortal Savants--like you! So who better to teach them?"

Well, it's not like he can argue that logic.

So he winds up spending a half day teaching a bunch of kids how to balance magic and swordplay. How to best evaluate one's skill, when to know when it is better to use the sword and when it is better to use magic. There's the obvious strategy, of course, but it's stupid to try and charge in with a strike of the blade if Thoron is your specialty. Just like he's only bothered with magic when he's absolutely certain he can't bridge the gap.

They all seem quick enough to grasp the theory, but the practice is a little more difficult to relay. That's because Catherine--likely as restless before the mission as he is--has insisted that the demonstration should be more realistic.

He's not a bad fighter--even though he's certainly too out of practice to be any fair fight against her. Even as he attempts to keep the distance with well-placed thunder and fire spells, she knows how to maneuver around it. She continually forces him on the defensive, using his sword to keep her away, sliding out spells wherever he can. He's not as nimble as he once was, but he can hold his own.

He won't admit it, but he's grateful when the class ends before she can grind him into the ground.

It's embarrassing, how hard he's breathing, and how sweaty he is. Sure, it's not like he expected to beat Thunder Catherine, but he at least hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself. Sure, the point was to teach the kids something--which at least he managed to teach them how to use their skills to not die--but . . .

An arm wraps around his shoulders, abrupt and far-too heavy. "Let's eat!" Catherine cheers. "We earned it!"

He's not given much of a choice, instead dragged to the Dining Hall. Annette cheerily talks as she walks alongside them, practically replaying every instance of the battle. He's not sure if she's being considerate when she skirts over his obvious mistakes, but he has enough pride not to remind her of her omission.

The old Felix would have scowled the whole time as they ate. Would have shoved it down his face so he could resume training. But this is relaxing--listening to Annette and Catherine talk about recent events around the monastery, or how the students are progressing these days (with far fewer stresses than they all had as students).

"You know, I don't remember you using magic this much, back in the war." Annette muses, mouth half-full with dinner. "You got mad at the Professor for even mentioning that you should use magic."

"Only a fool would fight Catherine only with a sword." Felix responds, the fact obvious.

"You used to try that all the time. I remember you challenging me all hours of the day thinking you could beat me." Catherine laughs. "What changed?"

Felix scowls. He doesn't need to be reminded of how much of an idiot he was. "In the real world, you don't get a fair fight. It's more practical to use magic. Simple as that."

"Actually," Annette nibbles on the end of her spoon, "now that I think about it, you only started to really use magic when we all reunited. Did Lysithea teach you?"

He blinks. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh!" Catherine's exclamation is far louder than necessary. "That's right! You two did hang out a lot during the war!"

The most he can grace them with is a shrug. "It was more cake-tasting than magic training."

"And helping her with the laundry, and joining her on cooking duty, and helping her get books in the library, and cooking duty, and other chores, too." Annette giggles, completely impervious to his glare. "It was cute."

"It was rather charming." Catherine's grin is equally irritating. She looks almost wistful as she points her fork at him. "It always was a sunny day whenever you were out with her."

Catherine's certainly not the type for romantic nonsense, but it's not really like he can argue.

Felix wasn't horrible at magic, it just wasn't his favorite thing in the world. But ever since the Professor had him pursue the Mortal Savant, she had been instructing him to use magic more often--thinking he could defeat their enemies from sheer distance.

Initially, he had thought it was because she didn't want to pay for sword repair (and unfortunately he went through a few too many swords). But, over time, he realized that he actually was surprisingly proficient with magic. There was a sort of elegance to the combination of blade and spellwork. And it was somewhat gratifying, to be able to do something that his brother had never even thought of pursuing.

So, when others weren't around, he practiced the combination of both. Only when it was late at night, when no one else could mock him for looking like a fool.

She had appeared out of nowhere, breaking his concentration and causing him to singe himself. She scolded him for being careless--magic wasn't just something someone could do whenever they felt like it, treating it like an auxiliary tool. Without proper attention and care, and certainly without proper practice and a proper instructor, all they would do was explode themselves in the battlefield.

Lysithea acted like he hadn't been training for months under the Professor's guidance. But, to be fair, the points she made weren't completely inaccurate. He had been treating the magic as an accessory, not as a part of his skill-set. His carelessness already resulted in a few scars up his arms.

"I'll teach you." She said, hands on her hips.

"I don't need your help." He scoffed.

"Yes, you clearly do." She wrapped her arm around his. "Starting tomorrow night, I'll teach you."

He snorted a response.

"Look, if you're going to do magic, then you're going to do it right. And I'm the best person to teach you!"

Well, that wasn't entirely wrong. If there was anyone who could teach him, she was far better than anyone else here. Even better than the Professor. "And why would you do that?"

"I want someone I can rely on out there. It's entirely self-serving, I assure you."

Well, he supposed that was fair enough. If it made him a better warrior, then he wouldn't reject it. If he was skilled enough, then maybe he could make things right. "I have nothing to offer you."

"Oh, I'm sure I can think of ways for you to pay me back." She smiled. "First: you can escort me back to my room."

The monastery wasn't dangerous, so he didn't understand why she needed it. Especially not someone as formidable as her. But he did need her guidance, so he wasn't going to argue with her about it. He also wasn't going to comment on the way her gaze flitted around as they walked the dark halls, or how she squeezed his arm even tighter when the rooms got darker. Or how quickly she shut the door behind her when they got to her room.

Their agreement began the next day. At night, she would help improve his magic--teaching him things others didn't know, and showing him methods that would bear less strain on his body. During the day, he'd help her whenever she asked.

He always waited for her to ask--he wouldn't approach first. He knew she was prideful--he recognized her overwhelming pride and knew it as well as he knew his own--and so he knew she would only accept help when it was asked for. It was an easy enough arrangement.

And she asked for the most absurd things.

Most often, she asked him to help taste-test her latest creations. Always desserts, but he had to appreciate that she never had him try anything unpleasantly sweet. Usually it was something he actually enjoyed (though he was sure she sometimes gave him something ridiculously sweet just to see if he was placating her). She always seemed to take delight when he really liked it.

Sometimes she had him help. He was a horrible cook, but she was a patient instructor. She was slow and careful with her instructions. Usually, though, she had him do the basic and mundane tasks. Slicing, stirring, sauteing, things like that. He didn't understand why she wanted him to help, but she said she liked the company and liked that he didn't try to waste her time with nonsense.

Lysithea had him help with her laundry far more often than he would have anticipated. It was an odd chore, considering how easy it was compared to everything else. But he helped every week she washed her things. For the first few times, she looked up at the sky nervously, like she was afraid it would spite her. The longer he helped put up her things, the happier she became. And when things were folded and done, she was practically beaming.

Regardless of what he did, she always rewarded him with some new treat. Some new creation she made to cater to his particular tastes. It didn't matter if he protested, she always did it anyway. So eventually he stopped complaining.

It's Spring in Gautier, so an attack from Sreng is inevitable. And the incoming one is immense. Sylvain, desperate for aid, takes anyone willing to help. Felix volunteers, unable to turn down the compensation Sylvain is offering. He rides there within a few days, bringing enough men also desperate for a good wage. The pickings are slim for mercenaries, but this should be enough to last for the remainder of the season.

The fight is harsh. The warriors are well-prepared, knowing traditional Gautier strategies. Likely spending the whole year preparing to combat them. Their formations are unfamiliar, as if designed to pin Gautier in. But the thing is that they're anticipating a fight with Gautier. They have no preparation against the other unconventional fighters of the Kingdom.

It's undeniably Felix's forces that help them win the fight against Sreng.

While it is not without its losses, it would have been much worse. Realistically, Gautier probably wouldn't have fallen but it would have taken quite some time for Sylvain to recover. Potentially he wouldn't have managed it before the next assault.

"Is it really okay for you to be out here?" Sylvain asks around his food. Celebrations have been going on for the last four hours, so no one really cares if he minds his manners much anymore. They're all too drunk to care.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Felix mutters. He's been done with this party for at least three of the four hours. But he hasn't quite been done with Sylvain's company, so he's enduring it.

Sylvain rests his chin on the back of his hand. He's already flashing a smile at a pretty mercenary passing by. "Shouldn't you be watching the shop?"

Felix rolls his eyes with a snort. "If I was, I'm sure you'd be dead right now."

Sylvain laughs. "Probably."

Silence rests between them, though it's not entirely uneasy. It's just that, even though years have passed, they have so little to speak on. And the time has not been kind to their friendship. Sylvain is overly cautious, uncertain--not that brash fool he had been in their youth. Even more annoyingly so toward Felix.

To be fair, it's not like his concerns aren't justified. At one time, they had been.

Felix glances over at him. Sylvain looks tired. Felix has to wonder how many sleepless nights he had, worrying over this. How much he considered the lives on his hands, or had to face the fact that he would probably die.

"You should rest." Felix mutters, sinking back into his chair. He'll still have a few hours left to endure. While some have drunkenly collapsed, there's still a few going strong. And someone needs to be there to make sure this doesn't go sour.

"Pot and kettle." Sylvain chuckles.

"I'm fine."

"Mmhm, whatever you say." Sylvain relaxes into his chair, sipping at his wine. "All I know is that she'll be furious if you don't take good care of yourself."

For a year, Felix wasn't in his right mind. He had made a choice, and he had been confident in his convictions. But, despite his protests, Dimitri's ghost haunted him. Not literally, of course--the dead were dead and they would always be that way. But he couldn't escape the thoughts that haunted him.

He could have forced Dimitri to face the truth. He could have been stronger and stopped the fight before it became perilous. He could have defied the Professor and faced Dimitri, dragging him away from his mindless and pointless death. He could have saved the man he had once seen as a friend.

The only time he didn't think was when he was fighting. It was dangerous to let one's mind wander to anything else in the middle of battle. So he had trained himself well in that aspect--and knew he was predictable there.

So he knew if he fought, and fought endlessly, he would be unable to think about Dimitri.

Though he would deny it, he knew it was just an excuse--he just wanted to follow in his prince's footsteps and die. In battle, preferably.

He took almost any job that came his way. Fought day and night. Spent so much energy traveling between his jobs that he didn't afford himself much rest. True, there was plenty of coin in his pocket for his endeavors, but he didn't allow himself enough rest to use it. It hindered his skill, but no one had been a challenge during the war and very few people were any actual challenge now.

Once, he very nearly succeeded in his suicidal mission. He had been tracking a set of bandits for a while; they had raided a town and fled into the wilds. Felix knew where they were headed--a hideout hidden in the mountainside that he had scouted earlier--but their path had been unconventional and unexpected. It had allowed them to ambush him, to force him on the defensive.

He won, but not without cost. He had lost too much blood in the skirmish, and his mind was clouded. The land was unfamiliar, and he couldn't recall where the town actually was. He stumbled through the forest. His mind rolled over the fact he would die, which settled in his stomach in a way that bothered him more than it should have.

When he saw an old shack, he was certain that his mind was playing tricks on him. Offering him an illusion to serve as a mild comfort before death. And, as if it were the only thing that could still keep his heart beating and air in his lungs, he stumbled toward it.

The effort was more than his body could handle, and he collapsed.

When he woke, he woke to a familiar face scolding him harshly. Berating him for being a fool, for being so careless. She threatened him constantly to keep him in bed. Insulted him when she changed his bandages. Though he was begrudging the whole way, he could not deny that it was her care that was the only reason he was surviving.

When he was more aware and improving, he began to notice her conditions. While she gave him meats and the like to improve his health, he noticed her rations were smaller. And while the building they were in was enough to keep out the wind, its disrepair was obvious. It probably wouldn't survive another few winters. And, if he had to guess, it was likely that the blankets that warmed him were all she had in the house. But she was of a noble house, wasn't she?

He normally wasn't keen on being cared for. He especially loathed that someone else had to suffer because of him, regardless of circumstance.

"Where are you going?" She yelled at him the very moment he stepped out the door.

"To repay my debt." He gritted, perhaps overestimating his state. He had assumed that, since the pain was minimal, travel would be much easier. He was considering rather rapidly that he was wrong.

She ran in front of him, blocking his path. "And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?"

In truth, he hadn't really thought out the details. He knew it was foolish to just pay her off--the nearest town was many miles away, in considerably dangerous environments. He would be offering her something very nearly pointless in coin. Which meant he'd have to bring something from town for her. In his state, he wasn't entirely sure what that would be. But he had to do something.

He scowled. "I'll figure it out."

He turned. It wasn't really as if she could stop him, anyway. True, his stature was considerably smaller than most, but hers was well beyond that status. If he wished to force his way past her, he could. Besides, he very much doubted that she would inflict any major magical harm to prevent it.

A hand grasped his wrist firmly, making him wince.

"I didn't heal you just so you could go out and get yourself killed." She glared, her frustration clear in her voice.

"I didn't ask you to heal me." He retorted. It was, perhaps, sharper than he intended.

And he immediately regretted the hurt in her expression. It wasn't as if she would cry--she was far too proud and stubborn for that--but he had most certainly wounded her. The grip around his wrist loosened a bit, though she didn't release entirely.

Mentally, he cursed himself. He wanted to hurt himself, not others. Especially not those he had once been friends with. "Lysithea, I--"

"I wanted to save you because you're my friend." She said, gaze sharpening. Her grip tightened, and she doubled it by grabbing with her other hand as well. With a soft exhale, she glanced away. "You don't owe me for that."

"We're no longer classmates, nor are we comrades in arms." He shrugged. Though Felix tried to pull himself from her grasp, it was a rather futile effort. "Everything has a price, now."

"Is that so?" She smiled, eyes glimmering with that mixture of mischief and ingenuity that he had very nearly forgotten.

His frown deepened. "It is."

"Good. Then you can repay me by staying here a while." Lysithea pulled at his arm, trying to guide him back inside. "I haven't been able to make sweets for a while, but I've been desperately in need of someone to bounce ideas off of."

He blinked, looking down at her. How long, exactly, had she been here alone? In truth, her whole presence here had surprised him.

They didn't speak much of their futures--it had seemed a rather bitter point for both of them--but he had in some part expected her to take on the noble role. She was one of Claude's more valued companions, after all, and one of their nobles. Surely she would fall into that.

But this land was not a noble one, nor was this house. In fact, it was quite far from any such influence.

Was it possible that she had removed herself from her homeland to retreat here? No . . . that didn't make sense. She wouldn't have the resources to continue her studies, and she had been rather fervent about those even during the war. There was no way such passion just died.

Felix sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I suppose I can remain until--"

"Lysithea?" The voice was unfamiliar, startling. "What are you doing out here, dear?"

Felix spun around. There was an older couple there, walking up the trail. They were, perhaps, a decade older than his father would have been. Heavy wrinkles set into their faces, though he wasn't entirely sure if it was of hard or joyous times. The woman's hair was a dark brown with streaks of grey, and the male's had gone completely white. Both had a couple baskets of food in their arms, and a mule with a couple more at its sides, but it was doubtful that the contents would last for more than a few weeks.

"Oh! You're back early." Lysithea stepped between Felix and them, though a single hand still clung to his wrist like she was afraid he'd run away. "Welcome home!"

"Thank you, dear." The woman smiled sweetly. Her eyes were incredibly familiar, sharp as they looked upon Felix. "Who is your friend?"

Lysithea smiled brightly, placing her free hand on Felix's arm. "This is a friend of mine from the Academy. I believe I have mentioned him before: Felix Hugo Fraldarius." She smiled up at him. "Felix, these are my parents."

Her father brightened up significantly. "Ah, I have heard of you. It is a pleasure, truly. I did not realize Lysithea was still in contact with her old classmates."

"I'm not. Not frequently, anyway." Lysithea said, the words clipped.

"Oh, I see." Her mother's smile was soft, but most certainly worn. "Then to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Actually," Lysithea interrupted, before Felix even had the sense to open his mouth, "you recall those bandits you were worried about before you left? The ones constantly bothering us?"

"I do." Her mother sighed. "I was surprised to see they did not intercept us on the way home, actually."

"Felix handled them." Lysithea patted his arm as if that was her form of praise. "But he was hurt badly in the process, so I've been taking care of him."

Her father looked to him. "You killed them?"

Felix glanced as Lysithea, who didn't look as if she might interrupt him this time. "I have been working as a mercenary. It just so happened they were my targets. That is all."

"There is no reason to minimize it." Her father said, stepping up and placing a firm hand on Felix's shoulder. "We were the ones who asked for the bounty. But had so little to offer that I thought it might become my daughter's burden. Truly, I thank you for handling them."

"Please," her mother added, "stay here till you are well. You needn't worry, we will be sure to pay you before you leave."

"Don't bother." Felix shook his head. "I didn't take it for the money, and I will not take money from you." It was a strange enough situation as it was--he didn't need to sour it by taking money from those in need. "I should be going, anyway."

"Don't be so stubborn." Lysithea scowled. As if to prove her point, she jabbed a pointed finger at one particular spot on his chest that had him nearly crippled as he doubled over in pain. "You're not even close to better."

"Lysithea." Her father's voice was stern, but not angry. It was enough, though, to noticeably make her pull back. Still, the man smiled at Felix. "One day at a time, then. Join us for dinner. And if you wish to stay, know that you are welcome to."

Felix stayed that night. As he did for many nights after. Even when his wounds were completely remedied, he continued to stay.

When food was short, he hunted in the forest, bringing back things that they could enjoy for their meals (none of them were particularly good at hunting, he found, so he didn't mind doing it for them). Sometimes, after he brought in firewood for the night, Lysithea would summon him over to her seat, so that she might get his opinion on her texts. In some cases, he knew they had gone over the pages together several times, though he found he didn't mind so much if she was the one reading the spells to him. When there was an occasion of any sort, Lysithea would take up the excuse to bake--Felix was always her test dummy with the taste, but sometimes he was dragged into the enterprise as well.

It was completely different than the life had had been treating as his destiny. He had anticipated a cold existence--dying alone in an unknown land, blood spilling upon the ground and staining the blade of an enemy finally capable of defeating him. This was so much different--warmth and kindness around him, developing an earnest desire to just see her smile. It was a startling contrast. And yet, he found himself to be perfectly content, as his chose this one instead.

More often than not, he volunteered to get their supplies from town. He wasn't so sure why they were so far away; most of the townsfolk--once they recognized his affiliation--asked after them. They were fond of that family, even. Initially, he had thought it self-imposed. That they wished to isolate themselves.

But upon further investigation, it seemed that such a simple thing held them back. They needed a place they could all live in peace. And the former members of House Ordelia had very few funds to rely on; if they wished to survive the remainder of their days, they would have to be frugal. It was, perhaps, not as safe out there, but with the way things were, it seemed unlikely that they were afforded any choice.

His eyes fell over a building in the center of town. It was abandoned, but open for use. It would, however, require a decent patron to take ownership and make it usable.

Well . . . he wouldn't exactly mind if the coins in his purse were fewer, anyway.

"It's still in progress." Ignatz says, adding different colors to his palette. He keeps adjusting one, even though Felix can't tell much difference between the results. "But the structure is there. I-If there's something you want to change, now would be an appropriate time."

Felix tilts his head as his eyes run over the canvas. It's clear that the painting still needs a lot of work and care. At least a few weeks, considering the current timing. Most features are general shapes and impressions--more a concept than any defined features. It's similar to the sketch he had agreed on, but already he can tell where the differences are.

He's never had any talent in art, and hardly any taste for any art other than the art of the blade. Even so, he can see the painting's potential, its future. Either Ignatz is truly that amazing of an artist, or he's getting soft. Perhaps a combination.

It doesn't really matter.

"You know, if Lysithea knew about this," Ignatz chuckles weakly, "she'd probably set you on fire."

Felix snorts and shrugs. "She doesn't have a say."

"Ah, I suppose not."

He steps back so Ignatz can continue his work. Already he can see the sentiment behind it. What Felix wanted so desperately to convey--wanted immortalized--in the strokes of paint. He can see that smile of hers, just between smug and delight. The smile he loved more than anything else in the world.

The smile he loved was there when he showed her and her family's new home. He had spent weeks trying to make it manageable--it was originally a shop and home combination, and he hadn't the funds to completely alter the structure. Just enough to make the shop side decent and the home pleasantly livable. They didn't seem to mind.

The smile he loved was there when she proposed that they make the shop part of their home useful. That they open a bakery. Baking supplies were always cheap, so if it failed then at least the loss wouldn't be significant. Knowing her cooking, he doubted that there would be any loss at all--but he didn't say that. Instead, he acted as the most put-upon man in the continent as he asked for her list.

The smile he loved was there whenever she came up with a new creation for the shop. She was always so eager as she gathered them around the dining room table, placing the plate between them. She practically bounced as she waited for their responses. Sometimes she snatched the fork from Felix's hand when she was certain he would hate it. Sometimes he'd try it anyway just to see that smile again.

The smile he loved was there when more and more patrons came to the shop. Sometimes, especially around holidays, the shop would be so packed that the line went out the door. Everyone so delighted with the taste of her treats. So many people complimenting her. She practically preened under the praise--and yet he took some small pleasure that her truest delight was only when he complimented her.

The smile he loved was there when she had him help cook. Even after plenty of time had passed, he was still clumsy and lacked any trace of finesse. He was too direct and too focused on strength and endurance to have any real value in the final product. But still she had him mix her batter, or whip cream, or read her recipes for her. She didn't mind that he always seemed somehow covered in flour or batter--at the very least it never seemed to discourage her from inviting him again.

The smile he loved was there when he asked her to marry him. The ring he gave her was simple, inelegant compared to what he could have gotten her from his previous role. But she didn't seem to care. She accepted almost immediately, jumping up as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

The smile he loved was there right after she kissed him. And after he kissed her. Every time.

"I appreciate you coming here." Byleth says, an almost-smile on her face. Even years later, she is absolutely horrible at expressing. Not that Felix can really judge. "With this role, it's . . . difficult to travel."

He can understand that. As the leader, she's both a blessing and a target wherever she goes. Plus her responsibilities are obviously overwhelming. It's clear that the results of the war had left too many rifts that still needed cleaning--between the lost empire and kingdom, and the remnants of the shadows, the mess lingers.

Besides, he's done nothing but travel. Coming to Gareg Mach can't even qualify as an inconvenience.

"Why am I here?" He asks, tone flat.

"A professor position has recently opened. I wanted you to have it--if you'd take it."

He crosses his arms. It's not a hard thing to imagine. It lies just within that tenuous balance between war and a boring peace. Where he could fight all the time without the (admittedly selfish) requirement that the world still be in turmoil. His years of training wouldn't go to waste, and instead go toward improving those of the future.

But the problem still remains. At one time, he had trusted the Professor more than he could trust anyone else. He had followed her into (ultimately) fighting many of his kinsman. Into turning against his king and watching him die. Even then, while somewhat uncertain, he had still trusted her.

He doesn't really trust her anymore. He has faith that she can act as the proper leader. But, personally, he just can't.

It doesn't really matter how foolish that is.

"You should offer it to someone else." He says with a slight nod of his head. He glances away, voice a little rawer than he intended. "I should be . . . heading home."

Everything happened quickly, even though he knew he was a fool for not seeing it sooner.

Lysithea was much slower when it came to moving around the kitchen. Everything was careful, uncertain. He had thought it was because she kept overworking herself to get everything just right. She had always refused his help before--it was only allowed when she asked for it. And she asked for it less and less. He had thought she was upset with him.

And then she collapsed. He was just barely able to catch her in time, his knees slamming hard into the tile. Her sweets--the ones she had spent the entire morning on--scattered across the floor.

"I'm okay." She said, swatting at his hands once the color returned to her face.

"You don't look it." He scowled.

"Look, I stayed up all night. I guess it just caught up with me." She sat up, shaking her head. The shivers in her fingertips vanished, her eyes refocused. "You don't have to remind me how foolish that was."

He helped her stand, legs throbbing. But at least she was uninjured. "Rest for the day. I'll watch the shop."

"You? You can't even try a smile. And you expect me to let you deal with customers all day?"

He smiled. "I do."

"Fine," she sighed in exasperation, "if it will get you to stop fretting." She undid the tie of her apron, putting it up and away.

He began to pick up the lost sweets. "Will you really be okay?"

"I'm fine. I just need some sleep."

Well, even though Lysithea was brash, she was usually right. And she wasn't stupid. So he could accept that as fact. At least for the moment.

"Honestly? Don't know why she bothered asking." Claude strolls up alongside Felix in a way too relaxed to be casual. He's probably been watching, waiting for his perfect time to come in. Even as a king, he's infuriating. "Anyone could have told her you'd say no."

Felix shrugs. He's tried to outrun Claude's prodding before, but he's not nearly fast enough. Plus, Claude will just find other ways to bother him. So it's a delicate balance, answering what he wants without giving him too much.

"You know, I don't really blame you for it, though. It makes sense." Claude's voice is softer now, more tender than expected for him. "Probably a lot better to stay close to home."

Ironic, considering Claude is here more than he isn't. Still, he nods.

"You know," Claude smiles, "it's almost her birthday."

"It is."

"Is that why you're heading back?"

Felix glares at him, hoping that is answer enough. He picks up his pace. As expected, it's pointless. Claude keeps his pace, that infuriating smile on his face. Felix almost wants to punch him, but he's pretty sure that could start a war.

"I am glad I caught you this time." Claude says. The way his voice sounds is weird. It's so . . . sincere. Yes, that's a good way to put it. Felix is familiar with liars and deceivers, and he is well aware that Claude is one of them. So this is out of character, even alarming.

"And why is that?" Felix rolls his eyes. "I am sure you're aware that any of your requests will go as unfulfilled as hers does."

Claude laughs. "I know, I know." He puts a hand on Felix's shoulder. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad."

A snort. "For what?"

Claude's voice is like a hum. "Lysithea always took things too seriously back then. With you, it was nice to get to see her actually enjoy life. You know, do things that actually made her happy, instead of doing things she thought she was obligated to do."

Felix looks away. Claude and Lysithea were close, once. He is well aware of their relationship. She was like a little sister to him--and he an irritating older brother. For Claude to be sincere, even for this moment, is difficult. It's staggering enough that he knows he has little control over his own emotions--and certainly not his own expressions.

"I bet," Claude's smile resonates in his voice, "she was grateful that you came into her life, too."

Months had passed since Lysithea had collapsed. While she looked drained, she did take significantly more steps to keep her health stable. She would go to bed earlier, allow him to take on the more strenuous chores, and take it easier on their studying sessions together. He had assumed that it was the weather--the winter had been particularly harsh, and she hadn't the build nor the history to endure it easily. He assumed that, when spring was back, she would get better.

But she collapsed again a week before her birthday.

That time, he hadn't been there to catch her. He had been handling the shop front with her mother, restocking the treats and tidying up the displays. When they worked together, her mother handled most of the social interactions, which had worked fine with them. He had no issue with it, and didn't complain when she sent him to the back to restock some of the pastries.

He found her laying upon the floor. Her breathing was sparse, face almost as pale as her hair.

Felix rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her and sitting her more upright. She was freezing. He couldn't even begin to guess how long she had been there.

"Lysithea!" He whispered harshly, voice cracking well outside of his control. "Please--tell me what's wrong."

Her eyelashes fluttered in response. But her gaze was so distant and unfocused. Her lips moved around words that were too quiet to hear--most entirely unspoken. Her whole body trembled.

A woman who he had grown to admire and love for her strength, and she couldn't even speak.

A platter shattered on the floor behind him. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away from his wife.

Her mother's voice was barely a whisper behind him. "Oh . . . oh no."

Though he had been gone for a lot longer than intended, it seems like nothing in this quaint little town has changed. The same people greet him with the same soft smiles. The same children play in the streets. The same shop stares down at him as he hesitates outside the door.

He is procrastinating, he knows that. He sighs, glaring up at the sky like it's a cloud's fault.

His gaze flicks to the shingles on the roof as the offending cloud slides out of view. The roof won't survive another winter. It looks like it's barely made it through this one. He'll have to fix it, if he wants the interior to remain undamaged. But it will be a lot of work . . . not that he isn't due it. Perhaps he could convince Rafael to help--they aren't close, but he knows well that Rafael will help anyone who asks. He'll just have to pay for it with his weight in meat.

Fortunately, it doesn't look like further repairs are needed beyond the roof. That's a minor relief.

With a sigh, he steps inside.

It's almost funny, how little things have changed. The style is the same as the last time he was here. Still that pleasant and soft design that Lysithea had insisted on. Even with all the people stacked in and lined up for their purchases, the room doesn't seem stifling. Just warm.

He watches as people make their orders. Various cake slices, cookies, pastries . . . normal orders. Every single one accompanied by an order of Lysithea's Specialty--a pastry that is well known and well received, regardless of a person's palate. Even Felix is overwhelmingly partial toward it. He tilts his head to look past the crowd--one of the bakery cases is designated entirely to the treat. And, even though it's not even midday, it's half-empty.

"Thank you," Lysithea's mother smiles sweetly at a customer, handing over the box of treats, "please enjoy and do come again."

Her father nods, even though he's preoccupied with restocking the shelves.

Both look well. Their colors are right and it looks like they've been eating. Both are wearing new and warm clothes, as the front of the store was never really designed right to benefit from the oven's heat. They seem energetic, happy. Good.

That means they've received the money and goods he's sent them. The bakery has always been enough to replenish the cost and fill their stomachs, but it wasn't quite enough for luxuries. Felix doesn't particularly mind filling that gap.

Besides, they're the ones watching the shop because he can't.

When he glances back, he notices her mother staring at him. The second their eyes lock, she smiles brightly. He watches as she places her hand on her husband's shoulder, whispering something in his ear. He smiles and nods. When she straightens, she motions for Felix to follow her. Her husband immediately fills the gap from her absence. His smile at Felix is less energetic, but there all the same.

The tightness in his chest makes him hesitate. It's that part of him that wondered if he should even come in. If he would even be welcome. But his feet had brought him inside, and they lead him to the back of the shop--without his consent, too.

He doesn't stop himself from evaluating the living spaces behind the shop. His eyes fall over everything new and everything missing. Most of it is the same--the same dining table, same oven, same walls. But the curtains are new, as are a few accessories in the kitchen. Most things are replacements of the old ones--the ones that Felix was sure would fall apart while he was gone. Some things are the sort designed to make their jobs and lives easier--which is good, considering their age.

Ideally, they wouldn't even be working anymore, but it's not something they're willing to give up. He can understand that.

A hand on his shoulder startles him from his thoughts.

"I really appreciate everything you've been doing for us." Lysithea's mother says, her other hand cupping his cheek softly. She's always so gentle, so soft. Kind in ways that Lysithea always was too stubborn to bother with (not that he had minded). "Even though you don't have to."

Felix shrugs. He has to. They're family. He'd failed his family in the past, time and time again. At the very least, he can try not to disappoint this one. To disappoint her. But he can't say it. He can't even fathom the right words.

But she seems to understand all the same. "You should stay the night." She says sweetly. "You can visit Lysithea tomorrow."

He had been at her beside so long that he wasn't even sure anymore how many days or weeks had passed. He only left for the most critical things--like bringing her broth, or medicines, or more blankets to keep her warm. Never gone for long enough to even see the sky outside the windows.

It made his chest hurt, seeing her like this. He had only known Lysithea as the lively, stubborn, overly vocal girl he had met in their school years. The girl who had taken it as a personal affront that he didn't like sweets. Who actually, somehow, convinced him to like hers.

True, he had always known there was something else beneath the surface. Something that always made her snap at people who dared to underestimate her. That made her study so fervently, to the point where she would almost pass out. That made her so concerned that he would take care of her family--not just her.

But he had never been smart enough to figure out what it had been. To a point, he assumed he had been imagining things.

And yet. the girl he loved was slowly dying before his eyes.

Two crests. That was what was killing her. Forced upon her without her consent, without her parents' consent. A result of those dark mages that Claude and the Professor had destroyed. Destroyed without ever getting the answer on how to fix it. And it was too late for him to be able to do anything to stop it.

And so all he could do was hold her trembling hand between his. He pressed his lips to her skin, hating how cold she felt. How he couldn't do anything to get her warm.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." She said, breaths heavy with the exertion and words shaky.

He couldn't say that he understood, because he didn't. He couldn't say it would be okay, because he didn't know. He couldn't even say that he was angry with her, because he couldn't be--he was just . . . shattering inside. So he kissed her hand again.

"I thought . . . I thought maybe they were wrong. The mages, I mean. I guess," she laughed weakly, "guess I was."

He reached up, brushing his fingers through her hair. Trying to calm her, to soothe her. She was terrified, he could see that. He was too. He just didn't know how to make it better.

The only thing he knew, really, was that she needed him there.

Felix steps out of the shop, a small box under his arm. A slice of cake is inside--an overly sweet abomination that was her absolute favorite. She had tried to get him to try it once and he had almost thrown up on the spot. She adored it (and probably enjoyed his reaction just as much).

The walk through town is still as if nothing has changed. It's doing well with the winter done. The shops are bustling, the people cheery and delighted. They chat among themselves, smiles bright and cheerful. All in clothes without holes, made of fabric thick and sturdy. It's even peaceful, with children running around playing games and the parents pleased as they watch. The town is prospering. The people there are thriving.

The path he's taking elevates slightly as it leads into the hill outside town. They had come here together more times than he could count. When the shop had closed and the town was quieting, they would come up here. Sometimes they would read together, and sometimes they would spar. Both of them had grown up in war and--even though it was peaceful--it was hard to break old habits. Besides, it was something they could do together. Where it could just be the two of them.

He kneels, plucking a few weeds that had the audacity to grow here. It was funny--when they were students together, handling these weeds under the professor's guidance, Lysithea had mocked him. She called his strategy brash and inefficient. It still is.

With a sigh, he sits back and places the cake box in front of her gravestone.

"I'm sorry it took me so long." He whispers, eyes falling over the simple lettering on the stone. "I was . . . foolish as usual."

If ghosts existed, he's sure she would be fussing at him. The thought makes him smile. It makes his throat tighten and his chest ache. Even now, it feels like she had just slipped from his fingers. Like it was only yesterday.

His thumb brushes over the ring on his ring finger. It's a gentle balm to the pain, making him smile, even if just a little bit. Soothing the cracking in his heart.

'I love you' she had told him, more times than he could count. When she made treats for him, whenever he helped her in the shop, when he asked her to marry him, when they sparred, when he read to her, when he served as her test dummy for recipes. When he stayed by her side until the life slipped from her entirely.

"I love you." He says, softly. Hoping, somewhere, somehow, she might hear him.