Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

“Felix,” Dimitri says, with an awkward smile. “There is no need to watch over me while I pray. I promise that I will be fine.”

The Goddess Spring lies still behind him. The moonlight bathes the springwater in a swathe of silver, making it seem almost as if a belt of stars is sitting right there in the water. The foliage around the pool itself does nothing but move lazily in the breeze. Towering over everything mundane about the spring is a statue of Goddess Sothis, ever serene, her hands clasped in devotion. 

Despite the plainness of the holy site, it is she that Dimitri has come to pray to today, to unlock an ancient power. Given how (supposedly) important it all is, Felix had really expected something more flashy than a dusty spring.

“King’s orders,” Felix bites out, before Dimitri can open his mouth and embarrass himself again. Felix thinks it’s perfectly fine, this atmosphere between them. Silent, just how he prefers it. 

Dimitri furrows his brows, and gives him a quizzical look. Either Dimitri is spectacularly obtuse, or he’s being stupidly naïve, because anyone with eyes could tell that Felix is trying his damn best to keep the conversation brief. 

The prince just doesn’t get it. He keeps staring at him like some sort of lost puppy. Felix scoffs.  “ Someone has to watch you.”

“... I see,” Dimitri says, studying him. He is smiling faintly. “Well, thank you all the same.”

“Hmph.” There’s nothing to thank him for. 

Dimitri shrugs off his travelling cloak, folding it neatly before placing it on the top steps leading into the spring. His garments underneath are pure white, save for the gold belt around his waist and the golden bracelets adorning his wrists, like some sort of glorified shackle. 

It’s tacky. Felix fights the urge to sneer. This entire thing is a farce.

Dimitri doesn’t notice him. Instead, he tugs off his boots and socks, laying them beside his cloak. He wiggles his toes, rolls his ankles, and, with one last glance behind him, he descends the stone steps, and wades into the water.

A Blaiddyd and a Fraldarius, defeating the Calamity together. Their fathers think it is destiny. After Glenn’s death and Dimitri’s words after it, Felix thinks it is ridiculous.

He doesn’t care for him. He’s here to do a job, no matter his history with the prince. No matter if he hates the role and the destiny it burdens him with. A burden that weighs upon everyone, but him, especially, threatening to break his back and leave him for dead, while he could be doing something more productive. More useful.

So in the end, it is with thinly veiled coldness that Felix watches Dimitri halt before the statue. He tilts his head back to stare at it, and the circlet balances precariously on his head with the motion. 

He brings his hands together. Felix can’t see his expression, but he imagines it must be perfectly neutral. As always.

Dimiri breathes. In, and out. He does this five more times, before he bows his head, and falls silent.

Felix turns around. He straps the Aegis Shield to his back, and grips the Sword of Moralta so that the tip of the blade grazes the stone floor, copying a position he has only glimpsed from his father’s books, and from his brother’s old practices. 

Then, he waits.

He is kept waiting until his muscles grow stiff and his feet are asleep.

Felix can only track the time by watching, out of the corner of his eye, the moon’s slow journey through the night sky. With nothing to do but guard, this journey seems mind-numbingly sluggish, even for a moon. It makes him irate, standing here, still, doing nothing but wasting time.

By his estimate, three hours have passed since Dimitri entered his prayers. Three hours since Felix has been left standing in the same position, sword at hand, ready to defend the future king from any who dare disturb his honourable quest.

Felix lets another half hour pass before he casts a glance behind him. Dimitri is in the exact same position: head bowed, back ramrod straight, the only movement being his clothes fluttering in the water, shimmering like angel’s garbs. His hair almost looks silver when the moonlight spills over it.

Felix has had enough of this. 

“Oi,” he calls, sheathing his sword. He lets his annoyance seep into his tone, jagged and harsh. “How long are you planning to stay in there?”

Dimitri jerks up. Felix must have spooked him, because he nearly trips and falls face forward into the water. In a sacred pool, of all things. Sothis’ sake - it has a flat bed. Why is he stumbling?

Felix rolls his eyes. He imagines having to explain to King Lambert that his son tripped and smashed his face in while trying to pray to the Goddess. His own father would be aghast, no doubt. 

“Oh. It is late. I had not noticed.” Dimitri’s voice is hoarse with disuse. He clears his throat, and looks up at the sky. “Thank you for alerting me, Felix. It would be best if we were to make camp for now.”

Make camp? Felix wants to snort. It’s far past the time for that.

He imagines that his ancestors would be rolling in their graves, watching him treat his liege so poorly. Heh.

As Dimitri wades to the steps, wringing out the ends of his tunic, Felix leans against the pillar, and gives him an appraising once-over. “Well?” he asks. He tries to seem uninterested. “What did she tell you?”

He expects to hear about some divine message. Maybe the Goddess gave Dimitri some sort of mental guideline on how to unlock ‘the power within’, as that fortune-teller put it. Maybe she’d send them on a harebrained quest to reach his ‘inner self’, and Felix would have to put up with Dimitri for months on end.

None of this happens. Instead, Dimitri smiles. He looks at Felix; not at his eyes, but somewhere past his shoulder. 

“I did not hear her today,” he says, mildly, before he turns his attention to his boots.

Huh. Nothing. 

Felix considers his words as he returns to their bedrolls. Dimitri seems far away, and distant. That smile never reached his eyes, did it? But then again, his smiles never reach his eyes these days, too busy being suppressed by his princely façade.

2.

The second time they visit a Goddess Spring, Felix thinks Dimitri has fallen asleep in the water.

They perform the same routine. Dimitri strips himself of his boots and cloak, slips into his white garments, and thanks Felix profusely for accompanying him here. Felix tells him to hurry up and get on with it, and Dimitri does exactly that. Thus, Felix is left to guard him as he prays to Sothis to unlock those ancient sealing powers of his, lest all of the Kingdom of Faerghus falls to ruin.

Felix still thinks they need a practical plan for when things go awry, instead of relying on two boys, four Divine Beasts and a prophecy, but of course, no one bothers to listen to him. As usual.

It takes everything he has to refrain from openly cursing when Felix finally tries to shake Dimitri awake from his dozing in the waters. Five hours of prayer, with no sign of reprieve, have already passed before he even tries. Saints, it takes a minute before his legs can move. How Dimitri has done this for every day of his life since he was seven, Felix will never know.

“What are you doing?” Felix huffs, exasperated. He knows his voice will carry, so there’s no need to shout. 

Dimitri doesn’t move. He keeps his head firmly down, and gives no indication that he heard him.

Huh. Maybe he wasn’t loud enough.

“Oi,” Felix calls. No response. He furrows his brows. “Dimitri.”

Nothing. Dimitri’s head is still bowed. Again, the only movement Felix can see are his prayer garments floating in the water. Felix really, really cannot fathom how Dimitri manages to stay still for so long.

“Dimitri!” he calls again. He makes sure he sounds especially irritated. Perhaps that will make the prince listen to him.

No response. 

This is growing tedious.

Felix presses his lips into a thin line. He picks up a nearby rock - decent-sized, not too big or too small - and tosses it across the pool. It lands near Dimitri’s waist with a plop, and Felix watches with smug satisfaction as the prince finally twitches. 

Instead of jerking awake, though, like he had done last time, Dimitri wakes slowly. Felix counts at least a minute before he starts to move his limbs. He can’t watch how Dimitri awakens from the front, but he is able to listen as Dimitri sniffs once, and then again, before sneezing twice in quick succession.

Suddenly, Felix feels irritated again.

“Did you fall asleep?” he scoffs, as Dimitri turns around.

Dimitri is shivering, the tremors light enough that they would be invisible to the untrained eye. Really, how cold was the water? Definitely not enough to make a man as big as the prince shiver.

Felix makes a mental note to request for warmer garments upon their return to the castle. He'd be pissed if he had to drag Dimitri out of there because the fool caught a cold.

“Ah, no. I can see why you believed that, though,” Dimitri smiles. It is a ghost of a smile, and again, his voice is raspy. “When I pray, I slip into a meditative state. A trance, of sorts, so that my body and mind can focus solely on the spiritual realm.”

“Hmph.” A trance. Felix wonders what happened last time, then, when Dimitri had jerked awake near immediately. 

He gathers his pack from the floor, and sticks his hand inside. “Well? What did she say?” he grunts, as the apple he is searching for ever-so-cleverly eludes his fingers.

Dimitri is silent for too long. Felix chances a glance at him when he finally finds his apple, and is momentarily struck dumb when he sees the look on Dimitri’s face.

It is stricken - like someone had slapped him. Felix’s chest gives a funny little jerk.

Then, Dimitri turns to look at him properly. He sees Felix watching, and immediately the look is wiped from his face, replaced with a pleasant, if mild, expression. If Felix had blinked, he is sure he would’ve missed it.

There it is, again. The princely façade, strong and secure and utterly perfect.

“I did not hear anything today either, unfortunately.” Dimitri gives a sad little smile. “I am sorry for wasting your time, Felix.”

3.

The Goddess Spring in the Duscur province is not within the area. Rather, it is located on the outskirts, which makes Felix wary. Warier than usual, because fewer crowds increase the chances of another incident, and after today… 

Dimitri still doesn’t feel well after the attack. Even when he’d passed his cloak and sand-filled boots to Felix, his hands had trembled, and his eyes were clouded. Yet, despite Felix’s opposition, the prince had still insisted on completing his daily prayers. Clearly, they take priority over his own wellbeing.

Dimitri is an idiot. At this rate, he’ll overwork himself into an early grave, and all Felix will manage to do is guard him like a good little knight as he does so.

“Don’t you have warmer clothes?” he snaps, as Dimitri dips a toe into the water.

“Hm?” He dips in another toe. Soon, his feet are submerged. “Oh. Clothes?” He is already wading in, ignoring Felix’s anger with no effort at all. “There is no need to worry about me, Felix. I am perfectly all right.”

Felix closes his fists. He opens them, and closes them again, ten times, and takes a breath for each. It’s a technique Mercedes had taught him. Sometimes he uses it, and sometimes he doesn’t bother. 

“You were nearly killed today,” he fumes. 

It’s difficult to suppress this newfound guilt. He had left Dimitri alone to fend for himself - in uncharted territory - simply because he had gotten angry at him again. Usually, thinking about the past reaffirms that anger, but even Felix can realise when he’s taken a grudge too far. “You’re in no state to pray. Get out of the water.” 

You need to rest, is what Felix wants to say, but he is famously terrible at translating his feelings into normal language.

 “I am fine.” Dimitri’s voice is perfectly even, getting fainter and fainter as he comes to a stop in front of the statue. When he turns back, his face is neutral. Blank. “Felix. There is no need to guard me. You should catch some sleep.” The desert moon catches his hair in a halo. “If you find us rooms at the inn, I will be able to join you shortly.”

'Shortly.’ Ha. What is Dimitri’s definition of ‘shortly’? Four hours? Five? Six, this time?

“Are you an idiot?” Felix hisses, instead.

Dimitri has the nerve to smile at him, joyless, before he turns around again. Felix wants to scream.

Instead, he watches, teeth clenched, as Dimitri becomes still. He mutters, now, under his breath. They are words not meant for Felix’s ears, but they are also words that won’t reach the goddess, either. Whether Dimitri’s words are not strong enough, or she is simply deaf to him, the Kingdom cares not. They only want results.

Felix grips the hilt of his sword, and watches.

“Hey. Dimitri.” 

Nothing. Dimitri continues to mutter fervently, as if Felix isn’t even there.

“Dimitri.”

Nothing.

“Dimitri!” 

Felix watches, something tough and treacle-like lodged in his throat, as Dimitri finally starts to stir. It took far longer, this time. Ten minutes, at the very least.

Incredulously, Dimitri shakes his head, and doesn’t turn around. “Not yet,” he rasps. 

Felix wants to punch him.

“What do you mean, not yet?” he fumes. “You’ve been in here for half the night.” You need to sleep.

“Give me more time.” 

The answer comes instantaneously. There is no hesitation. Dimitri doesn’t stammer, or wring his hands nervously. This might actually be the first time he has refused to listen to Felix, even when Felix’s tone is dripping with anger. 

For once, Felix is at a loss. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Dimitri. It’s with a sinking realisation that it finally dawns on Felix: he doesn’t know what to do.

Here Dimitri is, killing himself over something he cannot control. Crushing himself under the weight of a kingdom that cares only for his destiny. And Felix cannot articulate any of this, not only because the gap between them is too wide to bridge, but he barely knows how to cross it. Barely knows how to take the first step. Anger is something he can channel; this is not.

So, he does what he does best. He explodes. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Why are you doing this? He just wants a reaction. Please don’t put up the mask again. What’s wrong with him? You’re killing yourself. Can’t you see?

Funny. He almost sounds like a weepy child again. Like that version of him that died along with Glenn.

Slowly, Dimitri turns. He is silent. His face is expressionless. 

Felix’s gaze is drawn to his eyes. They are still as blue as ever, yet they are ringed with black, now. From a distance, he still looks like a polished, well-kept prince.

Up close, his eyes are still glazed over. Still a duller blue than the colour he had when they were children. 

Felix bristles, but keeps it inside. Dimitri doesn’t speak, either. 

He watches Dimitri’s back turns on him again, and wonders, bitterly, why the Blaiddyd line never bothered to hand down a guidebook on how to attain this wretched sealing power.

4.

The next time they visit a Goddess Spring, Dimitri nearly loses his life.

Felix thought they were doing well. Dimitri had apologised for his lack of self-care (or, as he put it, for ‘keeping Felix awake’). Then, in the inn, he had also haltingly apologised for his words five years ago. The apology was obviously something he had been mulling over, given how many times Dimitri stammered and tripped over his speech, and Felix still doesn’t know whether he has quite forgiven him just yet. He has nursed the sting of a betrayal that had lasted years, after all. 

Still. It’s a start. 

So, when he turns around to remind Dimitri of the time, only to find him shivering and slumped over, instead of ramrod straight, his heart jolts. Something is terribly wrong.

“Dimitri?” No response. Felix worries his lip. “Hey. Dimitri. That’s enough.” He doesn’t wait before he starts pulling off his boots, laying his sword and shield on the stone. “Dimitri!”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Felix feels his heartbeat quicken. When Dimitri starts to list to the side, dangerously close to toppling, it begins to sound like the beat of a drum.

Fuck. His trance, or meditative state, or whatever. The stupid, stupid state of mind that makes him unresponsive to the outside world for ages, no matter how hard Felix shouts. Can he hear him?

It doesn’t matter. He’s going in there and dragging out Dimitri by force, whether he likes it or not. This is the last thing Felix thinks, before he pushes into the water.

Fuck - the water is freezing. His legs immediately feel numb, and it is only experience that stops him from huddling into himself on instinct. Still, he can’t stop the gasp that leaves him as his body cries out in pain.

And Dimitri had been praying in this? Constantly? 

Felix is going to kill him.

It’s only a short wade to Dimitri, but it feels like years. Dimitri is swaying, now, ever closer to tipping into the water. Felix is slow, too, because his limbs refuse to cooperate, but the rage he feels at his own body is nothing compared to the growing feeling of dread encasing his throat like ivy. 

Dimitri is still swaying. The water is getting colder the closer Felix gets to the statue. If Dimitri falls into the water, and Felix isn’t fast enough to catch him…

“Dimitri!” Felix yells. The birds scatter from the trees in alarm. To hell with his prayer, he thinks, viciously and desperately.  “Wake up!”

He’s close enough now that he can hear Dimitri’s mutters. He is still praying. Still praying, even though he is moments away from collapsing. Felix wants to punch someone.

He gets closer. Felix can hear him, now. Dimitri’s words are slurred and disjointed, and his breathing is shallow. Faintly, Felix recalls half-listened-to lectures from his father and the older knights when he was still in training. They had gone over the causes and effects of exposure and its consequences. He can’t remember much of it, but he knows he needs to move fast.

Finally, he’s within arms-length of Dimitri. He grabs his bicep - it’s almost glacial to the touch, even under the dry sleeves. Felix hauls him upright, and then starts to drag him towards the steps. It’s frighteningly easy to pull him; Dimitri offers no resistance, and he’s still unbalanced.

Felix doesn’t think. He focuses on getting Dimitri away from the water.

“P…” Dimitri mutters. He’s incoherent. Drowsy. Felix’s stomach feels queasy.

He recalls something else, as they finally get to the steps, and Felix is able to deposit Dimitri on the stone floor. It’s Dedue’s words, from a couple of months ago, warning him about Dimitri’s particular habits. Felix remembers how grave Dedue was when he told him how, as a child, Dimitri had once prayed for so long that he had passed out in the waters.

Felix’s stomach lurches again. Fuck. 

Dimitri is still on the floor, his clothes drenched, and his skin tinged blue. His teeth start to chatter, and it is then that Felix launches into action again. Maybe his words weren’t enough, but this, he can do.

He strips Dimitri of his wet clothes first, and tosses them into a soggy pile. When he turns around, he notices that Dimitri’s skin and hair are dripping - he must have accidentally gotten some of the water on himself. Apart from that, he doesn’t respond, instead staring off into the distance with hazy eyes and chattering teeth. Felix curses, and grabs his spare cloak from the pack. 

He wraps the cloak around his own hands and goes to dry Dimitri off, only to stop short. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough for Felix to notice that Dimitri’s getting thinner. He’s still broad, but he’s lost muscle mass. His face looks more sallow and drawn, too. It’s a far cry from the Dimitri of only a couple months earlier.

He’s not eating enough. Felix wants to smack him, and then himself.

“You idiot.” His words escape him in a puff of air, rather than a true reprimand. Dimitri only sits there, naked and swaying. Unresponsive.

Felix catalogues his revelation for later, before forcing himself to concentrate on rubbing Dimitri down. It leaves his skin red, but Dimitri is dry by the end of it, at least. Felix uses the dry end of the cloak to dry his hair, fluffing it up, before tossing that onto the wet pile, too. 

These steps are methodical. Easy to follow. By doing this, by keeping himself busy with keeping Dimitri alive and warm, Felix slowly but surely starts to calm down.

Felix sifts through his pack, and finds Dimitri’s travelling tunic. He gets it on him - it takes some wrangling, because Dimitri can’t lift his arms, so Felix has to shove them through and hope the material doesn’t tear - but he manages it. He finds Dimitri’s spare trousers and a pair of thick socks, and does the same. His old cloak has long since lost the warmth it had from being worn all day, but Felix wraps it around Dimitri’s shoulders anyway. 

Dimitri’s head is tipping onto his shoulder. Felix considers using the Fire Rod, but that could send him into shock. It’s a quick fix, but the risk is too great. 

He looks at Dimitri, weak and shivery and so, so vulnerable. Stupid, stupid, he is so stupid.  

Felix uses the Fire Rod to stoke a fire at the campsite instead. Once the flames have begun to rise, Felix discards his Royal Guard armour and slips it over Dimitri’s head. The material is a bit stiff, but it’s thick. It will do. 

Dimitri is still shivering. Felix unclips the cap at his belt and shoves it on Dimitri’s head, even though it barely fits. He rifles through his pack with stiff fingers, and pulls out a canteen of Creamy Heart Soup. It’s only three-quarters full, but he dumps it all in the pot anyway, and suspends it over the fire. 

Then, he tugs Dimitri forward, so that he is pressed close to him. Dimitri is still cold to the touch. Felix bundles Dimitri into his lap, and wills his body to share its warmth. This would probably work with more skin-to-skin contact, but he can’t risk Dimitri’s body temperature to plummet even lower.

Exhaling slowly for the first time that entire night, Felix shuffles them both closer to the fire, and joins their hands. 

“You idiot, ” he repeats. His voice is treacherously shaky. 

Dimitri is still trembling, but he slowly, ever-so-slowly, rests his cheek on Felix’s shoulder.

“P…” He’s trying to say that same word. It’s still slurred. Felix has to crane his head so that his ear is close to Dimitri’s mouth. “Please…”

Felix closes his eyes. He breathes. 

A minute passes until he opens them again. Then, he watches, as Dimitri shakes and shakes, still dampened, both in his body and his heart. 

His eyes, however, remain dry.

5.

After Dimitri nearly collapses in the middle of his prayer, Felix imposes a set of rules:

1. No setting foot in the water without adequate clothing - and by adequate, he means several layers. (Who cares about traditional garments. The Goddess probably doesn’t.) 
2. No setting foot in the water if Felix hasn’t warmed it himself first. (He does this primarily with a Fire Rod, but sometimes swiping a Flameblade through it works perfectly well, too). 
3. And finally, no staying in the water for more than an hour at a time.

Dimitri agrees amiably to everything except the last one. “I am sorry, Felix,” he says, and he looks genuinely, infuriatingly apologetic, “but I can’t do that. I must unlock this power.”

Felix rages at him for a good ten minutes before he gives up. Dimitri is adamant. He dodges every one of Felix's curses. He will not be swayed.

When they get to the Spring, Felix, in his anger, swings the Fire Rod down so hard that he essentially sets the pool alight. He has no idea how it lights up - it’s meant to be water, for fuck’s sake - but he does know that now there’s fireballs rebounding off the pillars that he has to deal with before Dimitri goes in.

Felix is swearing at the top of his voice. Dimitri is in stitches, because he likes testing Felix's patience. He is holding his side and laughing, muffled, into his hands. Felix feels the familiar irritation climbing in his throat, but it becomes smothered by something unbearably fond.

… Why does he feel warm . Disgusting.

“Shut up,” Felix grunts, without any real heat. He wants to fill his head with anything other than Dimitri’s laughter. It’s too… distracting.

Mercifully, Dimitri stops laughing, quietening instead to a low chuckle. “All right, Felix,” he says, warm.

The moment he turns to the water, his face becomes impassive. He squares his shoulders, and rights himself so he is standing upright. Unbowed.

Felix grits his teeth. Suddenly, he is angry again.

“Felix,” Dimitri tries, subdued, “you really should go to sleep.”

He has been trying to convince him for the better part of their journey. Felix has lost count of the amount of times he's snapped at him.

Felix levels him with a glare. Dimitri sighs, defeat etched into the lines of his face, and turns back.

This time, the water pulses as Dimitri slices through it. There's a slight golden sheen to this pool, despite the moonlight coating it with its usual silver. 

It's strange. Felix doesn’t allow himself to hope - not with the radio silence Dimitri receives - but maybe, this time…

Dimitri clasps his hands, wordless, and bows his head.

Felix turns his back. And waits.

For the first time, Felix doesn't have to wake Dimitri from his prayer himself.

It’s the splash that alerts him. It happens far earlier than Felix’s imposed time limit (especially since he had expected Dimitri to try and stay in there for the entire night), so it is Felix’s own knowledge that very little time has passed which makes him realise: something is wrong. 

Felix jerks from his vigil, and whirls around, sword at the ready. His eyes scan their surroundings frantically, looking for assassins, monsters, wild animals - 

Nothing. There is nothing, except Dimitri. Hunched over, staring into the watery depths. His fists are clenched.

It is a while before he speaks.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers. Wretched. “You are always so silent. I have yet to hear a word from you.”

Felix goes still. He gets the distinct feeling that he should not be hearing this.

“What am I doing wrong?” Dimitri pleads. He is gesturing wildly with his hands now. Agitated. “Is it my prayer? My performance? Is there - is there something I should be seeking? Or is this power something I must grow into?”

He doesn’t have time to grow into it, Felix thinks, with a sinking feeling. Dimitri knows this too - more than anyone. This plea of his is a last-ditch effort.

“I don’t understand,” Dimitri repeats. His voice is small. “Please, help me understand.”

Felix sheathes his sword. He’s had enough of this. He starts wading into the water.

He’s directly behind Dimitri when he starts to shake. Felix pauses. Deliberates.

“Dimitri-”

“What is it?” Dimitri’s fists drop, hitting the water. “What’s wrong with me?”

Felix feels like he has been punched in the gut.

He knows those words. He remembers, very clearly, where they come from. Fuck. Fuck. He - this is - 

Felix surges forward, and taps Dimitri’s arm.

“Come on,” he says, lowly. Keeping this newly surfacing guilt carefully suppressed, when it’s threatening to boil over, isn’t easy. “Let’s go back.”

Dimitri shakes his head. It is an immediate reaction, a rehearsed response. Felix wraps his arm around his torso. It is shaking.

“Let’s go back,” he repeats, more urgent this time.

Dimitri staggers when Felix tries to pull him away. He’s like a wall, weathered and unmoving, something Felix can’t pull down no matter his efforts. His eyes are glassy, and his mouth wobbles.

A minute passes. Dimitri scrubs at his eyes furiously after that, before he nods.

As Felix guides him back, pressed firmly into his side, Dimitri carefully restructures his mask. He picks up the shattered pieces and slots them back into place, so that by the time they return to camp, he is already apologising for the trouble. Felix doesn’t speak, instead only handing him warm milk and a hot buttered apple.

“Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri says, before climbing into the bedroll.

In the dim light of the smouldering ebers, Felix watches as Dimitri continues to shake, even under his covers. Still, by the time his eyes have become heavy with sleep, Felix hasn’t heard a single cry.

+1

“It has been a long time,” Dimitri pants, “since I have exerted so much physical effort.”

Felix looks at Dimitri over his shoulder. It’s been a year since they stopped all of Faerghus from being trampled by the Calamity, and Dimitri’s legs are still weak. He is visibly struggling, tripping over his feet every so often. 

Felix snorts. “What, can’t even climb a hill?”

“This is hardly a hill, Felix,” Dimitri insists. “And besides, I have not used my legs in one hundred years. Can you blame me?”

Felix grits his teeth, and stays silent. He hates how Dimitri uses that against him, knowing it’ll shut him up. Hates that he can feel Dimitri smiling behind him. Hates that Dimitri is so easily responding to him with such a bright laugh, when he can only really remember him as a prince with a mask. And even those memories are scratchy as best.

Trying to reconcile Sir Felix’s Dimitri and this Dimitri makes his head pound, so he shuts down that trail of thought.

“You held back the Calamity for a hundred years,” Felix counters, abruptly.

Dimitri only laughs. “Yes, Felix. With ancient magic. Not with my legs.”

“Whatever.”

They continue for another hour, until Felix gets tired of having to stop whenever Dimitri keeps stumbling. When he watches Dimitri trip for the fifth time, he feels a bit bad. Only because Dimitri’s face looks like a kicked puppy. That’s all.

Thankfully, Felix spots a familiar path.

“Let’s take a detour,” he decides, and pretends not to notice Dimitri’s sag of relief.

“Is this our old camp?” Dimitri wonders, pointing to Felix’s campfire.

“No.” Felix doesn’t mention that he has no idea what their old camp looked like. “I made camp here a couple of months ago.” 

He had been hiding from a Guardian Skywatcher then, bloodied and beaten, but he has no intention of telling Dimitri that. Not when Dimitri already hovers over him like he could drop dead at any minute. Honestly...

“I see,” Dimitri says, and leaves it at that.

Felix pulls out his cooking pot. “Don’t get too comfortable just yet,” he warns. “Food won’t take long. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

“Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri says. He makes to wander off, before pausing. Guilty. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

Felix waves him off. “Just go.” He knows how eager Dimitri is to re-explore his old kingdom. Anyone with eyes could see it in his puppy-dog stares.

Dimitri beams at him. Felix looks away.

It’s only when the food (Daphnel Stew, because he happened to have the ingredients at hand) starts to simmer, and he can safely leave it alone with a lid, does Felix withdraw to seek out the prince.

It isn’t hard to find him. There isn’t much to see here, apart from some weathered stone statues and overgrown trees. And, of course, the Goddess Spring, tucked away deep in the mountain crevice, but not far enough that they can’t reach.

Felix has mixed feelings about the Goddess Springs. By ‘mixed’, he means that he felt fine towards them when they blessed him with life and stamina. Then, he regained his third memory (or his fourth? Maybe his fifth. Whatever.) and things crashed from there. Whichever it was, he resurfaced from it with the newfound knowledge that apparently his old self hated the things. 

Which left present Felix feeling fucking wonderful, and not at all untethered.

Ugh. Why the hell didn’t he keep a diary back then, like everyone else did? 

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it,” Dimitri says, interrupting Felix’s internal tirade. He doesn’t turn around, and waits for Felix to join him before he continues.

Felix does join him. The night air is cool and fresh. It figures that, the one time Felix doesn’t need to climb the mountain, the clouds decide to stay nice and quiet. Or maybe Dimitri’s presence drives them away somehow. Or maybe the world just really hates Felix.

“Do you remember,” Dimitri says, tipping his head back to gaze at the statue, “the first time we came here?”

Barely. 

“Hm,” is the answer Felix gives.

“I was so nervous,” Dimitri laughs. “I had never prayed in front of anyone else before. I did not want to disappoint you. ”

Disappoint him with what. Since when did Felix care about disappointing goddesses? His memory may be in splintered fragments, but he at least remembers this. “Mm.”

“I knew you hated me, so that increased the pressure I was feeling…” Dimitri sounds considering. When Felix snaps his head up to stare at him, he barrels on, unaware. “Perhaps that was why I could not slip into my usual meditation. But I still wanted to show you that I was capable.” Another laugh sounds, much more self-deprecating. “That sentiment, of course, did not follow through as well as I had hoped it would.”

Felix has no idea what to say to that.

“Idiot,” he grumbles, instead. He shoves Dimitri. I never hated you. I think. “You fought off the Calamity, didn’t you?” How do you still think you’re not capable?

“After the entire land had been ravaged, yes,” Dimitri says quietly. “Not exactly an achievement that screams of capability, Felix.”

Felix feels a sudden flare of anger. This feeling, of all things, is not unfamiliar. Talking with Dimitri is like going in circles, and many of his recovered memories carry anger in some shape or form. Always from him, always directed at Dimitri - whether because of him, or for him, or something else. 

“Stop that,” he snaps. “It’s in the past.” 

It’s not your fault. Yet still, after so many years, he can’t say it. Even though he wants to.

Dimitri is giving him that sad smile. Felix grinds his teeth. Why is it so difficult for him to get the words out? It’s been a fucking century.  

He tries again. “They gave you a ridiculous prophecy. A birthright no one bothered to help you understand,” Felix argues, chin raised. “No one expected you to do it perfectly.”

“They all depended on me,” Dimitri says. Distant and sorrowful.  “And I failed them.”

This again. Felix has no idea what to say. His mind comes up blank. It would be easy to respond with rage, like his instincts scream at him to do, but they’ve been working on this. He’s not undoing a year’s worth of progress over a stupid split-second decision.

So, he does what he does second-best, and he goes for the jugular.

“You didn’t,” he grits out. 

Shit. That came out entirely wrong, because Dimitri gives him the same sad smile, and looks away. 

Felix really, really wishes they were back at the village. At least there he could dump a cat on Dimitri’s lap and watch his face light up as the thing purred and scratched at his clothes. That, at least, would be productive, as opposed to… whatever the hell he’s trying to do here. 

It’s Dimitri, he tells himself. Only Dimitri. Someone he cared for. Cares for. 

Felix tries again.

“I suppose I must be a failure too, then.” His voice comes out hard. Good. 

His words also tumble out in a rush. His throat feels raw, difficult to swallow around. It feels too real. Too personal. 

“What?” Dimitri’s head turns so vehemently that it must feel like whiplash. “No, of course not! Felix, you are not a failure. Please, never think of yourself as such.”

Felix shrugs, playing at indifference. Dimitri’s hands dart towards him. “I couldn’t fight off the Calamity like I was supposed to. Hell, I died before I even reached it.” Dimitri makes a pained noise at that. “So, according to you and your supreme logic, I’m a failure too.”

“Felix, you were different -”

“No. I wasn’t.” Felix’s voice sounds truly raw, now. As if someone took a whetstone to his throat. Damn. “They handed me a sword and a shield and told me to carry out a destiny that wasn’t even mine in the first place.” 

Dimitri is silent. Felix’s throat feels a bit choked. He pushes on.

“What I’m saying, is…” Felix licks his lips. They’re dry and chapped, but that is the furthest thing from his mind. What in the Saints is he - how the hell did this confrontation become about him? 

Felix forces himself to move, to turn and face Dimitri directly. He squares his shoulders. “Stop wallowing in the past. It’s already happened. It’s useless to dwell on it.” Dimitri’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Felix swallows. “... All you’ll do is pile up your regrets until you can’t carry them anymore.”

Dimitri stares at him. His mouth is still downturned, but his eyes aren’t so clouded, now. 

“What if I can’t?” he murmurs.

Interesting. That was the same question Felix asked himself after Annette ( her spirit , he reminds himself) told him the same thing.

Felix reaches out a hand. “... That won’t happen.” I won't let it, he tries to say, but isn’t able to. He’s not there yet. He hopes the hand speaks for itself.

Dimitri stares at it like Felix is offering him a bomb instead of his hand. He takes it gingerly between his own, expression flitting between shock and awe.

Then, his eye starts to water, and before Felix knows it, Dimitri has tears rolling down his cheeks.

Fuck. Fuck. He thought his pep talk was ok. Good, even - or borderline good, at least. Guess not. 

He grips Dimitri’s shoulder urgently, to stop the shaking. “Why are you crying?” Felix demands, and his voice is an octave higher than usual, because even Felix can realise when he’s fucked up somewhere.

“I - I don’t know,” Dimitri gasps. He scrubs his face with one arm. “Sorry - I am so sorry - you shouldn’t be seeing me like this - “

Anger flares through him again, a familiar thrum in his veins. He had been so close, so close, and now Dimitri’s trying to put up his façade again. For what? It was only Felix.

It was only him. 

“No,” Felix says. Then, softer: “Don’t.” He removes his hands from Dimitri’s shoulders, leaving them awkwardly fluttering around his elbows. “Stop - stop pretending. It’s just me.”

Dimitri’s lip wobbles. 

“It’s just me,” Felix repeats. 

There’s a shared history between them, spanning years, that passes through the silence that follows. Dimitri, for all intents and purposes, knows two Felixes. Pre and post-Calamity, as Felix had heard him explain once. Sir Felix, and Felix the traveller. He had explained this, hesitant and unsure, as if Felix would disagree. 

In the end, they are still the same. Just Felix. Just him. Just them.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not a failure.” As I’m not, either. “Stop refusing to let yourself heal,” - he holds Dimitri’s arms again, steadying him - “you great idiot.”

Dimitri stares, the tears glistening on his cheeks as the moonlight shines on them. He sniffs once, twice, three times. For a moment, it seems as if Dimitri is steeling himself to walk away again.

Then, without warning, he tips forward, buries his face in the crook of Felix’s neck, and begins to sob.

Felix’s hands automatically wrap around his sides. He has no idea what to do, he thinks, as he  periodically soothes him. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs, rubbing his back like he’d seen the mothers do in the stables with their kids. Dimitri keeps sobbing into his neck, making damp spots in his tunic. Felix can’t care less.

Dimitri doesn’t hold back, huge tears rolling down his face as he tries valiantly to muffle his wails. With a pang, Felix understands why he restrained himself. Dimitri’s tears are as sad and vulnerable as he is.

“I -” Dimitri gasps out, before his voice hitches. “I - I can’t - “

Felix awkwardly rubs his back again. Dimitri’s holding onto him so tightly that he’s about to lift him off the floor. “... When was the last time you cried?” Felix asks, voice quiet.

The only time he recalled Dimitri crying was - well. He prefers to avoid thinking about it.

Dimitri hiccups. He quietens himself before he answers, muffled by Felix's neck. It tickles when his lips move. “The night you fell,” is Dimitri’s small response, and Felix feels his stomach sink.

Dimitri feels too much, and pretends not to, smothering it all down as quickly as it surfaces. He feels too much, yet doesn’t let himself grieve, or be angry, or upset. And when he bottles it up, it’s only a matter of time until it all spills over. Until he can’t handle it anymore.

Felix would know.

Dimitri continues to cry quietly into his shoulder. Felix lets it happen, gently lowering him until they are both sitting on the floor. Dimitri keeps crying until his sobs subside, until he is only shaking. A shuddering mess, in Felix’s arms. 

When Dimitri tries to pull away, Felix holds on tighter. 

“No more of this,” he says. “No more façades.”

Dimitri stares at him. His eye is bright, and his face is puffy and splotched red.

Slowly, he nods.

“All right, Felix.” His voice is hoarse. “I - I will try.”

Felix nods once. Accepting. When Dimitri rests his head on his shoulder, and intertwines their fingers, he doesn’t pull away.

They stare at the Goddess Spring, as two boys under the light of the moon. Not a prince and his knight, but just two boys, tired in both mind and soul. The silence lends itself nicely to Felix’s thoughts. After he regained his seventh memory, Felix had begun to refer to the springs as reminders of his failure. It is only in recent times that he has tentatively begun to think of them as something else. Nothing too hopeful - he still has mixed feelings - but it was him who told Dimitri not to dwell uselessly on the past. It would be stupidly hypocritical of him to keep ascribing unnecessary sentiment to a statue, of all things. 

Felix nearly snorts. It’s a statue . He can move past this, at least.

When Dimitri begins to doze on his shoulder, Felix gently pulls him down to his lap. He ignores Dimitri’s murmur of protest, and cards his fingers through Dimitri’s hair, watching the blonde strands section off through his fingers. 

He wonders if he ever did this in the past. If he, Sir Felix, ever held Prince Dimitri’s hands in his own, or fell asleep to the sound of his breathing, or braided his hair. Sir Felix had supposedly been terrible with affection, much like himself now, but these are things he has fleeting glimpses of in half-baked dreams. Things he can’t fathom ever doing himself, whereas Dimitri has a certain longing gaze whenever he asks him about them.

Or maybe the stable poets are correct, and they were only sworn companions. Nothing more.

… Dimitri’s diary says otherwise.

Ugh. He takes it back. Trying to reconcile the images of Sir Felix and himself in his own mind hurts even more - even though he knows they are one and the same. The Felix that exists in this very moment, the Felix that, even a year after waking up with a memory of a blank piece of paper, has no idea what foods he enjoyed, is the very same Felix that was hailed as some sort of divine saviour a century ago, all become he could hold a special shield and sword.

Sir Felix, the appointed knight. A son. A brother, apparently. A friend, too. All these titles, and Felix only knows himself as Felix the traveller.

He scoffs. All his talk about moving on from the past, yet he still doesn’t remember most of it. It irks him, but… 

An owl hoots in the distance. Felix, ever-so-slightly, inclines his head. Dimitri’s eyes are closed. The tears are gone, leaving behind only faint trails on his skin, but his cheeks are still pink. 

Maybe, just maybe, it can wait a while.

As Dimitri’s light snores fill the air, Felix doesn’t look towards the Goddess Sothis. He looks down, instead, at the way Dimitri’s mouth curves up slightly at the ends. 

There. A real smile. 

Felix finds himself looking forward to more of Dimitri’s real smiles in their shared future, too.