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Felix was informed by Ingrid, who had been informed by Dimitri, that there wasn't much left of Glenn that was worth burying.
Felix didn't recall how Ingrid came to that topic, anyway. They were sparring, she asked to take a break, and they were sat on the floor of the middle of the training grounds, sharing a jug of water.
"That's disgusting," Felix complained, "I don't want your backwash." But just as fast as the words flew off his tongue he grabbed for the carton and took some swigs for himself.
Ingrid rolled her eyes. "How many times will I have to tell you? Cooties aren't a thing. Even if they were, I don't think they would apply to in-laws."
"We're not in-laws," Felix retorted. He watched her face dampen as he said it, and continued speaking before she could formulate any words to match her expression. "The time for that passed long ago," he continued, "you can't think of that anymore, not now." Maybe if they weren't who they were and maybe if they weren't where they were, Felix would have said something different. But he was Felix Hugo Fraldarius and she was still Ingrid Brandl Galatea and they were both students of the Officer's Academy who had bigger things to worry about. Sylvain was pretending to not still be grieving over his disowned brother, throwing himself at women that didn't care Remire Village had gone up in flames at the hand of the librarian who was actually evil, and the boar was slipping. Felix certainly was the only one to have noticed the way the boar gripped its lance, knuckles likely white under its gloves and gauntlets, or the crazed look in its eyes and it commanded the rest of the Blue Lions. If the boar's true self wasn't clear to everyone else by now, Felix was confident that it would be soon enough. There was no time to think about in-laws. There was no time to think about Glenn.
Having heard enough, Felix abandoned his wooden practice lance (why had he agreed to spar with that thing anyway?) and stormed out, leaving Ingrid by herself.
Through a clenched jaw and tightened fists Felix wondered if they would ever understand. Just because Glenn died like a "true knight" didn't lessen the fact that he died. Just because it was honorable doesn't mean it hurt any less. Ingrid would have been the one to know that, if nothing else. She had holed herself in her room for weeks after the Tragedy. So did Felix, after he was done attending to the prince with his father, whose duties to the Kingdom came before his duties as a father. But unlike Ingrid, who sobbed so loudly it could be heard all throughout the Galatea land, Felix just laid on his bed, letting everything wash over him like one big wave.
Felix was glad his mother was dead.
This was something he never expressed, knowing too well that the sentiment would be rejected by others before he had the chance to explain himself. He would miss her more had he not been so young when she died. But the Plague swept through Faerghus, taking Felicity Helene Fraldarius as just one of its many victims. There were many sleepless nights where Felix stomped to the main hall to see his parent's wedding portrait and their first portrait, with just them and Glenn, so that he could remember her face. Had things gone a little differently, Glenn would have been more than happy to remind his brother of their mom. But instead he looked at the portraits, one where she married the geezer that was his father, and the one long before he was born.
Sometimes he dreamed of her.
He doesn't know how his subconscious conjured such a thing, given he couldn't remember what she looked like on his own. But in his dreams there was a woman with dark hair and blue eyes—like Glenn. He recognized her scowl for his own though, and that was more than enough proof for him.
When Felix was a child he asked about his mother, of course he did. Ingrid and Sylvain had mothers, Dimitri had even gotten two. His father (or the tutor, or the wet-nurse, or the nanny) told him the truth.
"She died in the Plague. You were too young to remember."
Maybe not that, but he did remember the way Glenn clung onto him after, or the way Felix had hugged him back, as much as his tiny toddler arms would allow.
More often than not he dreamt of Glenn. He could see him more clearly, that was for certain. His hair was as long as Felix's was now, though wavier like their father. They had the same downturn of their lips, and the same barely there smirk. It was no wonder his father confused Felix for his deceased elder son. Still, that does not stop Felix from narrowing his eyes with an insult quick off his tongue. He tried to imagine what his brother would look like now, but he couldn't.
Felix’s first real battle was fucking horrible.
He didn’t lose—of course he didn’t. They successfully repressed the rebellion. Felix swung his sword two hundred and thirty two times, and had a sword swung at him for a third of those times. He killed eight people, he thought. He was confident that he left about thirteen people to bleed out, but he saw people die by his hand only eight times. He did just fine, perfect, even. But every so often he would turn to his left, where Dimitri was meant to be, and find that he wasn’t there.
Sometimes Dimitri had strayed from him, yes, but other times he found that he wasn’t looking at his best friend. He was looking at a beast, charging at its prey. A wild animal had taken he place of his best friend.
Felix hoped Dimitri would have returned to his normal self after the battle, once he washed all the blood off him, and ate something, slept it off. He was at Dimitri’s side during the battle , went to the bathing tent among other soldiers, and he watched Dimitri poke at his meal after all of that. They shared a tent, nothing out of the ordinary for the crown prince and his best friend. It had been by the request of Dimitri, anyway. Felix knew Dimitri hadn’t slept that night, nor the night before the battle. Sometime between those two days he realized his best friend died at Duscur. Along with his brother, and any hope of Felix having a normal, noble life.
He hadn’t seen the boar once they returned to Fhirdiad. Felix returned to Fraldarius and involuntarily stood in Glenn’s shadow. It had been four slow years, years that he wouldn't have been able to get through had it not been for his sword. When his father first noticed this he told Felix that it was good to stay consistent with training, Glenn would have told him the same. When his father reminded him to take breaks Felix barked, "Would Glenn have told me that, too?" The answer was yes, but Felix's father did not say it.
Two years after that battle, at the Officer's Academy, Felix found himself to be scared of Dimitri.
He would never admit himself to being scared, and conveniently no one questioned it as such. Ingrid told him to stop being rude, Sylvain told him to lighten up, and the boar pretended as if Felix hadn't gave him yet another tongue-lashing.
Felix was tired of not being understood. He was tired of everyone seeing him as his dead brother. Tired of being the only one that could see the boar for what he really was. They would eventually, but when they did he did not give an "I told you so" or take a "You were right, Felix." When the Blue Lion House learned who the Flame Emperor was Felix's hands shook to the point where he couldn't hold his sword. He had heard the boar's bark, but he hadn't seen the bite in a while. While everyone was shocked, just as they were when they heard of his sentenced death not too long after, they remained in denial, while he was already in acceptance.
He didn't see his father the day everything went to hell (at Gronder, specifically. Things had gone to hell for Felix a long while ago, but somehow he always found his way back to the surface, just to get sent back down there again). He stayed off the front lines of the three-way battle, yet somehow managed to come to Dimitri's aid, throwing himself to a mortal blow that was meant for the boar. Felix, meanwhile, had all but collapsed on the bloody fields, only after securing the battle was truly over, and that he had won. He had stuck his sword into the ground and supported most of his body on it. With blurry eyes he began to inspect his damage, which was mostly burn wounds. He barely had the time to register Bernadetta's screams as the hill went up in flames. Felix had taken the brunt of it, Petra dodging the fire just in time. He had seen her though, and walked through the fire and onto the other side to kill Petra too. She hadn't gone down as easily, though, and while she retreated in the end, Felix found himself immobilized to her attacks. Even through an ambush from the Alliance, Felix cut through them all. When it was all over Felix saw a flash of red, and then darkness.
Annette was there when he woke up.
For a moment he thought he really died, and the divine Seiros herself was welcoming him to the afterlife with a mournful tune. But once he opened his eyes he realized he was not dead, luckily, but in the medical tent with Annette. When his eyes focused he discerned that she was a mess. She was kneeling by his cot with her head lowered. Her short bangs were matted to her forehead by sweat and blood (probably not her blood, but definitely her sweat). She had shed her overcoat and was idly tending to stains and tears on her cream dress. He could tell she wasn't doing a good job, but she always needed to be doing something. He couldn’t determine what song she was singing, it may have been the Swamp Beasties song, since he still hadn’t convinced Annette to sing that one to him. He didn’t matter what song it was, though, only that he was alive to hear her voice.
He wasn't there when his father died.
Neither was Annette, as she was tending to Felix's wounds the best she could. She was a more than experienced healer, sure, but nothing like Mercedes. She was tending to those with more grievous wounds, she was the one that told Annette of the Duke's passing.
"Ann," he managed, throat too dry to get the other syllable out. She hadn't heard him the first time, but Felix decided he didn't mind the sound, even through the raspiness of his throat. "Ann," he tried again, a little louder. Even during war Annette could still sing as if she was simply watering the plants in the greenhouse. He almost envied her for that.
"Felix," she all but squeaked, jumping a little as she did. They've done this little dance before; she sings and he waits for her to notice him. He then waits for her to recover from being noticed, watching patiently as her face went through an entire catalog of emotions. But Annette's face didn’t jump from shock to embarrassment to anger (at least, her version of it), but from shock to embarrassment to…
"What's wrong?" He asked, as if he wasn't the one in the medical tent. Annette looked at him, then looked away very quickly, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear as she did.
Something clicked inside Felix's head, and he closed his eyes. "It's the boar," he declared, "he's dead, isn't he?"
"No!" Annette said, whipping her head back to Felix, then shaking it fervently. "His Highness is…" she trailed off, making a gesture with her hands as if the words would come to her if she kept doing that. "He was injured."
"This was a three-way battle, Annette," Felix reminded her. "We were all injured."
"It was after the battle," she corrected, "after we won."
In Felix's head he asked if they really had won, if there were any winners here, or if it was all senseless killing, and senseless death. He knew Annette didn't have the answers to that, but she had to have known something.
"That maiden who joined us last month," she explained, slowly. "She tried to kill His Highness." She took a deep breath, deep and shuddering, and something else clicks inside Felix's head.
"Duke Fraldarius was there and he took the brunt of the attack." Annette's lower lip wobbled and her eyes filled with tears. "He's dead, Felix. I'm so sorry."
When Glenn died he was too busy tending to the prince and Ingrid to grieve. When his mother died he barely knew how to walk. When he thought Dimitri died he had to fend off the Dukedom from taking Fraldarius land. Felix was never given the luxury to react, to grieve. He had so many opinions on how the living should treat the dead, and how the living should keep their ideals separate from that of the dead. His father chastised him for his thoughts each time he shared them, and now he wouldn't.
Felix thought this war would give him some time before he had to become the Duke of Fraldarius, more chances to swing his sword. Once this was over (it was harder for Felix to see an end to it, now), he wouldn't. He would be given land, a title, and he would have it all to himself. Since Glenn was knighted it had been assumed that Felix would take over the land, but now he didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know what to do at all.
"Felix?"
His eyes moved back to Annette, whose tears could no longer manage to stay in her eyes. "Sing for me." Felix said, voice cracking as he asked, "Please, Annette?"
She dragged a hand across her face, smearing tears into the blood and sweat combination she was sporting already. Through her own thickened voice she asked, "Which song?"