Chapter Text
Felix has never regretted saving someone’s life before, but there’s a first time for everything.
He hadn’t thought when he’d been returning to the Capital and seen a band of thieves pummeling someone into the dirt. He’d unsheathed his sword, fought off four barely competent men and handed them, somewhat worse for wear, to the Kingdom Knights.
And that was that. A little over a moon ago, a forgotten incident he’d made reference to as a footnote in his travel report, which he now slams onto the King’s desk. For emphasis, he jabs the line three times.
“See? Stopped bandits from killing a man, handed over to guard, returned with message to—”
“Felix,” Dimitri says, in a tone that clearly states this conversation is exhausting, which is unfair seeing as he isn’t the one affected by the outcome.
“I put it in writing,” Felix repeats stubbornly.
“You neglected to mention he was a minor lord of Brigid,” Dimitri says slowly, and Felix shrugs.
“I didn’t have time to ask, what with him being half unconscious at the time,” he says.
Dimitri stares at him, the silence between them stretching until it’s too much, and Felix growls before pushing away from the desk. He’d been vaguely aware of Petra’s visit, but as he’d been on another task, it had slipped his mind. He’d had no inkling this person was part of the visiting royal retine.
“I’m terrible at diplomacy. This is a bad idea,” he says, and Dimitri sits back in his chair.
“It’s not a diplomatic mission. You’ve been invited as a guest. They’re stationed in Charon territory for now, so you don’t even have to leave Faerghus. It’s a thank you celebration, Petra sent her regards personally,” he says and Felix grimaces.
“I also do not like parties. And you told me to refuse would be undiplomatic, so make up your mind,” he says, and Dimitri tips his head back.
“It would be rude, Felix. But why are you so opposed to this? It’s a few days of celebration, securing ties we already have with people who know you and how you are. There’s very little you could do to make relationships worse. Why are you so adamant to stay behind?” Dimitri asks.
Felix pauses before answering the question. He can’t say he has a precise wording for his reasoning, only that he’s trying to decide. On what, he cannot tell. But it’s a growing sensation over the last year, a prickling under his skin that started on occasion and grew into something all consuming, a hair shirt on his existence.
But going to a party in another territory is certainly not going to help matters.
“I have other responsibilities,” he says instead, crossing his arms.
“I relinquish you of them,” Dimitri says and Felix clenches his jaw. Damn King.
“My lands need me,” he says, and Dimitri shakes his head.
“Your uncle is perfectly capable of manning Fraldarius territory for a short while, and Sylvain will be nearby should anything occur,” Dimitri says, the softening on ‘Sylvain’ audible.
Felix tries not to screw up his face in mild disgust. He probably doesn’t succeed by the look on Dimitri’s face.
“Unless you have a specific reason not to, you will be going, though I’d prefer not to order you. And before you ask, you won’t be going alone, of course.”
He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Time has made him soft; he now much prefers the company of others he’s familiar with when travelling. Only those he truly knows, though; strangers, officials, and anyone he doesn’t particularly trust with his back still put him on edge. But he will admit, his friends do make any trips better.
Or, most of them do. Sylvain, for all his annoyances, is his preferred travelling companion, just as they’ve known each other for so many years they understand how to seamlessly work around one another. But Dimitri mentioned he’d be able to look out for his territory, so it isn’t him.
Felix resigns himself; he’ll find out eventually.
“Fine. I need to return to home to arrange things,” he says, and Dimitri nods, shoulders dropping with a satisfied air.
“Of course. You will depart at the end of the moon,” he says, with an air which states the conversation is now over.
So Felix stands there, not leaving. He goes as long as he can without blinking until Dimitri becomes clearly uncomfortable, then spins and leaves with no further comment, smiling a little to himself.
Sure, he’s the King, and their relationship is better than ever. But he’s not going to resist the urge to mess with Dimitri.
“I wish I was going. I can’t believe they’re throwing a party in your honor!”
Felix rolls his eyes but grins as Sylvain sips the last of his wine. The late afternoon sun spills onto the table, the day beginning to cool. It is never particularly warm at this end of the world, but summer at least gives some respite to the bitterness.
“You, of all people. Seriously, the mind boggles,” he says, and Felix swipes at the cup, Sylvain managing to move just in time. “Now, now, mind those manners, what will the delegates think? So, you’re setting off tomorrow?” Sylvain asks.
Felix nods. “Best to leave early. Ingrid and Dorothea are already there,” Felix says.
With no claim left to the Charon lands, Ingrid has been slowly administering leadership, and successfully. Felix feels almost proud of her, and he knows she’s glad with how matters are progressing. Focusing on rebuilding the land after the war has been everyone’s priority, and not an easy task, but reports state that Charon and Galatea are prospering well under her guidance.
Dorothea and Petra still remain in touch, and she’d jumped at the chance to see her friend again; Ingrid has been essentially aiding with Petra’s travel through Fodlan, and now hosting her final stay before she returns. Considering Dorothea and Ingrid announced their engagement only three moons ago, it’s also been an excuse for Dorothea to celebrate with her friend.
“Urg,” he mutters to himself, but Sylvain catches it, looking at him with a curious expression.
“Ingrid and Dorothea,” he says, and no more words are needed, for Sylvain laughs.
“They might have calmed down now,” he says.
“By the goddess I hope so, I never want to see Ingrid kiss like that again,” he says, and Sylvain doubles over as wine almost shoots out of his nose.
Felix grins as Sylvain holds his nose and whines in pain, yet something settles, heavy and pulling into his chest, threatening to fold him over in his want to suppress it. Instead he crosses his arms over his middle as Sylvain coughs, amusement gone.
They have others, his friends. Their loves are bold and quiet, but so enduring and strong Felix at times finds it difficult to be around. He doesn’t understand it, refuses to believe he’s lacking, as his own emotions do not strike in the same way. But he cannot deny that it times it aches, to see that ease by which they fold their lives alongside another, and exist in companioned ease.
“Felix? You okay?”
“Of course. Clean up that wine, I don’t want it on my table after it’s been through your nose,” he says, and Sylvain just shakes his head but compiles.
“I guess that means I should take my leave,” he says, dramatically and Felix sighs, standing also.
As soon as he does, he’s pulled into Sylvain’s arms and really, by this point, Felix should know when one of his hugs is coming. He’s definitely becoming soft.
“Alright, let go,” he says, even though he actually wouldn’t mind the embrace lasting, and Sylvain chuckles as he pulls back.
“I do wish I was coming with you, if only to see your face when they celebrate their new hero. But seriously, try and have fun. It may surprise you,” he says.
Felix stills, for there is a specific tone to that statement; the twist of his head, the way his eyes don’t quite meet Felix’s, which set off alarm bells.
“What? What have you done?” he asks, and Sylvain holds up his hands, but Felix knows him well enough to see the flash of surreptitiousness cross his face.
“Nothing, what could I have done? I just think you should look on the bright side, Felix!” Sylvain says, and Felix closes his eyes for a second, cursing Sylvain and his secretive nature.
He could have done something, although Felix agrees to himself that even if he had, it’s mostly likely minimal. Although Dimitri is hideously weak to the whims and wants of his boyfriend, he wouldn’t do anything so outlandishly stupid as to potentially damange relationships.
But even so, it is a worry.
“Return safely,” Felix says and he sees Sylvain to the door.
“I’ll be fine, there’s been no bandits on the roads in months. Peace may finally have come, for now,” he says, and Felix nods, slightly distracted until Sylvain places a hand on his shoulder.
“You know that’s partly due to you, right? Your choices are making a huge difference to our people. Don’t forget that,” Sylvain says once Felix meets his eyes.
His throat closes at his friend’s declaration, so freely given and honest. Sylvain has become like that now in the almost three years since victory. Honest, free, able to say his own thoughts. It’s amazing to see how far he’s come, how much he’s now able to be himself.
Felix nods, and then with one more hug, Sylvain is off towards the stables, leaving Felix in the entryway. He turns back, the hallways seeming to expand in the sudden quiet without his best friend. It’s not that late, but still he retires shortly after; back to his rooms, the quiet following with every step.
In waking, that strange haunting feeling of silence still surrounds him. The house is too large for him. It’s most certainly always been so, but now with just Felix there, the solitary Duke overseeing, it feels larger than it ever seemed as a child. Even when the hollowness seeped in after Glenn’s death, there were always meetings, gathering and discussions. During the war, it had been both a haven and an operational hub. Now, however, Felix spends much of his time moving around and escaping the memories of this place.
The sad ones overcome the joy. His mother’s grave, the visits to which seemed so frequent in his childhood. The hours spent in Glenn’s room after his passing, his father not being able to stand moving his belongings for almost a year. The days listening to Dimitri take up his father’s time and energy, the arguments they had before he entered the officers academy. Years of generally feeling the need to run away and escape to a place of comfort, yet not knowing where to find it, as his home did not feel like a home.
But now this place is his, so he tries to dig deep and find those scattered happy moments.
He has one clear memory of his mother before the sickness took her in the winter when he was five. She’s racing him up the stairs towards the roof; he’s winning but knows with the foresight of adulthood she is simply watching from behind, ready to catch him should he tumble back.
He recalls cheering, arms raised in bright sunlight as he reaches the top first, her laugh echoing even now through the years. She scoops him up, and his victory is spent leaning in her arms over the rail; the summer morning light is almost blinding as it shows him the entryway to the manor, the horizon seeming endless with possibility. If he can win this race, he can do anything.
Now, he stands looking out, the view not as grand as it seemed to small eyes. He has travelled the length of this country and further in his years, has seen more than he could have believed or wanted when he used to beg to be allowed to peer over the balcony. Still stuck in the past as his hands grip the cool railing, he smiles slightly, recalling how it was always his mother who allowed him here. That, or Glenn sneaking him up after her death, his father stating he was too small.
His favourite place, somewhere that was both forbidden and therefore exciting, and yet one that was so freeing. The top of the world, the highest point in his home.
It still is his favourite place, if he admits it to himself. He likes the way it seems open and apart from the rest of the house, gives him space from that echoing feeling. Here, he can see everyday activities occurring; the stables being mucked out, guards in their morning exercises and if he squints, people on their way to the market. There are birds in the trees, the sound of the wind rushing through the foliage. It’s the world, and it’s real, not a frozen and dusty place.
It’s also why he sees the rider’s approach. Felix blinks, surprised when a sole person in Kingdom colours makes their way towards his estate. They aren’t rushing, so his pulse does not spike, but them being alone is strange. Normally, anyone on urgent business from the Crown would arrive in a group of at least four, so while there is no apparent emergency, it is odd. Felix isn’t expecting anyone.
He watches, gripping onto the railing and peering out. They are hailed at the entrance, but after a short conversation allowed passage through, which is, again, a surprise. Felix trusts his men well; they would not have let someone pass so swiftly if it were not someone they believed to be earnest. He also strangely recognises them. Which is impossible seeing as they are still so far away he cannot see any features, but there is a nagging sense in his mind that he knows them.
So he keeps looking, almost craning over the balcony to gain information. Perhaps it’s the riding style? Capable, and without hesitancy, yet not someone who favours horses. They have an air of confidence though, as if they have complete awareness of what they are doing and why, even if their method isn’t favored.
Felix definitely knows someone like that, he thinks. Their approach is still leisurely, but he thinks they are around his stature, and as he peers down he sees a bow strapped to the back of the horse, the strap of a quiver across the chest so—
“Fuck,” Felix hisses, letting go of the railing and retreating backwards so swiftly he hits the wall in what feels like a few strides. From this distance he can no longer see the rider, but his heart is still beating double-time, the way his hands shake and his head swims akin to as if he has just developed a fear of heights. He grips the wall. He doesn’t want to move, or leave this place of solitude and safety.
“Damn you, Sylvain,” he mutters tipping his head back, for if there was one thing he could do to meddle with this trip, one thing he could orchestrate that would seem perfectly reasonable and even sensible that would not alert the King of anything amiss, it would be this:
To send Ashe with him.
Felix had assumed that with Ingrid and Dorothea already in Charon, that would be his aforementioned company. But now he recalls Dimitri had said ‘you won’t be going alone’ which would include a travel companion. And, there Sylvain had pounced, for this reeks of his best friend. As it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.
Felix knows he cannot stay up here; he slowly peels himself off the wall and is exceptionally grateful no one has seen this loss of sense. Really, he should be over this, it’s a ridiculous notion that should have fled with time and growth. He can’t believe Sylvain had managed to weasel this information out of him so long ago.
It was mid war. Back when every fight felt like the last, every second borrowed time. Between skirmishes, Sylvain had managed to badger him into sharing a bottle of what he could generously describe as moonshine, which to this day he doesn't know how Sylvain got hold of. Felix had not been in a good place at the time, if such a thing were possible. But one sip after another, the world had blurred and blended into a place where trivial things gained a rather heightened level of importance.
Sylvain had started it. Confessed his feelings for Dimitri, and Felix recalls choking on the burning liquid before asking for another, as he needed to be completely off his face to deal with this confession. But of course, it’s one trade for another. Felix had laid face-first in a pile of leaves and moaned about having his own set of mortifying feelings.
He thinks it began when they started to speak more frequently. Felix would never have thought he’d get on with someone like Ashe, his personality and beliefs too different from Felix’s own. And yet, with time came understanding and more than that, connection. Felix genuinely started to enjoy their time spent together, whether in chores, studying, or just friendly silence. He read more books, did strangely more studying, and ultimately felt calmer in Ashe’s presence.
When it developed into more, he doesn’t know, but he realised in those five years they all scattered across the country. He’d find himself wondering, even worrying for Ashe with no news nor way to contact him, and the absolute relief he felt on seeing him alive and well again sent him into a panic for days.
Sylvain is, to this day, the only one who knows, although for some reason Felix thinks Annette does too. She’s never mentioned it, but she constantly asks if Felix has heard from Ashe, suggests inviting him to visit, which Felix always brushes off.
He doesn’t know what to do with these apparently persistent feelings. Sylvain had urged him once the war ended to confess, and a few times, he’d tried. Well, aimed to try but it never came out. He also isn’t convinced Ashe has any feelings for him; there’s no sign he values Felix as any more than a friend, and a distant one at that. So there doesn’t seem a point in trying.
That thought isn’t a comfort when a messenger informs him of their guest waiting in the parlour, and Felix has to exhale while staring at a wall to get himself under control. He therefore gives ample time, with the break and with his perfectly measured stride, to make it to the parlour in a measured state.
Except when he gets there, he hovers, outside. Like a coward. Felix wants to shake himself; he’s twenty-five years old but behaving like he’s fifteen—it’s utterly ridiculous. But he does stay a second just to look. Ashe stands with his back to him, decked out in Kingdom colours which makes his breath stop for one moment. He’s never found the concept of Knights attractive but Ashe does look good in his regalia; yet it’s more than that. He himself suits it. Ashe always wanted to be a knight, and he’s achieved and lives that dream.
Felix’s stomach turns at the thought. He doesn’t know how that must feel. His dreams and aims were shattered long ago, and since then, it’s been a mix of just getting through or jumping between duty and the needs of the people. He hasn’t had a drive in a long time. Doesn’t know how to find one, or if he’s even capable of that.
The turn of his thoughts though gives him the ability to brush the crush away. He steps forward into the room, clearing his throat as he does. Ashe turns and smiles, so wide and bright as he always did in their academy days that Felix cannot help the own upturn of his lips.
“Felix, it’s so good to see you again. I hope I didn’t arrive too early?” he says, meeting him in the centre of the room. Felix is drawn to his eyes immediately.
No one quite has eyes like Ashe does, the colour a vivid green of all things, and Felix hates that he romanticises someone's eyes; it’s too cliche and ridiculous. But they remind him of life; that colour which has been missing from the world torn apart by war and famine, a colour from a person he’s missed many times.
He once again, wants to shake himself, but manages to pull through.
“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you though, or you would have had more of a welcome,” Felix says a little apologetically, and Ashe blinks.
“Wait, you didn’t know?” Ashe says, stepping back with a worried look. Felix folds his arms over his chest.
“There was mention of someone accompanying me a while ago, but no other news. I’d assumed it was just Ingrid and Dorothea meeting me at the other end,” he says.
“O-oh. I’m so sorry, I’ve been working to set up a school nearby with Mercedes, so it seemed convenient. Plus I’d love to see Petra again, it’s been far too long,” he says, yet even his smile can’t distract Felix from the new information.
Nearby. He’s been nearby working on something for a while and hasn't mentioned it. Of course, Felix has been up and down the country and in the capital for some time, but he’s been in this house for the last two weeks. And Ashe hadn’t contacted him.
You’re a fool with this fanciful crush , his mind rebukes him, and this time, he cannot help but agree. It is another tally in his mental checklist of logic which states Ashe has no feelings for him. He needs to get past this. It’s been years, and yet he still cannot learn. His scolding to others of letting go of the past is a mockery of his present self, who is still hung up on someone he fell for in his school days.
If this were anyone else, he’d advise them to give it up. To be strong, to move on, to forget. So that’s what he needs to do, starting now. Only it’s made that much more difficult as he’ll have to spend the next few weeks in close proximity with Ashe, including the travel time when it will just be them and an escort.
“I don’t know why the message didn’t get through to you,” Ashe is saying as he tunes back in and Felix scoffs.
“I can guess,” he mutters, knowing he is absolutely going to make a certain Margave’s life hell when this is all over.
“What was that?” Ashe says, and Felix drops his arms with a sigh.
“It doesn’t matter, I have our travel plans and had aimed to begin within the hour. Are you happy to set off again, or do you need more time?” he asks and Ashe jumps, a frown on his face, but it clears swiftly.
“O-oh of course, I’m not tired at all. Whenever suits you,” he says, and Felix hates how happiness radiating from him is both uplifting and crushing.
So instead he nods. “I have my final preparations to sort out, but I’ll ask for refreshments while you wait,” he says.
“Felix, that’s unnecessary—” Ashe begins, but Felix shakes his head
“You may as well rest while you can. I’ll be back soon,” he says, and leaves the room before Ashe can start up his protests once more.
It’s probably rude and definitely cowardly, but Felix busies himself best he can with gathering all the remaining necessities for the journey, trying to push past the uncomfortable surge of feelings which bubble up intermittently. It’s going to make the trip awkward and strained, when it should be just an opportunity for old comrades to catch up.
He stops, staring out of the window of his room for the final time. He isn’t going to miss this place, never has, but the manor does contain a solace from the outside world. Complex emotions have always floored him, and he wishes he could remove himself from everything entirely.
With a spike of as much determination as he can muster, Felix collects his belongings and descends.
He can do this. He can survive a trip with the person he’s been pining after for years, go to a party thrown in his honour, and spend time with said person and his newly engaged, disgustingly in love best friend and her fiance.
He can do this. He hopes, anyway.