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The lance hit hard, but Abraxus hit harder. Still, Annette stumbled back, feeling a numbness so instant that it could only be masking pain as it spread from her shoulder down her arm. She should have been glad that Lorenz had not hit her heart, but it was horrifying that he had gotten close enough to hit her at all. Still, her arrows found their mark, although they were of light, not yew, and dissipated as they sunk into her opponent’s flesh. He fell, and she screamed, and she couldn’t feel her shoulder.
“Fall back , Annette, get off the front lines.” Annette heard the professor’s voice echoing in her ears, but it was far away and hazy and she couldn’t remember which direction the front lines were in, regardless. The professor’s voice filtered in, somewhere foggy in the back of her head. “Fraldarius! Patch her up and get her to the medic tent! We only need to put the enemy to rout now that their generals have fallen.”
Annette realized something was wrong when Felix grabbed her. They weren’t strangers to the battlefield, to advancing against lines of enemies, to tossing faith magic and vulneraries at one another in equal measure and pushing the front line back against the tide of the rebel army. But Felix didn’t grab her by the wrist and pull her alongside for the run, or yank her by the back of the collar to avoid a lightning strike or axe hit. Her legs swept out from under her as he lifted her up hurriedly, as if she was fragile, and she could vaguely hear him swearing oaths to the goddess that might been curses or might have been prayers as he ran, cradling her head against his chest so that she could hear his heartbeat, too fast for it to possibly be Felix.
They couldn’t have gone very far when he stopped and set her down, propping her up against the corner of a wall, at the edge of the side bridge she had run down to meet Lorenz. The ground was less shaky and she could no longer hear the clanging of swords and shields, but it had seemed mere seconds between him holding her and him kneeling beside her, already fumbling with the bandages and salves he kept at his belt, and her head spun from the change of scenery.
She focused her vision on Felix, but he was too busy addressing her wounds to even see her. The salve stung and the bandages were too tight, and Annette muffled a cry with her good hand, but the world gradually came into focus around her. Or at least, Felix came into focus around her, sweat forming along his forehead and his hair slipping around his shoulders and his eyes too dark and too worried.
“Felix – ” she said, reaching out with her other hand, missing his arm, clumsily grazing his cheek. He looked up at her, his eyes flashing with nerves and fire.
“Annette, that was – you were –” he started, tying off the final bandage and grabbing at her hand, his grip too tight, his hand suddenly shaking.
“I’m okay, Felix,” Annette said. “It’s okay.”
“That was so stupid,” Felix finally blurted out. “What were you thinking , staring down a fully armored paladin? Why were you on the front lines? I turn my back to cut down one archer and you suddenly think you have command of the cavalry?”
Annette could tell Felix’s first aid training was solid, because she suddenly felt strong enough to be mad at him, and it made her madder to know that he was evidently decent at battlefield medicine, or anything at all. She pulled herself up by their mutual grip and overcorrected, falling into him even as she stabilized against his shoulder. “I killed him, didn’t I?” she snapped, her voice cracking as she raised it. “What, you want to take on Edelgard’s entire army by yourself? You want me to just stay on the back lines and watch you die?”
“That’s better than staying on the front lines and dying, Annette,” Felix said, his voice a low, desperate growl in her ear.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” Annette said. “I kept formation. I followed orders. You can’t live your life trying to protect me.”
“Yes I –” Felix cut himself off, refusing to look at her anymore. He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her closer, and she gave a small cry of surprise even as his fingers easily avoided her newly bandaged injury. He pressed his cheek against her temple, and his voice was so soft she could barely hear it, even though it was right above her ear and sent a shockwave straight to her chest. “Don’t tell me that, Annette; that’s the only reason I have to live.”
Annette jerked away, flailing against him, not caring that her bandages were unraveling as she did so. “You can’t say things like that,” she scolded, pushing away from him. “You call me stupid? You’re stupid, Felix Fraldarius. To think you could throw your life away like that; that you don’t matter; that I’d ever forgive you –”
She wasn’t sure if she grabbed his collar first or he threaded his fingers through her hair first, but it didn’t matter. Felix pulled her closer with desperation, as if he was turning back time and pulling her out of the way of the lance, as if he hadn’t already stopped the flow of blood in the present, as if he still needed absolution. Annette missed his lips on her first try, brushing against his cheek, and then his nose, but she found him eventually, cupping his chin in her hand and guiding him in the kiss, hungry and angry and frantic. She gasped for air in something like a sob as he moved down her chin, down to her neck, her final murmur of “stupid” getting lost in another gasp as he pressed his lips against her collarbone. Her fingers slipped into his hair now, holding him against her as she drew a breath, thanking the goddess that she was still alive and he was still alive and she’d have time to tell him how horridly, wonderfully stupid she’d always found him.
“Fraldarious, unless your lips are made of healing magic, then I said to patch her up, not ruin her further.” The professor’s voice took on enough authoritative edge that even five years after graduation Annette still felt her heart sink – or maybe that was just the disappointment from Felix pulling away from her, looking up at their professor with a defiant glare that Annette could never hope to match. Their professor merely rolled her eyes at both of them, not even breaking stride as she made her way to the back lines, the battle already drawing to a close around them. “Medic tent is that way, whenever you two have named your firstborn or whatever it is you were going to do next.”
Felix looked long and hard at Annette after the professor’s chiding voice had faded away. He pushed her bangs away from her eyes where they had stuck to her forehead, stubborn and sweaty from exhaustion and heat. “I don’t – I don’t actually think you’re stupid,” he said roughly, his voice not matching his hands as he held her.
Annette snorted. “Well I still think you’re stupid. How dare you, Felix. You should be congratulating me; I'm a hero.”
“Well, can you walk, hero of Fódlan?” Felix asked, pulling away to stand up. Annette kept her hands firmly entangled in his absolute ruins of a ponytail, keeping him locked on the ground with her.
“No,” she said, pouting. “I almost died.”
Felix rolled his eyes at this, but he pressed a kiss against her temple as he lifted her off the ground and stepped onto the swinging bridge leading to the back lines of the battle. It wasn’t healing magic, but in the moment Annette felt it was close enough.