Chapter Text
There’s a fire on the other side of this door but the crematorium remains too cold for anyone’s liking. Much too cold. Maybe it’s too early in the morning. Maybe it’s just a Faerghus thing.
Dedue, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix wait patiently, seated in a row. One wall keeps them separated from their friend being reduced to ashes.
“You guys ready for tonight?” Sylvain tries to defuse the stagnant air.
“Sure,” Ingrid is the only one to reply.
“Great. I can’t wait to fucking leave this place.”
-
The Blaiddyd family residence is an old house that sits at the top of a hill far across the stretches of Fhirdiad. Nobody in Faerghus is ever truly city-folk. They’re all people who build lawns big enough to prevent them from talking to their neighbors and the Blaiddyds were as Faerghus as Faerghus could be. They couldn’t possibly use any of this dry, arid land to grow anything. The family just valued their distance.
And good on them for having such ample amounts of parking space. The stragglers from the funeral have all made it. They’re all kids from the academy days, eager to get out of the miserable funk of losing one of their own. And they’re gonna do it by getting reasonably inebriated in a big, fancy manor that looks like it’s haunted.
“This place is definitely haunted,” Claude says, traipsing through the threshold.
“Thank you,” Dedue greets him at the door. “It is.”
“Do I take my shoes off at the door or…?”
“No,” he sighs. “Unfortunately, Dimitri was white.”
-
Betwixt the dual staircases of the foyer hangs a golden chandelier, frighteningly large and rather imposing. It illuminates the old house in a warm, elegant glow, detracting from the imperfections where the walls start peeling at the corners or where the floor tiles begin to chip and crack.
“Oh, shit. Woah.” Caspar stands in the center of it all, shielding his eyes with his hand as he looks upwards. “This place is crazy.”
“I know right?” Ashe joins him from the foot of the stairs. “This part of the house always reminds me of a Cheesecake Factory.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Once or twice, maybe. I don’t come around this side of Faerghus much.”
“Have you ever tried to swing from this chandelier?”
Ashe’s brows crease. “What? No?”
Caspar continues to run his mind and mouth. “You probably could. Like, you could get a running start from the balcony up there and then jump right on.”
“I think I’d break it, dude.”
“Nah, I think you’re good. You’re probably light enough. I’d do it but I’d come crashing down because of all my muscle mass.”
The two continue to stare at the chandelier, unblinded by its electric glow.
“Have you ever seen Phantom of the Opera ?” Ashe asks.
“The movie where Gerard Butler does all that screaming?”
“I mean, I guess.” Ashe then points to a pulley system hidden in the ceiling. “The chandelier’s on a chain. If anyone’s gonna pull a heist in this place we can stop them by cutting it and letting the fixture swing down and fall on them.”
“That’s so cool!” Caspar pumps his fists. “I’ll keep an eye on this thing just in case that happens tonight.”
“I think you should run that by Dedue first, though.”
-
The kitchen is gorgeous. Perfect, even. It’s charmingly rustic, but not antiquated. The countertops are refreshingly empty, all buffed and finished to a shine. Warm light bounces off them from the lamps hanging above. Dedue keeps all of his stations meticulously spotless and Dimitri had only ever used the microwave to make his own food so it all checks out.
Annette is here. She pulls out a cold plastic tray of cookies from the oven.
“Ding! Look, my homemade cookies are done! I can’t wait to serve these to everyone!” She sets them on the counter and removes her mitts.
“Those are not homemade.” Ingrid tilts her head and giggles all the way from across the kitchen isle.
“Um, yes they are.” Annette feigns a dramatic gasp. “They’re my mother’s recipe. How dare you.”
“This can’t possibly be your mother’s recipe.”
“It absolutely is. She taught me everything I ever needed to know about baking.”
“I literally watched you buy those cookies at Costco last night. I was there.”
The pair’s laughter grows stronger with each turn they take carrying this act out. Annette inches closer to breaking character.
“Why must you speak so ill of my dear mother’s recipe? It took her ages to perfect the ratio of ingredients! Ages!”
“Can I at least try one of the cookies?” Ingrid walks across the kitchen and gets her hand swatted by Annette in the process.
“No! You’re a scoundrel! You’re undeserving of my mother’s cookies!” She playfully wrestles Ingrid away from the cookie tray.
“Annette! Let me have a cookie!” Ingrid, fully capable of overpowering her, stands down and lets this happen with a smile.
“No!” Annette bursts into laughter, letting the act drop. “I’m actually, genuinely worried you’re going to eat them all!”
-
“Hey you.” Dorothea finds Sylvain leaning against the hallway wall. “I didn’t catch you at the funeral.”
“I like playing hard-to-get.” He holds himself up, sipping his champagne. “You know that.”
“Sure do.” She joins him, back against the wall.
The air grows stale.
“I don’t know what to say,” she turns to him. “I’m sure you’re tired of hearing sorry all week but I really am. Losing a friend like that must be dreadful.”
“I suppose it is. Thank you.” His tone is sincere.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“That’s a lie. You’re not. I have no idea why I even asked.”
They stand there, side to side. The tension thickens into the consistency of molasses.
“Not like anyone can expect you to be,” she continues. “But that’s okay. It’s all okay.”
“I miss you, Dorothea.” It just spills out like that.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“Don’t take me back but I really, really miss you.”
“I mean, I wasn’t planning on it but I appreciate the desperation.”
“I’m going to the bathroom now.”
-
“This argument is stupid,” Felix scoffs.
“It’s only stupid because you’re not getting it!” Ashe’s voice cracks as he fights back.
The two have been in the lounge end of the first floor, buzzed and caught in a fight that they’re not bound to solve with civil discussion.
Ashe continues, “It doesn’t matter how many lions there are! None of those lions have super-powers like all the Pokémon do!”
“Ashe, you fucking dolt,” Felix slams his drink on fabric of the billiards table the two are leaning on. “You’re not understanding just how much ONE BILLION lions is. How many Pokémon are there?”
“Eight hundred and something.”
“One billion lions will be able to defeat and kill eight hundred Pokémon through sheer numbers alone.”
“Nooooo!” Ashe’s laughter escalates to the point where it sounds like he’s crying. “Some of the Pokémon are gods! They have god powers! They created this world and they can take it right out! Arceus!”
“That doesn’t mean shit!” Felix is losing some breath himself. “That shit can’t hold up if a little kid can capture and control all the gods by putting them into little balls! Your gods are false deities.”
“What the fuck are you getting at?”
“Leonie, weigh in on this.” Felix calls in for help from across the table, where Leonie takes a shot and sinks a ball with a carefully aimed cue stick thrust.
“Yeah, I think all the Pokémon could wipe one billion lions out,” she says as she fixes her eyes on her next target: the seven-ball.
“You’re just saying that because you want to rile me up,” Felix scowls, lifting his drink out of the way of Leonie’s cue ball trajectory.
“I am.” She interrupts her turn to poke him in the face with her cue.
-
Dedue tends to the estate’s gardens while the festivities remain inside and away from the brisk Fhirdiad breezes. The gardens remain to be his constant. Despite the odds they face against year-round chills, the plants that root here grow. They thrive. They live. They breathe as if they were his own flesh and blood.
“The food was lovely, Dedue.” Edelgard approaches him from the garden pathways. “Compliments to the chef.”
“Thank you.” He nods before returning to his duty.
“Not one for parties, I take it?” She stands her ground.
“I’ll join the others in time. I have business to tend to first,” he responds as he carefully distributes a large bucket of water amongst the greenery.
She watches him work, mesmerized. He moves as if this was a routine he has held for a hundred years or more. He steps around his plants in careful rhythm.
But she’s inclined to join in. “Which one is this flower?” she asks as she points to a collection of blue flowers, sprouting upwards into long strands that tower above their foliage.
He stops to answer her. “Meadow sage.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Indeed.”
She steps closer. “May I ask you to show me more of your garden?”
His eyes widen as he turns to her. “I’ll walk you through.”
“Thank you.” She takes his invitation with a smile.
He asks: “Do you tend to any plants yourself at your estate?”
“I don’t, but I’ve always wanted to learn. Hubert does grow something, though.”
“Does he?”
“Foxglove, I believe.”
“Ah.”
They continue walking, their path illuminated by the garden lights.
-
“You look like you could use a drink, dear.” Mercedes extends her arm to showcase the Blaiddyd liquor cabinet. It’s a gorgeous, concave wall displaying rows upon rows of an impressive array of bottles. Most of them look like they’ve been well-loved and drained dry already but some still have some life left inside.
“I just might.” Sylvain trudges to the bar countertop and hops up on the stool.
“What are you having tonight?” She pulls a shaker from a cabinet below.
“Hit me with the strongest shit you’ve got, barkeep.”
“Coming right up!” She giggles, getting to work immediately. “I’ve got a cocktail you’ll love. Let me show you the steps.”
Mercedes lets equal parts of Everclear and Sprite settle in a cup before she reaches over to pull a small bottle of something out of her purse. “And here’s the secret ingredient.”
“That’s cough syrup.”
“It might be.”
“You’re making lean. No, this is giga-lean. This can’t be safe.”
“You can afford to live a little.”
“Not like this?”
“You’re getting just a little drop.”
“Aren’t you a nurse?”
Mercedes laughs, resigning and putting the bottle of medicine away. “Would you like to go to the kitchen with me and get more ingredients for jungle juice?”
“Always.”
-
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you!” Annette spots Felix in a small lounge upstairs and welcomes herself to his couch.
“You came up here to look for me?” he asks, sunken into the leather and plush.
“Actually, I was just looking for a bathroom that isn’t occupied,” she answers frankly. “But I was wondering where you’ve been all this time anyways.”
“You found me.” He turns around to face her, leaning back on the couch’s arm.
“Had to get away from it all for a bit?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s cool. I understand what that’s like. Do you want me to go?”
“No, you’re fine. Stay.”
She scoots closer, worming her way underneath his arm. He welcomes her with zero resistance.
“Can I tell you something really soppy?”
“Sure.”
“You did really good today at the funeral.”
He brings himself closer to her head. “Thanks.”
“This group really needed a rock like you. Everyone looked like they were going to burst at the seams.”
“It’s a funeral. It’s just a ceremony.”
“But it means something to them. It’s the end of a journey.” She leans closer into his side. “You don’t have to grieve like them but you have to understand that this is their moment of closure.”
They sit there, melting into the couch and into each other.
“Did you find it?” He asks.
“What?”
“Closure.”
“I guess. Maybe. It’s registered in my head that he’s dead, for sure.” She rolls over to drape her arm around him. “But it hasn’t really settled in that he’s gone . Those are different sensations, I think.”
“No one’s ever really gone,” he replies.
“You’re right. You’re totally right. I think Dimitri’s going to live on through us.”
“Actually, I was more on the train of thought that Faerghus is obsessed with ghosts and that his unresting spirit is probably going to haunt us for ages, but I think what you said is probably nicer.”
“Felix! Nooo!” She playfully swats at his leg. “No scary shit like that!”
“I don’t subscribe to that notion anyways. Faerghus death culture is all just ass-backwards church shit.”
“Well, you gotta look out for our friends who are riddled with that Seiros-guilt. They’re gonna need someone like you to keep them grounded.”
“For you, I will.”
“Cool.”
Annette extends her pinky, reaching for Felix’s hand. He gives her his own, engaging in a firm, mutual shake.
“Mind if I stay here for a bit?”
“Not at all.”
“Actually, I forgot I have to pee. But I’ll be back” She pats him on the head as she leaves.
-
“Oh. My. Word.” Dorothea’s jaw drops as she walks into the listening room. The walls of this second-floor bedroom are lined with shelves filled to the brim with vinyl albums. The spaces in between are filled with foam padding, fading and crumbling with age. Across the room are numerous speakers and machines, piling on old rugs and spilling forth an entangled web of wires.
“His dad was kind of an audiophile.” Ingrid drags her finger across the surface of an amp, leaving a streak through a layer of dust. “He liked music a lot but I have no idea if Dimitri himself was ever in here much.”
“Well, he should have been. My goodness” Dorothea immediately dives in and explores the shelves. “This entire room has got to be worth a fortune.”
“Do you like yacht rock?” Ingrid thumbs at the first few records she finds. “There’s a lot of that here.”
“I know you do. All this dad music is probably your thing,” Dorothea giggles. “Piña coladas and all that.”
“You’re right. But you like this one, right?” Ingrid pulls out the sleeve for Rumours by Fleetwood Mac.
“I do very much indeed. You have no idea how badly I wanted to become Stevie Nicks when I was a little girl.”
“I think I can see it.”
Something in the corner catches Dorothea’s attention. “Looks like someone in the Blaiddyd house was a man of culture.”
“Oh, those couldn’t possibly be Dimitri’s.” Ingrid eyes the pile Dorothea begins to sift through: a collection of original Broadway cast recordings, all weathered and worn at the edges.
“I thought Dimitri liked musicals?”
“One time, he took us to see Cats .”
“Ah.”
“The movie. Not the stage one.”
“Oh.”
“We got wasted.”
“Sounds like a wonderful night.” Dorothea continues to dig. “Speaking of, looks like he’s got all the Andrew Lloyd Webbers. All the Cole Porters. Sondheims. Rodgers and Hammersteins.”
Ingrid takes a closer look. “Oh, I’ve seen The Sound of Music . I think.”
“How about this one?” Dorothea holds up the box set for The King and I . “An Adrestian tutor meets the King of Dagda. It’s aged terribly but, my goodness, the music is adorable.”
Ingrid flicks a few switches on and opens the case for the turntable. “Let’s hear it.”
Dorothea retrieves the last disc in the set and flips it over. The needle finds its groove and music fills the room.
“Shall we dance, Sir Ingrid?” She extends her hand after she curtsies.
Ingrid’s face is flushed as she accepts the offer. “You wouldn’t want me stepping on your toes.”
“I’ll walk you through it, dear. 1, 2, 3 and.” They follow the song together.
“1, 2, 3, and.”
“1, 2, 3, and.”
They sweep across the rugs in broad strokes and steps.
-
“There is a dog in this house and I am going to find it.” Claude is slumped into a velvet chaise lounge, swirling a deep amber liquor in his crystal glass.
“What makes you say that?” Edelgard sits at his feet on the opposite end, nursing a drink of her own. Someone handed it to her hours earlier and she hasn’t had the fortitude to finish it. Every sip so far has sent her into a coughing fit.
“Leashes at the door. Bowls on the kitchen floor. Rubber chew toy rolled underneath the couch. I thought it was for weird butt stuff but it turned out to be one of those things you put peanut butter in.” He then drags his hand against the fabric of the couch, gathering a handful of light, yellow hair. “Purebred golden retriever.”
The sight makes Edelgard frantically wipe down her black slacks with her free hand.
“Dimitri is hiding a dog from us.” Claude smirks.
“Frankly, he's hiding much more than just a dog.” She playfully flicks a clump of dog hair in his direction. “I thought you were staunchly a cat-person. Are you not?”
“Edelgard, I am a friend to all animals.” The rest of his glass goes down smooth. “Let me know if you’re up for some snooping around the Blaiddyd house tonight.”
“I just might be.”
“No funny business, rest assured. I just really need to figure out where Dedue’s keeping the doggy. Finish that drink so we can go pet it.”
“Claude?”
“Yeah?”
She gulps down the rest of her glass, shuddering as it comes down burning.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Me too, Princess. It’s been too long.”
-
“Oh, Felix! There you are!” Mercedes waves towards the stairwell. “We need your help with something!”
“What is it now?” Felix descends and makes his way towards the group gathered in the den.
“We’ve been trying to get the karaoke machine to work but we can’t figure it out!” She hands him a pile of cords attached to a microphone: wire spaghetti. “We tried to read the instructions but they’re all in Brigidese.”
Wordlessly, he makes great work of untangling it. One end is a power adapter, the other ends split off into colored plugs that find their way into the back of the TV. A flick of a switch and a quick toggle to the “A/V” setting makes it all work out. Everyone starts clapping and cheering seeing the words “ MAGIC SING KARAOKE ” scroll onto the screen.
Felix steps back. “I basically did nothing? How did none of you figure this out?”
Someone rolls off the couch. It’s either Marianne or Raphael.
“We are so drunk right now.” It’s Marianne. Raphael’s in the kitchen throwing up in the sink right now.
“Felix! Come stay and sing with us!” Ashe starts a chant that everyone joins in. “Fe-lix! Fe-lix! Fe-lix!”
Felix groans and takes the microphone. “Alright, fine. I’ll only do this because I’m drinking whatever you guys just had right afterwards.”
Everyone cheers as he dials in the number for “ I Miss You ” by Blink-182, as if he’s done this numerous times before.
-
Ingrid finds Dedue back in the foyer balcony, watching the festivities continue on from up above. Or possibly watching for Caspar to act up and jump to the chandelier. Either or.
She approaches him with open arms and pulls him into a tight embrace.
“Hello, Ingrid.”
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.”
She speaks into his sweater: cashmere, soft. “We don’t have to talk right now. I wouldn’t know what to say anyways. I just thought you could use a hug tonight.”
“That’s fine.” He returns it, wrapping her in his arms. “I suppose I could.”
-
“Just step out to the balcony, jump to the other side, and climb the lattice fence up. It’s that easy,” Sylvain says.
“Is there an easier way to do this? Don’t you have stairs? Or a ladder?” Edelgard climbs the edge of the second floor balcony and looks down at all the cars and pavement down below. Looks like it’s a long way down.
“There used to be stairs but they’re gone now. Stolen, perhaps.” Sylvain shrugs. “Can’t have shit in Faerghus.”
“Ugh.”
“Hey, you wanted to be here.”
Sylvain and Edelgard manage to find footholds on their way up to the Blaiddyd estate rooftops. The cold air bites at their fingertips. A deep haze fills the night sky, leaving little space for stars to shine through. It doesn’t compare to the lights from the city skyline. Little bright specks of car traffic crawl across the freeways like ants marching. The landscape looks lovely from where they are, up in the hills.
“You smoke?” Sylvain reaches into his shirt pocket to pull out a pack of Marlboros.
Edelgard is tempted to say no. She leans in as he lights up both of their cigarettes.
A moment of silence passes before she breaks it. “Thank you for bringing him home.”
Smoke rises.
“Man, what an ordeal that was.” Sylvain smiles.
“You could have called me.”
“You’re all the way in Enbarr.”
“I would have made the drive nonetheless.”
“We wouldn’t have made it your burden to carry.”
“But it’s my debt.” She lets the cigarette rest between her fingers as she exhales. “Of sorts. There’s much that I owe Dimitri. Now that he’s gone, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
Sylvain keeps his gaze pointed steadily towards the city. “I’m sorry things ended the way they did between you two. I can’t imagine what that would be like.”
“It’s unimaginable.” She looks out in the same direction. The little lights grow brighter as she blinks. “But you lost a friend.”
“That I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’ll blow over in time. This all will.” Smoke escapes his lungs.
“I’m afraid I don’t have that history and connection that you Faerghus folk have,” she now turns to face him, “but I hope you could possibly find a friend in me.”
He meets her eyes. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“There’s one more thing I was wondering about,” she says. “I’d like to ask but I hope it doesn’t come off as insensitive or strange.”
“Go ahead.” Sylvain nods.
“Did the funeral home give you back Dimitri’s personal effects?”
“Oh, yeah. They gave it to us in a little brown bag after we signed a form. It’s all good.”
“What did they find on him?”
“Not much. Just a wallet, broken cell phone, keys...”
“Oh, okay. Glad you could recover that.”
“...and this, uh, ornately-carved pocket knife.”
“Huh.” Edelgard falls back into the rooftop to gaze up at the night sky.
Sylvain lies down and joins her. “Is there a story behind that one that I don’t know?”
She smiles. “There just might be.”
A sharp wind passes them by, followed by the sound of a dog barking from down below.