Work Text:
(1) Cats
Jeritza never expected to return to Garreg Mach. Five years of being a general in war and he thought he’d put his time at the monastery behind him.
But then the Emperor herself wrote that the Professor had miraculously returned and he was reassigned along with the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force and his world once again turned upside down.
All things considered, the monastery is remarkably familiar as he returns. He hears the whispers of every soldier he passes. The whispers of the return of the Death Knight. Of the beast who sleeps within, waiting to be let loose to shed blood.
But right now he is not the Death Knight, he does not know the secret passages that he once hunted in, he is his true self and his feet take him to the one place he does know like the back of his hand. The training grounds.
The gate is ajar but the arena seemingly empty and his stride gains speed as he makes for the rack of training weapons.
“Shhhh!”
Jeritza blinks. He hasn’t been shushed since he was a child. Since he was Emile von Bartels. Since he was a noisy naive child who loved his mother and sister and wanted his father’s respect.
It's a sound too impatient to be from the birds or any other animal but he hadn't been aware of the presence of another human being. His eyes scan the space and find the source of the sound. Not 10 feet off, a dark hair figure in a long blue coat is on his hands and knees by one of the racks.
It takes a moment for Jeritza to register the other man as Felix. His hair is a mess and his jacket has clearly seen better days and somehow his figure looks slimmer at 22 than he had at 17.
“I-” Jertiza begins, unsure of what he means to say but certain that he will not be shushed by someone who is barely more than a child.
“Shhhhh!” Felix repeats with less patience.
Baffled, Jertiza turns to leave. With the Knights driven from the monastery, perhaps he can train in their old arena while Felix deals with...whatever he’s dealing with.
A quiet but expressive meow breaks the silence and cooing, Felix edges closer still to the weapons rack.
He finds himself frozen midstride, more than the people, Jeritza has missed the cats of the monastery, “Is there a-”
“Shhhhh!!!”
A quick scan of the space confirms there’s no one around to witness, Jertiza lowers himself to the ground, grateful for the fact that he’s in his training tunic and not full armor. As he lands on his hands and knees, Felix’s tongue clicks softly against the roof of his mouth as he nudges a small fish towards a cowering cat.
“What are you doing?” Felix hisses in his direction.
Slowly, Jertiza’s hand moves towards his satchel and finds himself grateful that he still carries dried treats. Silently he extends the cupped hand.
The cat crawls her way over and after a suspicious sniff, rubs her head eagerly against the offering. With his free hand, Jeritza combs his fingers through the fur on the top of her head, and to his delight, she doesn’t pull away.
Felix gives a sound of displeasure and waits until after she finishes chewing the final treat, the cat lifts her head and trots over to Felix and finally inspects his fish. Satisfied, her teeth sink into it.
“Her name is Sabre,” He says so quietly Jertiza nearly misses it, “She’s a Gautieron.”
“I see...”
He admires her mostly black coat with the trademark white markings. She’s small like most of the monastery cats are, but there’s a bulge to her belly that seems out of place with the rest of her frame.
“She’s never hidden from me before.” Felix’s tone is serious but his lips are tight in something close to a pout and Jertiza cannot help but wonder if perhaps Felix has not changed as much as he thought.
“I think... Sabre is pregnant.”
He’s confident of it actually. Sabre is pregnant. Very pregnant. As is trying to find a safe location to give birth within the week.
“How?” The spasm that passes through Felix’s body startles Sabre but after a quick glance up she continues dismantling the fish.
Jertiza stares. Felix is more surprised by the concept of a stray cat being pregnant than he is by Jeritza’s sudden unexplained arrival.
“It is quite natural. A female cat will go into heat and male cats will-”
More color than Jeritza has ever seen in Felix’s face even after sparring suddenly appears, “I know I know! That I know! I just- nevermind.”
Felix’s attention drops back to Saber who has taken to headbutting Felix’s knee.
“We should make her a nest so that she has a safe place to give birth.”
“We?” The word drips with well-earned skepticism. They weren’t friends when they last saw each other five years ago. Neither of them is known for playing well with others. But Saber’s eyes are wide and earnest and it’s clear Felix would do anything for this cat. And while Jertiza has only known her for a handful of minutes he can’t help but feel the same.
“Unless you wish to aid her through labor alone?”
Faster still than it appeared, the colors drains from Felix’s face.
(2) Unrequited Feelings
They’re not friends. Jertiza tells himself that the only reason they sit together during war council meetings is that the two of them and Lysithea are outsiders to the original Black Eagles house.
The Professor does what he can to make them feel included but there’s a natural comradery that three of them will never truly be a part of.
So they sit, the three of them just slightly apart from the rest of the table. Lysithea sits, always at proper attention so that no one can ever call her childish. Felix’s eyes wander the room and Jertiza’s would do the same if he weren’t so fascinated by the Professor himself.
The Professor who, by some miracle looks exactly the same as he did five years ago when he was pronounced dead by every army on the scene. The Professor, who by some miracle is going to help lead the Empire to victory.
He tries not to stare but it’s hard not to when he cares so little for everyone else in the room. Most people don’t notice, his vacant stare is his default state anyway but Felix is closer than the rest and more observant than Jertiza and so one day when Felix tires of listening to Hubert go on and on, he turns to Jertiza and asks, “So, you and the Professor?”
Are nothing. They’re nothing. The Death Knight has unfinished business with the Professor but as for plain old Jertiza, the Professor has nothing but casual conversation. He’s too busy strategizing with Edelgard and Hubert and when he’s not doing that, he can be seen laughing in the library with the green-haired scholar.
“I do not wish to discuss this topic any further.”
Felix quietly obliges. He has his answers.
Edelgard interrupts Hubert, “Dimitri,” she says. “He’s still a threat.”
Felix’s entire body nearly levitates out of his seat with how tense he gets.
“You and the King?”
Felix’s eyes turn to daggers, “I do not wish to discuss this topic any further.”
Lysithea kicks both of them in the shins.
(3) Hair
“Do you yield?” Felix asks around heaving breaths.
“Yes,” Jeritza relents, stars dancing in his eyes. The edge of Felix’s sword, sharper than a standard training sits firmly against his neck. If Felix applies any more pressure he’ll bleed and though the thought is somewhat thrilling, Jeritza pulls back ever so slightly. His sword tumbles from his trembling hand and crashes to the dirt a second before he drops to one knee.
His entire body shakes with exhaustion. They’ve been at this for hours. Training longer and harder than perhaps they should with a war on when they need to be ready to go at any moment but sparring with Felix is a drug that he can’t quite shake.
Felix’s swordsmanship has dramatically improved in the five years since they last saw each other. When Felix has simply been a student of the Officer’s Academy, he’s been the most competent of the students but still, no one Jertiza couldn’t best when he was in form.
But now, now they’re practically equal and that makes for a thrilling fight. The battlefield is the
Death Knight’s domain, Jertiza returns from battle with a blooded scythe and foggy memories. But he, Jertiza, longs to fight too. Longs for the clash of metal on metal and if the Death Knight won’t let him experience the real thing and the Professor is too busy to fight, then Felix is as close as he can get.
Having dropped his weapon, he uses his right hand to knock some of the loose hair back from his eyes. The ribbon that he uses to hold it back came free during their last bout and his hair has ended up everywhere.
His fingers search the dirt around the ribbon. He can’t lose this. He can’t lose what little he has left of his mother.
“Here,” Felix’s steady hand holds out the now dusty ribbon.
Silently Jeritza takes it and moves to put it back in his hair but his arms are heavy with exhaustion and he fumbles it, once, twice, three times. He tastes salt at his frustrated tongue traces his lips.
“Let me do it,” Felix huffs, more irritated than concerned, and despite everything, Jeritza silently hands the ribbon back.
He stays on his knees both because he doesn’t quite trust his balance yet and so that Felix can better reach his hair.
Felix’s calloused hands are confident as they tug Jertiza’s hair back with force than is strictly necessary and then neatly ties the ribbon around it.
He can’t remember the last time he had someone else’s hands in his hair. It must have been his mother or his sister but that means he couldn’t have been older than eight years old.
“My thanks,” He says, careful to keep the words emotionless.
“Why don’t you cut your hair? It would be easier to keep out of the way.”
He doubts he’ll ever see his mother again and yet he can’t imagine cutting his hair off just in case he does and she can run her fingers through it like when he was young.
Jertiza’s stares back. Felix’s hair has changed since he was a teenager but it’s still long for a swordsman. Still very much in the way.
“I could ask you the same.”
A half-smile plays on Felix’s lips, “Fair enough,” he concedes without explanation. He brings his sword out in front of him “Ready to go again?”
Jertiza’s fingers around the grip of his sword and he pushes to his feet, “Ready.”
(4) Childhood Friends
Jeritza watches as Bernadetta scampers out of the dining hall. He feels a little bad for scaring her off. He has nothing against her personally, it’s just that it seems these days he’s losing his edge. Constance keeps trying to corner him to talk about something that happened years ago, Lysithea has decided of late that he makes a good meal companion because he won’t snap at her to eat vegetables and Bernadetta has apparently decided that he’s approachable.
If Bernadetta of all people has decided he’s no longer scary, surely end times are near.
He’s too busy watching Bernadetta dash towards her room to notice Felix slide into the table across him.
He frowns, up until this point Felix has been the one person who enjoyed solo meals as much as him.
“What do you want?” He asks, doing his best to radiate disinterest.
“Is it true? What they’re saying about you?”
Jertiza’s frown deepens and takes a moment to consider the very real possibility that Felix has been killed and replaced by a shapeshifter because never once before has he heard Felix be a gossip.
“There are plenty of rumors about me... You’ll have to be more specific.” The Professor continues to insist that the rumors about him and about the Death Knight will die down, and while they haven’t, he’s gotten somewhat better at not listening to them.
Flustered enough that Jertiza is satisfied this is the real Felix, Felix gestures helplessly at the table where the four former Abyss residents are chatting over their dinner, “You and Constance are childhood friends?”
Baffled, he sounds out, “What’s it to you?”
“Nothing,” Felix responds so much honestly that if Jeritza’s body were more familiar with the motion, he might have laughed.
He looks down at his now empty plate and slowly answers, “We are. Or we were. Our families were adjacent. She and my sister used to be like this.” He holds his left up with his index and middle fingers crossed around each other. “Now it seems they are destined to clash on the battlefield.”
The Death Knight has been oddly fascinated with this concept since the day he arrived back at Garreg Mach but he wonders if it’s really registered with Constance. She can’t know how much the Church and the Kingdom mean to Mercedes. Not really.
The three of them were torn apart as children and even being in the same army isn’t enough to bring him and Constance back together. They talk, Constance keeps trying to talk to him about the ways things used to be. About things when they were happy and young.
But they’re both too different now. Both changed things they’ve seen and done and it’s like trying on clothes that no longer fit. It’s too late to go back and talk about the roses and in some ways, this is worse than if they’d just never seen each other again.
Felix pokes dutifully at his completely empty plate with a fork, “I used to have people I was close with like that.”
Jeritza remembers. The girl with the long blonde hair who's textbook technique could never be topped. And the red-headed boy, who, when serious was deadly with a lance.
“What happened?” He asks, perhaps for the first time since he arrived expressing interest in someone who isn’t the Professor. He’s wondered for some time what makes a person defect. Make a person turn against his family, friends and homeland. What burden has he taken on?
“I don’t know,” Felix whispers, “We grew up I suppose.”
He laughs but Jertiza is unclear on which part was funny.
“We’re too old for childhood friends,” Jertiza muses more to himself than to Felix. It’s an unfortunate concept, in some ways he misses the sanctuary of Constance and Mercedes more and more with each passing day. But perhaps, it is the only way all of this can make sense.
(5) Fathers
It’s Jeritza’s favorite time of day. Just past dawn where everything the sun touches is bathed in a glow that makes it feel almost unreal. It’s the perfect time to train, no one besides him and Felix daring to set foot in the arena at this hour.
He’s always loved this time of day. Even when he was young. Even before he was Jeritza. He doesn’t have many memories of his mother. She’s a faded silhouette in his mind. He knows she was beautiful like his sister but even now with his eyes squeezed shut he cannot quite remember the line of her smile.
But he remembers that she loved to paint. Perhaps she still does, he’ll never know. But she loves to paint and was endlessly fascinated by the sunrise, trying endlessly to find the right color combinations to capture the sensation on her canvas.
She would wake him and Mercedes and they’d sneak away from his father’s watchful eye and simply sit together watching the sun.
He doesn’t remember killing his father. He doesn’t remember what he did or what he said. What he does remember is how beautiful the sky was when he finally came to, blood on his hands.
This time of day is the eye of the hurricane of every emotion that he’s ever experienced. It’s calm. Almost eerily so.
As his hands swiftly pull his hair back, Jertiza notes how still the arena is. In the time that they’ve shared this space, Felix has always been a blur of motion, never stationary for more than a minute at a time. And yet the air is stationary, undisturbed by the swing of a sword or heavy breath.
He had not heard of Felix being wounded in their last battle. Not badly at least. Nothing that couldn’t easily be fixed. Is he still asleep? No. From the far corner, a muffled choked sound echoes in the empty space. Sobbing? No. Laughter.
He should leave. He should really leave but instead, he finds himself hovering over Felix’s hunched body, “What is funny?”
Felix looks up, eyes glittering, “I-” he cuts himself off with more laughter, “I killed my father.”
Jeritza looks at his own hand and in the rising sun, he swears he can see the red stains on it. A buzzing starts at the back of his mind and he bites hard on his tongue to stop it. No. No. Not now. Not here. Not Here, Not Now. His breath catches but Felix doesn’t notice, I am Jertiza von Hrym, he mentally recites, I am Jertiza von Hyrm and I serve the Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg. I oppose the Church of Seiros and its allies who have caused endless suffering. “
The beast inside retreats for the time being, “I killed my father too... A long time ago.”
Felix’s laughter grows to a cackle, the effort rocking his body back on the step he sits on, “It’s not funny.” He says once he’s recovered his breath.
“No. I suppose it’s not.”
They don’t speak of it again.
(6) Swords
Jeritza didn’t realize how much he actually enjoyed being an instructor until it was gone. It had given him, given Jeritza a purpose other than just maintaining a body for the Death Knight to use later.
He still looks after the cats, but in the five years the monastery was abandoned they’ve gotten better at caring for themselves and no longer run to him.
He still sometimes watches the children play. The orphans who take sanctuary with them. Children who back then, he would have instructed and prepared to be squires but Dorothea caught him trying to put a sword in the hands of a terrified little girl and glared him into the next day.
The Professor found him, staring blankly at a wall with no memory of getting there and they mutually agreed that he could use a task that busies the hands and mind to keep him occupied.
Which is how he finds himself here, methodically the state of the weaponry of what feels like the entire Black Eagles Strike Force.
It’s not a bad task to have. He’s comfortable handling weaponry and so it’s not particularly demanding of him.
Across from him, Felix sits, tongue sandwiched between his lips as he works at an oddly familiar blade.
“That’s... the Sword of Moralta?”
From his body Jeritza assumes. It is curious that the duke was carrying it on his person at the time of his death considering he’s never been known for wielding such a weapon. Had he known that he’d be facing his son? Was it a bride to bring Felix back to the kingdom’s side? Or had he suspected that he’d fall there and some part of him still wanted Felix to have the sword of legend?
“It is a beautiful weapon.”
They’re surrounded by allies with incredible weapons and yet he finds himself drawn to this one in particular.
It really is an admirable weapon, Jeritza marvels. Clearly crafted for someone comfortable with swords, it’s sizable but not awkwardly so. The flat tips marks it as an executioner's blade but the rest of it has been shrunk and modified for use with one arm in combat.
The carefully etched Crest of Fraldarius gleams in the setting sun as Felix lifts it easily with his extended left arm.
“Yes,” he agrees, satisfied with his restoration job, “Fit to end the life of a beast such as the boar’s.”
From what he’s heard, the king has been wielding the hero’s relic known as Areadbhar . A clash of legendary weapons to be sure.
“The weapon of Faerghus is the lance...”
“Yes.”
“And yet you prefer to carry a sword and a bow.”
Coming from Jeritza it’s more observation than a question. It’s simple curiosity. The nation of Faerghus for hundreds of years now has prided itself on its collective skill with the lance. So why would a man gifted with the extraordinarily rare combination of raw talent and unbreakable determination dedicate himself to a weapon that pretty much every tactical book Jeritza found in the monastery’s library deems inferior to the lance?
Felix’s shoulders shake with what must be laughter but the sound is too muted to properly make it out, “My uncle, my father’s younger brother taught me how to shoot almost before I could walk. He told me that as a second son it would not be my duty to be on the front lines but to make sure my brother stayed out of trouble. That-uh, that didn’t work out so well but no point in unlearning the skill.”
It’s easy to forget sometimes, that Felix is a second son.
“Right.”
“I intend to die with a sword in my hand,” Felix says with surprising tenderness for such a morbid thought. Though Jeritza supposes he has little room to speak when his mind has not yet let go of the fantasy of the Professor’s sword cutting through his heart. “I don’t remember a time before there was a sword in my hand. Every other weapon I’ve ever held has been just that, a weapon. Something to wield. But a sword is as much a part of me as the hand that grips it.”
Jeritza has spent enough time watching Felix train that this makes a strange amount of sense. Felix moves as if he were meant to fight. Graceful and fluid from one movement to the next, his sword singing the same song as his body. The size of a lance or the weight of an axe might disrupt that.
With a sword in his hand, Felix is as much the weapon as his blade is.
“I see... It is an elegant and simple weapon. It allows your talent to speak for itself.”
Felix's tongue clicks a displeased sound at the word talent but it doesn’t stop him from nodding, “It’s the skill to survive that matters. Not the size of your axe or how flashy your magic is. "
(7) Beast Within
Camping, Jertiza decides, is the absolute worst. It sounds good in theory, trees are better than people after all, but it turns out that camping when you’re part of an army during a continental war, means absolutely no time alone.
At least at the monastery, he has his own room and there is no shortage of places to disappear to. But sometimes when they’re fighting, the trek is longer than the daylight they have for it and they’re forced to set up camp for the night.
He’s forced to share a cramped tent that’s too short for him to even stand in with both Felix and Lysithea, neither of whom are particularly stationary sleepers. They’re an odd trio but at least no one worries for their safety.
They’re set up for the night, somewhere south of the monastery. Lysithea is off attempting to bathe in the nearby creek leaving Jeritza alone with Felix.
Felix sits, cross-legged on his bedroll methodically combing out his hair with a brown and gold comb that he’s borrowed from Ferdinand.
Jeritza sits on a log just outside using the light of the setting sun to read by while using a quarter of his attention to keep an eye on the horses.
As he glances around to check out their surroundings, Jeritza notices the mud smudged across much of Felix’s left cheek.
“What are you staring at?” Felix asks with a scowl.
He always looks younger with his hair down, Jertiza thinks. Less guarded. More vulnerable. He wonders if the same is true of himself.
“You have dirt... Here,” he lightly taps at the location on his own cheek.
Felix rolls his eyes but scrubs at it with the heel of the palm not holding the comb. He only succeeds in getting about a third of the mud off and so Jeritza wordlessly hands over the small mirror that he keeps with his travel belongings.
Felix winces at his own reflection.
It’s puzzling, Jeritza thinks. He’s never taken Felix for being particularly vain. It’s wartime, he’s confident that they’ve all looked better. Yet Felix takes one look at the glass and lets it fall to his lap in disgust.
He must make some kind of questioning noise because Felix’s eyes travel over to him and he says as a sort of explanation, “I have avoided looking in a mirror for some time now.”
“You despise yourself that much?” Jeritza asks, in an attempt to grasp understanding.
“Yes. No.”
“Which is... it?”
“It’s my eyes.”
“Your eyes?” He leans closer to try and better study Felix’s eyes. To him, they look as they always have. The same amber as always. More tired perhaps, but they’re all more tired.
He thinks of his own eyes, how they're the same color as his mother and sister’s and yet he's never been able to like them as Mercedes’.
“I fear they look the way that the boar’s do. A savage beast who knows nothing but killing.”
“I see.”
Felix is afraid that he’s becoming the thing that he hates. It’s not a fear Jeritza can have because the thing he hates is already within him.
Felix stops combing, “Do you ever see the Death Knight when you look in the mirror?”
“No,” He finds it’s always Jeritza staring back. It’s one of the ways that he can calm himself down when he feels like he might lose control. If he can find his reflection he can remind himself that he’s still here, “He doesn’t like to be seen. Even by me. He makes himself known in...other ways.”
“But you know he kills.”
It took Jeritza longer than he cares to admit to initially figure that out. But now, now it’s impossible to not know.
“Yes. He longs for blood... Always more. The war keeps him satisfied.”
For the time being. At any time it could stop being enough and Jeritza doesn’t know if he’s powerful enough to stop the Death Knight what he wants.
“What will happen after the war? When there’s peace?”
The Professor has asked him this very question over tea and he hadn’t had an answer then either. All he could think of is how horrible it is that peace sounds like a bad thing.
“I don’t know. I can’t say what will happen to Jertiza or the Death Knight.”
“Are you afraid?” Felix asks, his voice suddenly very small, like a child asking their parent about the concept of death for the first time.
“I cannot say.” He thinks he might be afraid but he’s not sure he remembers how to feel fear.
Felix goes quiet for a long moment.
“If one becomes more Beast than Man is killing them the kind thing to do?”
Jertiza thinks of the devastation that the Death Knight could bring if allowed to roam free. He thinks of the horror stories that have come from the Kingdom, hordes of thieves all brutally murdered. Thinks of what Felix could do if he just let go of all inhibitions.
“Yes.”
(8) The Opera
The end of the war is approaching. Though nobody says anything it’s a fact that everyone at the monastery knows.
The Alliance has dissolved bringing the number of factions in the war down from four to three though the Church and the Kingdom are so intertwined it might as well just be two.
The calendar in the Professor’s room counts down the days until they march again and if it goes well, that might be the end.
The energy has shifted to an excited nervous buzz as more and more people realize there’s actually an end goal to over five years of near-constant fighting.
Some people, the optimists, Jeritza calls them, have relaxed slightly. Stopping training as hard or as often. They’ve won so many battles already, why should this one be any different?
Others, determined not to fall here so close to end, have started training more.
Up until a week ago, Jertiza would have said with confidence that Felix would fall into that latter group. Especially being this close to killing the king.
But if there’s anything Felix likes more than training, it’s being contrary and as such he’s recently vanished.
No. That’s not true. Jeritza is being overdramatic. Felix still spends a perfectly reasonable amount of time with him in the training arena. It’s just that there are now a couple of hours in the afternoon that he has started spending elsewhere.
Which is fine. He’s more than allowed to do other things. In fact, it’s probably for the best, spending too much time around Jeritza is a death sentence anyway.
It’s not like there is any shortage of people who wish to spar with him and he instead finds himself passing the time, critiquing Petra and Caspar’s form as they spar before him.
Behind Jeritza, Bernadetta shrieks, her hands clamping onto his shoulders as Caspar’s sword is sent flying from his grip by a well-placed strike by Petra. Jeritza has yet to figure out why Bernadetta continues to observe these training sessions, acting a shadow to Jeritza the entire time when she finds them so distressing.
“Petra that was so cool! You were like argh! pachow boom! I mean are you okay Caspar?”
“I’m fine! What does that make the score now?”
Bernadetta flips through the pages of her notebook, “Um! Petra 67, Caspar 11.”
“My heart is full of victory!”
“Uh, professor? Sorry, Jeritza,” Caspar asks with a bright smile, “How was that?”
“Sloppy,” Jeritza states. The sword has never been Caspar’s weapon but even the better part of a week of getting his ass handed to him by Petra has not deterred him from training, “You’re still...telegraphing your next move.”
“I see,” Caspar muses.
“However...” Jeritza adds, with some reluctance, “your patience and timing are... improving.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Shall we be sparring again?”
“Wait,” Jeritza grabs Caspar’s sword and motions to the jagged edge where it cracked, “You can’t train with this...it is dangerous.”
It seems a somewhat absurd statement to make about weapons training.
“I need to stop by the blacksmith and ask about my gauntlets anyway. Thanks for the lessons Jeritza!” Caspar takes the broken weapon and heads for the gate.
“I will be of assistance!” Petra chirps, chasing after him.
“I should go with them! U-unless you need company here?” Bernadetta’s eyes dance between the backs of her friends and Jertiza.
“Go...”
“O-okay.”
He’s about ready to call it a day anyway. Go back to his room and read one of the books that the Professor found that will no doubt be about fish.
As the arena closes behind him, Felix comes jogging out of nowhere, “You’re done training?”
“Yes.”
“Alright.”
“You’ve been...busy.”
He more than half expects Felix to ignore the comment but color rises in his cheeks and he stammers, “I-yes. Yuri and Dorothea are putting together a little opera. They asked for help with the fight scenes.”
Jeritza respects both Yuri and Dorothea for their skills, but he also knows enough to know that they both care too much about the people around them. Exactly the type of person who gets hurt the most during wartime.
Exactly the type of people to try and throw an opera during a war.
“An opera?”
“For the children. The orphans.”
The orphans. Jeritza knows them. Knows of them. All the displaced children that have no other place to go. They’re scared, understandably so, the adults are fighting. He’s torn. He can make a lot of the fear go away by putting weapons in their hands and teaching them to fight. It’ll make the war less scary but it’ll come at a cost.
He knows this because ever since he learned to fight, he’s no longer afraid of combat. Instead, he’s afraid of himself.
He’s not practiced at putting names to emotions but he knows it’s jealousy that he feels when he hears of the lullabies that put the sick children to sleep and leave them feeling safe. He's never been able to do that.
He’d thought Felix was more similar to him.
“That does not sound like an activity... you would participate in.”
Felix shrugs, accepting the truth of the words, “I do not. Mind children as much as I mind other people. And I do not hate the opera either. Dorothea has a lovely voice.”
“I do not have many fond memories of my father...” Felix stares, baffled by the turn in the conversation. “But when he took me to the opera I was not scared.”
“You should come. Some of the children remember your instruction from when you were a professor and though I cannot imagine why, they are still fond of you.”
The idea of facing children who are still fond of him, is entirely too much.
“What will happen to them... when the war ends?”
Their parents will still be dead, their homes still destroyed. Will the new world the Emperor builds from the ashes be kind enough for them?
“I can’t imagine Dorothea will allow anything to happen to them. Yuri too if he decides to stick around.”
“To grow up in an era of peace... I cannot imagine such a thing,” Jeritza says because even before the start of the war, there had been no such thing. To know war only through the songs of the stage and not first hand. It is unfathomable.
“It does seem terribly dull,” Felix agrees after a long moment of consideration. But Jeritza sees it, despite being a man who thinks he knows nothing but his sword, part of Felix wants his story to be nothing more than a play. A play where there are clear heroes and villains and a neat beginning, middle, and end.
“Yet I am happy for them.”
(9) Second Born
If Jeritza has ever prayed in his life he has no memory of the how or where. It feels strange to start now right after they overthrew the church but his feet take him to the Cathedral where years ago he used to come and watch his sister pray.
Mercedes made it look so natural. Hands clasped, eyes closed, and could just speak to the Goddess. She looked serene standing here while he feels anything but.
Even so, he does his best to mimic what he remembers her doing. He folds his hands and presses his eyes shut. There’s no Goddess to picture. The only image that comes to mind is Mercedes. Her lifeless body on the ground, the blood of her, and her comrade’s staining her dress almost entirely red.
Her still body rises and she stirs back to life and suddenly Jeritza is seeing it all happen again. He hears her scream , an agonized sound, not because she’s in pain but because in front of her, the man with the red hair and the black armor has taken a lightning bolt directly to the chest and toppled lifeless from his horse.
Mercedes runs faster than he’s ever seen her run, white magic glowing around her so bright she’s angelic. But it’s too late. No amount of magic can undo what’s been done.
She collapses to her knees and takes a moment to cradle this corpse to her chest, grief etched in all of her features before she rises and fearlessly turns to face the oncoming assault.
Before Jeritza is forced to watch his sister die yet again, the image changes. It’s still Mercedes, slightly younger now. She’s happy, smiling in that way that despite their similarities, he’s never been able to arrange his facial features.
I’m sorry. He thinks. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry Mercedes. Be at peace. Be at peace.
With a gasp, his eyes open, and his sister is gone forever. His hands fall, empty to his sides. He startles as he realizes that Felix stands beside him.
Felix’s hands are also clasped, eyes closed as his lips move silently.
When Felix’s eyes open, he simply nods silently at Jertiza before holding out a clenched fist. As Jeritza stares at him questioningly, Felix’s fingers peel away to reveal both of Mercedes’ earrings.
Stunned, he watches them fall into his own palm.
“Her body?” He asks, barely more than a croak.
“They’re going to bury it at a church in the Kingdom. Near Gautier territory, I believe.”
Former Kingdom territory Jeritza mentally corrects but can’t bring himself to say. With their victory technically the Kingdom is no more. No more Alliance, no more Kingdom.
For a moment he considers protesting that Mercedes should have been brought back to the Empire to be buried. That she was from the Empire. But then again, was she really? Sure the father she never met was from the Empire. The stepfather who used her mother to give him a crest bearing heir was from the Empire. Her half brother who is nothing but a monster is from the Empire. Meanwhile, the church that took her in was in the Kingdom, the friends that become her family were from the Kingdom. The man she loved was from the Kingdom. She died for the Kingdom. He can’t imagine her being buried anywhere else.
“I told her... to stand down,” Jertiza says, not entirely sure why Felix needs to know this.
“She chose her path.”
“In all of these years, I have never remembered what happens on the battlefield. But I remember. I told her to stand down. As... Jertiza. As... Emile?”
Vaguely he wonders if Mercedes understood him well enough to understand the difference between facing Jeritza and facing the Death Knight. Or could she only see her baby brother?
Felix’s brow wrinkles as he takes this in, “Perhaps the Death Knight wanted you to see her one last time.” There’s a layer of bitterness to the end of his words.
More than once he’s wondered if the Death Knight is an enemy or an ally to Jeritza. Is he being protected or does the Death Knight want him to suffer?
Felix waits a moment before answering with surprising confidence, “They are not as mutually exclusive as they might seem.”
“I did not think she would allow herself to fall there.”
A cocktail of anger and hurt storms on Felix’s face, “She died for the- she died for Dimitri. Like my brother. Like my father. Like the countless others who died for his delusions.”
Looking at the aura Felix exudes, realization clicks, “You killed him.”
Dimitri’s death had been his responsibility. Or rather, the Death Knight’s responsibility. He zeroed in on his target upon arrival but he’d gotten sidetracked by Mercedes entering the field.
Objectively he knew Dimitri was slain. Somewhere in the Death Knight’s memories are his dying screams but somehow until this moment, it hadn’t hit him that it was Felix who ended the king.
Felix looks at him, eyes steely.
“He had to die. He had to die so that people stopped dying on his behalf. My brother and your sister did not die so that Dimitri could run the country into ruin. He had to die. I have known since the day my brother came home as an empty suit of armor and a broken sword that I would kill him if I had to.”
(+1) Sweets
He’s never going to taste Mercedes’ sweets again but time has muddied his memory and so when he closes his eyes the ice cream tastes like home. It’s not a bad way to celebrate winning a war.
“I was looking for you.”
Jeritza’s eyes open and he finds Felix standing across the table from him. The dining hall is joyous as those who survived celebrate their lives but Felix seems subdued.
“You found me.”
“Are you busy?” Felix edges closer still to the table but refuses to take a seat.
Jeritza slowly gestures at his spread of food, “In a sense.”
“I’ll be brief then.”
As Felix wrings his hands, Jeritza nudges one of the bowls in his direction, “Can I offer you ice cream?”
“No.”
“Cake?”
“No. No sweets. They disgust me.”
There’s something inexplicably amusing about needling Felix with sweets but Jeritza sighs and lets it drop, “Fine. I will eat while you talk though.”
“I’m just here to say that I’m leaving.”
It’s not surprising Jeritza thinks. Felix has made it clear since the beginning that he’s never felt like he actually belonged in the Imperial Army. His mission complete, the only reason he has to stay is that he has no home to return to.
“When?”
“Tonight. I’ve already stayed longer than I intended.”
“I hear there will be festivities tonight. Tomorrow they start putting together the new government.”
Edelgard and the Professor have elected to use Garreg Mach as a base as they rebuild the Empire from the ground up. Tomorrow, those who have not vanished into the night will receive their new roles for the new age.
Felix smiles knowingly, “All the more reason to get out while I can.”
“Where will you go?”
Can Felix bring himself to face the former Kingdom?
“Somewhere where I can be of use. The war might be over but we are still a far cry from peace in the land.”
For months they’ve lived with the shared fear of the end of the war. Of the war ending and there being no place to swing to their swords. It was a useless fear. The end of the war has not brought the end of fighting.
“I thought maybe... you’d stick around with Dorothea and Yuri.”
He thinks he might like that. The two of them. Their swords. The entire continent to roam. But he’s already made his promise, “I cannot.”
“Why not?” Felix asks, his tone suspicious.
Jeritza thoughtfully stirs at his rapidly melting ice cream, “Tomorrow... I will be taken to Enbarr for a year.”
Not prison, he’s been told. But close to it. He’ll be limited in where he can do and what he can do but won’t actually be in a cell. A sort of parole he supposes. Under the watchful eye of others, he will earn his chance for true freedom.
Once upon a time, this was to be his punishment when he was arrested for killing his father. But it never came to be.
“What? Why?” Anger flashes bright against surprise in Felix’s eyes and Jeritza realizes that he’s forgotten how expressive Felix can be at times.
“I have done many bad things.”
The Emperor took him in because he was useful. He was disdainful and dangerous and had nowhere else to go and so they used him as a weapon. He let himself be used. They pointed him and the Death Knight took out the enemies instead of random innocents.
There had been a sort of deal between him and the Imperial Princess when she’d rescued him. His service for his freedom.
But now the war is won. They don’t need his service anymore. Not on the battlefield at least. He’s bloodstained and he hasn’t paid for it. Not yet.
“We’ve all done bad things,” Felix says with confidence as he studies the hand that took the life of the man he was once sworn to protect.
“The Death Knight... committed many crimes before the war even began. I have only been free until now because the Emperor herself thought I’d be of use to her army.”
Felix gestures wildly with the hand not holding the sword, “The Empire would not have won this war without you, surely she understands that. Have you spoken with Edelgard? Have you spoken to the professor? Can’t they have you pardoned?”
“I have spoken to them. I asked them not to pardon me.”
The Professor’s lips had pressed tightly in what seemed like disapproval at his request but he had remained firm and the Emperor herself had nodded and thanked him for his service with a promise to help him however she can.
Felix’s head shakes violently, “What is wrong with you? There are still bad people out there. Bandits, thieves, Those Who Slither in the Dark, there is still fighting to do. The Death Knight can still do Death Knight things and maybe Jertiza can find peace.”
Jeritza hears the desperation in Felix's plea but he turns away, “I, Jeritza will never be able to find peace if the Death Knight kills innocent people.”
The Death Knight has never discriminated when it comes to raising his blade and cutting down those in front of him. In a time without war, in a time when people are trying to be good and rebuild, Jeritza fears raising his sword without being certain that he’s in control.
“You think the Death Knight will react well to be practically locked away?”
No. He won't like it. There is only one thing that the Death Knight wants. And for years of war, Jeritza allowed him to have it. Allowed him to kill when on the battlefield. It was an arrangement that seemed mutually beneficial because as far as Jeritza was concerned, his only reason for living was the Death Knight.
It was sort of paradoxical, the fact that the demonic part of him that he despises so much is also the only part of him that seems worth anything.
Or at least that had been the case during the war.
He’s accepted that maybe the Death Knight will always be a part of him. That he can’t actually remove an entire aspect of being no matter how much he fantasizes of the Professor tearing it from his body. No, he will have the Death Knight within, but perhaps the Death Knight does not have to be all he is.
The Death Knight first appeared when he was 16, and Emile had wanted nothing more than to protect his mother and sister but he hadn’t known how. The Death Knight had risen up within and done with the scared little boy could not and ended it.
That day had been the death of Emile von Bartels and the birth of both the Death Knight and Jertiza von Hyrm. The Death Knight who kills without thought and Jeritza, quiet and obedient. The Death Knight had matured faster and taken natural control.
Now Jeritza is older and wiser and not so willing to bend to the Death Knight, not when it’s no longer a matter of their survival.
If Jeritza, if his true self can find some semblance of forgiveness for himself. Can kind some reason to live other than to kill, then maybe he can find control once and for all.
“No. But I think it will allow me...Jeritza to atone some for the things that I’ve done and grow strong enough to control him.”
“You think that will work?”
Jeritza considers this. He’s by no means, certain. He’s never tried before. Never thought that the real way to overcome the Death Knight’s lust is to build a life where he no longer needs him.
And he won’t be truly alone. He’ll have aid from the Emperor’s guards when he inevitably needs help.
“The Death Knight longs for the professor... He wants only to be slain by the professor’s blade... But the professor’s heart belongs to another. I have no other options.”
Felix stands, defeated but unconvinced, “I don’t understand you.”
For what feels like one of the first times in years, a smile tugs Jeritza’s lips up, “Well... We are not the same person after all.”
Jeritza watches as the resignation in Felix’s eyes turns to acceptance, “So this is goodbye?”
“At least for now... Take care, Felix.”
As he sheaths his sword, Felix nods a final time, “You too.”