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Chapter Text

A Prideful Captive

Imperial Year 1184

Felix

It had been a stupid mistake.

He had gone just a bit too far south and he knew it. He didn't have to go there. The trail had ended already. But he had thought that maybe, just maybe it might pick back up there.

A dumb mistake, born out of desperation, Felix thought bitterly as he squinted at his captors, his head heavy and painful with all the sleeping magic they had thrown at him. He was in some kind of dirty cell, hands tied up with chains. Had he used his crest and was that how they had known leaving him with simple rope couldn't have sufficed? Or maybe it had been the thunder magic...

Stupid mistake after stupid mistake, he ranted at himself in his head, he not only had gone above the borders that they had imposed for safety reasons, but he also had let them have the drop on him after choosing to go alone because... because he wanted to keep going and knew no one else would have.

Dumb mistake.

Dumb, dumb, dumb mistakes.

There was no way to get these chains off easily.

"Well look who's awake."

The first captor was looking at him, a sneer on his face. There were claw marks there, too, Felix thought with a pang of satisfaction, from when he had first tried to fight the sleep spell. He had been disarmed, far too easily, and maybe he also shouldn't have decided on such a risky mission on so little sleep, lesson learnt. But yeah, at least that wound wouldn't disappear for at least a few weeks, if Faith magic hadn't taken it away.

Well, if these people knew Faith magic to begin with. What kind of faith was to be expected from traitors to the crown after all.

Felix just glared back.

"Not very talkative are we?"

Felix rolled his eyes, ignoring him and taking stock of what was around him. The chains were held by a rusty hook. He might be able to break it and use it to free himself. Then there'd be the issue of the cell bars, though he was sure he'd find something. There was also a small cot and an old moldy chair.

Hands clutched his hair, forcing his head up so he'd look at his captor.

"Now listen you little shit..."

He spit on the man's face.

The fury in said man's eyes was the most beautiful sight he had seen in days. He bared his teeth in a mimicry of a smile. Let him regret taking him alive. He knew how to be the worst prisoner they'd ever had, they'd regret it soon enough. And being killed was better than being a prisoner these days.

The punch was worth it.

"Don't rough him up too much," another voice scolded, "we need him able to answer our questions."

"He's not going to answer anything," the last one said, "I don't think so. No, we'd have more chances at holding a ransom. He's clearly a noble brat, but whether he's a noble brat with money or with worth to the Empire is another question."

Oh, so he hadn’t used his crest. Good, that was one good news, he might be able to use it and take them by surprise.

"Yeah," the second voice repeated, "we just need to know who he is. Depending on his answer, we might really need to go easy on him."

"He can take it," the first one spat, "have you seen the way he fought back? A fucking demon I swear. Almost clawed my eye out."

"A shame I missed," Felix growled back.

The second voice laughed, coming closer. It was a woman, wearing mercenary garb. Her eyes were calculating, and Felix hated seeing an expression he had grown fond of on her face. He snarled at her.

"I like him," she said lightly, "the noble brat has some fight in him instead of whimpering away like most of his brethren."

The chains clanged behind him as he tried to move his arms, almost by reflex, to strangle her. She turned to the third one, as if he had done nothing of the sort.

"What have we found on him?"

"Nothing much," it was another man, looking much more disinterested in him, "there wasn't even any gold, just a really, really nice silver sword. Whoever your daddy or mommy is, they have some money, don't they?"

More like an extensive armory, Felix thought, glaring at the man who dared handling his sword, a sword his father had given him, the one gift he had accepted from the old man in literal years... The other smiled and put it on his hip, as if it belonged to him.

"Probably enough money that this won't change anything," he said lightly, "now, who do we know on the rebel's side who has money?"

Rebels.

They called them rebels. Felix wanted to howl with bitter laughter at the audacity. Traitors and regicides, calling the last true loyal ones rebels. Felix had never held much love for the blind loyalty of his country. It was stupid, he thought, and the perfect way to die a pointless death.

He also knew that between a dead boar prince and the witches of the west, he'd still choose His Beastliness before any of them. The man holding his hair pulled again and Felix hissed, changing the target of his glare.

"With how the war is sucking them dry, I don't think any of them has much to spare. Maybe he's not a noble?" the man said thoughtfully. "A rich merchant? That would be more of a problem."

"No way," the woman said, "look at him, all prideful, glaring and spitting venom instead of begging for his life. A stupid proud noble. I'm sure of it."

"Or he isn't worth anything," the last man said, coming closer too, Felix's sword still at his hip, "and that's why he stays silent."

"We'll figure something out if that's the case," the woman said with a casual hand gesture, “even if he can't bring us money or rewards, he's awfully pretty. That's always worth something on the market."

Felix tried to hit her again. She smirked when he glared harder, chin held high.

"Yeah, you are a proud one. Far too proud. That'll be the first thing to go."

They left him alone soon enough, still tied up and furious, as they went away for one reason or another. He pulled on the chains. The hook was much more resistant than he thought. Even after one burst from his crest, it refused to move. The chair was too moldy to sit on, he gave it a small kick and it broke, right there, without resistance. Even the cot looked more like an animal's den than an actual place to sleep in. Yet, he had slept in worse conditions, for sure. If their intention was for him to break because of how inhumane his accommodations were, they were going to wait a long time.

He spent hours in the dark, cursing his mistake and dissecting everything he could have done differently to avoid his predicament. As time passed, his thoughts became more detached as he analysed quietly. All the things he needed to do differently so there'd be no next time.

He had been resting his eyes when the woman came back.

She was holding a bowl of broth, nothing appetizing, not that he was expecting anything else. Figure they'd need to feed him if they wanted him alive for ransom or whatever their intentions were if he was worth ‘nothing’. She laughed at the broken chair.

"Violent are we not?"

"It broke on its own," he snarled back, "your hospitality is lacking."

"Well I sure hope this mediocre meal shall satisfy you then, my Lord."

Felix scoffed, making her laugh again. He hated that laugh with a passion. She put the bowl down.

And then she left the cell.

Felix blinked in surprise and moved his arms as if their situation could have changed. The chains were still tightly tied around his wrists and arms, of course, she hadn't touched them.

"Aren't you going to untie me?" he growled.

The woman laughed and turned to him, her expression full of amused malice.

"Why?" she said softly. "You don't need your arms to eat. How do animals do it?"

And she left, her airy laughter echoing around him.

An animal.

Felix wanted to kill something. Preferably her. Swearing again and again at the world, he might have kicked the bowl of broth away in his anger, refused to look at it again, laid down on the cot and closed his eyes, figuring he'd find a plan to escape after a good night's sleep to chase off the spell that had hit him.

One of the men went to replace the food the following day, with a smirk but not even a word.

On the fourth day, Felix ate.

Let them lower their guard, he thought, pride forced down by patience and spite more than anger and hunger. Let them think they've won, let them think you're beaten down. Let him spare his strength, forgoing pride for a healthy body, or at least as healthy as possible. Because as long as he was healthy, he could fight back without them noticing. And after four days of being prideful and unsuccessful tries, he had relented. Because he could feel the chains, weakening under the strain of his crest. But it was weakening slowly. And if he wanted to sever it, it'd take many more days, and he needed to hang on until then.

So as hard as it was, he swallowed his pride and humanity and ate like a dog.

He would kill them all, he swore, he would. But he couldn’t if he wasn’t able to surrender that part of him.

Oh the woman was happy. One of the men snickered, mocking and smug, the last one didn't give a shit, too glad to play with that sword he had stolen from him to care about anything else. The woman was so happy, it almost felt like she was actually proud of him and it was the worst reaction of them all. She called him a good boy, tone not even condescending, but glad, joyful. Just like one would congratulate an obedient dog. He'd have bitten her had she gotten close enough, see how she liked him being a beast.

Unfortunately, they weren't happy for long. Then, they started acting as if he wasn't here. They'd busy themselves in front of him, talk, joke, mention him as if he had no voice, would ignore him if he spoke - not that he did much. More than once, one of the men threw something in his cell, not caring whether it hit him or not. And Felix grit his teeth, bearing it. They never left for long, leaving him with less time to work on his bonds as he felt himself getting weaker despite everything.

At night they were more awake than ever, keeping a joyous guard and making so much noise he didn’t know how no one had noticed them yet. During the day, there would always be one awake and doing their thing, sometimes turning to him, but only to give him orders, stupid orders. And if Felix, for one reason or another, actually obeyed (usually without thinking, standing when he was asked to for example, a reflex from his school days), he would be rewarded. More water. A blanket for when it became cold at night. More importantly than anything, sometimes, it means loosening the chains just a bit so his shoulders would hurt less, both allowing him for more power when he fought against them, and a reprieve, a relief, for his exhausted body.

They were training him, he thought, feeling ill, training him like you trained a dog to become obedient. And in his weakening state, the awful thing was that it was working. He remembered, bitterly, the moment he had considered obeying one of the stupider orders, because he was tired and hurting and had just wanted to be able to shut his eyes. One after the other, they always came, keeping him from truly resting, taking sick pleasure - especially that damn woman - when he was being compliant. And so he bit back his snapping, catching naps whenever he could and thinking, maybe a bit desperately, that Claude would have been proud of him for it.

And then, one day (how long had he been stuck here? Somewhere between nineteen and twenty days he'd think) they entered the cell. His nerves were scraped raw, he had barely slept for the last few days, he felt exhausted and hadn't even managed to work on the chains yesterday, they were always there.

The woman was first, she forced his chin up and he did all he could not to glare, trying to look even more exhausted than he felt and to let none of his rage transpire.

He probably failed when she laughed.

"He still has some fire, isn't he a good boy?"

"That's probably better that way," one of the men said, "some like spitfires. They like breaking them."

"Yeah, maybe. But well, there are good news and bad news, pretty boy. Which one do I start with?"

Felix rolled his eyes, knowing he didn’t need to ask for an answer he didn’t actually want.

"Well the bad news is that we haven't found any noble family looking for their brat, so we've deduced that you were just a commoner who had luck at the looks roulette and somehow found a precious sword somewhere. Lucky you! But did no one tell you that stealing was bad?"

Not smirking was hard. Rolling his eyes at their hypocrisy even harder. In truth, he was a bit surprised, maybe, but not that much. His father and friends knew him. If he hadn't come back, they had probably expected him to have died in a ditch somewhere, so they wouldn't be looking for him. He briefly wondered how his father reacted. Did he say he was proud of him for dying in a probable fight? Not as heroic as dying to protect the prince, but probably good enough for the good-for-nothing second son who could only ever be a disappointment. Goddess, his father might not even know where he had gone… Or how he would have died… he wasn’t sure why, exactly, it was hitting him, right now, as if somehow that was the thing that should choke him up...

"The good news is that it means we have to preserve your pretty face, since it's your only value! So rejoice, we're not going to beat you down."

That he had noticed. He thought, during the worst days, that it would have been better if they had been physically torturing him. At least he’d know they saw him as a human being. The first guy, the one who was missing right now, certainly seemed to want to. But no, they needed him healthy to... sell him, apparently?

"However, we're going to take what we can. I hear wigs can catch quite a penny on the market these days and you've got damn beautiful hair. I'm a bit jealous to be honest."

What the hell was she... ?

"Hold him, Marc," the woman said in a sing-song voice, "we need to do this well. It'll be of more use this way than it is on him anyway."

And just like that, as if he didn't have say in the matter, she cut his hair.

She cut it short, taking as much as she could.

And he just sat there, frozen, as she was doing so. Yes, the man had been holding him, but he could have moved, made her miss her mark even if the consequences had been the cissors grazing his head. He just couldn't move, a cold, disgusting feeling sinking inside his stomach as she simply... took his hair.

He had never been a vain person. But somehow, his hair? It had been the one thing he had really liked about himself. He remembered thinking of cutting it once, after Glenn, after looking in the mirror and wondering if he'd start looking too much like him. Sylvain would probably never know how he had changed his mind with just one sentence, a light and teasing "Man I wish I had nice hair like yours, it's like a midnight sky!". Felix remembered scolding him, telling him that he was no maiden to flirt with (and thinking that red like fire was just as beautiful), but also looking at himself and thinking that Sylvain was right and that he really liked his hair.

"That reminds me of some story I read," the man said with a light voice, " where a Lion gets all of his mane hacked off because of his pride. The Lion is the emblem of Faerghus isn't it?"

"That's appropriate," the woman laughed, tugging a bit at the long strands she still had to cut, "we're shaving a lion's mane to turn him into a nice housecat, isn't that right my boy?"

There was a breaking sound inside his head.

And inside the cell.

The woman stopped with a start and the man swore.

Felix only saw red.

*

Ingrid

Ingrid had heard rumors about that place, a thieves den that was causing more trouble than it was worth. The villagers had terrible stories to tell too, about them kidnapping their young, selling them. The few they had found had been scarred for life. Recounting with tears how they had been treated. Some couldn't even speak anymore, looking yards away from reality.

It was a small thing in the grand scale of war, surely. But she was there and armed and she had needed to hit something ever since Felix had left, as they had all known he would since it had all started. Maybe the lack of warning on his part stinged a bit, a goodbye would have been nice instead of simply taking off without a word. But there were warnings. There had been for years. Ever since they had been told that Dimitri had been executed but not believed it, Ingrid had seen it in his disposition. How Felix was speaking less and less, eyes deader and deader as time went and they found nothing except for inhuman slaughter. Sometimes she tortured herself, thinking about if she could have done something to stop him, to help him. If she should have told him to stay, encouraged him to leave. She had almost felt relieved when they had realized that he had left, like a weight had gone from her chest, the inevitable finally happening.

She still felt a bit betrayed and really wanted to lash out on something. A gang of thieves and human traffickers profiting off the lack of guards to terrorize the population was as good a target as any.

It had been a bit hard to find. The rain had been falling for days, erasing footsteps and turning pathways into small rivers, finding the hidden passageways that would lead her where she needed to go had taken a lot more hours than planned, and the few men she had taken with her had looked every bit as aggravated as she felt. One was complaining about water in his armor, the second one growled that she had some in her boots. The others were glaring at them because their complaining wasn't making anything better.

They had hated every second in that miserable weather.

When, finally, they had found the hideout there had been groans and "finally"s mutterred, eyes glaring at the entrance of the place where those who had forced them to walk in such weather lived.

They separated, then. Two on one side, two on the other. Ingrid would wait for the signal telling her that the lookout was taken care of.

And then, once she heard it, she entered the cave. The group was small, she knew, but she still needed to be careful, these caves were dark and could be treacherous. Luckily, she knew Luin to be intimidating enough that most smart people would run seeing it. That was where her men would be coming in.

She didn't have to wait long before hearing a scream, suddenly. Shrill and angry. Just a bit further. Swearing under her breath, she rushed there, lance at the ready.

There was a fleshy sound and then a thump, like something soft but heavy falling on the ground. Not knowing what was happening, she jumped inside the room with a scream, expecting a fight... and there she froze.

Right in front of her, there were three people. One on the ground, a man, gargling, his hands helplessly pawing at something wooden, stuck in his chest. The other two, standing. A woman who had just turned towards her, face torn by anger and fear, and a man, growling, holding what looked like a wooden chair leg.

A man she knew.

Hair cut short and without care, face thinner and dirty, eyes alight with a wild glint, looking more enraged than she had ever seen him, but she knew him all the same.

"Felix?" she mouthed, voiceless.

His stare met hers and he froze too. The woman didn't hesitate, taking her chance and running for dear life. Ingrid swore again, ready to give chase even if just to lead her right into her men's trap. She didn’t have time. Felix roared and, despite his shaky legs, ran after her before Ingrid could. His crest shone, giving him the strength his body so clearly lacked. Ingrid screamed, a wordless shout that she somehow hoped would stop him. He didn't even seem to hear her, rushing with all the power of his long legs. Rage carrying him.

The woman came out, making a turn to the right immediately, right into one of the pathways the rain had turned into a small stream. Ingrid felt the sparks on Felix's fingers before she saw them.

"Felix, wait!" she exclaimed.

The Thoron spell left his hands before she had finished screaming. It hit the water and the woman. She fell into a graceless hump, unconscious at least. Probably dead if Ingrid had to be honest with herself, but her mind barely processed it. She jumped on her friend instead, dragging him back inside.

"It's pouring!" she screamed. "You could have hit yourself with that lightning!"

He was panting, eyes still wild. When he turned to Ingrid, he looked indignant, but his features were lax, like in shock. His hoarse voice broke when he spoke, eyes open wide.

"They cut my hair."

They had indeed. His right side was choppily hacked off, the left one done more meticulously, but still too quickly for it to look decent. It was matted, sticking to his skull because of the rain.

She had always known that Felix loved his hair. The few long strands left were like an insult added to injury, reminding her of their former glory. He had always had beautiful hair...

Why would they have done that? she thought for a second before figuring the why didn't matter. What mattered was her friend, shivering in her arms, looking in shock and were there... chains, around his wrists? How had she not noticed that earlier? Had he broken them off, somehow?

"Lady Galatea!"

One of the soldiers was rushing towards her. She nodded.

"There's someone down there, or maybe he's already a corpse. With the lookout you took care of and that woman, that's three."

"That's all of them," Felix said, remote, his voice still broken and rough, as if he had not used it in a while. “One has my sword.”

"Okay, we’ll get it back, don’t worry. Now come inside, please. You're soaked."

And shivering. He didn't look wounded at least, or at least not much. With the way he almost collapsed on her when he started walking, it looked like the strength boost his crest had given him had just finished running its course.

Ingrid was reeling as she almost dragged him with her. She knew one of hers had first aid supplies, maybe a blanket too. She needed that, right now. Forcing her mind to focus on practicality, she tried to forget for one second her surprise and fear. What was Felix doing here? Why was he... That wasn't the way to the Alliance!

With fear in her heart, telling her they had probably made a terrible mistake, she sat him down. He blinked slowly.

"Are you hurt?" she asked. "I know a bit of Faith magic, I can..."

"I'm fine," he gasped, clearly intending a growl but failing.

He looked famished, haggard, and his hands... Goddess, his wrists and hands...

"There must be something to get rid of these chains..."

"A key..." He blinked again. "They probably have it."

He looked exhausted too, about to fall over any second.

"How long have you been here?" she said, trembling. She stood up and called for her men, telling them to search for a key.

"I don't know." once again, this slow blink, as if he was forcing himself to stay awake. He was still shivering, cold, soaked to the bone. They needed to bring him somewhere warm, soon. Not only was it never a good idea to get under the rain by this cold, but when one was as weakened as he looked? Terrible, terrible idea. Why hadn't he thought for one second before rushing outside?

They cut my hair.

She shook her head, feeling sick.

"How long have I been missing?"

"Around three weeks."

"That must be it then."

He had been here. This whole time. He had been taken and wasn’t...

"W... Why were you here?" she asked before being able to stop herself. “How did they get you?”

"Went too far. I was looking. For him."

For His Highness. Three weeks ago, they had had reports of Empire soldiers being slaughtered around here. But the weather had been bad, so no search party had been started. Of course it hadn't stopped Felix.

"You were looking for His Highness..." she mumbled in shock.

"What else did you think I was doing?" he growled weakly.

She stayed silent, unable to say it or to simply swallow the weight of their mistake. She felt sick, sick of herself. Oh, what had she thought. What had they all thought while they let him rot here...

"Ingrid," he sounded more awake, there, alarm in his voice, "what did you think I was doing?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that we need to get you warm. You're cold and soaked, you’re going to get sick."

His breath hitched and she saw the exact moment he realized what she had thought, what she was so ashamed of having thought. His eyes glazed over, features closing.

"You thought I had left," he whispered.

There were a thousand things she wanted to answer. That they wouldn't have blamed him. That they never thought anything could happen to him so it was the most logical conclusion. That yes, they felt inadequate, to the point of thinking it likely that he left, to find people who wouldn’t let him down as they kept doing.

She stayed silent, her eyes begging him to understand without saying a word.

His eyes went dead.

He didn't say a word on the way back.

To the surprise of no one, he was bedridden for days. Despite the fever, the coughing and the way his legs barely held him up, Ingrid had expected him to argue, to complain. But maybe it was testimony of how weakened he was, how broken, that he hadn't said anything. No one had heard him talk, not even Rodrigue when he had gone to check on his son. Ingrid wondered helplessly if their inaction, their hopeless thoughts were what would finally push him away.

Even washed and brushed, his hair was an ugly mess. Irregular and oddly shaped, nothing to salvage. She had mentioned, softly, that they would need to cut the rest of it, let it grow back by itself until it reached a length he liked again. Softly, so soft he wouldn't hear. She had stayed near the door of his bedroom, unable to enter, unable not to think of how he would react and wondering which of the possible reactions would hurt the most. Sylvain was the one who had gone in, joking around, telling him about how they'd have to cut everything.

Ingrid had only entered to bring him food. Sylvain had talked the whole duration of the meal, filling the silence. She hadn't heard a word of it, what little time she had spent inside, her eyes had been drawn to Felix's slender wrists, marred by red marks. The chains that had held them in place for three weeks.

They cut my hair.

Ingrid could have pretended she didn't understand why it was that part that had broken him, to the point he had broken chains, killed one of his captors with a moldy chair leg (how he had put enough force to use that kind of thing lethally she didn't know), and then chased another until being able to strike her down.

But she remembered too, all these times Glenn had sat them down to brush and braid it. All the compliments, the times Sylvain had been sincere about it. They had grown being taught that their hair was beautiful and that they needed to take care of it. It was a harmless thing, a feature of no interest for anyone, that they could keep with them, always, a reminder of simpler times, and a thing that defined them. Even now, Ingrid braided her hair the way Glenn had taught her, a memory, something of him she kept with her. Felix's topknot had been very much the same, a memento and maybe his only piece of physical vanity.

They had taken that from him. It seemed so small, but in war times, these small things were what kept you human. And they had taken that from him.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Long, corn coloured hair, so pretty, so elegant. Not glossy and perfect like Dorothea’s or Petra’s (Goddess how her heart felt like a bruise when she thought about them), but still beautiful. How would she feel if captors ripped that part from her?

"Sylvain?"

Her friend raised his head from the book he was reading. A medicine treaty. Good, they could use more healers...

"Yes Inga?"

"I have a favour to ask."

In the evening, she brought Felix dinner.

"Mercedes says you're getting better," she said, entering with no hesitation, "tomorrow, if your fever doesn’t come back, you can leave the room."

He nodded blankly before turning without strength. His eyes fell on her and stayed there, incredulous. She ignored how he looked, giving him his plate.

"Hurry," she said, "once you're down I'll have something to help you with."

"Ingrid," he said with that still pained voice of his, "what are you..."

"Hmm?"

He gestured vaguely in her direction, as if talking was physically painful for him and she needed to understand without it.

"Your hair." he said simply.

Her hair. Cut short, even shorter than his was. She had told Sylvain to think about Leonie when he was asking about the length. He had gone even further and she was glad. She was unrecognizable.

She simply smiled as an answer.

"Who cares about my hair," she said, "tonight I'm taking care of yours."

The scissors were ready. It wouldn't be a piece of art, but it'd be better than that sad, uneven mop. He looked at her again, then nodded and started eating. His wrists were still red, his eyes sunken and his cheeks too thin. No wounds didn't mean no mistreatment and somehow, Ingrid wondered if, whatever they had done to him, he wouldn't have liked physical torment better…

She would fix his hair. It wouldn't fix everything, it definitely wouldn't fix the greatest wound, the one she had left with her lack of faith in him, but she could fix his hair. An olive branch. Solidarity. Hers would grow back the same way his would. They would heal together.

And as she cut the strands, delicately, making sure she wouldn't pull on it or any of the other things these people could have done, she swore something to herself, the very same thing Sylvain had sworn in her ear as he was cutting her hair, shaking a bit, muttering about how he was scared, so scared that it'd happen again, that they let him get taken, that they didn't go save him, that they couldn't let him leave their sight, not like that, not when the last time they had...

Never, she promised desperately, knowing it was impossible, but swearing it all the same. She'd never let anyone hurt him like that again.

Chapter Text

Trust Fall

When Felix came to, he was laying down in the grass. He blinked, trying to figure out when he had fallen asleep. When he had fallen asleep in grass. What had he been doing? He was... he was talking with someone wasn't he? Right, Claude! He had found Claude in the library, him and Yuri speaking together. He had been looking for Yuri, wanting to talk about how it was he incorporated spells with his sword wielding, hoping it’d make Reason Magic click in his mind.

And then here he was. Laying down.

There was a groan at his left and the grass shifted. Slowly, he could see Yuri's small figure, standing, looking dazed.

"The hell?" the teenager mumbled, voice hoarse.

"My thoughts exactly," another voice moaned behind them.

"Oh hey," Yuri greeted, voice heavy, "you two are here too."

"Where is here?" Claude added. "I'm not insane yet, am I? We were in the library just a few seconds ago."

"Confirmed," Yuri answered.

Felix just sat down, looking at the grass. It was fresh, Spring grass. The kind you got at dawn during the Harpstring Moon. Except... It was Fall, right now.

"The hell?" he echoed Yuri's sentiment.

"I don't even see the monastery, from here," Claude said, "did we miss something? It'd take one hell of a hit on the head to have all three of us get such memory loss."

The monastery indeed wasn't in sight. What he could see, however, was a small town. Eerily familiar. And even more familiar, to the point that his breath got stuck in his throat, was the castle right behind it.

"See something you recognize, Stray Cat?" Yuri asked lightly.

If there was something he recognized? If he didn't have a better hold on his physical reactions, Felix would have started laughing nervously here and there. Nothing made sense. Everything was weird. But mostly, how and why the hell were they here?

"Yes," he simply answered instead, "that is castle Fraldarius."

???th day of the ????? Moon, Imperial Year ?????

Felix

It almost felt like floating when they walked. Felix didn't even remember how they got there. It was almost like one second they were in these fields, near the town, and the next they were walking in the grey, grey halls of the castle. Incredibly grey, greyer than they really were, as if every colour had been drained from them. Even without knowing the place, it was obvious Yuri and Claude had realized how strange it was. They were glancing around, looking disturbed. They hadn't met even one person. Why hadn't they met anyone yet? The castle was often a sad place, too practical to be welcoming, but except in the worst times - when his father was in the capital and Sylvain and Ingrid back home and Felix stuck here because he was ill too young not strong enough not calm enough not enough not enough not enough - it had never been empty. They needed to find someone, know what was happening, warn that they were, that they...

Footsteps.

They heard it, all three of them. Footsteps, someone getting closer. It should be good news, it should be. So what was that trepidation? Why was Felix so scared?

The voice stayed silent. It had never been silent like that in so many years, what was going on, who was...

Sylvain?

Felix's heart jumped in chest. At the corner of the corridor - long, long corridor, they weren't that long, they had seemed gigantic as a kid but he knew they weren’t, why did they seem so long now - there was Sylvain. But not Sylvain.

It was him, not a doubt. Red hair, handsome face, winning smile. But it also wasn't him, no uniform, no girl at his arm, smaller than Felix remembered, covered in bandages. It was Sylvain, but it wasn't Sylvain as Felix had seen him the last time they had met. It was Sylvain.

As he had been at seventeen years old.

Felix forgot about Yuri and Claude. His chest felt tight and heavy, his breath cutting out, stuck inside his throat. And Sylvain smiled.

"Don't worry," he laughed, "it was just an accident. I will be fine!"

And around him, the castle wasn't grey. Colours. Light and shadows, no more of that monochrome life, no more of that loneliness. Just Sylvain and all the colours he brought with him and he was covered in bandages.

"Come on," he was laughing, "say something! I told you it was an accident."

Miklan had done this. He knew that Miklan had done this, pushed him down the stairs, not even cared if anyone watched. He had hit his head, been in danger, actual, real danger.

"Felix?" Claude's voice interrupted the memories for a second and Felix turned, knowing just how wide and shocked his eyes must be.

"What's going on?" he asked as if Claude would have the answers.

Of course Claude didn't. And Sylvain was getting closer, and with him the colours, surrounding him, the only happiness in this place, the only light the thing that hurt, more than anything and Felix stepped. back.

"What is going on?" he repeated, voice strangled.

Sylvain was upon them, and taller than all three of them, but younger, every bit as fake as he was right now, but younger, and he raised a hand, a heavily bandaged hand, as if to put on Felix's shoulder and Felix knew how this ended, he pushed it off, snarled something and left. And it’d happen again, another day, where he’d leave again to find Miklan, to destroy him for what he did, feeling himself drowning in fear and horror because that was what Glenn had been talking about and it was just luck that Sylvain was still alive and Felix would not lose him too, he would not he would not he would not...

Claude reached out to pull him away from Sylvain's hand, but before he could touch him, Felix stumbled and fell, and fell, and fell...

A few seconds or an eternity later, they were in a run-down building, moldy wood and creaking stairs. There was a bed there, but not one anyone would want to lay in.

"What..." Claude started, face spooked. "What was that?"

"I think it was Sylvain," Felix said, hands shaking, "but..."

"Yeah, no shit," Claude groaned, "but not how we know him. And what was the deal with the colours."

"It was Sylvain in the past," Yuri said.

Felix turned to him. The young man wasn't facing them, instead staring at the door, leading to stairs that looked so dangerous no sane man would want to take them.

"How did you guess?" he asked. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense! What was happening!

Yuri turned to them, his smile entirely absent. If anything, he looked scared too, nervous hands fidgeting.

"I'm not sure how it's possible," he said slowly, "but it's like we're in... memories or something?"

"That doesn't make sense," Claude said bluntly.

"Bold words from someone who says he's given up on studying magic a long time ago," Yuri laughed nervously, "but that's the only explanation I have right now."

"Because we saw Sylvain looking younger?" Not just younger, he looked exactly the way he did the day Felix had realized that... well, not like Claude would know that...

"Well, not just that," Yuri said, looking as if he really, really didn't want to be there, "it's this place, too. It shouldn't exist anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Yuri gestured vaguely.

"I made sure it was destroyed years ago. This was the place where I grew up."

There were a few seconds of silence, as if to let them take in that information. Claude's bemused "What?" was muffled by sudden noises. Heavy, heavy steps, the kind that belonged into nightmares only and Felix could feel Yuri flinch by his side. It was almost instinctual to try to push him behind him.

His hand went through the young man.

There was a gasp, filling the silence, before the door opened. It took Felix a second to realize it wasn't either of them making it, but a fourth person.

There was a woman in the room, standing up and glaring at the door, where a dark-haired man was standing, arms crossed.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "You have a customer."

"Do I?" she answered, voice laced with venom. "I seem to remember saying that I couldn't work today. Or did you forget that my son is still ill?"

"And you staying here won't change a thing! Now come!"

"Damn you, man," she spat, furious, her pale fair falling on her shoulders as she untied it, "I'll come and get you when your children will be dying. Force you to work. See how you feel about that!"

The man moved forwards, rage distorting his face. She wasn't intimidated.

"Go ahead," she hissed again, "hit me or some shit. Have you forgotten that my job involves getting naked? Go ahead, see how many customers you lose when they get damaged goods. Wanna take that bet?"

"If you won't work," he growled, "then I don't have anything to lose."

Another silhouette intervened. Another man. An old one, with light green eyes. He was pale, but his wrinkles looked soft. His face looked a bit blurry, fading, but his eyes were distinctly kind.

"Enough," he told the man, "you do not get to treat her that way."

For just one second, there was fear in the man's eyes and he stepped back, still angry, still full of disdain.

"Fine," he spat, "but you leave that room right now. It's the only one currently free. Or have you forgotten that this was your workplace?"

"It's also our home," the woman mumbled, turning towards them.

And then they were falling again.

They landed harshly, air escaping their lungs as if they had really been falling. Felix groaned, trying to stand up again and to make sense of all that had just happened.

"This thing should decide," Yuri grumbled with annoyance, "can we touch things, or not?"

Felix tried to elbow him and went right through him again. Still a no, apparently. Now what the hell had just been that scene they had seen? He turned to Yuri, raising an eyebrow. The young man was scowling, as if he had swallowed something terribly bitter.

"Apparently wherever we are, it likes bad memories," he grumbled before looking around him, trying to figure out where they were.

Immediately, he jumped backwards in shock.

Wings. Gigantic wings. The biggest wyvern he had ever seen was looming over them, pearly white, just like her fangs. She started growling.

By Felix's side, there was a soft swear word, echoing.

Claude was still on the ground, staring ahead, in shock, at the beast.

They were on some rocky ground, Felix noticed vaguely, much more concerned by the thing currently looking about to eat them alive. And then, Claude jumped on his feet, hands raised as if to show he was unarmed. The beast growled again before coming closer, sniffing at him. Something twinkled in the light of day, the warm sun burning on their skin and reflecting on metal. Something metallic on their leg.

Some kind of manacle.

Felix's blood ran cold as he clutched it, trying to get it off. While he apparently could touch his own body, his strength refused to answer him, and the manacle stayed put, not moving the slightest from where it was stopping him from walking, escaping. Meanwhile, the beast's snout was still poking Claude, who was immobile, like frozen, probably scared out of his mind.

"What the hell is that?" Yuri asked, weirdly interested. "I don't recognize this place."

"Don't you have anything more important to think about?" Felix hissed, a bit of hysteria escaping his throat against his will.

"Not really?" Yuri said with a smile desperately hiding his unease. "If I'm right and we're reliving memories right now, well, obviously, our dear Claude survived this one."

Memories, right. Felix felt his heart slightly slow down. He looked around. Mountains. That was the only thing he was sure of, they were surrounded by mountains. And it was hot, the sun heavy and harsh.

Claude was still in front of the wyvern, but the beast was stepping back. The teenager exhaled slowly. And then there was a voice.

Young, younger than any of them. Speaking in a language Felix didn't know but somehow understood right now.

"Can you understand me?" It said.

The beast rumbled.

"Can... Can you help me?"

Jingling, chains. Felix's eyes were drawn to the manacle on his leg, then up again in shock. The beast's smart, terribly smart eyes squinted at Claude. Or more likely, a much smaller Claude than the teenager standing in front of her.

And then she lunged ahead, hard teeth closing on something and Felix jumped in alarm. The chains broke and fell to the ground, without even a drop of blood due to an unfortunate bite.

The next second, they were back inside, stone corridors and dark lighting, the air cold, cold, freezing and familiar.

"No falling this time," Yuri noticed.

Felix inhaled slowly to stop himself from panicking. Not Fraldarius this time either. But the Royal Palace was still some place he knew well, too well.

"Okay let's review," Yuri kept going, humming, "Sylvain Gautier looking all beaten up, my oh so wonderful childhood home and Claude almost getting eaten by a wyvern."

"Do you have to?" Felix couldn't help but groan.

"Well, we're not sure what's happening to us," Yuri reasoned as they walked in the palace, their feet carrying them without orders but Felix knowing exactly where they were headed and feeling his stomach drop at that thought, "so in the meantime, gathering info seems a good idea, don't you agree?"

It was. What was worrying, however, was that Yuri was mentioning it. Not that it wasn't like him, no. Just that they were with someone who was usually incredibly curious and talkative but who had just been terribly silent ever since they had landed into his memory.

Felix looked at Claude. He was pale. His eyes were deeply remote, his mouth firmly shut.

"What is going on?" Felix scowled at him. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

The teenager jumped, startled, as if he had forgotten they were here. Okay, bad, very bad. What in Ailell was going on with him?

"I think Yuri is right." These words sounded like they were torn from his throat, as if just pronouncing them was torture.

Yuri had lost his smile, noticing his unease too. Thinking about it, he had looked incredibly nervous too earlier. Was him taking charge his way of calming his nerves?

"What is going on, friend?"

Claude's green eyes avoided them, staring behind Felix instead. They were outside, now. On top of a balcony. Felix refused to turn. He knew exactly what memory was running.

"I know what you did to him."

His breath hitched and he could hear Miklan's snarl. Claude's eyes opened wide in shock, Felix closing his own as he felt his body fall, fall, fall.

When he opened them, they were somewhere else. A small town. Silence. Deep silence.

After a few seconds, Claude tried to pat his shoulder. It went through him, of course.

"Let's not mention it," he said with a clipped voice.

"Take off your hand," Felix growled. It didn't even touch him. But right now he didn't know what to say other than that.

The town was poor. And distinctively Faerghan, though more typical of Western Faerghus than Eastern Faerghus. They were back to Yuri, he figured with a frown. Yuri who was right, they needed to figure out what was going on.

"How does it pick the memories?" Yuri asked, chagrined, and that was his tone of voice that attracted Felix's attention.

"Maybe it takes your worst ones?" he suggested without believing it.

After all, these memories were bad, yes. But far from his worst ones. There had been no bent armor coming back home, no Boar losing his mind laughing...

"Probably not," Yuri said, which said a lot, really.

"Yeah," Claude added, uneasy, "probably not."

The woman from last time was there with them too, walking briskly, her pale, lavender hair flowing in the wind, cheap make-up on her face. But she was smiling, of all things, looking at them.

"Is that for me?" she said with laughter. "They are lovely!"

Flowers. She was holding flowers, now, her pretty face overjoyed.

"Now I hope you didn't steal them," she added.

"I didn't," Yuri muttered before any disembodied voice could be heard, repeating the words, "but I did steal a coin purse."

The woman tutted, disappointed, but knowing.

"We cannot depend on stealing, you know?" she said with a soft voice. "I know I can't provide for you as much as I wish I did, but I promise you. We will both find honest work, that will give us all we need."

"You already do more than enough," Yuri added, "and it's all I can do."

"You don't have to do anything," she swore, "I promise you you don't. Parents protect their children, sweetie. Not the other way around."

Yuri sighed and the scene morphed again. Felix tilted his head, trying to think. It was starting to make sense, almost? Both of his memories had had to do with Sylvain. Both of Yuri's had had to do with that woman - his mother Felix figured. Now if Claude's had to do with...

With what? Wyverns? Being tied up? Mountains maybe?

No.

This was... a feast?

A gigantic circle of low tables, surrounding fire on which some meat was being roasted. Felix was almost hungry just looking at it, it seemed delicious. People were talking and laughing, sitting on colourful fabric. Two dancers were moving along to frenzied music, while a big, burly man was proclaiming something Felix couldn't hear, but that sounded like a tale for children.

He glanced at Claude and saw him even paler than last time. Nothing dangerous seemed to surround them this time, but Felix stayed on his guard. People were joking around, but here they were - he was, sitting in front of a snake.

A snake. Felix jumped but Claude wasn't looking at the animal, instead peering at the group of people, the people obstructing his view of the man proclaiming stories out loud. They tried to walk through them but couldn't. In fact the moving masses were bringing them far and farther from the man, away from the people and the feast, like a horde swallowing him. He tried to move away, but then there was a hand on him, dragging him aside and something against his mouth, muffling a squeal of surprise.

"Where are you taking him?"

Air, suddenly, fresh air. The storyteller was here, talking in that language that couldn't be Fodlanese but that Felix understood all the same. The man looked angry, terribly so, despite his welcoming face.

Other voices, apologies, some saying that "the lad just looked like needed some air, we didn't think further than that". Wrong, wrong wrong. That wasn't it. There had been a threat, there. The storyteller put his hand on his shoulder and got him back to the feast, looking suspicious.

"Just tell me if that’s what I think, boy. I'll warn your pops."

"No," he was lying, lying, but this was something he'd deal with by himself, "don't you worry about it."

And they fell, once again. Felix closed his eyes again, not daring to see where they had landed this time. Yuri shifted.

"So," he said slowly, "the Gautiers, my childhood and... you feeling like you're about to die?"

Claude was silent, once again, and Felix opened his eyes to see his face. Blank. Most of the fear had disappeared, but the emptiness replacing it was even more worrying.

"I figured out what's going on, I think."

Felix tensed up, ready to ask and yet dreading the answer. At that moment, someone banged at the door and Felix startled… It was his bedroom. Oh no what was...

"Felix!" a voice he knew well screamed. Mariette, their intendant, a severe woman with a hidden soft spot for him.

"Go away, Mariette!" He heard himself yell back, a dry sob stuck in his throat.

"I cannot, young master," she said severely, "you will regret it if I leave without forcing you out of your room."

It was embarrassing. So deeply embarrassing, and he could feel mortification flushing on his face as he remembered where this was going and...

Oh. Oh so that was the link.

"The young master Sylvain is about to leave," she said slowly, "I don't know what he did that hurt you this time, but I know not saying goodbye to him will feel worse."

Flashes, almost distorting the air, like snippets of memories floating in front of their eyes. Sylvain with his tongue down a girl's throat, Sylvain flirting with a maid even though they had been talking just before, as if Felix held no more importance, Sylvain talking about girls, girls, girls, girls, until Felix just couldn't bear it anymore.

He hadn't cried since the Western Rebellion, but something was heavy in his throat and he almost wanted them to fall so sweet numbness could follow them. So he could stop feeling so much.

"Go away," he heard himself repeat, weakly.

"Felix Hugo Fraldarius," he heard Mariette hiss, "you are going to get out of this room or I swear to the Goddess I am breaking this damn door!"

Leaving that memory felt like getting kicked that time. Felix knew he was blushing in embarrassment. It had been so immature, so childish of him and once the heartbreak had passed he had felt so ashamed.

The fact that neither of his companions had reacted, teasing him as they certainly would have usually, wasn't exactly reassuring. It should have been, he felt like, maybe, he should have been happy about that.

Instead, both of them were looking blank, though their expressions were deeply different.

"I was right," Claude mumbled.

"What?" Felix croaked, even though he was pretty sure he understood it too now, or at least part of it.

"Felix... You have a crush on Sylvain, don't you?"

"What does this have to do with anything?" He had tried to be aggressive, but his voice was too high-pitched and embarrassed for it to work.

They were in Garreg Mach, he noticed, but not any place in Garreg Mach, no. It was Abyss, and they were speaking with a man Felix wasn’t sure he had ever seen... Or perhaps once, months ago, in the Cathedral?

"Don't you forget," he was saying, "that I have a guest."

"You won't let me forget," Yuri's voice answered coldly, "don't you worry."

The man tutted.

"Even changed your name so no one would find her. It was a good try, but too little too late. After all, I found you, didn't I?"

Yuri hissed and Claude laughed, almost hysterically.

"And you," he told Yuri, eyes wide open, "you don't want anyone to know about your mother, so no one can use her against you."

The stare Yuri sent him was nervous, even if hidden behind a blank expression. He was right, Felix knew instantly, Claude was right.

"Secrets," he mumbled, "we're reliving our secrets?"

"More like events betraying our secrets," Yuri said reluctantly.

He took a shuddering breath and put his head into his hands, trying to hide how overwhelmed he was. Felix was still flustered, but embarrassment was a small price to pay, he knew. And that was all his secret could bring him, here. He had already ruined his relationship with Sylvain, anyway, he thought bitterly, so it wasn't as if them knowing about it could ruin anything more. Yuri, though?

It was a matter of life and death. Protecting his mother. But then... that just begged one question.

"Claude?" he asked slowly. "What is the secret your memories have been revealing?"

Claude didn't answer. He stared ahead, to the door leading out of the box they were in. A horse box, but without any horse in it. A man's head, the storyteller from last time, was looking at them from outside.

"You're sure, boy? She looks like she really needs help."

"I'll take care of her."

There was a small wyvern, laying in the hay between them. Barely a baby, with white scales. She was breathing weakly and there was a wound on her leg that looked bad, pretty bad.

"She's not going to die just because you leave her for a few seconds, kiddo."

"Yes she is."

Felix almost flinched. He had never heard Claude sound so murderous. This voice was still breaking, he sounded much younger than the man he knew.

"I saw them." he hissed and there were flashes of that gigantic white wyvern from the other day, flying and growling and protecting him from an arrow, an arrow that would have killed him, and then falling, falling, taking hit after hit until she was dead, dead meat guarding his vulnerable body.

"I like to think that no one in Almyra would be dumb enough to kill a wyvern outside of battle."

"They would! They killed Lujayn's mother! They would have killed her too! I'm not letting them do that!"

It was almost unhinged, the pain and anger were terrifying. Felix glanced at Yuri, wondering if he, too, felt shocked by it. It was Claude! Claude was never angry. What was...

"Boy..."

"Don't say they wouldn't, Nader," Claude spat, "I saw them. They would, just because she's mine and they know it. She chose me, and they hate it. They hate it so much they'd rather be damned by our Gods than let me rule them one day."

Felix felt like his head was splitting open. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he was starting to have his suspicions...

"Claude?" he tried again.

Claude stayed silent, teeth greeted as if bracing himself for a hit. The storyteller - Nader - was speaking again, softer.

"Almyrans are stupid," he was saying, "but you will show them. After all, if you're as protective of your people as you are of your wyverns, they should know you'll make a magnificent king, prince Khalid, no matter where your blood comes from."

Felix didn't know if the punch he felt in the stomach was them getting thrown out of that memory, or him trying to grasp the enormity of what he had just heard.

What he knew, however, was that once they were back on stone floor and Fraldarius territory and secrets that didn't imply secret royalty, he exploded.

"Seiros rip my balls, why can't you guys have normal secrets for a change?!"

It lasted hours. After a while, you got used to having to relive all the times you had made a fool out of yourself, pining for a man who would never return your feelings, and all of that with witnesses. Maybe it would have been more unbearable with anyone else, Felix ended up thinking blankly. People with no deep secrets, who would make fun of him for his stupidity. Instead, he was stuck with two terrified young men whose secrets were more dangerous than he could have imagined.

To be honest, Felix might not have realized that Yuri's secret was one at first, which was probably why the teenager had looked nervous, but not terrified either until that scene, with the man threatening her safety. Many variations of it had been shown since, Felix tried not to look too much at them, feeling like watching them would be voyeuristic.

But worse even were Claude's memories. Because each and every one of them was a reminder of how dangerous his secret was.

In all truth, Felix didn't give a shit. Almyra's crown prince was half Fodlanese but had answered Duke Riegan's call for an heir when said Duke Riegan's health had started failing. From what he had seen, it had mostly been curiosity for his mother's heritage, maybe a wish to escape, too, from a court that disliked him just for who he was.

Fodlan was no better when it came to foreigners than Almyra seemed to be, and Leicester was full of snakes who would have him dead at the first opportunity. Yes, Claude's origins had to be guarded for his own safety, that was obvious, anyone with a brain would know it. But Felix himself didn't give a shit.

The memories were so full of fear he felt ill, sometimes, when they appeared.

So yes, in comparison, he was entirely fine with his memories being revealed. At least they just betrayed a bit of immaturity on his part, something that would go away, eventually, he hoped. It was embarrassing and he would murder them if they said word of it to anyone, but definitely not that bad.

"Almyran food seems good," he grumbled as they were sent in yet another feast.

After all, ignoring all the implications of each and every memory, commenting on everything else, was much more pleasant than living them. Awkward, but more pleasant. And it had done wonders to force Claude to relax.

The young man looked so trapped everytime it was turn to show more of his secret; it was sickening. Felix understood why, if he had to be honest. Such a secret revealed without his consent, and to two men he had known for not even three months. It would have petrified lesser men with fear. And Felix wouldn't have picked Yuri as his first choice, seeing how this was the exact kind of info the man dealt with as currency. By Ailell, he wouldn't have picked himself either! Not that he was the kind to blabber about things like that, but he wasn't exactly the nicest or kindest person in the world and he knew it. Trustworthy probably wasn't the first thought people had about him.

After his initial explosion, though, he had just grumbled angry words, head in his hand as he measured the importance of what he had just learnt. Oh, whatever, he remembered mumbling afterwards, guess we'll have to make sure, whatever this is, that it doesn't happen anymore once we're back. Can't have anyone else learn about this.

Claude's face would have been funny in any other situation. Felix was too reeling and frustrated to actually enjoy it. And Yuri had stood by his side as they watched him search for red hair in a crowd while in Fhirdiad, until learning that the Gautiers weren't coming. Yuri had stayed silent too for a while. It was only during the next memory from Claude - a hunt on a wyvern’s back, him holding his father's crown as he watched him fly - that Yuri spoke again.

"I owe you my life, friend," he had told Claude, "I will not betray your trust. Not on this. I swear it."

Claude had just nodded in silence, clearly not entirely convinced he could believe him. But as time went and no idea as to how they would leave coming to them (apparently understanding their predicament didn't do anything and them trying to act during memories did nothing), they started talking. About random things. Claude complained about the cold in their memories, Felix complained about the heat in Almyra, Yuri noted things about the way nobles were dressed that would make stealing from them hard or easy.

It wasn't the most riveting of conversations, but at least it occupied their time and let them focus on something else than the disturbing amount of privacy they were unwillingly intruding on.

Claude was explaining to him, voice still remote but at least not looking scared anymore, which spices they used to add flavor to the meat on a particular dish at the feast when the earth shook.

Surprised, all three men started looking at each other.

"What the..." Yuri started.

He didn't get to finish before it was like a hand grabbed them all, pulling sharply from behind. Felix gasped a strangled yell, gritting his teeth. He turned, ready to fight.

And found himself in front of Manuela Casagranda.

"He's awake!" the nurse yelled at someone behind her. "The counter agent worked!"

"Thank Goodness." mumbled the tired voice of their teacher.

Lysithea's small figure ran to him and he realized, vaguely, that he was sitting on a bed.

"Shit," he mumbled, feeling a bit faint, "my head hurts like a bitch..."

"That's to be expected," Lysithea nodded as she looked at him with a critical eye, "the spell was heavy."

"What happened?" Yuri's voice, in the bed next to his, was severe.

Felix threw a glance at him, only half surprised to have him looking harsher than he had ever seen him. That was to be expected, with what he had been forced to reveal... Professor Eisner appeared at the corner of his eye and looked at Lysithea expectantly. The tiny mage lowered her eyes.

On Felix's other side, Claude made a small, pained noise, sitting up too. He looked absolutely exhausted and there was a redness on his face that was a bit strange. Lysithea looked at all three of them and bowed, contrite.

"My apologies. I was trying two experimental spells at the same time, in the library, and lost control. They hit you and well..."

"We've been trying to wake you up for thirty minutes," Manuela said with a relieved sigh, "Apparently the sleeping spell's counter agent was delayed because of the other spell."

"Other spell?" Felix wiped his eyes, still feeling like his head was far too heavy and painful for a simple sleeping spell.

"Yeah," Lysithea mumbled, "a truth spell. Well, I don't think it had any effect since you were, you know, asleep, but it definitely made waking you up harder. This won't happen again, I promise."

Felix fell back on the bed with a groan. He heard Manuela gasp and wondered what was going on. His head was killing him and he just wanted to sleep. Real sleep this time, enough to forget about the mortification and the maddening secrets he had just learnt.

"Oh, Claude, dear," the nurse exclaimed, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the young man said, his voice so hoarse Felix knew he was crying before he even turned to him and saw him try a teary smile, so shaky anyone had to know how fake it was, "I was just... having a sad dream."

5th day of the Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1180

Manuela forced them to stay and rest for a few more hours in the infirmary. These were a blessing, blissful unconsciousness taking him and giving him a dreamless sleep. When he woke again, there was a weight on his bed. Or two. Two young men, sitting on it and talking with low voices.

Felix stared at them, wondering why exactly Claude and Yuri had elected to stay there instead of one simply getting to the other's bed, if they had to talk.

"You're serious?" he grumbled at them. "You're gonna sit here?"

"Hey there Stray Cat," Yuri welcomed him with a smile, "sorry if we woke you up."

He sat, too, to get to their level. Outside, the sun was setting. It was getting late, he thought, hopefully Manuela would release them soon.

"Were you talking about how we shall never mention any of this ever again?" he scowled at them.

"Kind of," Claude smiled faintly.

"Good."

There was silence and Felix rolled his eyes when he saw how they were staring at him.

"Seriously", he said, pointing at Yuri, "I don't have any reason to ever mention your mother to anyone, don't you worry about that shit. And you?" he then pointed at Claude. "I don't care. I simply don't. Just don't get yourself killed over this kind of stuff, that'd be a dumb way to finish that year."

"Right," Claude snorted with fondness, "your leader dying before the end of the year. How inconvenient. Of course that's what's worrying you."

Felix glared at him, but it was hard, in front of his soft smile. It looked genuine too...

"It's the same here," Yuri said with a light voice, "it feels a bit unequal, since Khalid here already knew my secret, but I don't intend to ever reveal what I learnt to anyone."

Claude winced at the mention of his real name. Felix tried it in his mouth too, the sound unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. He had chosen his other name well, the two sounded similar enough.

"Don't worry," Yuri added, waving Claude’s worries away, "I don't intend to say it where anyone but us three can hear. And I know when we're in private. Consider me using it as the proof that we're in a safe zone."

Claude exhaled slowly, his body relaxing.

"This is bad for my heart," he muttered, "I hadn't heard it in literal years."

Felix gave himself three seconds to ponder the loneliness of such a statement and decided that, despite his own preference for solitude, he definitely didn’t envy it.

"That sucks," he simply shrugged.

Both men looked at him weirdly, as if he had just said something strange. He stared back, annoyed. Claude was smiling again, almost amused, and Felix had no idea why. What was so funny in what he had just said?

"It does," Claude answered, "thanks."

"Are you thanking me for stating the obvious?"

"I am," Claude laughed, with actual joy in his voice, "thank you, Felix."

He didn't get it. He sincerely didn't. And so he scoffed, averting his eyes, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected sincerity in the words. Claude wasn’t someone who often spoke from the heart. Having him thank him so sincerely for showing just a bit of sympathy was… Well, he didn’t know how to describe it. Both humbling and painful, in a way. But also so much more.

They talked a bit more before Manuela arrived and considered them well enough to leave the infirmary. They left together, Yuri and Claude discussing, apparently without any care in the world, poisons of all things. Felix commented on their practicality, surprised at how easy it was to add his own remarks yo a conversation on a subject he knew nothing about. They separated once they got to the dorms, Felix looking at them leaving, unsure how he felt once again. Unsure because most of it wasn't bad.

No one had mentioned his own secret. Probably because compared to theirs, it was so small in the grand scheme of things, yet he already knew none of them would betray it either.

Felix wasn't ignorant of the weight of secrets, he figured as he entered his room, he had been hiding two from the man he had fallen for for years now. But these were heavy, much heavier than his.

Yet he felt… strangely fine. Almost lighter than before.

He closed the door with febrile fingers. Training could wait for tomorrow. Right now, he needed time for himself.

Chapter Text

Out of place

Leonie

As a kid, Leonie had never really thought about what her place in the world was. In her small village, no matter what you were born as or what you were good at, you became a hunter, or you starved. It had never come into question for most of her life. She had learnt to hunt like everyone else and discarded her painting hobby when it had started becoming too hard for her to find time for it, like the other kids did too.

And then, there had been Jeralt.

It still amazed her how her life had been flipped on its head with his arrival, that legendary mercenary who had seen a small, scrappy little thing like her and had accepted to make her into his apprentice. He had taught her more than she had ever learnt in just a few months, with that small smile on his face and this quiet approval of his. She had taken to his teachings like a bird took to flying and for the first time in her life, there had been a sensation of right, in her chest. She hadn't known how lost she had been before that sudden feeling of being found. She knew her calling, she knew what she wanted to do and be.

She wanted to stay by that man's side, become one of the mercenaries he talked so fondly of. She wanted to stay with that man, who had given her everything she didn't know she wanted. She wanted to stay with him, work with him, be like him.

It had sadly only lasted a few months. Then, Jeralt had been preparing his bags, one day, confusing the little teenager she was. She had asked. What was he doing? Where was he going? When would he be back?

And the man had just shrugged.

"I've already stayed too long. My men asked me to take a break from work after that poachers business, they promised to watch over my kid, but I really need to go back to her, you know?"

"Can't you come back with her?"

He had given her a sad smile.

"We're mercenaries, Leonie. We never stay in one place. If work leads us here, we'll be back. Yes."

Leonie hung out to that promise for exactly three days before realizing what it meant.

Her small, poor village made of hunters would never need the services of a mercenary, they couldn’t even afford them. That was the exact reason Jeralt had come here in the first place. For a break, in a place where no one would need him.

Then had come despair and rage at herself. She should have insisted on going with him. She should have followed no matter what his answer was. She should have left with him, she should have left!

Sauin's townspeople were kind people. She felt guilty for wishing she had just left them in the dust, but they weren't the people who would give her what she wanted and needed. They gave her space, yes, and an attentive ear. They gave her time to mourn the life she hadn't known she wanted, they gave her stories about the man who had become her whole world, they let her teach them what he had taught her and hang on to these sweet moments of her life.

"The Blade-Breaker," an elder told her kindly once, "he is pretty famous. He used to be the captain of the Knights of Seiros, you know? The ones protecting Garreg Mach's monastery."

Maybe that was what had planted that idea into her head. Not even a full year later, and she went back to the elder, determination in her step.

"Elder. How does a peasant girl like me get to enter Garreg Mach's officer academy?"

She would never be able to thank her village enough for all they did for her, for all the love and care they gave her ungrateful, selfish self. Oh, how she teared up when she got the recommendation letters she so desperately craved, knowing how much it cost to her childhood friends and their parents. They had given everything they could afford, and she promised, she swore she would pay them back one day. They all laughed as if it was nothing.

"It's not often that someone from Sauin finds something they really want," they smiled at her, "go ahead little bird, fly to the place you belong."

Maybe it was a fool's endeavour, trying so desperately to follow into her hero's footsteps. But no harm could come from education, especially from such a prestigious academy, that she was sure of. So she prepared herself to join a place where people would look down on her origins, and she prepared herself to answer with all the pride she held for herself and for her teacher, to prove she belonged there just like they did.

She, however, still wasn't prepared for all the nobles.

They were everywhere and so overwhelming in their all-encompassing noble-ness it felt like stepping into a whole other world, one where appearances mattered more than having enough to eat at the end of the day because of course you'd get to eat at the end of the day. Leonie had heard a few talk about the most inane things as if they were the end of the world, thought they were joking, and then, incredulously, realized they weren't.

She felt out of place, disturbed, as if she should just stay in a corner and stare without a spoken word. It was only her determination and refusal to let anyone step on her hard-earned (harder than all of these mommy and daddy's little kids would ever have had it) place that had her walk with her step light, hear head high, and her voice loud. It was almost a need, more than a wish, a need for this to be the place she needed to be. It had to be, with everything everyone had sacrificed for her, it just had to. She refused to consider otherwise.

She took exactly two days to consider herself lucky to be in the Golden Deer class. Well, it made sense, since she wouldn't even have gotten the opportunity to join the academy had she not been from Leicester, but it also meant said class possessed much fewer nobles than any other. She had managed to talk with Dorothea Arnault, once, a famous songstress from Enbarr in Adrestia, and the poor woman had seemed at her wit's end, as the only commoner in her whole class of nobles. And that was a famous songstress, so one who had already started to get used to luxury!

While no one in the Golden Deer - or in the whole academy really - seemed to share Leonie's scrappy mud-covered village girl background, it was still incredibly easier to find common ground when speaking with people of modest origins like Ignatz and Raphael, or even with her house leader than she felt it would have been with the others. Leonie knew she had the habit of jumping to conclusions, but she had assessed Prince Dimitri and Princess Edelgard in barely a few glances. A dignified, military man too serious for his age, and a cold woman with judgemental eyes. Neither felt like the kind she could speak to and feel on equal footing.

Claude, however, she hadn't even realized was a noble at first glance. She had seen him carrying hay for the horses, happily babbling with a stableboy and had stopped to help them when he hadn't noticed some that had fallen off. He had thanked her jovially and they had struck a small conversation as she gave him advice to avoid this kind of mistake again. It was only afterwards, when he put the small yellow cape and ribbon back on his uniform, that she had realized he was his class representative.

And as such, obviously, a noble.

It had been barely a week, but it was still strange to think of. The young man would be goofing off and accidentally dropping plates when trying to wash the dishes, but then you'd see him in a debate with Lorenz and actually win it. He never even lost his smile when he did so, which she would have found frightening if she hadn't been so amused by how ill-at-ease it put the people who thought they could outsmart their schemer-in-chief. She thought him funny, definitely one of the more bearable nobles she had gotten to meet, in no little part due to how obvious it was, when they spoke, that he wasn't looking down on her.

Yes, she liked him well enough. Maybe this year among nobles wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

And then Jeralt Eisner and her had crossed paths again.

Leonie had never really been one to believe in fate, but maybe she needed to revise her judgement in view of recent events. Her hero was here, right now, and she was nothing but stunned awe. He had joined the knights of Seiros once more. He'd be here, for the rest of her year, and that was more than she could have ever hoped for. That morning, she made sure to go and thank the wind in the Cathedral. Just in case.

However, the man wasn't alone. He had his mercenaries with him, of course, but among them, there was a woman.

She was young, looking barely older than Leonie herself was. Her eyes were empty, staring blankly. She showed no shred of emotion on her face, her eyes looking around as if nothing really interested her, even as she walked inside the classrooms, meeting the students of every class. Leonie wondered why she did that. She had assumed Jeralt’s mercenaries would become knights too, or maybe since she was young someone had suggested she joins one of the classes?

The one thing she was sure of, though, was that she was the one.

She was Captain Jeralt's daughter.

There had been a strange pinching sensation when she realized that, one she couldn't identify at first. It made her a bit angry, but she had a hard time understanding why she would be angry. That woman had done nothing to her, had she? It felt out of place, that feeling, something that didn’t make sense.

Byleth. Byleth Eisner. Jeralt's daughter and possibly a future classmate.

Byleth Eisner, not a new classmate, but their new professor, she would learn just a few hours later.

That pinching sensation was there, once more, and she wondered why. That woman had been taught by Jeralt, her tutelage would be the best thing after his, wouldn't it be?

So why was it painful, just looking at her?

She was on horse feeding duty this week. It wasn't the worst of duties by far, if anything, she liked the beasts, kind of wished to become a bow knight, maybe, one day. The ideal would have been to become a paladin, like Jeralt, but she was good with the bow and knew it, so it would be stupid not to take advantage of it.

The issue with horses, however, was that she always tended to go way over her head with them, since they wouldn’t judge her. She carried too much hay for her little arms, bumping into the walls when she couldn't see in front of her.

It was a tall build and a lovely laugh that stopped her from adding another bruise to her collection, as two arms went around her and took some of her charge away.

"Wow, careful where you're going! Let me take that, okay?"

She smiled at the one helping her, words of gratefulness on the tip of her tongue. Gratefulness that never left her mouth as she felt herself tongue-tied when she saw the face of her saviour.

Oh no. He was handsome.

Tall, with red hair and warm brown eyes, a small, cheeky smile, and all that hay falling on his hair, giving him a naturally ruffled look.

She had seen him once or twice from afar, but never given him much attention at all. He was one of the Blue Lions, she knew. Sylvain Gautier. He also had a reputation, already, was known as a skirt chaser and that was that, only, that made her fall from her little cloud of admiration. She nodded anyway, trying to stop focusing on his damn cheekbones. No wonder he was good at picking up ladies, she figured, blushing, the man had the looks for it.

"You okay?" He asked after getting the hay in the stall. "You've been very quiet. You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

His tone was light, but there was still curiosity here, and maybe just a twinge of worry. She shook her head, feeling herself flush awfully.

"No, I'm fine," she coughed, "just lost in thought. Thanks for the save, Sylvain, was it?"

"Yep!" He smiled at her again. "Do you need more help with that?"

"Is it part of your chores?"

"Might be, I haven't checked."

What an idiot. She mock-glared at him and reached out with her hand.

"Well, I'm Leonie. I accept your help. I'll probably need it if I don't want to end today black and blue."

"Or you could take less with you," he snorted as he shook her hand.

"Where would be the fun in that?"

When they finally finished it all, he waved goodbye at her and she answered with a quip.

The next time they worked together, she worked out a bit of courage. She asked if he'd like to join her in the training grounds, later, to blow off some steam. Oh she hated herself for it, feeling herself turn scarlet in the horses' mane. There was no future in that infatuation, she knew, he was a noble guy, she was the dirtiest of peasants. He was a ladies’ man with a girlfriend a day, she would at best be forgotten in a few days.

He didn't seem to notice, anyway, laughing and telling her how training wasn't his way of relaxing. But if she wanted a training partner, his friend, Felix, was insanely good with a sword and he was sure she'd learn a lot from him. Careful, though, he wasn’t exactly tender with his words. She took the proposal as a consolation prize, that'd be better than nothing after all.

"You've been quiet, Leonie." Jeralt told her as she helped him prepare his horse for his next mission. "Something on your mind?"

"Nothing you should worry about," she mumbled, "I've had my unfortunate eye on a guy I won't ever get. I just need to move on."

The mercenary looked taken aback, and it wasn't surprising. Leonie had never been the most romantic person. Everytime she and Jeralt spoke, it was about training and learning or about Jeralt. Leonie wasn't one for heartache.

"Well," he tried, fumbling with words, "how can you be so sure you'll never get him?"

"I don't register as a girl in his head," she snorted with a mix of disdain and resignation, "I'm too crude for that."

How much had it hurt to realise that it was that, all along, the reason Sylvain didn't flirt with her. He had known, technically, that she was a girl, but it hadn't hit. She was one of the boys as long as he was concerned, and as such spared from his playboy antics. It had hurt, terribly, he wouldn't even know how much, that dickhead. It had felt weird for her to be offended by not being offered the same disrespect he showed other girls. How crazy was that? Yet there had been a small part of hers, happy to know that he didn't bother to turn on the charms for her, that it was really him, she knew, not some dumb, charming mask.

Still, they weren't all that close. It was just her, crushing on a handsome guy who had helped her without caring about getting dirty. How low were her standards, for her to fall that easily.

"Sounds to me like he doesn't deserve you," Jeralt said with a frown, "I hope you get over him quickly."

"I think I will", she smiled, though she flushed again, remembering that one time afterwards where he had turned on the charms, as if to apologize, "I guess your kid must have broken a lot of hearts too, huh. You must be used to it."

Byleth was a beautiful woman after all.

"Nah, not really," Jeralt scoffed with amusement, "the kid has never been interested in that stuff and it’s pretty obvious, so she hasn’t gotten many suitors. Good thing too, I don't think our lifestyle would have lended itself to heart affairs."

Not interested in that kind of stuff? Feelings, did he mean? She scowled inwardly, trying not to be unfair. What was she interested in, then. Her classes were interesting and she rarely turned down duel challenges, but neither teaching nor fighting really seemed to interest her. She looked like she liked tea, but clearly enjoyed drinking it more than making it. She gave people their lost belongings back, but it looked more like a mother dutifully giving her children their lost toys back, so it probably wasn’t some kind of weird hobby either.

What did she like, what was she interested in?

Leonie watched Jeralt leave, taking comfort in knowing that he would come back this time. After all, the kid he had left her for was here. That boring girl who didn't care or really like anything, who felt neither passion nor purpose and who had taken him from her...

Oh.

Oh, she realized with a pang to the chest, so it had been that, all along, that hurt so bad.

Jealousy.

What a hateful feeling.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius was a weird guy. She observed him long enough to know that he was indeed every bit as good as Sylvain had said, and he seemed pretty proud of his strength, yet he still spent hours on the training grounds, refining again and again what already looked pretty perfect to her, as if never satisfied of his performance. He was standoffish and rude to people, but the patience he showed to his craft was pretty impressive. It didn't matter who was in front of him, he treated you the exact same way no matter where you came from: badly. She wasn't sure what she thought of him, truth being said, but it was indeed a certainty that training with him would be useful.

And she thought, mischievously, wouldn’t it be great to serve another one of these prideful arrogant nobles a good slice of humble pie?

Still, it was a surprise when he came to her first. Apparently, Hilda had blabbered to him about the one time Leonie had mentioned wanting to train against him. He looked a bit weird when he asked her, though, his frown more pronounced than usual. She couldn’t be sure of it, hadn’t exactly observed him much (she had been much busier staring at his red-haired friend), but still, it felt like he wasn’t himself... Well, she figured, chasing these weird doubts from her mind, how perfect it was, then, that she had been working on her trap making skills this morning? She told him to meet her outside the monastery, after class, hurrying there to make sure everything was ready for him to step right into the hole she had prepared.

He fell right in.

It was honestly pretty hilarious, both his surprised scream and his angry yelling at her afterwards. She'd treasure the memory of his shocked, wide-open eyes, as his foot went through the leaves. She understood his frustration, she thought, smirking. Here she had been, boasting about being able to best him, promising him a challenge, only for not even leaving him any fighting chance by ending the battle before it started. But while she understood the frustration, she wondered if he'd realize just how useful stopping your opponent from throwing their best hand at you actually was.

He was also heavier than she expected, she thought as she helped him out of the hole. He wasn’t exactly tall, for a guy, and he was so skinny she had expected him to weigh nothing. It looked like these invisible muscles of him were still very present and heavy. She had also expected him to leave in a huff or something similar. Instead, the moment he was out of the hole, he just grunted, sighed, and congratulated her for using his anger against him. Well, here was a noble able to understand a few lessons, at least. She snorted and pointed at the shovels she had brought.

"Okay, can't leave that hole here. Gimme a hand, would you?"

She half expected him to go the Lorenz route and look offended at the idea of such menial labour, but he did not even protest. He rolled his eyes, sure, but took the shovel without arguing, clearly more frustrated by his easy defeat than he could ever be about helping her out.

He did warn her about how this kind of trick wouldn’t always save her. She argued back about how useful these tactics were in case of a siege. All in all, they both had points. She was sure he would challenge her, just a bit later, to a real fight this time, one on neutral ground. And he would definitely take his revenge there. Leonie couldn't help but snort at that. Fair game, she figured. It'd be her time to learn something at least.

Still, as he took his sweet time making sure the hole was well covered again, she looked at this frown of his that was every bit as bad as earlier, this morning. She didn't know him, and he had never seemed like the smiley type. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something disturbing him and so, in the end, she asked, wondering if, maybe, her easy victory hadn't just been her own wit and taking advantage of how quick his anger was to rise. Had there been something else clouding his mind?

Surprisingly, he answered.

Well she'd be damned. So, nobles too had daddy issues?

Leonie wasn't a stranger to daddy issues. She was a girl more interested in pleasing someone else's father than her own, which she figured said a lot about her. It wasn’t that she disliked her parents, but more that she felt more like a child of her village, than their child. They hadn’t spent more time with her than the elders or the other hunters, they were just two faces in a crowd of people who did stuff for the village. Maybe that was why she had latched on to Jeralt, she figured when she thought, at night. The first adult in her life to treat her like she was special. She had been seeking that fatherly affection.

But most people of her class spoke so fondly of their parents (well, when they weren't dead, she thought with a wince, poor, poor Raphael...) she had kind of forgotten that people didn't always have such a good relationship with them. Out of curiosity, she walked around, searching for Felix’s father, in the monastery. He was in the knights' hall, where so many Faerghan nobles often liked hanging out. A refined man, speaking politely, but she would never have pegged him as a noble if not for that cape they so often seemed to favour (what was up with that, really?). He looked like a normal guy, with a soft smile. He actually greeted her politely when they crossed paths, it felt strange. She wondered with amusement if Felix Fraldarius avoided his father because he was allergic to politeness.

Well, said allergic boy ended up coming to their classes the day after, to her surprise. She wondered, for a second, if he had managed to get the professor to agree to a public sparring so he could humiliate her in front of the whole class. That would have been petty, she had made sure to humiliate him in private after all.

Turned out Felix wasn't here for her at all, but because of their monthly mission. A few lessons, probably, just to help them with the unknown territory they would be going in, unknown territory that he, however, knew well. It made sense. He wouldn't stay with them too long, clearly.

Well, not too long started lasting weeks. He'd stay here and teach them, dryly, voice scornful yet knowledgeable, hands and eyes more and more nervous as time went on and she kept wondering, despite herself, if they were really that outmatched for him to be so anxious about it, or if it was just that he wanted to come with them.

She only got the last word on the day of the mission, where he followed up, bags under his eyes as if after a sleepless night. Not that she was one to complain about back-up.

Her bow broke during a battle, distracting her far more than was healthy during such a dangerous mission. She spent long, wondering how she’d afford a new one, to the point that it was only when he was a dead body, on the ground, that she realized how familiar the man they had been sent to kill was.

Miklan Gautier. Sylvain’s brother. She hadn’t known, she realized guiltily. Had Sylvain known the whole month that his brother was going to have to die? Had anyone comforted him about that?

She had stared at Felix’s shoulders, more relaxed than they had been ever since he had started spending time with them, relief obvious in the very way he stood and walked. He had been Sylvain’s friend for a while, so obviously, they must have known each other, that man and him. Yet, there was nothing but relief at his death.

Something told her, all along, he had just come here to watch him fall.

Maybe that was why she was surprised when, on the way back, he asked to join their class. But surprise had quickly left place to happiness.

She didn’t mind him, she found, and they learnt a lot from facing one another. Yes, really. She was glad they’d get to have him.

What she realized strangely quickly about him too was what she'd learn later was actually a secret he kept close to his heart. It was only around the Wyvern Moon that she dared mention it to him. She could see it in his gaze, in the way he stared or held himself, in that very small spark of resigned longing in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. The face of heartbreak was one Leonie was familiar with. Sylvain heartbreak in particular, she had seen it in her mirror for months after all. The face of someone wondering why it still hurt when you should have been used to it, when you had never had any right to really hope otherwise.

And so during a particularly noisy meal, while he ate quietly as he often did, she sat by his side.

"So," she said softly, "did Sylvain tell you how lovely you look, today?"

He choked on his food. It was always unbearably funny to see him lose his countenance, she thought with a smirk. Even now that she knew him better and that they were, dare she say it, friends, it never got old to simply see the usually silent and controlled Felix Fraldarius being so taken aback he simply fumbled like that, eyes open wide and all.

"What?" he coughed.

"I mean," she said with a huff, "he went past me again with a simple 'Hi Leonie' and then spent I don't know how much time telling Miriam just how pretty she was today and how you needed to tell pretty people how beautiful they were 'otherwise that's just rude'. So I'm asking, since you're pretty, did he compliment you today?"

His confused face was adorable, but she could see him raise his walls, as if wary of where she wanted to lead the conversation, and she disliked that. Time to tear them down.

"Sylvain doesn't hit on boys."

"Well, his loss," she groaned, "you're more beautiful than half the girls he flirts with."

"Are you hitting on me?" He looked so uncomfortable it was hard not to laugh.

"Fraldarius, I know where your heart lays. If I was flirting with you, I'd suggest a romantic date at the training grounds."

That actually made him snort. She wondered if she should tell him that she had actually tried that with Sylvain. She wondered, also, if Felix had once tried the same to no avail.

"But well," she sighed, "looks like for Sylvain, I don't even count as a girl."

She didn't expect the offended look on his face.

"He's an idiot," he said flatly, "you're a pretty girl."

"Nah, you just like red hair."

"Are you just fishing for compliments, now?" His annoyed voice was familiar, almost comforting. She snorted again, happy to answer.

"Not my thing, man. I just want to complain about a hot guy not even considering me as an option. Since you know him better than I do, indulge me for a bit and tell me all the ways in which he's an idiot."

As she'd realize soon enough, if there was one way to make Felix Fraldarius open up, it would be by having him complain about what a dumbass his crush was.

Jeralt was dead. And Leonie's world was destroyed. It felt grey, dark, sad and moody, as if the sky and grass had lost their colours. She felt everything too much, devastated, irritable, angry and aggressive. She remembered blowing up on the professor, accusing her of not appreciating her father enough. She felt monstrous afterwards, when she had time to cool off. Here was the poor woman, having just lost her father and already looking like nothing in her life made sense anymore, and there Leonie had been, screaming at her for not showing more emotions.

The professor had been crying when Jeralt had died. Leonie hadn't even known she could cry. This placid face of hers had been somber for the last days, and maybe for most humans that would have been nothing, a pale imitation of grief, but for the professor, it was world-shattering anguish. Yet, when speaking with her, Leonie hadn't been able to see that. She had just seen that calm face, looking as if she barely cared that the most wonderful man in the world, Leonie's hero, was dead.

She felt like shit about it. Swallowing, Leonie stared at their teacher's desk. She was teaching class, mechanically, looking almost dazed, and here Leonie was again, stewing in guilt. She'd apologize, she promised herself. At the end of class, she'd go and apologize. She had been trying to find the courage to do so for days, today was it. She was doing it!

And so, of course, that was the moment the doors to the classroom opened, to tell them that Jeralt's killers had been found.

Apologies disappeared from her head, replaced by rage and revenge. They only came back with terror, later, when the professor disappeared inside some kind of dark power. She remembered praying, repeating pleading words, again and again in her head. Please don't let her be gone, not her too, not her too, I need to apologize, she needs to know I'm sorry, I want to spend time with her and be the family she needs now, not the horrible girl who exploded at her, please, please, please let her be fine.

She didn't know when, exactly, she had gotten so attached to Jeralt's daughter. She only knew that, when she came back, changed but very much alive, she collapsed in relief.

Later, she did apologize. She asked her for a fight, too, to get everything out of her system. Leonie had collapsed again after said fight, tears on her face, apologizing again and again. Her mouth said 'I'm glad I'm your student.' Her heart said 'I want to be your sister.'

Inside, she promised one thing to herself. Maybe the professor was strong, stronger than she'd ever be, but she'd grow strong too. Strong enough to protect her. She owed it to her. She owed it to Jeralt.

By her side. That was her place, she was sure of it. She’d make sure she deserved such a place.

As with many, many things, the war sent all of it crashing down.

A reunion at dawn in Garreg Mach, five years after a fateful promise made by their mad genius of a leader. Here they were. Alive, smiling despite the ruins and the battle that had awaited them the moment they arrived. Lorenz was already grumbling at Claude, still too prim and proper for her to take him seriously, but he, just like everyone, had a hard edge on his face, now.

She accepted Hilda's gift - a nice belt decorated with shining stones, the kind that would stand the test of time - with a strange reverence. She hadn't changed, that girl, still coquettish and beautiful, refined and elegant, but also resolved and brimming with the will to do anything she set her mind to. Back when they had met, Leonie had never expected to end up respecting her that much, that little noble girl who never did anything herself if she could help it. But here she was, proving to everyone that when Hilda Valentine Goneril promised something, she kept her word.

She was glad to see them all. Lysithea's complaining was sweet to her ears, as was Raphael's booming laugh. Ignatz's shy smiles and Marianne's soft gaze were beautiful, Claude's calculating grins didn't fail to make her smile back, Lorenz's posh attitude was almost refreshing and the professor was here too, all quiet nods and fond looks. She felt at home. They were here again, much more familiar than her own family ever was, all of them.

All of them, except one.

War was a whole lot of work, so much that it didn't leave her much time to miss a missing friend. Instead, it was only events after events, new arrivals and missing supplies. Time and time again, no time to waste, must appraise the newcomers.

Among said newcomers, probably the strangest ended up being Linhardt von Hevring.

That was a classmate she had barely ever talked to, truth being said. She and the Black Eagles didn't really get along in general. She had considered little Bernadetta a friend, or at least a harmless little mouse, but except for Ferdinand who was always so affable with everyone he met - and it had been a relief to find him by their side - she usually didn't talk to them.

Linhardt, especially, wasn't exactly talkative in the first place, more interested by his books, research and sleep than by social interactions.

Yet here he had come, alone, hands raised to show he didn’t mean any harm. He had tilted his head with a nod and said:

“There’s an Imperial force coming here to besiege you. And I refuse to associate with them.”

Maybe it wasn’t that surprising, even Leonie knew full well that Linhardt wasn’t one for blood and violence. He didn’t have the stomach for it, he was a healer, but mostly a researcher, not a fighter, never a fighter. It wasn’t her business whether he was sincere or not, her business was to prepare for the siege he had just warned them about.

The day after, she found him dozing off in the library, proof that Claude had accepted him in. If that distrustful man trusted him, she figured he really was harmless to them, then.

Still, it had been surprising to her, that she ended up actually enjoying his presence. He was funny, in his own little way, and the things he learnt were often useful to remember.

So when, after a few weeks, he mentioned a powerful weapon, akin to the Heroes' relics, but that anyone, even a small crestless peasant girl like her, could wield...

The temptation was big.

Convincing the professor and Claude to let them go took a while. But they were going to Ailell anyway, Lake Teutates would take a few more days to reach, but the 'Dukedom' couldn't afford to go after two lone travelers.

It looked like a big dragon-turtle. That was her first opinion on the Immovable. Its deep, rumbling voice was strangely soothing, she felt almost at ease talking to it. She could feel Linhardt silently panicking by her side, but she couldn't find it in herself to feel the same. That thing liked her, she didn't know how she knew it, but she knew it all the same.

The trial was tough. These ghostly soldiers were a pain and she would always be grateful towards Linhardt for being so kind as to heal her the whole battle through. But when finally she managed to land a few hits that seemed to slightly stun the big beast, it laughed and told her that it was enough.

She had succeeded.

The Immovable gave her a sacred bow. It was beautiful, the most wonderful she had ever held in her hand. She could have sworn the creature was smiling to her when they left, it even laughed when she told it she might come back to thank him again after the war.

"Please do survive, then, young traveller, for I would welcome your company."

Yet, as they trotted back to Garreg Mach, doubt came in. This bow was a marvel. Carrying it felt like a balm and indeed, according to Linhardt, it healed its bearer. It was also light, but powerful, allowing for a barrage of arrows, one after the other. It was, simply, a divine weapon in its own right. And so doubt came in.

Who was she, a filthy little peasant, to touch such a wonderful thing and think of using it.

Linhardt's face, when she handed it to the professor, was more confused than it had ever been in front of her. She did not deserve that bow, she knew it. She was pulling her weight, yes, but she wasn't the right person for such a weapon.

She left without letting the professor argue.

On the day they left for Myrddin, Claude came to her. In his hands was a familiar bow. When he handed it to her, she stared at it, confused.

"Come on," he smirked, "that's yours. You deserve it."

"Wha... I do?"

"Linhardt told me what you had to do to get it. How can you think that you don't?"

She didn't know how to answer that.

"I don't know," she admitted, "I feel like... it would probably be more useful to give such a great weapon to someone better with a bow than I am, like Ignatz."

"Ignatz is a long-range sniper, he won't have as much use of it as you will, since you tend to get close-combat too. And even if he did, Leonie! You went toe-to-toe with a Saint to get it. Just take the damn bow."

A Saint? She was too surprised by this affirmation to refuse.

It was only after the battle that both her leader and Linhardt confided in her, what they suspected to be the Saints' true identity. That night, she went to the Cathedral and stared at the Statues of the Four Saints. One, in particular. The one associated with Water, the master bowman. Saint Indech. She recalled a rumbling laugh and a comfort she couldn't explain.

A Saint. She almost laughed against her palms, disbelieving.

How was this her life?

This didn't sound like her. She was an ordinary girl, mud-born, a hunter who got lucky her village wanted to help her become the mercenary she wished to be. Why did she talk with Saints and lead army battalions? Why did she deserve to do so?

Doubts were a spiral. She didn't know if she was in the right place, had she ever known that?

The bow shone on her shoulders, calming and peaceful despite being a weapon of war. It was the kind of heirloom great families handed down to their descendants, like the Heroes' relics.

And she had one.

And, according to most people, she deserved it.

She stared at Indech's statue again. She didn't show these doubts during the day. In fact, she barely felt them. It was at night, in the calm preceding the storm of battle, really, that she tended to focus on them and wonder what a girl like her was doing here, exactly...

The bow shone again and she nodded, thanking Saint Indech in her prayers for protecting her.

When she went to bed, she slept soundly. Somehow, it was much harder to doubt yourself with such an endorsement. She wondered, when she woke, when her self-confidence had dropped down that low? She used to be self-assured, she knew that, she had known her worth, had never doubted it. What was it that had changed that?

(Jeralt had left her behind, with barely a good-bye, that was it, that had always been it, she had just masked it with all of her stubbornness and willpower.)

(If there was one thing that war definitely was good at seeping out from your bones, it was willpower.)

Gronder was the worst thing she had ever seen. Coming into the fields had been a shock, like a memory from another life, one where she had been excited to go there and have a friendly battle with the other students. Seeing it alit with flames and corpses had been nauseating.

Still, she had fought and fought. She and her battalion had rushed in, piercing the Imperial army's flank, doing her best not to look at the Faerghan men and women doing the same, focusing on those she knew were her enemies.

She didn't know how long she fought before her horse was hit and she fell to the ground. She felt that crack in her leg and then a tear, as if something was ripping all her right side apart.

She yelled before smothering the sound in her fist. It hurt like a bitch. Pain was rolling down in waves in her body and she teared up for a second before shaking herself, looking at her horse and finding him dead on the ground. Whoever had killed her mount (it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, that horse had been hers ever since she had come back to Garreg Mach, she loved it, why, why, why) hadn't stayed to finish her down, probably thinking she was done for anyway. She was safe for the moment, she told herself, forcing her panic down. But she couldn't stay there.

Marianne should be making rounds behind her, she thought, standing with a wobble as fear and fire rained around her, screams and tears and violence and death. She looked at her leg, covered in blood. Hers or other people's, she didn't know. She didn't know what had broken either. Standing on it was torture. She needed to have it healed... She needed to go back...

A shadow in the sky caught her attention. And immediately, every bit of pain disappeared, replaced by sheer terror.

Lujayn was a familiar sight. She wasn’t the only white wyvern in their army, but her grace when flying was simply unmatched. That was why she knew immediately who was currently being targeted by so many enemy archers.

Claude wasn't supposed to be that close to the front line. This was the exact reason he wasn't. They knew there was a ballista, right in the middle of the field. It would lay waste on their flying warriors as long as it wasn't taken care of. There was also no doubt that tales of his expertise had reached enemy ears and that, as such, flying commanders would be a priority target just in case it was him they were aiming at. As a result, despite how much he hated leaving the more dangerous side of battle to others, Claude's task for this battle was mostly supposed to be staying behind and providing cover until most enemy archers and the ballista wouldn't be a problem anymore.

Oh, Leonie could guess around a thousand reasons why it hadn't gone as planned, and in the end it didn't matter as much as the fact that Claude, her leader, their tactician and more importantly her friend was currently flying alongside death, right above enemy lines, where he would need to land, sooner or later.

The moment she turned to go to his help, her leg screamed. She let out a groan of pain and anguish. Despite how she could feel her bow healing her, she still could barely walk. She couldn't run to him. She probably couldn't even fight! Everything around her was nothing but chaos, she was far into enemy lines, she couldn't do anything, she couldn't...

Her eyes caught blue.

She couldn't tell what, exactly, made her notice that blue coat, almost shining green in the orange light of the fires surrounding them. A long coat, the kind that swordsmen tended to favour for some reason. And wearing it was a young man with dark hair tied into a short ponytail, standing still and looking West.

There was no question in her head. No suspicion, not even the possibility that she had the wrong person. She didn't care that he was on Faerghus' side. She just yelled, torn between the relief that he was alive and the fear freezing her lungs.

"Felix!"

He didn't care about her allegiance any more than she cared about his. She could see it in how pale he turned the moment he saw Claude. She could hear it in the terror barely hidden behind his growl as he ordered her to go back to her own lines and went running towards the wyvern. She looked at him go, a prayer in her heart for him to arrive on time, relieved and yet so scared.

As his back disappeared from view, she couldn't help but wonder, briefly, if Sylvain was finally giving him the time of the day.

Seeing Felix so broken was painful. His prone, quiet form in the bed, while Linhardt worked his magic, trying desperately to keep him alive, felt wrong and abnormal, it almost didn’t look like him, always so strong and untouchable. Part of her was almost sobbing in guilt, knowing that she was the one who had sent him inside this danger. Everything else was just how used to death she had become, that was what made her stand still and quiet while a priest took a look at her leg, mostly healed thanks to her weapon, but still hurting. The buzzing roar of the battlefield still echoed in her head, only slowly calming down and making her wonder, slightly, if she wasn’t way over her head again, such a small thing amidst such violence. But again, weren’t they all?

She left her bow with Felix when she was told to go to sleep, only taking it back the day after, when Claude told her, his smiling face relieved, that their friend was alive and would probably stay that way. Leonie still didn’t dare come to him for a while, busying herself with menial tasks. She feared seeing him asleep, she realized. She feared seeing him so small and weak.

Yet somehow, that silent and broken form had nothing on how empty his face went when Gilbert came into the tent. She didn't know what happened. Claude was speaking loudly, glancing at him with worry as if he hoped his voice would make him react. But Felix just stood there, blankly. Then there was the hug. Claude was more affectionate than many nobles she had met, but this kind of gesture, in public, still wasn't his style. Felix's desperate clutch, in return, was worse, almost reflexive, something he would never had done usually.

It was only as they walked towards Faerghus' troops that Gilbert told her, voice soft, what had happened.

She didn't know Rodrigue Fraldarius. She could still picture him, smiling and greeting her when they had crossed paths, thanking her when they had come to his help during their academy days, but she didn't know him. She knew he and Felix didn't get along, but she also knew that it didn't mean jack when it came to love and affection.

Felix had just lost her father. Just like their professor had, five years ago, and she remembered just how blank she had gone too. Leonie had lost the one she had wanted to be her father the same day, but did the loss of a dream and hero mean the same as the loss of one who had raised you? She knew it could be similar, but one's experience didn't define everyone else's. She knew that at the time, they had all agreed not to leave the professor alone. And that Hilda had made sure Leonie wouldn't be either.

Leader had ordered her not to leave Felix alone and she definitely wouldn't disobey.

Ingrid Galatea didn't like that she was here. It had been an immediate, instinctual and almost knee-jerk reaction to glare at Leonie when she noticed her. Leonie blamed part of it on the battle. They hadn't fought directly against each other, but their sides had fought after all. Leonie had winced when the young woman had jumped on Felix, knowing he disliked this kind of physical contact when he didn't have time to prepare for it, but she couldn't blame her either. The relief in that embrace was undeniable, much stronger than the nasty look she had sent Leonie. How could she blame her when Leonie had been dying to do the same?

Still it was a shame, she thought as they walked towards the pyres. She had seen the girl work, back at the academy, and while they had never really found time to talk, Leonie could bet that they held similar enough principles about a few things. Hard work was important, you needed to take care of your stuff, and you shouldn’t reject a meal when you didn't know when your next one would come. That was basis enough for a friendship as far as she was concerned. The fact that they clearly both cared for the same idiot was only icing on the cake.

Said idiot didn’t feel like someone she could make fun of, right now, as he stared at the lifeless corpse of his father, and Leonie could only stay here, make sure he knew he wasn't alone and that she was here for him. Maybe that was why she felt herself bristle a bit when Ingrid turned towards her and said:

"Maybe we should leave him alone."

She calmed down quickly enough. There was no malice in that statement, the way she looked at Felix made clear that she didn’t want to do so, she just thought it probably was what he wanted.

Leonie wasn't sure Felix knew what he wanted right now. She just shook her head.

"You can leave, but I'm staying with him."

It was Ingrid's turn to bristle, frowning and looking at her with something akin to anger. The expression was familiar. Leonie had seen it in her bedroom mirror for months, back at Garreg Mach.

Ah. Jealousy. Was that what the one she wanted to call sister had been seeing on her face, all those long-past months? Leonie tried a weak smile, an olive branch.

"I mean, you must be busy, with everything that happened. Leave him to me, okay? I'm staying in case he needs someone."

Ingrid's face crumpled and she lowered her eyes, as if ashamed of herself. She nodded and thanked her, voice strangled, before leaving. Leonie watched her go, her chest aching. Did it ache for a friendship she wished they could have? Did it ache for that lost young woman torn between care and duty?

It ached for the boy who had just lost his father, that was the one thing she was sure of.

It was strange, really, that her faith didn’t feel like it had been pushed down the stairs by Claude's revelations. Maybe it had been meeting Indech - and now his kindness towards her seemed even more amazing - but she had started suspecting something being amiss for a while. She could recall all of her theology conversations with Claude, and it was pretty funny how they had been both right in the end. Sure, nature fed them and should be thanked as such. But it was indeed the Goddess who had allowed that nature to flourish again after it had been destroyed so thoroughly, and so, thanking her wasn't out of place either.

It was almost funny in a way, she thought as they left Judai behind, with one last look at him. Everyone was wrong and everyone was right at the same time. The world was a messed up place, full of contradictions that made some strange amount of sense. She had just accepted it, just like she had accepted leading one of the armies' most important battalions despite how it hadn't felt like her place at first. The world changed and moved on, and you needed to accept it if you wanted to keep surviving. In the end, it hadn't mattered that much to her, to learn about all that. What mattered more was the fact that they needed to get rid of the Empire before it tried to reach her village. She had seen how the colonized villages fared, when she had walked through Faerghus to reach Teutates. Those that hadn’t been pillaged and razed were deeply impoverished so they couldn’t rise against their oppressors. She refused to let Sauin go through the same thing.

It was a small personal thing, she figured, not like the truth about the world. She was but a peasant, she loved the Goddess, yes, but said Goddess did not dictate her life, she never had, and so in the end, it didn’t change anything for her.

However, the same couldn’t be said about Ingrid, she suspected. Nobles, especially in Faerghus were very invested in Faith, crests and their divine right to govern. Yet, when she looked at her, Galatea's heiress was standing strong. She hadn't faltered in her convictions or in her fighting prowess. She had come to warn them of an attack, despite arrows and pain and being shot down. Her world had been torn apart not even a month earlier, yet here she was, as implacable as she had always been. That was a strength worth admiring, Leonie felt.

But the heiress was nervous, without surprise. It was her nation's own holy man they were leaving behind, one the blonde lady seemed to call a friend. Of course she was worried, Leonie herself still had doubts about that plan. But somehow, it was hard telling Judai no. She couldn't explain why. There really was something strange about him.

Oh well. Not like they could do much about it, now... Better think of happier things and not let her old fellow student stew in anxiety.

"So," she told Ingrid, "I'm almost sure Felix finally confessed to Sylvain. How do you think that happened?"

Ingrid jumped, her startled eyes showing she had not expected her to start a conversation. Then her brain caught up to her words and she frowned.

"Is it really the time to speak about such things? Also confess about what?"

Was she serious? Leonie wiggled her eyebrows, hoping she'd get the message. She was their childhood friend, had known them forever, there was no way she hadn't noticed the crush Leonie had seen in barely a few months.

From the way her face morphed, it looked like she hadn't, in fact. This was the face of someone kicking themselves mentally for not realizing something so obvious.

"Oh... Oh of course! Cichol Almighty, of course! How did I never... Everything makes so much sense, now!"

She dropped her face in her palm, groaning and Leonie couldn't help a small chuckle.

"Don't laugh," the young woman almost pouted, the childish expression looking strange on her usually severe face, "how did you notice, anyway? I know you and Felix are close but still, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't tell anyone if he could help it."

"I noticed. When you used to have a crush on Sylvain, you know what it looks like."

"You had a crush on Sylvain?" Ingrid said dryly, eyes not really impressed. "I don't remember him dating you. What did that idiot do to you? Do I need to yell at him?"

"He didn't do anything to me," Leonie shrugged, it didn't hurt anymore, if anything she found it almost hilarious nowadays, "I didn't even register as a girl for him."

Now that it was quite obvious Sylvain wasn’t only interested in girls as he had pretended to at the time, she wondered if she could have actually become an option with time. It was funny how his charm felt forced now that she knew just how much of a lie his lady-loving persona had always been.

"What the... I'm going to kill him!" Ingrid growled, looking as if she was going to walk onto Fhirdiad right now to shake her friend.

It was a strange position to be in, to both abhor the way Sylvain used to play with women and be offended that he hadn't found her worth that abhorrent habit. With the way Ingrid looked between offense and hilarity, she shared her opinion on that, and so Leonie laughed again.

"I'll hit him for you," Ingrid promised, "he deserves it."

"Nah, don't worry. Felix and I spent our time complaining about how dense and dumb he is, it was pretty efficient when it came to getting rid of any resentment I felt."

Ingrid shook her head, looking amused despite herself.

"Still," Leonie mumbled, "in the end I don't know Sylvain half as much as I wished I did. I'm almost sure Felix confessed to him, and it worries me a bit. I mean, you know him probably even better than I do. You know he's more vulnerable than he looks."

It was Ingrid's time to laugh, a small sound, a bit amused, but mostly comforting.

"Sylvain is an idiot," she echoed a feeling many times shared, "but he loves Felix. I don't know if he loves him the same way Felix does, but he would hate hurting him more than anything. If he did turn him down, I'm sure he was gentle about it."

She tapped her finger against her cheek, thinking, her smile growing into a smirk as if recalling many moments Leonie sincerely wished she was privy to.

"But you know," Ingrid finished, barely above a whisper, "I don't think he would. Reject him, I mean."

Leonie smiled too, happy for her friend. It was high time one of them got what they wanted after all. She wasn't surprised at her lack of jealousy, her crush for Sylvain had slowly died with time. And even if it hadn't, she was just glad for him, glad he might get that small shred of happiness despite everything that had happened to him recently, despite the horror and pain surrounding them constantly.

She had outgrown jealousy, it seemed. A fact worth celebrating, she felt, preferably with her professor and a good cup of tea.

They let the forest and Ingrid started fidgeting, waiting for Judai to emerge, as he had promised he would. Leonie stayed with her, looking at her men, walking back to the monastery under her orders. She remembered how out of place she had felt so many times, from her arrival at Garreg Mach to her first, terrifying taste of command, that feeling of being unworthy creeping up on her again and again.

Jealousy wasn't the only thing she had outgrown it seemed. She couldn't imagine herself being somewhere else anymore.

Right now, everyone was where they needed to be, she figured. Dimitri and Claude were freeing Fhirdiad. Ingrid was laughing with her and would soon reunite with her lovers, for good this time. And Leonie was leading a battalion, for her country's army, walking back to camp and waiting for some holy guy to escape the Emperor's grasp, trusting him to do so.

What a crazy life she held, for such a normal girl, she thought chuckling.

And yet, despite the world tilting on its axis with lies exposed and truth aching, she found herself more sure-footed than she had ever been.

She was where she needed to be right now. That was the only thing that mattered.

Chapter Text

Alone Together

30th day of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1186

Bernadetta

Her breath was cold in her mouth, her lungs about to explode as she ran, as fast as she could, yelling and sobbing, the weigh on her back debilitating, but also a harsh reminder as to why she needed to keep going, faster and faster, scream louder, make sure the silhouette, standing on that horse and summoning magic heard her. She shouted again. Again.

“Marianne!” Bernadetta screamed with what little air was left inside her lungs. “Please, Marianne!”

She didn’t know how she heard her in the chaos of battle, but somehow, the woman on the horse turned. Bernadetta couldn’t swear it was Marianne. They had barely ever seen each other, but Felix had pointed to her, she was wearing Leicester colours and healing people… It had to be her, it had to. Or else Yuri… As the horse got closer, Bernadetta could feel her legs collapse underneath her. Yuri’s weight, on her back, was like an anchor, dragging her under metaphorical water. She felt someone take him from her and sobbed in relief.

“Bernadetta?”

Marianne’s soft brown eyes looked at her in worry. It didn’t last long, soon enough, she focused back on her wounded friend, who needed healing. But that little moment of softness hurt Bernadetta somehow, harder than anything else had until then. She started sobbing harder, tears rushing down her face as everything hurt, everything burned, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had had such a soft voice speaking to her.

Everything was burning, she gasped as if she were still amid the smoke and the flames, her chest tightening as she saw familiar silhouettes on a battlefield, her throat constricted, her hands shaking on the ballista she had been instructed to use on these people who had never done anything to her, who had always been so nice for most of them. She had been scared, begging them to stay back. She didn’t want to be there, she didn’t want to do this. But what else could she do? What else, what else, what else? She closed her eyes, but it was fire again, surrounding her as she panicked, looking around, trying to understand what had happened. And then seeing the mages and understanding. Understanding that she had been sacrificed, just like the soldiers around her, supposed to assure her protection.

There had been Yuri’s blurry image, as he jumped through the flames and carried her away from her weapon, a weapon she had been grasping in despair, not knowing what to do. They had rolled, she remembered a scream of pain as fire caught to him.

Heavy hands, dragging her away from the hill. Felix’s wild eyes, panic like she had never seen him wear on his face, the annoyed mask he usually liked arboring entirely absent in the chaos that surrounded them. This was hell, she had thought for a second, these were the eternal flames promised to those who betrayed the Goddess.

“Bernadetta.” Marianne’s soft voice, again.

Still sobbing, Bernadetta managed to raise her head. Around them there were still screams, panic and chaos. Marianne looked considering. Would she leave Bernadetta here? Would she kill her? They were enemies weren’t they? She’d need to. And Bernie was unarmed. But would that be worse than going back? she thought desperately.

“Bernadetta,” Marianne said once more, her voice so soft it was like the world became silent around them, “I can only do so much for him here. Would you help me bring him back to camp?”

She was calm, assured, her smile reassuring.

This was hell on earth, Bernadetta was sure of it until now. Because if this was hell, then the peace that Marianne showed with her kind smile should not be here, it belonged to the heavens.

The world and the chaos were silent in Bernadetta’s ears when she nodded, wiping at her face but knowing that she wouldn’t manage to get rid of the tears.

“Please help him,” she mumbled as she started helping Marianne get Yuri on her horse.

‘Please help me.’

She didn’t say it, but it felt like she understood, still so serene and sweet. When Bernadetta went on the powerful horse, who didn’t seem to have any issue carrying three people, she looked at the enemy camp she was going towards, expecting trepidation, or even terror.

With Marianne’s hands holding the reins, somehow, she didn’t feel any.

There were surprised shouts when they arrived to camp, people staring at Bernadetta with shock and anger, sometimes even fear. Fear. Bernadetta cowered. These were the worst looks. She was the one who was afraid, she had never been one to instill fear inside people! Fear was miserable, suffocating, a part of her daily life she both accepted and loathed. To think that she could inspire that same feeling to other people was not empowering. It was nauseating.

"What is she doing here?" A man asked, hissing as he came to help Marianne down.

"We owe Yuri's life to her," the kind lady answered severely, "please give her nice accommodations while we await the end of the battle."

"What?"

But then everyone was here to help Yuri down and carry him to the infirmary tent to get him treated. Marianne smiled at Bernadetta once more before getting back on her horse.

"You're going back there?" Bernadetta remembered squeaking, trembling. She didn't understand why anyone would go into that hell willingly, especially not an angel like Marianne.

"Yes," Marianne said, "I have more people to save."

There was nothing Bernadetta could answer to that. She looked at her go, wondering if even five years ago, Marianne already was such a Saint.

She was made to wait beneath a tree as smoke kept running high into the air, like some bitter proof of existence from the flames that had almost claimed her life. When it started raining, it felt like salvation and tears of pain at the same time. The flames disappeared, only stayed sadness. Bernadetta just had to see the way everyone in the camp relaxed to know that Adrestia hadn't won that battle. Maybe it had been a stalemate, all three camps having lost so much they had to stand back and lick their wounds.

Underneath the rain, finally, a man came to her. He was handsome, but his shining green eyes looked exhausted, behind the smile he gave her.

"I made you wait," he apologized, "sorry."

She had no idea who he was, but probably the commander who was supposed to decide her fate. So she shook her head, apologies blurted out almost without her consent. He didn't look mean, but there was something about the way he stood that made him imposing in some way. There was curiosity in his stare when he tilted his head.

"I do wonder. Why is it that you decided to save Yuri?"

There were a thousand answers to that, none good enough, all more than sufficient. Nothing would leave her mouth while her brain flashed, again and again, memories and smiles. The young boy who kindly taught her how to take care of some garden plants. The musical laugh that rang into the air when she made a mess of things, amused at her mistakes rather than angry. The way he hadn't fought when her father's men beat him, ready to kill him. That meeting at the academy, awkward meals and fearful times until he told her everything, the whole truth. She hadn't been afraid, somehow, to learn that he had been supposed to kill her. She couldn't explain why. Then that dance, on the ball, the one dance in her life she might have enjoyed.

"I didn't save him", she managed to mumble after a while," he's the one who saved me."

On the battlefield, yes, but also in life. For how many times had Yuri been here for her when she felt like she was drowning?

"Th... Then", she kept going, feeling her voice shake, "Felix saved us both. He's the one who told me to go to Marianne."

Was Felix okay? Was Marianne? She could feel herself trembling, a sob inside her throat. She owed them both so much, she hoped they were alright, please Goddess, let them be alright.

The man nodded, looking understanding.

"I see. Well, Felix is here, right now. Once he wakes up, you should be able to thank him. Now let's get to the heart of the matter."

Her heartbeat started rushing ahead and she felt nauseous. She nodded stiffly, more scared than she wanted to admit.

"My men told me about the fire. On the hill, I mean."

It was like a punch to the chest.

Bernadetta had never been particularly close to any of her classmates, but she had thought she mattered to them, anyway. Despite how much she hated and was terrorized by her position on the hill, she had believed that to be a show of trust.

Yet in the end she had been sacrificed, like a simple pawn. Set on fire by people she had thought were... her friends, maybe? And not just her, hadn't Petra been with her too? Oh, she felt like she was going to throw up... Had Petra survived?

The man was still looking at her, unreadable.

"The Empire has retreated," he ended up saying, "they've left Gronder and gone back West. What is it you want to do?"

What... did she want to do?

That question took her by surprise. What could she answer? There was no matter of 'want', she thought with despair, there was just a matter of 'could'. What she wanted, had always wanted, was just for a good, dark place where she could lock herself up, away from violence and terror, and stay alone in peace. But what could she do, here? Stay here as a prisoner? Were there any other options? It wasn't like they would simply let her go back after the Adrestian troops! ... and it wasn’t like she could want that. She didn't know what to answer. Her heart was beating like crazy and she was going to throw up. What could she do what could she do what could she...

"Bernadetta, calm down," the man said slowly, "this is not a trick question."

Maybe but she didn't know, she didn't know! What did she want to do? What could she do? Could she go back home? Her father had been locked up by Edelgard thank the Goddess, but that meant that she had been her family's only representative when it came to fighting, she had been forced to go fighting, she had to, she couldn't say no but she hated it, she hated it so much, she didn't want to be here and then flames and Yuri saving her and Marianne’s soft voice and smile, like promising her that everything would be okay.

"Please," she begged almost despite herself, "please let me stay with you. I'll be quiet, silent, I'll stay in my room, I can be your prisoner, I don't care please just..."

She was sobbing again, crying in terror when she begged him not to make her fight anymore.

His hand was on her shoulder and she jumped, almost expecting a hit. Instead, he just smiled at her, the same kind of warm smile that Marianne wore, if more tired.

"Done," he promised, "rest up. We'll be walking to Garreg Mach soon enough."

The rain was still falling, cold droplets on her skin. She shivered and nodded with a hiccup.

"Get inside one of the wounded’s tents before you catch a cold," he advised her, "Marianne will check on your scratches and bruises."

She nodded again, wondering who he was, to be able to make these kinds of decisions. But she obeyed without arguing. What reason would she have to argue anyway? She felt small and insignificant. Cold. Ill. She was aching from everywhere.

She just wanted to cry and sleep in peace. Alone.

Marianne joined her a few hours later, when most of the tent she stayed in was already asleep. The blue-haired girl smiled again, seeing her, looking relieved. She seemed exhausted, but her eyes were still shining.

"Hello," she said sweetly, "Claude told me you would stay with us. It's a relief."

There had been no other choice, as far as Bernadetta was concerned. But she nodded all the same. Then her mind caught on as Marianne started tracing healing glyphs on her arm to get rid of the burns.

"Wait?" She squealed as silently as she would. "That was Claude?"

That man who had come to talk to her had been Claude?

"Well yes?" Marianne blinked. "Didn't you recognize him?"

No she hadn't, Bernadetta thought shamefully. That year in Garreg Mach she had spent locked inside her room for the most part, seeing as few people as she could. She had known of him, of course, everyone knew of the three House heads at the very least, but they had never spoken as far as she knew. She had seen him a few times from afar, had recollections of a winning smile with cold eyes. But she did not remember what he looked like.

In truth, she thought to herself, she only remembered what a few people from her school days looked like. Her classmates, since she was forced to see them the whole week. Yuri for obvious reasons. Ingrid because she had once forced her door down, Leonie because she had once repaired some of her items and the girl had looked overjoyed. She also remembered some of the knights, like Alois, because he had always been kind and fun. And Seteth who wrote such wonderful stories... She mostly remembered Raphael and Felix because they used to scare the crap out of her.

She hadn't even recognized Marianne, it was Felix, pointing to the Holy Knight, that had shown her who she was, on the battlefield.

She just shook her head and let Marianne work on her injuries. She liked being alone, but right now she felt isolated, mostly, and the sensation was very different. Much less comfortable.

She knew no one, she realized, gulping. She was walking right inside the stronghold of people who would have many reasons to hate and kill her, she knew no one. And yet she was going.

Sometimes, she was sure of it, either by bad luck or stupidity, but she had to be cursed.

On the way back, they had her walk among the Imperial prisoners, which was probably preferable to avoid questions. There were glances full of pity thrown at her and she cowered beneath them. She wanted them to stop looking at her. She wanted them to stop expecting things from her. She gulped, shivering. Her body felt cold, freezing even. It wasn't raining anymore and the pyres behind them were still smoking, but she felt frozen.

The moment they were in Garreg Mach, someone led her to the dormitories where she used to spend her time. Her old bedroom was open, someone just leaving it with a broom. It had been all prepared and cleaned. And so she was left here. She didn't need any other push to just lock herself up.

The moment she knew she was alone and safe, she simply curled up on her bed and started crying.

When someone knocked on her door, a few hours later, she expected Yuri to be there to drag her out of hiding. When she slightly opened her door and was welcomed by red hair, she had to realize she was wrong.

Ferdinand smiled at her, his kind face hadn't changed despite how tired he looked. His red hair was longer than she had ever seen it and no longer styled in that meticulous way he had seemed to favour years ago.

She had heard of his betrayal of the Empire. Everyone had. The son of the Prime Minister had abandoned his country and his people. It was the kind of thing that had been in everyone's mouths. Bernadetta wasn't sutpid enough to believe them, though. Ferdinand loved his people, he would do anything for them. But his father had been imprisoned and she remembered his terrified yet willful face, when he had left them to follow Edelgard and Hubert to Enbarr. He wanted to stop the war. He had promised he'd make their Emperor see reason.

No, Bernadetta hadn't been an idiot. Ferdinand would only have left if he had been forced to or if his life had been in danger. No one had known where he was for years, but he had been one of the Empire's most wanted men.

She didn't know he was with Leicester, but it was like a weight was lifted from her chest when she saw him and she opened her door wider, hugging him with all of her strength.

"It is good to see you too, Bernadetta," the young man laughed.

"I'm glad," she sobbed, "I had feared they had caught you."

"I'm glad you are alright too. I could not believe my ears when I learnt you would be on the battlefield. Do not get me wrong, I would trust you with my life if we were to fight side to side, but my poor princess, this must have been terrible for you."

She sobbed against his chest, shivering slightly. The sensation of burning and then freezing was starting to feel less real, thank Seiros. And she wasn't alone like she had been so scared of. Yes, there would always have been Yuri, but she feared facing him. How could she after he had sacrificed so much for her? The shame was creeping in her gut. But now she wasn't alone. There was Ferdinand, kind Ferdinand who had once told her how glad he was that they were friends.

"I'm happy to have a friend here," she admitted, shivering.

"I'm not the only one," Ferdinand answered, still smiling, "Linhardt is here too. And since Faerghus is joining us soon, Caspar will be there soon enough."

Forgetting about the spike of fear due to what Faerghus' presence implied, she shook her head, sighing with relief. She wasn't that close to Linhardt, but he was always soft-spoken and hated violence as much as her. And Caspar was sometimes scary in his enthusiasm, but he had a good heart and a kind laugh.

"And if I have my word to say," Ferdinand added with a low voice, "Petra and Dorothea should be with us soon too."

Petra and Dorothea. Dorothea was always kind and nice to Bernadetta, but Petra tended to scare her. Yet, what she wouldn't do to hear her call her a little rabbit once again. She had been so somber on the battlefield, hadn’t even spoken to her, but had volunteered to guard her...

"Okay," she wiped at her eyes, stepping back from the hug, "okay. Thank you. I'm just..."

She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't need to. He probably had felt the same at first.

It was just nice, even when you enjoyed nothing as much as solitude, to know that you weren't alone among people who should want you dead.

Strangely enough, the second person to knock on her door still wasn't Yuri, but Marianne.

She looked as exhausted as the sun, setting in blood-red light, but her smile was still as soft.

"Hello," the girl mumbled, "may I... may I stay here for just a few minutes? I just... I just want a bit of silence."

Bernadetta didn't know how to say no to that quiet voice. She let her in.

Marianne did stay quiet for her whole stay. She just lied on the bed and hid her eyes with her arm. By her side, Bernadetta fidgeted, wondering what she could do. There was nothing in that old room of hers, none of these trinkets, sewing materials, or cute plants she had there for the longest time. Nothing to busy herself except for a book, on the desk, something that someone had probably left by accident as they cleaned the room. Maybe she could give it to Marianne when she would leave, this way there would be no one coming here to look for it.

When she opened it, she was welcomed by a familiar handwriting. And a small note.

For Bernadetta, I hope this gives you inspiration.

There was no need for a name, Bernadetta had drawn enough pictures for Seteth's books to recognize the way he looped his letters. She teared up again. Grateful. Saddened. Another reminder that she wasn't alone. She would have deserved this man's scorn, she thought, he had been always so nice to her, his stories the most wonderful she had read, yet she had opposed him, fought for those who sought to destroy everything he cared for. But it hadn't mattered. This was how he was welcoming her back.

Some said there were no real sides in war, only powerful people with an agenda and people who had no choice but to follow them. She sometimes wondered how true that statement was. It wasn't entirely false, that was the one thing she was sure of.

A sob dragged her from her thoughts. She turned towards Marianne, alarmed by the sound. Marianne was shaking softly on the bed.

Bernadetta stood up, leaving the book on the desk. She raised a hand and lowered it again, opened her mouth and closed it. What could she do? What was happening? Why was Marianne crying? Should she say something? But she had wanted silence hadn't she? What should she do? What...

Her indecision lasted so long she actually jumped when Marianne turned and stood. Her eyes were wet, but not too red. When she smiled at Bernadetta, she still seemed tired, but it was every bit as sincere as the previous times.

"Sorry," she apologized, "I guess this needed to come out."

"A... Are you okay?"

Marianne tilted her head, eyes sad.

"I will be. This happens after every battle. I've... lost friends. And right now, another one that I thought was safe is wounded again, and I'm scared of losing him..."

She shook her head softly.

"I have been asked to take a small break, so I left Mercedes and Sylvain with him... But still, I should go back. I'm scared... It's silly, but I'm scared he might die if I leave him for too long."

Bernadetta just nodded, unsure what she could say. She understood that fear. Understood it all too well when she still dreamed of the time her father had almost killed Yuri before her eyes.

"It is strange," Marianne hummed, "I spent most of my life convinced that I would only ever be friends with animals. Yet here I am, more scared of losing a human than I ever was of losing my dear horses..."

There was nothing Bernadetta could answer to that, she figured. So she just nodded again, mutely. Marianne's smile became fonder.

"Thank you, Bernadetta. It was nice of you to let me in."

"You can come anytime", Bernadette blurted out, kicking herself for it.

"Really? Thank you. It is nice of you."

In front of such a quiet and kind voice, though, she couldn't find it in herself to really regret it.

During the next weeks, Marianne did come quite often. Everytime she needed a break. Sometimes, she was sad. Sometimes, she was happy. Sometimes it was nothing, she just wanted silence and company. The kind she used to find with the horses she loved so much, before. But nowadays, the monastery was so full that the stables weren't a quiet company anymore. Bernadetta let her in every single time, finding out that she didn't mind that kind and quiet presence in her room.

With time, Marianne started bringing things too. Cloth and string for Bernadetta to be able to sew again. Stuffing, too, after the one time Bernadetta mentioned that she wished she could make dolls again. She didn't know what she could do with them, but Marianne figured she could give some to the orphan children living in the monastery. Most had miserable lives in Abyss, toys would lighten up their lives.

Marianne even brought a few potted plants, and drawing material. And in return, when she suggested a quiet stroll in the gardens or not too populated places, she often suggested Bernadetta come with her.

After a while, Bernadetta started accepting.

It was so much easier to sleep after a walk, head emptied from all the self-loathing and doubts she always held. Marianne smiled knowingly at her when Bernadetta thanked her, after their second walk. They both pretended it was for the book on art she had brought. They both knew better.

They had an understanding, the both of them.

6th Day of the Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1186

She met Judai during one of these little strolls.

They literally bumped into each other at a corner, both falling to the ground with a yelp. Marianne gasped and Bernadetta did what she always did: she panicked.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed in terror. "I didn't mean to bump into you, I'm so very sorry!"

"It's okay," an unknown voice answered her as the one she had unwillingly pushed to the ground stood up,"are you alright? You didn't hurt yourself falling down, did you?"

She looked at him. Small, he didn't look taller than she was. Big brown eyes and a round, young face, frowning with worry.

She felt terrified.

She ran away with a scream, not stopping until she had locked herself in her room, heart going fast with terror, and curled on her bed, under the sheets.

There had been something cold about him. She could not explain it any other way, but his eyes had been cold and detached, the kind that didn't seem to see the same world she did. As if she were but a small thing on his path that would be easy to disregard.

There was something... inhuman about him. And she had been scared, terrified by that unknown inhuman-ness.

When Marianne came to see if she was alright, she hesitated to let her him, afraid that strange, scary boy would be with her. Only when she assured she was alone did she let her new friend in.

"Who was that?" Bernadetta mumbled as she closed the door.

"His name is Judai", Marianne smiled, "he is part of Faerghus' army."

"He felt... cold. And... And tall. It was like I was... an ant."

Marianne stared at her, losing her smile for a second. She shook her head.

"I see."

She didn't say anything for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out what words to use. In the end she sighed.

"He has gone through a lot," she said, "so it does make sense that his heart feels closed. But I can assure you that he is a sweet boy."

She pointed at Bernadetta's papers and smiled tentatively.

"He used to really like art, in fact. Maybe you could reignite his passion about it?"

Bernadetta squeaked and waved her hands in terror, refusals and apologies blurted out as fast as her tongue was able to form them. Marianne laughed sweetly, telling her that it was just a suggestion.

Still, at night, Bernadetta saw that young face and wondered, really, if Marianne was right about him.

6th day of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1186

There was no need to be good at understanding feelings to realize that the returning army wasn't in a good mood when it came back from Merceus' assault. There were whispers of a defeat, quickly squashed by the fact that their losses had clearly been minimal and that they brought a lot of prisoners. But then the truth had started being whispered in the wind, the rumors of a weapon that had destroyed an invincible fortress in one hit, sparing none that was left inside.

Bernadetta looked at them come in, more worried than ever. She had been waiting outside with trepidation, scared of the results. Relieved when Yuri noticed her and waved, a small smile on his face. Relieved when her other friends did the same, including Marianne.

She looked at all the faces she recognized, most of them greeting her when passing her. Even Dimitri smiled at her slightly and she wondered, briefly, why he didn't scare her, that hulking mass of muscles with his eyepatch and titanic strength. She had heard all kinds of legends about him on the battlefield, Imperial soldiers who feared him, calling him an army of one, who would tear them to shreds and not look back. And she could have believed it without any issue, she remembered his rage, his fury during the Siege, the strength he held seemingly without even trying. But as she looked at him get further away from her, she couldn't find it in herself to be scared of him.

It was the smile, she figured. A familiar one. One she had practiced in the mirror for years. One that was warm and unassuming, saying that whoever she gave it to wasn't responsible for the grief in her eyes.

It was hard to be scared of people who reminded her of herself.

When Marianne came into her room later, she had red eyes and held Bernadetta for an entire hour, sobs shaking her frail frame. Bernadetta didn't say a word, comforting her softly. She was glad she hadn't seen what had happened in Merceus. She didn't know how those who had would handle it. But if she could help Marianne live through it? Then it was good, wasn't it? Then she had been useful, hadn't she?

25th day of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1186

There was a party happening tonight, and Yuri was braiding her hair.

"I don't know if I should come," she mumbled, fidgeting, "they might not want to see me there."

"Bern, literally no one cares." He clicked his tongue. "I know you dislike it when there are a lot of people, but no one will be looking at you except for the people who already know you. Plus, it's happening in the Dining Hall. If it becomes too much, it will take less than five minutes for you to come back here."

"You're right," she grumbled, "as always. It's infuriating. Why are you always right?"

"It's a gift and you're just anxious. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, but there will be food. And cake! You love cake! And I can't promise there'll be any left by the time I stop eavesdropping on drunk people to bring you some."

"Maybe I can bribe someone else to bring me some," she retorted.

"For that, sweetie, you'll have to leave this place."

"... That's a low blow."

She did attempt to bribe Marianne, when she came to see her. Someone had done her hair too, probably Hilda if Bernadetta had to guess. It wasn't her usual distinguished braided hairstyle, but something more relaxed that showed just how long her blue curls really were.

She laughed when Bernadetta suggested she brings her some cake.

"Oh dear," she giggled, "I am not one for places with a lot of people either. I cannot assure you I will stay there long enough for the cakes to be served."

"So here are my choices," Bernadetta groaned, "either dying from overexposure to people, or dying from hunger due to the lack of cake. Woe is me, I am the saddest person in the universe."

It was all worth it to hear Marianne laugh again.

"Well," she ended up saying, "you are not the only one who prefers being alone, but everyone is going to come. There are some people, there, who you might have things to say to."

Judai's head flashed into her mind and she figured, flushing, that she might as well apologize for running from him. Felix's wild eyes at Gronder went through her mind too and she felt guilty for never thanking him. She hadn't seen him since, Marianne had had to tell her that yes, he was here and fine.

That made at least two people she wouldn't see otherwise, indeed. With a sigh, she accepted.

Marianne smiled and reached out with her hand.

"At least," she said softly, "if it becomes too much, we know where we can hide."

Bernadetta nodded, smiling. Yes indeed. And maybe, for a change, they could go to Marianne's room instead, avoid Dorothea and Annette's singing, their only neighbour becoming the quiet Ingrid instead...

"Let's go, I guess."

She was smiling when she took Marianne's hand.

Chapter Text

Wishful Thinking

Imperial year 1180

Ferdinand

For months, back at the Academy, Ferdinand had dreams. Not literal dreams, daydreams. Daydreams about what could have been and what might still be. He had daydreamed of a reality where Edelgard von Hreslvelg did not exist and he did not have to compete with her at all times, already secure in his position, sure to be useful, sure to have a place in the world simply by being.

Sure, he would still have worked hard, he knew, he had been working hard long before he had been faced by her disdain for him and his family, long before he had unwillingly shifted his whole life to make sure she'd need him, wishing to surpass her, knowing he'd at best make her recognize him as barely useful.

But these daydreams had never felt as wishful as when he had met Hubert von Vestra.

No, not met, that was too early. They couldn't stand each other when they met. Hubert was who Ferdinand should have been, a right arm, an advisor, an expert in his domain, his strengths recognized and valued.

Jealousy had eaten at him, the fact that the man was his opposite in every point hadn't helped. And they had hated each other.

Until they hadn't.

Ferdinand didn't know when, exactly, it had happened. Just that one day, they were working on a coded language together, almost civil, something akin to excitement shining in Hubert's eyes and Ferdinand had realized he didn't mind his presence and his overwhelming coffee smell. He actually... quite liked it.

Not long after, him dreaming of a world without the Imperial princess took a whole new turn. He wanted a world where he and Hubert could have been close without her shadow looming over them, without his friend having to pronounce her name every other sentence. He wished for a world where they could just be, no Imperial titles stopping them, no obligations, no eternal loyalty and devotion, the kind that meant she could interrupt their time together to ask for Hubert, and that he would follow her without any hesitation.

And so Ferdinand gritted his teeth and accepted it. Accepted that she'd be first for him, always, and that he'd be second to her, once again. And it hurt, deeply, yes, but who was he to ask for more? She was the princess. An elite warrior, axe skill unparalleled, future leader of the biggest country of Fodlan, and Hubert’s childhood friend. He was a jack of all skills, master of none, who couldn't reach her despite fighting tooth and nail for just an inch of her talent, and a nuisance the broody teenager barely tolerated. Just mentioning these thoughts to Hubert, surely, would break that little truce of them.

So when Hubert mentioned it first, Ferdinand simply froze.

"What?"

Hubert was staring at their notes, but his pale eyes didn't seem to really see them, likely lost in thought.

"I said that I was wondering what I would have become if Lady Edelgard hadn't survived the Insurrection."

"Well I sure am glad that she's alive," Ferdinand answered with a shiver, "it was already far too deadly."

And he was sincere in saying that. For all that he sometimes dreamed of a world without her, he wouldn't have wished for Edelgard's death, nor had he wished for her siblings’. The fact that these children hadn't survived the insurrection was one of the things he kept holding over his father's head, reminding him that one day he'd have to take the power he held, as no one who allowed such horrors to happen should be in such a high position. He figured his words were weak, though, and Hubert's stare was mocking. Prime Minister Von Aegir, His own father, was part of this horrific tale after all. He didn't blame him for not trusting what he had just said.

"It sure was," Hubert admitted calmly, "but I do wonder sometimes. It's not something I enjoy doing, thinking of a world that doesn't exist and that shouldn't exist."

"Then why should we talk about it?"

Hubert raised his head, but still didn't turn towards him.

"I am not sure. I guess I wonder what would be of us, not just me."

Ferdinand's heart missed a beat. He stammered before stopping himself, calming his frantic thoughts down.

"I'm sure we would have found a way to get along," he said, gesturing to their notes, "we do make quite a good team once we put our minds to it."

Hubert nodded mutely.

"We sure do," he smirked, "but I do not know if I would have even wanted to stay in the Empire had she perished."

"That would have made things harder for us for sure," Ferdinand laughed, "but I like to think that we would have found each other anyway. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking, I sure enjoy our time together after all."

He flushed. Maybe that was a bit too honest. When Hubert turned to him, though, his usual smirk looked softer, if even just by a bit.

"I can't say I entirely hate it either," he admitted.

It had taken them a few more of these meetings for Hubert to kiss him, but Ferdinand liked to think of that moment as the day they had confessed.

Their work had started to slow down afterwards, conversations about many other topics replacing their intense focus. Their code was almost finished, anyway, so there was no reason for them to spend so much time on it. They bickered a lot, for sure, but it was never too serious, and any more heated fight ended up with, well, heated other things, so Ferdinand sure wouldn't complain. Mostly, the topics of their conversations were simple, with no real implication, like little moments of freedom from their duties. There had been complaints about food, curiosity over some other students’ fighting techniques and, Ferdinand would dare say it, even a bit of gossip.

There was one day, though, as they sat together, enjoying their drink of choice and making fun of the other's, that Hubert's eyes glazed over. And he approached the subject again.

"Do you remember? When I said I didn't know what I would have done had Lady Edelgard perished?"

"I do."

"I think I figured it out."

"Really?"

Maybe Ferdinand had hoped to hear he would have followed him. But even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have been prepared to hear the answer.

"I would have spent my whole life destroying the Empire."

Ferdinand felt his hand let go of his teacup more than doing it consciously. Silence followed.

"You would have?" Goddess, his voice sounded so weak.

"I would have. I would have ruined those who had ruined her. With no hesitation."

Including Ferdinand and his family. There was no need for him to explain it, he knew it perfectly. Not for the first time, but maybe it was the first time the thought felt so selfish, Ferdinand was glad Edelgard had survived. He didn't want a world where he would have had to be Hubert's enemy.

"Is that so?" he went, hoping his voice stayed calm. It was just a hypothetical after all. "And how would you have done that?"

It was all make-believe. A game. He could work with that. Hubert looked at him, his smirk back on his face.

"Well let's see... I think I would have gone to the Alliance. The Kingdom has more animosity towards the Empire and is more stable, but its nobility is too bound by honour and old loyalty for me to get results soon enough. The Alliance, on the other way, allows for upstart young people to get recognition faster..."

Yes, all make-believe. A game of pretend. Ferdinand reminding him of some of Adrestia's strengths and Hubert countering with the assets he could use to win. At the end of the day, it was almost... fun, if it made sense. They left each other in good spirits.

A week later, Edelgard declared war on the Church of Seiros and the rest of Fodlan. Hubert followed her. Ferdinand didn't.

Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1181

Ferdinand tried, in truth. He went to the Empire at first, because it had been his home. He tried to argue against her, tell her what a mistake she was making, ask her to let him see his father, who had been imprisoned without a trial, without even being given the possibility to join her. All his requests were denied.

For the first weeks of war after Garreg Mach's siege, he wandered, feeling unsafe but not knowing where to turn. He tried talking to Hubert, reasoning with him. His friend, a man he wanted to call his lover, wouldn't even answer him. It didn't even seem to matter that Edelgard hadn't cared about him being in the monastery when she had invaded it, that the only reason he managed to escape it with his life was thanks to that dragon they had then shot down the sky. Had Hubert really been ready to forfeit Ferdinand's life without even leaving him the possibility of joining them?

Or had he known that he couldn't in good faith, from the very beginning?

Because Ferdinand was miserable and afraid. He couldn't stay here and he knew it. With how he kept asking Edelgard to reconsider, it was but a matter of time before she decided he was an enemy to dispatch, a discordant voice to get rid of. But he didn't know where else to turn.

It was Dorothea, in the end, who got him out. She didn't leave him any choice. They met for tea and she was shaking, her make-up barely able to hide the tears that had been streaming down her face every day since they had come back here without knowing why they had done so.

"You need out, Ferdie," she said softly, "I said a thousand times that I wouldn't fight and that I would stay with Petra, so they know I'm harmless. But you are in danger."

"But where would I go?" He asked, turning his empty teacup in his hand. He couldn't taste it, his tongue too bitter for it. "This has always been my home."

"I know," she answered softly, "but there are places. I will smuggle you to Morfis myself if I need to."

"What would I do in Morfis?" He laughed sadly. "I don't speak their language and I have nothing to offer them. I am a noble, raised to rule and fight for his people. No one will let me rule, here, and I can't fight for... For this."

"I know," Dorothea repeated, voice soft, "but there are other people you could fight for."

"Like who?"

"Like Claude or Dimitri."

It was a lost cause. Ferdinand may have been naive at times, but he wasn't stupid. The Kingdom lords were already giving up their swords in hope that they'd be spared the wrath of the Empire, the Alliance was no military nation and most of its southern regions were governed by cowards, they would surrender too, leaving its northern bastions as easy pickings.

"I don't have what it would take to have them win."

"Maybe not. But wouldn't it be better than to wait here for your execution or forced conscription?"

Because it would be one or the other in the end, wouldn't it be?

"I don't know," he said, hesitant, "I don't want to leave..."

Hubert. Despite everything, despite not even knowing if the man had thought he would survive the assault on this academy where they had lived their happiest days, he couldn't leave him.

Dorothea had looked at him sadly.

"Oh, Ferdie. I am so sorry."

The world had started getting hazy before she finished her sentence.

"But I'm not leaving you any choice."

He woke up in a merchant's caravan, passing near Garreg Mach. They looked worried about their chosen path, but smiled at him when he woke up. The place had been abandoned, they had said, but it probably wouldn't be long before bandits decided to loot it. And some Imperial troops usually stayed near, in case the Order of Seiros came back to claim their Headquarters (what a cold way to call what had been these people's home for years, a home they had been torn away from, just like Ferdinand had just been torn away from his).

Ferdinand knew why Dorothea had sent him here. Garreg Mach was a central point. From there, he could go wherever he wanted. Up north to Faerghus. East to Leicester. West and go back home, wasting all of Dorothea's efforts.

The one time a bandit tried to attack the caravan, Ferdinand pushed him back without effort. Then, as they thanked him, going inside Leicester's lands, he hesitated.

Maybe it was because he thought of Dorothea’s darling Ingrid, or maybe he just wanted to stay on his own, but he started by going north. Towards Faerghus.

Faerghus was a cold place, even in spring. Or maybe that was just him, being used to the warmth of Adrestia. His walk was arduous and he cursed himself once or twice for making the decision to leave the merchants. The loneliness was eating at him.

Sometimes, he could almost swear he heard laughter. Familiar laughter, mocking him for being foolish and thinking he could escape. He used to love that mocking laughter, somewhat. Now it felt bitter, aggressive.

He had gone through most of Charon's territory when the first soldiers fell on him.

He had been prepared from the very beginning to explain who he was. Explain that he was fleeing the Empire, that he was here to help. He had repeated words in his head, again and again, a speech that he hoped would sound sincere enough to people who had just had war declared on them by his people.

He hadn't prepared to be jumped by Imperial soldiers instead.

What were they doing here? He wondered panickedly as he dodged their attacks. They were far from the front line already, how did they get here?

"What is the meaning of this?" He tried, imperious.

The soldiers, fighting him, didn't answer, their attacks didn't stop. He knocked one out, hoping not to kill her. It didn't matter that he had left. These were his people! He did not want to hurt them!

This did not stop the last two. There was a cracking sound as Ferdinand hit the second one, and he tried not to think about that. The third ended up on the ground, looking furious, Ferdinand's lance aimed straight at his throat.

"Traitor," the man groaned.

"Save these words for your Emperor," Ferdinand answered, wondering when she had stopped being 'our' Emperor, "what are you doing in Charon lands?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?" the soldier smirked, bloody teeth and rage in his eyes. "Fhirdiad has fallen."

Fhirdiad had fallen. Or so that was what the soldier had said. 'They killed the regent and accused the little prince of said murder. He was tried for high treason and executed.'

Ferdinand didn't remember ever feeling that sick.

Dimitri was a beloved prince. He knew that, had always known that. He had watched him from afar at the academy, admiring how naturally nobility came to him, how he was humble, yet his poise was undeniable. They had barely ever talked, but he had been a familiar sight, shining blonde hair and soft blue eyes. He had been kind, the type of person who smuggled food out of the kitchen to give orphans or people in Abyss. He had a big heart and a good head on his shoulders when it came to the complexity of governing. Ferdinand could still hear his frustrated voice, as he once explained to Claude, in the library, that some of the noble systems in the Kingdom needed reforming, but that they were still in place for a reason: they worked. And so, if one wanted to get rid of them, one needed to have a true and tested replacement ready. It had been an interesting conversation, one Ferdinand had once or twice thought about joining, changing his mind as he figured the two seemed to be comfortable and that he didn't wish to bother them. He remembered thinking that Faerghus was lucky its future sovereign had already grasped the complexities of his position and that he was actively thinking about them...

'Von Riegan, that fool. He hasn't wasted any time proclaiming neutrality in this war. Since Leicester is not a particularly religious place, we can't attack unprovoked without turning every single lord of the Alliance against ourselves. And if they unite forces, we won’t be able to invade them unless we take most of our troops against Myrddin, so we'll take care of Faerghus first. Then, they'll have no other choice but to surrender.'

Fool wasn't the word Ferdinand would have chosen. If anything, he thought as he stared at his campfire that night, it was brilliant. A perfect way to stall for time and spare his people as he figured out all of his options.

Dimitri was dead. The Eastern lords would fight back, with all they had. Maybe they'd manage to push the Empire back for months, maybe even years with how ferocious and already used to war the Fraldarius and Gautier territories were. Faerghus was as good as gone, no matter how much it hurt to think about. This Kingdom and its prince, who had both seemed to have such a bright future ahead of them...

Claude von Riegan was alive. And already working hard to save his people from the devastation that would happen soon enough in Faerghus. Ferdinand had worked under Claude. They had fought together. He had been a good tactician and a smart person, one who always prepared contingency plans in case things turned dangerous, one who always made sure his men were safe. One he, maybe, could still help...

In the morning, Ferdinand started going East instead of North.

31st day of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial year 1186

Here they were, he thought as he looked at Enbarr, the town where he was born, here they were. Five years of suffering later, but here they were.

Enbarr had fallen. The Emperor had been defeated. They had won.

That terrible war was over.

He walked aimlessly in the streets. He had been given no task, Hilda had seen him and ordered him to rest up. Dorothea had mentioned helping with orphans and that he could join them later, if he felt better.

Better.

Enbarr had fallen, the Emperor was defeated, they had won.

Hubert was dead.

Ferdinand had come here, prepared to do the deed himself. He had thought it his duty, somehow, to get rid of the man he still loved despite himself. He didn't know why he had been so intent on hurting himself like that. Maybe he had just wanted to see Hubert's eyes, looking at him and proving that he had never loved him. Maybe he had hoped to figure out how he felt, finally, as they went face to face for the first time in years.

He hadn't been prepared enough. He had seen these pale eyes and a smile, a small smile, and his hand had stayed.

"What?" Hubert had muttered. "What are you waiting for?"

Ferdinand barely remembered asking him to surrender, quietly. It had been as if his dark mage hadn’t heard. Maybe his words simply could not reach him anymore.

There had been a memory, tugging at him. Of daydreams and make-believes. Of 'I would have spent my whole life destroying the Empire' and how the tables had turned.

Ferdinand's hand had shaken. He couldn't read Hubert's eyes, but there had been something almost amused on his face. As if he had been trying to tell him that no matter what, it would have ended this way. That they had always been meant to fight each other.

Then why, Ferdinand thought helplessly as he refused to let himself think of Luin, piercing Hubert's throat, or about the letter in his pocket, why would you indulge me and let me fall for you? Why would you let yourself fall for me? Did you really love me? Or was it just a game?

He didn't know. He didn't know and never would. There was no way to talk to dead people and he would be doomed, here, to never get his answers. They would haunt him at night, tormenting him, making him wonder if he ever knew anything about him, in the end. He had no way to ever figure it out.

Except he had.

Ferdinand stopped walking.

There was someone, here, who spoke to ghosts, he realized. Maybe he could...

Steps desperate, he started walking again. He needed to find Judai.

Judai

"I don't think that's a good idea," Judai said.

Ferdinand's resolved expression melted in dismay and confusion and Judai winced. He had just left Seiros to rest and his mind was finally starting to settle down. Gone was the terrifying high of battle and the cold wish for murder. He just felt exhausted, stumbling along the corridor, hoping for a bit of rest and for Yubel to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, tiredness overwhelming him just as he knew it would until they were back in Garreg Mach.

But Ferdinand had come, looking hopeful and intent on asking something of him and so he had listened. The young man was lost, mournful, and so Judai wanted to help.

’I want to talk to Hubert.’

His stomach had fallen. He had blurted out these words of unease, almost despite himself.

"Why?” Ferdinand asked awkwardly. “Is it... unwelcome of me to ask that?"

"What? Oh, no, no, you're not at fault..." How could he explain, he thought, biting his lip. "There are a few reasons... The first is that I never met the man, any ghost could come to me and pretend to be him and I wouldn't know any better."

That wasn't entirely true, but it'd need a lot of screening process and he’d probably end up traumatising a few already dead people, which wasn't exactly a hobby of his. But there were also so many other reasons...

"I usually try not to promise to anyone that they’ll be able to speak with their dead, for the simple reason that I'm not sure I’ll find them. Some dead people simply... pass on, without leaving their spirits behind for even a moment. Those who feel satisfied with their life, those who don't think they have any reason to stay, those who are too scared to see the world keep on living without them..."

There was no way for him to know if Hubert was part of these or not. But if he was, then he couldn't just give Ferdinand false hope.

"That makes sense," Ferdinand sighed, "I just... I guess... I'm just lost. I want to know what he thought, what he felt. For me... Why he would..."

Most people didn't know what to make of Hubert's last moments. He had heard it all from Ingrid and Petra, both with varying degrees of confusion. The man had been about to attack Ferdinand, yet when he had fallen, they had found a message addressed to him. Was he really going to attack, then? No one could decide.

Strangely enough, it was Ingrid, the one who had killed him, who was the most convinced that he wouldn’t have hurt the boy he used to love. Judai suspected guilt to be the cause.

It was no wonder Ferdinand was so confused he wanted his help.

Too bad, Judai was still impossibly bad at helping people, he thought desperately.

"Even without all that," he admitted shamefully, "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"What do you mean?" he hated seeing that pleading look on the red-haired man's face. He hated having to break his heart again.

He closed his eyes before answering, trying to figure out a way for his words to hurt less.

He didn’t find any.

"How would you react if the answer isn't what you hope for?"

Silence. He didn't have to open his eyes to know Ferdinand had frozen. Oh, how Judai hated doing that to him. Yubel was crying in his soul, far too broken by tragic love stories as they were. It was so easy, for them, to remember that it could have been the two of them instead, fighting each other until one fell despite everything. How lucky they had been to manage to avoid that fate.

"I can still try, but… Even without all these problems," he admitted, opening his eyes to stare at the ground, "I’m not sure it would be good for you to talk to him. I... Maybe it's not my place, but... I feel like it would only hurt you more. And I don't want that, you're..."

Kind, precious, sweet and adorable, there was a reason almost no one knew how to get angry at Ferdinand von Aegir. The man really was a sweetheart. And Judai wanted to help him, for anything he could, sincerely. But not for that. Not for something that could only destroy him more.

"It's my choice to make," Ferdinand said, softly.

He was right, in the end. Judai closed his eyes again, hating everything about this.

"Fine," he said, "if I see him, then, I'll talk to him. But first you have to tell me."

"Tell you what?"

This time, Judai stared up, finding Ferdinand's dismayed face. There were tears in his eyes already, and Judai couldn’t stand seeing him like that. He hated even more that he was in part responsible.

"What you want to say to him. I need to know that, if I want him to listen to me."

Ferdinand bit his bottom lip, eyes quivering. He didn't answer. Feeling his heart break, Judai tilted his head, trying to stare without judgement. He expected it after all.

"You don't know what you want to say to him, do you?"

A few seconds passed. And then, like the quietest of defeats, Ferdinand lowered his head.

"I don't," he admitted, "I don't know what to tell him. I'm starting to wonder if I ever did."

He passed a hand on his face, looking exhausted, swallowing down his tears.

"I didn't know the words to make him stay, I didn't know the words to convince him to surrender, I don't think I ever learnt how to talk to him. What would I say to him? In the end... I want an answer to a question I don't even know how to ask."

"Ferdinand..."

Ferdinand stopped him with a hand gesture.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry, I know you dislike refusing requests for help. Even such a selfish one..."

It wasn't selfish. It wasn't. They had all lost so much, asking for closure should never be too much. This one was just... complicated.

"What do you think he'd tell you?" Judai asked him instead.

"I don't know," Ferdinand admitted, miserably, "that's the problem. The only thing I'm sure of, by this point, is how much he cared for Edelgard. Much more than he ever did for me, that's for sure..."

Such bitterness didn't suit him. Judai felt his breath stay stuck in his throat, almost as if he was choking, and turned his head away. This would only hurt Ferdinand, he had known it from the start. So why wasn't he cutting the conversation short and desperately looking for someone like Hilda, who actually knew how to cheer people up?

Finally, after a few beats of awkward silence, Ferdinand shook his head.

"Thank you for humouring me," he said, "I shouldn't have asked that of you, and you're right. He would... probably just tell me to protect her, anyway... I don't think I'd be ready to hear that."

"Ferdinand..." Judai started. "Just... don't stay alone, okay?"

"I won't." the red-haired man smiled, sadly, but sincere. "I won't, I promise I'm not even..." he wiped a tear and shook his head. "It was just a feeling brought in the spur of the moment. I'll feel better in a few hours."

"Take care of yourself. Please."

"I will. I will. Dorothea mentioned something about helping with orphans... I'm going to... go check on her."

Orphans. One would think that seeing misery wouldn't help him in such a state. But Ferdinand lived for being useful, so it wasn’t that surprising. Judai nodded, hoping he looked encouraging, still feeling heartless for not being able to help and worse, not being sure he actually wanted to help.

It felt hypocritical of him, to think talking to ghosts never held anything good when he himself had his best friend, snarking good-naturedly with him everytime the one he haunted stood near. But in great majority, it had been that way in his experience. Close ones, hoping to hear from their dear dead and hearing distorted words, hateful, lost, that made them feel worse than everything. The chances of it being a good experience were close to none. Even if he had the tools to try to talk to Hubert, he wasn't sure he would have dared even to try. He wouldn't inflict the pain it could cause on anyone.

Yet, as he looked at Ferdinand disappearing in the streets, there was a breeze. Fresh, delicate, almost hesitant. And a voice, barely audible, humming into his ear.

It said five words before fading. Five only. And then it was never heard of again.

"Tell him to be happy."

Chapter Text

Understanding vs forgiveness  

30th day of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1186

Hapi

The paw was gigantic and Hapi was pretty sure the poor guy it hit had been at least knocked out. There was screaming everywhere and people with their weapons, trying desperately to destroy the thing rushing at her, roaring. She prepared a spell, readying herself to throw it.

"Hapi," Yuri-bird's voice called behind her, "get down."

That was a voice you did not disobey. She left her spell fizzle out as she crouched, letting the woman armed with her mythical sword jump above her and hit the monster in the face. It only took a few hits for the thing to stay down and Hapi looked at its corpse with mixed feelings. Usually there would have been relief in her chest, mostly, but right now, she was torn. Wondering if that had been necessary, if she couldn't have taken care of it herself.

"Wounded!" A light voice yelled, rushing among the men staring at their benevolent saviour. "Is anyone wounded? Bring them to me, I can help!"

There she was, the little girl who was both naively young and ancient in her way of being. Hapi saw her green hair disappear among people who needed her help and turned to Chatterbox instead.

The professor was cleaning her sword, looking unaffected as always. She nodded at Hapi before going to Yuri as if nothing had happened, as if Hapi hadn't lost control of something she had sworn to herself she wouldn't.

She had sighed. She hadn't sighed for so long, yet here she was, sighing two times in three days. They didn't need her shit as they were marching towards Gronder, why couldn't she stop herself?

The fearful eyes addressed to her were the most painful thing. She had almost forgotten about them. She hadn't attracted fear unwillingly for five years. And now here they were, and people were remembering why she was so feared the Order once had her locked up in Abyss (and then let her go without a fuss and she still didn't understand that part despite how long it had been).

"Hapi!"

Sweetness had to be done with her healing tour, she was now walking towards Hapi, with that cute smile of hers and absolutely no fear in her eyes.

"Are you hurt?"

How Flayn wasn't scared of Hapi, Hapi didn't know. She had never been a powerful fighter, she would be doomed in front of one of Hapi's accidental monster summoning. Yet here she was, more worried about her being hurt than her calling another creature by mistake.

"I'm fine, Sweetness."

It was hard to dislike Flayn or to push her away. She was a bit like Coco in her crazy bubbly way and almost precious poshness, but despite how lost in her bubble she looked at times, there was a spark in Flayn's eyes that was much unlike Constance's. Where Constance saw the world through the eyes of a fallen noblewoman who had never really grasped her new situation, Flayn saw the world as if it was her companion, in both its kindness and its horror. She looked at it and accepted it, embraced it even, sadly but without arguing.

If it hadn't been impossible, Hapi would be sure of it: that little girl had already lived through a war.

"We need to find a way to help you with that," Flayn mumbled as she healed the scratches Hapi had gotten during the fight, "I know we've been trying for years, but still, this is making your life so much harder than it has to be."

"Don't bother," Hapi said.

She didn't entirely mean it, but part of it definitely did. And it was his fault.

The monster tamer, that weird kid from the tomb, Faerghus's "holy man". All of it was his fault, she decided. It was him who had shown her that her ailment was wrong in different ways than what she expected. She had always figured it was the very summoning she did that was the problem. But here he was, calming that snake down and basically talking to the thing as if it understood him.

That was the first time one of the monsters she summoned did not attack her, and she sometimes still wondered if she hadn't dreamed it. When she had doubts, she'd turn to Yuri-bird and, very tiredly, he'd tell her that no, that had in fact happened.

There was some kind of rage in her chest when she thought of it. Something she had thought to be a curse for years might actually have been something entirely different. And she would never have known it if that boy and she hadn't crossed paths.

She needed to find him again, she figured, almost angrily. She'd find him again and he'd teach her. He'd teach her how to free herself.

4th Day of the Harpstring Moon, Imperial Year 1186

He was fishing. She didn't know why she found it so frustrating, they could use fish to eat, but there was something annoying about how she had been searching for him all morning, looking inside these Church buildings and administrative places and other rooms she didn't like, all to learn that he was fishing at the pond all along.

Chatterbox nodded at her when she saw her, but the weird kid didn't raise his head until she tapped on his shoulder. His shuttered eyes lit up in recognition. It looked fake. Whatever, she didn't care.

"Oh, hey. Hapi, was it?"

"Yes. Now come with me."

He threw a look at Chatterbox who nodded again, calmly.

"Don't worry, I can finish by myself," she promised.

Hapi didn't wait for more approval before dragging him away with her, searching for how to call him. 'Weird kid' wouldn't stand too long. What was his name already? Ju-something? Would 'Juju' be memorable enough for her?

"Is everything alright?" Juju - no that wouldn't do, she'd need to find something better - said.

"You," she said slowly, "are going to teach me how not to summon beasts everytime I sigh."

She saw it in the way his face morphed in surprise. Somehow, he hadn't expected that. Right, summoning was normal for him, he didn't see how it could ruin someone's life.

"Oh. Okay then?"

Except he didn't. It was only a few minutes in and she was already realizing that this wasn't leading where she wanted it to.

"Why would I summon one? My goal is to stop summoning them."

"For that, we need to figure out the way your power works," he explained with his wide brown eyes, "Not only might it take a lot of time, but we also can't figure that out if you don't use it. So more urgent is to make sure that in case it happens, you know how to direct them away from you."

It made sense and somehow she disliked that it did. She didn't want to speak with these beasts. She wanted to be rid of it.

She thought of a giant snake rubbing itself against her, she thought of a cute voice around the weird kid...

No, she chastised herself, this wasn't what she wanted. If she could never summon one of these things herself, it would be too soon. But he was here to calm it down, she supposed with annoyance. And so she sighed.

He did all the job this one time. No matter how she tried, the beast never seemed to listen to her. She felt almost vindicated by it, at the end, until the kid simply shook his head, smiled tiredly, and told her they'd try again another day.

When you did something over and over, you were forced to pick something up. So yes, after something like six days of daily talking, she managed to greet a beast. It seemed as shocked as she was. She felt almost annoyed at having succeeded.

"I think you're a lot like me," Golden-eyes (she was six nicknames in and still couldn't find one that fit) said as they regained the monastery, having progressed so marginally it felt almost more insulting than had she failed.

"How so?" She grumbled.

"You learn with your heart, not your head."

Well, he was right about that. Still, she didn't understand what it had to do with their predicament.

"So?"

"So," he said tiredly, "you're not learning because your heart isn't into it."

She couldn't help but snort, because once more it made sense, but it making sense didn't make it easier to get rid of.

"Right," she said, crossing her arms, "because I absolutely want to be able to communicate with the things that ruined my life."

He looked sad when he looked at her and she felt bad for a second. She didn't have to be so mean to him and she knew it, but he needed to realize that what meant home and friends for him meant destruction and isolation for her.

"Well, I'll be going," he said with hesitation in his voice, "Alois told me the knights were training right now. He seems to think it'd be interesting to spar against me."

Right, she groaned inwardly, the knights.

"Already playing the naive goody-two-shoes," she rolled her eyes, "they're using you, you know that, right?"

"Using me to get stronger? Yes, I know that, and I don't mind, I'm using them to get stronger too, it's only fair."

"In general, I meant. The knights, the Order, the Church. They don't care about you as a person. They will throw you away the moment they don't need you anymore."

He looked at her, his eyes more tired, yet there was something amused inside them.

"And you won't? At least they asked for permission before dragging me away from my duties."

When he left, she stared after him, offended, but maybe just a bit sheepish.

12th day of the Harpstring Moon, Imperial year 1186

Everyone knew she despised the Church and the knights. It was a known fact about her, 'it is known' as some would snark anytime she said something about them, as if it became tiring. She somehow felt it was necessary. Just because she'd much rather be on their side than on the one of warmongers didn't mean she liked them. She still wanted them to be taken down a peg or two. She distrusted them and didn't like their presence so close to herself.

Some days she also remembered the calm voice of the Archbishop as she told them that the Ashen Wolves were disbanded and that she could go anywhere she wanted. That that secret house hadn't been supposed to be a prison where they sent problematic kids, but a safe place for those who could not live on the surface anymore for a matter of safety. Hapi had always thought that ironically, she had been the only one sent here for the safety of others instead of her own. And yet, Rhea had let her go without discussion the day after getting rid of Aelfric, the very day Abyss was placed under her authority.

There were days where Hapi really didn't understand what it meant. It didn't fit into her mean little world where the Church despised her and wanted her out of their sight.

"You may continue living in Abyss, of course. Abyss will always be a refuge for those who need it most."

A refuge.

Hapi had never thought of it as that. Maybe that was why those words sounded so weird. They had been sincere. Sometimes she wondered if the Archbishop really didn't see her as different from, say, B. or Coco, who had indeed been sent there for their own safety.

But anytime she let herself think that, she felt bitter because no, it was not what the knights who had sent her there had thought, clearly. They had been scared, she remembered their eyes. And she was mad at them, and she hated them.

"Ah," Flayn sighed in front of her, "grilled fish really is the best."

Yes, she despised the knights and the Church they served. But then why was Sweetness always so keen to spend some time with her?

Maybe it was their shared background, she supposed, both of them knew what it was like, to be abducted. To be used for terrible experiments, unsure whether you'd ever see the light of day again. She had felt terrible for the girl, five years ago, she had hated that this had happened to her.

But at the same, she did not seem to have much self-preservation, spending so much time with a monster-summoning woman who despised the people she served.

Part of her wanted to sing the same song she had given Judai. They're using you. How long until they discard you? You are too nice for your own good. Maybe she was still burning from his answer and that was why she didn't.

"You need to be more careful," was what she said instead.

Flayn looked at her with wide, surprised eyes, frozen right before a bite.

"Careful? Of what? That fish is perfectly grilled and the fishbones are gone, I shall not choke on them."

"Of the world, in general. You're always acting so... carefree."

"You mean I look naive."

Flayn's smile almost looked like a smirk and Hapi couldn't help but frown at that. She knew she could act mean but for this time she really hadn't meant to offend.

"Your concern is appreciated," the young girl said with a giggle, "but please know that I am no maiden in distress. I have been sheltered, it is true, but I have matured greatly and I am no more easy to dupe than any other."

"You were abducted, Sweetness."

"Yes. In my sleep. Believe me, I would not have made it easy for my tormentor otherwise."

Hapi couldn't help the twitch of her lips, hearing that. She kind of envied that assurance. Even now as she was, a master of dark magic, she didn't know if it would have changed much against the woman who had captured her. It was endearing, that assurance of the girl that had she been awake, she would not have been that helpless.

"Still, be careful," she insisted, hating to concede defeat, "a lot of people would take advantage of you because of your kindness. Last time, it happened because we trusted the wrong person. Even here, it does not matter that we are on the same side. And you would not see it coming for the same reason as last time."

"Claude knows who I am."

Hapi scrunched up her nose, unsure what it meant. Flayn's mysterious smile did not falter and she shook her head. What did she mean, 'who she was'?

"Claude knows who I am," she repeated, "that is my biggest secret, but he figured it out. I do not know why, I do not know how, but he has. I know he has even though he hasn't come to ask me to confirm it. And the one reason I am not confronting him about that is because we have a bet. If I confirm who I am, then he has to tell me who he is."

"I don't get it, Sweetness, what are you talking about?"

"I am telling you that I am not as naive as I look. I know how people work, Hapi. Half the time, what one would see as ignorance on my part is just pretense. I am not blind to people's intentions the way you seem to think I am."

Hapi stared, only half convinced.

"You tend to see the worst in people," Flayn smiled helplessly at her, "not that I blame you for that. I suppose your story must be painful."

"My story," Hapi repeated, raising an eyebrow, "you don't know it?"

"Why, is it supposed to be common knowledge? You are quite private after all, I did not go searching for it."

This girl would be her end.

And so she told her. She told her about running away, just a nine-years old young girl hoping to see the world and not realizing how dangerous it was. She told her how naive she was and how that woman took advantage of it, locking her up for her experiments. She told her about how she was freed after years and years, spending most of her teenage years in that cage. She told her how she was freed and then given a temporary home, inside a church. She told her how the Order, after finding her, threw her into Abyss.

Flayn listened quietly, nodding along without commenting except for maybe a small 'gasp' or two during the harsher parts.

"I see, I see," she hummed at the end, "this must have been hard. I am sorry you went through so much."

Hapi shrugged. Not because it did not hurt still but because she didn't know how else to answer.

"It explains why you hate us so much."

"Hate is a strong word," Hapi corrected with a scoff, "I don't want to see any of you people hurt. I just think you need to be knocked down a peg or two and realize you're not always right."

Flayn started giggling. That... was not the expected reaction. Hapi couldn't help but brace herself, wondering what was coming, what was making her laugh like that.

"Oh, my apologies!" Flayn stammered. "I was just surprised. It's just... What did we do that makes you think we believe we're always right? Because I can assure you, we do not. Was there someone in particular who gave you that impression?"

Hapi didn't like being put on the spot like that. She did not waste time speaking with knights, she thought angrily, was she supposed to know the names of those she had an issue with? She wracked her brain, trying to remember some of those she saw, whether she had an issue with them in particular or not.

"There's this blonde woman, Catherine, prancing along and all proud," she grumbled, "always talking about 'Lady Rhea' this, 'Lady Rhea' that. As if she was the only thing that mattered in the world."

"Well yes," Sweetness answered matter-of-factly, "Lady Rhea saved her when she was young, and then welcomed her later when she was betrayed and chased by people she trusted. She gave her a home and a reason to live. Of course she is devoted to her like no other. That does not mean she thinks she's always right, just that she'll always take the side of those she loves."

Hapi had not known that and raised one unimpressed eyebrow. Flayn's smile became smaller.

"Do not mention it to anyone because I am pretty sure it's private, but she was a noblewoman once. There was a conspiracy and she was wrongly accused. She had to flee for her life. This hurt her. Deeply. Even when the accusations were lifted from her, she refused to go back. I do not think she will ever trust these people again. She threw away her name. Yet... I think she has regrets at times. Not for following the Church, but for leaving some of those people behind her."

She did not know why it hurt to hear that. Maybe because the part about betrayal and never being able to forgive and trust felt familiar.

"How so?" she muttered.

Flayn crossed her hands, looking ill at ease.

"She was my bodyguard after the abduction, you know? So we slept in the same room for a few months. She... I mean… She woke up at night, sometimes. Crying. I've heard her mention a name a few times, someone named..."

Suddenly, she started shaking her head, looking appalled.

"No! I should not talk about those things, oh no. This is very much private. Why am I... I guess it's just... It's been on my mind for years and I don't know how to..."

Hapi shook her head.

"It's not like I would have anyone to mention it to," she said.

She did not know what it meant for her. Catherine had never been one of the knights she felt especially angry at, she didn't care much about her, she had just been a convenient example. Well, not so convenient it seemed.

"Why would you tell me all of that?" she asked. "Are you expecting it to change my point of view?"

"Yes and no?" Flayn looked sheepish. "As I said, you are very much allowed to hate and resent us. You were hurt. Deeply hurt. It makes sense, and you do not have to forgive what was done to you. But situations are often much more complicated than what can be seen from one point of view."

"Right," Hapi scoffed, "one woman devoted to the Archbishop might be more complex than I think, but it does not mean all knights are the same. I know Alois has been trying to make himself feel better about throwing me down there by making these terrible jokes of his, but he's the only one who ever tried anything. Clearly, the others didn't care, and the Archbishop didn't care enough to order them to make sure I was safe."

"... Should she have?"

The question held actual confusion and Hapi turned, offended that it needed to be asked.

"Do not get me wrong," Flayn said before she had any chance to say more, "someone should have, yes, but Cardinal Aelfric was the one in charge of Abyss back then. He was the one supposed to act so."

That name felt like a punch, even years later. Hapi balked at it, a full body flinch. It was still torturous and almost surreal, to think that the man who had taken her in and given her a home in Abyss might have only done so to sacrifice her later. Maybe it was because she had loved him and followed him for two years, but only knew of his true nature for one day before having to kill him. In her head, he was still the man she had known for so long, not the insane fool ready to sacrifice four people to resurrect one woman he loved.

"In fact," Flayn attempted tentatively, "I'd say Rhea did try to make sure all of you were safe. When she recruited Yuri."

"So what," maybe it was the mention of Aelfric, maybe it was the uncomfortable topic, but Hapi felt defensive, immensely so, "are you going to tell me she's always right? She's the woman closest to the Goddess and thus cannot be wrong? Is that it?"

"Of course not!" Flayn's hands were slightly raised as if to appease her. "That is not what I said. Rhea is still faillible, of course."

"She does not act like she is."

"Well yes, she is a leader after all. Does Yuri ever let himself show weakness in front of the people he is supposed to lead?"

Flayn's painfully wide eyes showed that she had thought it obvious.

"I've seen Yuri-bird fall apart," she gritted out.

Yet it felt like a lie. For two years, she hadn't. He had been every bit as strong and on top of things as one could be. Sure of himself, much more used to leading than any eighteen years old, nineteen years old, twenty years old should be. It was only during the Aelfric debacle that he had let himself deflate and admit just how over his head he was, and it had basically taken a punch from B. (a light one, it had barely left a bruise despite how easily their leader bruised).

"You're one of his close friends," Sweetness said sweetly, "of course he trusts you enough to fall apart in front of you. But would he do so in front of the rest of Abyss?"

He wouldn't. That wasn't even a question worth asking. Hapi hated that immensely.

"Are you trying to tell me that the Archbishop doesn't have that Holier-than-thou attitude when she's with you?"

"Yes."

It was just one word. It was not supposed to be so confusing.

"What are you doing?"

"What?" Flayn asked, genuinely confused.

She didn't answer, bitter and angry, but unable to give an argument when just a few minutes before Flayn had said the words she wanted to hear. You are very much allowed to hate and resent us. Yes, she was. You were hurt. Deeply hurt. It makes sense, and you do not have to forgive what was done to you. But situations are often much more complicated than what can be seen from one point of view.

It should not have been complicated. Yet beneath her anger, Hapi knew it very well. People were human, flawed, they made decisions that hurt people, it was inevitable.

Hapi had just weighed less heavily in their minds than the innocent people her 'gift' could put into danger, even she understood that. That didn't mean her anger wasn't allowed. And that wasn't what Flayn said. So why did it feel so terrible to hear these things? As if she weren't allowed to hate them, now that she knew they knew they weren't perfect.

"Hapi?" Sweetness asked, worried.

"It's nothing," she answered.

"It's not nothing."

Hapi said nothing. In her head were swirling facts that didn't make sense in her world. The Archbishop letting her go with no argument, people fearing her yet letting her fight, Judai mentioning how she was just using him in a way, that terrifying suspicion she didn't want to verify that it was Aelfie who had pushed for her to be admitted into Abyss in the first place...

Under Flayn's worried stare, she finished eating in silence.

The next training session felt weird. The first time Judai told the monster she had summoned it could leave, she crossed her arms.

"You're completely out of it," she noticed, "what's wrong?"

"You are too," he answered with a weak smile, "I could ask you the same question."

"But you haven't. So. Go ahead."

He looked at her, as if confused, then tilted his head.

"It's just a bad day, nothing to worry about."

"So you have bad days too?"

"Well, all my friends are dead, of course I do."

He said it in a matter-of-fact way, as if it was something he kept repeating, hoping it'd make sense. She felt annoyed, in a way. Annoyed because of how guilty it made her feel.

"Sorry," she grumbled, "I didn't know."

"Most don't."

"Oh joy, I am special."

Her dry tone made him laugh, erasing some of her guilt if nothing else.

"So that's why you're here?" she couldn't help being curious. "You want to avenge them?"

"Oh no," he said, looking shocked that she'd suggest such a thing, "as far as I know the Empire isn't responsible for their deaths. No, if I wanted revenge..."

He hesitated, then shook his head.

"Get it off your chest," she told him, not so much out of curiosity but because she knew it could help a lot.

"Hapi," he said calmly, coldly even, "if I wanted revenge my only way would be to kill most of the people here."

It felt like a slap. Not so much the words, but the fact that by the way he looked at her, she couldn't help but wonder if she was one of those people. She had done nothing to him, she scolded herself, there was no reason.

"Sucks," she said with a shrug, "I'm surprised you're with us, then."

He barked a laugh, more mockery than actual amusement.

"My choice is between amazing people who had no power over things that happened centuries ago or those who would kill the rest of my family? No, it was not a difficult choice, believe me."

Asleep for a millenia. Hapi still had a hard time believing it to be true, but if it wasn't, then he was a great actor. She rolled her eyes, strangely comforted by the fact that she indeed hadn't done anything to him.

"Oh well, as long as you don't repress your feelings. They always end up exploding if you do that. Get angry at them, if you want, it'll be better than being all out of it as you were today."

"There's no use," he hummed, "I don't think I'd be happy wasting my time getting angry at innocent people who, for some, already blame themselves for it."

"Oh, so you don't hate them?"

He laughed, genuinely amused for once.

"Of course not. And even if I did, I do not believe I'd be able to hate them more than they already hate themselves."

Privately, she thought it was bullshit. Still, if he said the truth, she thought in her bed that night, then it was impressive, that ability to let go.

She didn't know if she envied it or was happy not to have it.

6th day of the Garland Moon, Imperial Year 1186

She was dead. That woman, the one who had abducted her for years, who had done all those horrible things on her for so much of her life. She was dead, super dead and it wasn't even a real relief. More like shock. She had known the usurper, the one who had stolen the Kingdom from Didi and betrayed him shared a name with that woman, but she had refused to admit that they could be one and the same. The idea had been in her head, trotting along, taunting her everytime she realized that there was something familiar about the prince of Faerghus. Anselma, her captive's friend, the one who had always been nice with her and hated seeing her like that. Didi had told her she was the queen, so of course it meant that the 'Cornelia' who had abducted her was close to the crown.

But she had refused to accept that she might have been the one leading the 'Dukedom' of Faerghus nowadays. Which meant that she hadn't been ready to face her. Which meant that when she saw her dead body, she had a hard time reconciling both visions. It was like seeing a stranger. She didn't care, she realized with surprise. Her greatest tormentor was gone, and she didn't care.

On the way back (home) to Garreg Mach, she noticed a path that she had taken a thousand times. Freckles called out to her when he noticed her leaving. His big, worried, green eyes were touching so she gave him a weak smile.

"I'll be back in a few," she promised, "I just need to check on something."

Somewhere at the end of the path, there should be a small village with a small church. It was the place that had taken her in once she had been freed from Cornelia. She was seventeen back then, she remembered, she had stayed there for a few years, up until the Order had found her and taken her to Garreg Mach, where they had ended up hiding her into Abyss instead of helping her as they had promised.

It had been destroyed.

She didn't know why she was so surprised, but as she stared at the ruined little village, her eyes kept going back to the church. The remnants of the church where she had lived. There had been many orphans living there too, she remembered helplessly, what had happened to them? There seemed to still be people living in the village, but the church was completely destroyed. Surely, none of the priests or children who used to live there could still be there.

She stared at the ruins, probably too long. She didn't know why it hurt that bad. The memories she had of that place were few and far between, nothing very memorable had happened during those years there. She hadn't made particularly good friends, people had been cordial to her but not particularly nice either. It had been boring.

After her years of imprisonment, it had been healing. She had already been much better and more confident in herself, a strong twenty years old when she had been thrown into Abyss. She didn't think she would have lived it that easily without those three years here.

Maybe that was it. It was a part of her past that didn't matter much for individual moments, but that was important as a whole. And that was why it hurt so much, to see it destroyed so thoroughly.

There were days where she wondered if they were the ones who had called for the Order, to take her away. But even then, she knew without a doubt that the intent would have been good. For all that the people here had been austere and severe, they had never been unkind and they always tried to help.

She had never associated that church with the church, she realized numbly as she went back to the army walking south. Maybe because one had done nothing but help her while the other had locked her up (and then let her go, like an admission of guilt and a wish to make amends, or maybe it was spending so much time with people who loved them that made her try to give them excuses...).

In any case, she figured tiredly, one thing was certain. No matter how good or bad one had treated her, none of these churches would have ever hurt her as badly as Cornelia had.

And it was only thinking that that relief, the sweet relief of knowing she was dead, finally came to warm her chest.

10th day of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1186

"You're making great progress!" Judai smiled at her.

"You're laying it a bit thick," she huffed, though she couldn't hide how glad she was to know it was true.

"Nah, I'm sincere," he smiled this big goofy grin of his she was starting to really like, "it's crazy how quickly you've been getting better at it since we retook Fhirdiad."

She was much better, it was true. She still couldn't stop herself from summoning monsters when she sighed, but her message was at worst a bit confusing now, and she knew how to explain the situation to the monsters quickly.

While she still tried to avoid sighing around people, she could isolate herself and do so without danger, now. It was such a relief.

"... Is it because the woman who hurt you is no longer alive?"

His tone was hesitant, as if he was afraid to overstep. It didn't matter how she had basically forcefully inserted herself into his life, he was still trying to be tactful. It was sweet, she thought with a giggle.

"Not really," she admitted, "people who hurt me are still all around me after all." They might be less hateful than she believed them to be, but that fact would not change. "I've just been getting better at accepting that my view on things has changed before and can change again. I hated the monsters I summoned because they ruined my life. But in the end, they have no more choice in the matter than I do, they were victims of hers too in a way."

And that would have been enough to at least try. But it wasn't all of it.

"But I couldn't have done it without you, Judai," she hummed with contentment, "so thank you for helping me."

He just smiled back. As the spirits and monsters around Judai babbled, happy and content, she couldn't help but listen. She couldn't see them, but she could hear them, every second of the day. At first, he had kept them at bay so they wouldn't distract her. Nowadays, he didn't anymore and she heard them, she heard them speak and talk and laugh.

She heard them hum about how they loved him.

She didn't know when she had realized that she actually would like it, if her monsters spoke the same way about her.

25th day of the Blue Sea Moon, Imperial Year 1186

They were leaving for Enbarr tomorrow, but you wouldn't have guessed it with how joyful the festivities were. People dancing, eating and drinking and talking. Joy, at every corner, as if they were absorbing as much of it as they could before throwing themselves into death and horror's grasp. Hapi looked at them, pensive, not exactly enjoying herself, but not hating it either.

"Do you really like this?" Flayn squeaked when seeing her plate, full of the food so many people had pushed aside. "Hapi, you like such weird things."

There was no judgement in her voice, but the adorable way in which she scrunched up her nose almost made Hapi laugh.

"You're weird, Sweetness." she retorted very maturely.

"Oh, does that mean you like me?"

She did, she thought with a smile as she started eating. She couldn't help but like her. Sweet, bubbly Flayn with her overabundant energy and enthusiasm. The young priestess with more kindness than should be allowed while still being shrewd in her own way.

Hapi could still see her, so happy to present her the ring she and the professor had been working on. A ring that'd stop her from summoning when sighing. It wasn't perfect, they had said, it would only last a few times, we are working on sturdier ones. In the meantime, only use this one when you really have to. Chatterbox' eyes seemed to say 'during war meetings when nobles are being annoying', but the way Flayn's eyes sparkled clearly meant 'go and prank someone'.

Scaring the hell out of Yuri-bird had been funnier than expected.

There had been research started, Chatterbox had told her when explaining how they had made it. The ones working on it had first been stuck, unable to progress for most of their first years and the war hadn't helped since they had to flee and leave their research behind. But with Flayn's knowledge about healing magic and the professor's strange abilities, they had managed to make it work.

She remembered Alois' eyes, lighting up when he saw the ring. Apologizing for being useless in its creation and admitting that he had started to study magic so he could help, despite being in his own words 'so bad at it it was magical in its own way'. Hapi had not understood and Alois had been wincing. He had told her, looking distraught, that while the project had definitely been started, she was not, as one said, the researchers' priority. That was why it had taken so long for it to be completed.

She didn't know why it seemed to pain him so much. She had just shrugged. It was done, now, that was what mattered to her. It was not like she had expected anything from him. From them.

But he had expected something from himself, obviously. His sad smile had said as much.

As she bantered with Flayn, she wondered what his story was. If he had a tragic one like Catherine, if he had just done what he thought was his duty, if he didn't even remember what had pushed him to become a knight of Seiros.

She wondered what everyone's story was, because no one ever acted without a reason to, she supposed. Even the people she hated and even the people she killed. They could be good people backed into a corner, they could be hypocritical assholes who were convinced they were doing the right thing, they could simply be people, flawed and complicated, but not inherently good or bad. Because good people like Ashe and his knight-shaped idealism as well as pariahs who had nowhere else to go both wanted to become knights. Because no entity was absolute, no group of people was of only one mind.

Because the point of view one had on things wasn't the only valid point of view on that thing.

"You know," she mumbled at Flayn, "I don't think I'll ever forgive the knights for what they did to me."

"You don't have to," the little girl who was probably much older than Hapi smiled, "we already talked about this."

"I know, I know. Just..."

She inhaled, trying to find the words. She rarely did so. She was tactless, she barged in and didn't care. That was who she was. Yet, here, she wanted to find the right ones.

"I have multiple issues with the Church," she said slowly, "I probably always will have."

Flayn nodded softly, a bit sadly too.

"But that doesn't mean I don't like you or spending time with you."

Her smile was blinding, yet profoundly soft and Hapi felt her heart beat faster. How good it was, to see happiness in the people she loved.

"That's good," Flayn laughed, the sound cristalline, "because I like you a lot too."

Chapter Text

Powerless

Rodrigue

Rodrigue's world stopped turning so many times you could have thought it would stop being surprising after a while. The great plague in Fhirdiad, the death of his queen, the death of his wife, the day Margrave Gautier declared war on Sreng once more... But no, each was as earth-shattering as the previous ones. Each was a knife buried in a tender place he still thought numb. He remembered flashes of them, Lambert telling him to stay in Fraldarius, where the plague was less deadly, sending his two-years-old son there too for protection, refusing to let him come to comfort him even after his own wife's death to the illness. He remembered holding his sons, both mostly ignorant of what was happening. Six years old Glenn thought the plague was just a bad cold. Two years old Felix and Dimitri would play with each other rather than understand his lectures about how the ones living in the capital were in danger.

In the very last days of the plague, it claimed his wife too. Duchess Rosaline Fraldarius had been laid to rest among quiet tears. She had smiled at him just two days before, promising she'd be better soon. Glenn had believed her, Rodrigue hadn't.

Felix and Dimitri had been too young to understand. It hadn't stopped them from wailing when they realized that she would never come back.

But after these terrible years, he had let his world heal slowly. He had seen his sons and his prince flourish, he had seen his dear Lambert find love again in an Imperial noblewoman. He had been proud. He had mourned, but after a while, he had just managed to live on, with fond memories of the woman he had loved and of the queen he had served. He would always remember their fondness for horses, their talent for jousting, their taste for devious plans made to embarrass their husbands (some days he would swear this was the result of being exposed to Tiana von Riegan at the Officer's Academy). Some days he thought, almost chuckling, that Rosaline had left so soon because she couldn't stand the idea of her queen, her friend, being lonely in the afterlife without them.

Yes, after a while, he realized his world was turning again, with smiling grey, blue and amber eyes, sweet laughter in his ears and the tired yet fond looks his king would give their sons when they were making a ruckus like children often did.

The War with Sreng was a blur of battle and blood and anger, he didn't remember the battles well. He remembered the planning, he remembered the speeches in between battles. He remembered quiet nights and noisy nights spent drinking with his men. There had been one, once, who had shielded him in battle. He didn't know him, he had realized, didn't know his name or rank. Yet the man had sacrificed himself for him with no hesitation. And after the battle, Rodrigue had had no way to honour and thank him, nothing except for a memory that would get foggy with time.

That was when he had decided to pay them drinks and food. Regularly. To learn to know them and what kind of people they were. He had gotten close to them, and each of their deaths had hurt more for it, but it also had made him more careful, more willing to use plans that wouldn't cause too much death. He focused on protection rather than attack.

In the end, he was nicknamed 'The Shield of Faerghus'. And he couldn't even say he disliked the name. He just disliked what had happened for him to gain it.

But in itself, no, he didn't remember the battles well. He mostly remembered his thoughts when fighting. He remembered seeing faces, young faces, faces of young boys who had already lost a mother and that he refused to leave behind.

What was probably the worst of all losses, though, was Duscur.

He remembered being worried. He hadn't wanted Lambert to leave. It was too dangerous. But contrary to what Lambert had misunderstood, it had never been the inhabitants Rodrigue had been scared of. It had been the country.

Duscur's peninsula was mostly made of grottos and mountains, the kind of steep terrain that horses had a hard time navigating. He had feared an accident, they weren't young men anymore. He hadn't worried for the young ones, he hadn't worried for His Highness, he hadn't worried for his Glenn, barely eighteen and still in school but who had come home the moment Rodrigue had admitted he wasn't sure the prince would enjoy his trip, surrounded by somber knights as he would be.

Learning of the slaughter had sounded like a bad joke.

For the longest time, he had stood there, in front of the messenger telling him of the king's death. Of how all of his retinue was dead too. Of how the prince was gravely wounded, but still alive as far as they knew. He had thought he was dreaming, the worst kind of dream.

He remembered feeling oh so powerless as the messenger, gulping, told him that according to His Highness, he had only survived because Glenn Fraldarius had dragged him from the flames, telling him to run as he went back to the fray despite being already wounded himself.

He remembered clinging to that fact. Because that was what knights were supposed to do, in the end. That was their job. Protecting their liege with all they had.

"He died like a true knight."

His voice had been thick with grief, but there was pride, too, yes. Because knowing how brave his boy had been until the end was the only silver lining he could find in the situation. He remembered his promise to Lambert and swore to himself that he would not fail him. That if Glenn's death had at least allowed him to do that, then he would, with all of his heart. His son would not have died for no reason.

He never saw Felix's look of shock and horror at these words, nor the way he left the room as if he couldn't bear staying here anymore.

It had taken him years to understand that this day, he hadn't just lost Glenn but also his younger son. And that on this part, he only had himself to blame.

There was his hand, slapped away and a watery glare thrown at him, the words more hurt than angry, and he looked at him leaving, stomping, yelling and crying. It was grief, he supposed, he couldn't blame him. Children reacted to grief differently than adults did. He didn't mean it, no matter how much the words screamed at him hurt, he knew he didn't mean it. Or he did, right now, but it wouldn't last.

It was because he was in pain, Felix had never been a mean boy. He'd outgrow this anger, he'd outgrow all of that. It would pass, it would.

Rodrigue was sure of it. It was just the two of them, now, after all, they needed each other.

When Felix refused to see him before he left for Fhirdiad to see Dimitri, it hurt, but he understood, he thought. Yes, it was the pain that was making him act tlike that. Maybe a bit of distance would help him cool off. Yes, it was probably better this way, giving him time.

It would go away, eventually.

It didn't.

There was one time, though, when Felix did not exactly reach out, but did not keep him at arm's length. There had been letters, most coming from Baron Dominic. No matter how much Rodrigue tried, he couldn't read them. The writing was tight and small, even by squinting as much as he could, he simply couldn't read it. He had thought reading them under sunlight would help. It hadn't. And so he had just sighed heavily and put it down. As karma would have it, the wind immediately blew it away.

Felix had been coming near, ready to go train outside as he spent most of his time doing (Felix had always been dutiful with his training, but Rodrigue couldn't deny that he was worried, it was all he did nowadays, gone were the games he would create, gone was the tracking of wild animals to observe them, gone was anything that seemed to procure him joy before). Maybe it had been curiosity and nothing else, but when he had caught the letter, almost as a reflex, he had looked at it.

"Why does Dominic need sows at that time of the year?" he grumbled as he gave it back to him.

He wasn't expecting an answer, clearly, but Rodrigue froze and right as his son left, he stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder, hoping, dearly, that it wouldn't be slapped back this time.

"Wait, Felix... Could you read that letter?"

Felix blinked, surprised by the question

"Yeah, of course, why?"

It felt weird, to be so nervous to ask that of his son, but Rodrigue tried to smile tentatively.

"Could you... read it to me, please? I can't seem to make it out."

Felix had read it to him, with mid-grumbling. Rodrigue had let him leave afterwards, fond joy inside his chest.

He had expected it to be a one-time thing. But Dominic was far from the only one with such indecipherable scribbles and maybe Rodrigue was getting old, but he spent far too much time figuring out what the important correspondence he was getting was supposed to be about.

One evening, as night was coming down and his head was starting to hurt, there was stomping. And Felix barged inside, looking furious as he so often did these last years.

"Mariette has asked you to come down to eat hours ago," he said harshly, "she told me to come and get you since you don't listen to her."

Oh dear. His intendant had indeed asked him not to be long, but he had been so focused on these awful, awful letters he hadn't followed through... Had it really been hours? Yes, the moon was much higher than expected. He winced.

"I will apologize to Mariette," he sighed, "I just... can't seem to get done with this correspondence."

Felix tore the letter from his hands. Word after word, he read it, his tone dry and angry, but loud and clear. Rodrigue scrambled for a quill and wrote what was necessary down.

Once he was done with the letter, Felix threw it on his desk, glaring at him.

"Now go eat," he hissed, "before she goes apoplectic."

The next time Rodrigue had had a hard time reading a letter, he had directly come to his son, nervous. Despite grumbling and eye-rolling, Felix had never refused him. He had read each and every letter, even some Rodrigue honestly could have deciphered himself. Maybe it had been cheating, he figured a bit shamefully. But this was the only connection Felix would allow them to have, and so he cherished it.

It wasn't much, but it was a start, some little path they could take to heal. No, it wasn't much. But if this was the only thing Felix would give him, then he would take it, no questions asked.

If Rodrigue had thought Felix distant and angry before the Western Rebellion, it had nothing in common with what came afterwards.

Skin pale, eyes empty and frame shaking, Rodrigue had believed for a moment that maybe the battle had been too hard on him, that this first real scuffle had scared him. It didn't sound like Felix, but even the most willful could be shaken when confronted to their first taste of real violence.

But Felix hadn't said a word, he had just gone to the training grounds and trained. Without stopping for hours during, without his usual finesse, without one break despite how many times other people intervened, telling him to stop. When he snapped at Mariette, they knew no one would make him listen.

Rodrigue had watched, worried, as he kept going, well into the night.

He couldn't remember when, exactly, his son had finally collapsed from exhaustion. Had wanted to go there, to help him to his bed or at least inside, where he wouldn't freeze to death.

Barely conscious, hands bloody from how he had gripped his sword for so long, Felix had been crying. Yet his glare had been every bit as angry as the first time they had talked after Glenn's death.

"He's gone," he said, voice shaking with rage and pain, "Glenn didn't save anyone."

Rodrigue stayed his hand, unsure, he didn't know what to answer.

"Let's get you to rest," he asked.

Felix laughed then. A sobbing sound, that was full of despair and anguish and Rodrigue stayed there, once more, not knowing what to do. He had always known how to dry Felix's tears before, but this time he didn't know what he could do. Their relationship was still tense, barely connected by the thin thread of undecipherable letters. It was like with one wrong move, Rodrigue would sever it entirely. And so he didn't dare move, afraid that any action would be the wrong one.

"You won't listen," Felix spat, "why am I surprised? No one has, why would you? He's gone, I say. There's nothing left of him."

"Who’s gone, Felix?"

"Who do you think? Dimitri!"

Rodrigue's heart froze in shock and he moved forwards.

"Did something happen to His Highness during the battle? I wasn't made aware of..."

"Duscur happened."

Despite wiping at his face, it was like the tears would never stop. There was a sneer on his face.

"There's nothing left of Dimitri," he said, his voice shaking despite how obvious it was that he was trying to keep it steady, "just a beast that revels in slaughter like a wounded animal, like a damn boar. He's lost his mind and humanity back there."

"Felix!"

And his son laughed again, the sound even less amused than last time. The way he wrapped his arms around his knees made him look small and despite how offended Rodrigue was on his prince's behalf, he wanted to step forwards again and embrace him. Tell him that it would pass, once again, that it was just the haze of battle that had shocked him.

"Go ahead," Felix muttered, "be angry at me for that. It'll only get worse once you learn I left my squire shield at Fhirdiad."

He had...

Rodrigue's heart stopped beating as he realized what it meant. He had left his shield behind, meaning he officially renounced his duties as squire. Refusing to finish up said duties meant he would never reach a higher status in the ranks of chivalry.

By doing that, Felix officially gave up on ever becoming a knight.

Rodrigue opened his mouth, unsure what he could say as always, feeling his world tilt once more. Fraldariuses became knights, that was a thing well known, almost none had failed to do so in decades. They were bred for battle, but none of them ever stood as simple soldiers. Felix was wrong, Rodrigue wasn't angry, right now.

He was lost.

What would become of Felix if he renounced battle like that? That was all they knew, what would he do?

"Why would you do such a thing?" he asked desperately, trying not to sound chastising, trying not to show how powerless he felt again.

Felix stared. He had given up on stopping the tears, it seemed, but his gaze was dead. Sure of himself, Rodrigue realized with dismay, there was no changing his mind.

"Go away, old man," he ended up answering, his voice freezing cold, "and don't look at me like I'm some kind of shameful coward. I will fight. I just refuse to let you sacrifice me on that beast's altar."

Felix did still read his letters for him, but somehow, it didn't feel as comforting as before.

His son jumped on any opportunity to join a fight against real opponents, bandits, rebels, anyone who would let him prove that it wasn't warfare he minded. He almost was never home anymore, and when he was, he would lose himself in his training, barely ever taking breaks, only coming back when he had no other choice or when an injury forced him to.

Rodrigue looked at him destroying himself, always alone, refusing any contact from anyone. He didn't know how to reach out. Or more like he knew that were he to reach out, he'd be rejected. It was like every single word that came out of his mouth was now an insult for Felix, and he didn't remember how his son looked when he wasn't glaring at him.

It was almost two years after the Western Rebellion that Rodrigue realized he hadn't seen him cry since.

Maybe that was that realization that pushed him to seek him out, even knowing that the results would probably be a few icy words and a stony glare.

Felix was training, as he always did when he was here. His hand was covered in blisters because of his last battle, the bandits had somehow gotten a mage in their ranks. Neither that nor the cold had stopped Felix one second, as if being in Fraldarius and not training was unbearable. If only they had more healers here...

"Felix!" Rodrigue called out, rehearsing the words in his head. "Can we talk?"

Felix scoffed and kept skewering the training dummy in front of him. Expected. Saddening, but expected. So Rodrigue swallowed and kept going.

"It is around time for Garreg Mach's enrolment," he added softly, "you should think about whether or not I should send a letter for your admission."

"What use would there be?" Felix growled, barely slowing down. "I don't intend to become a knight."

"Garreg Mach exists for a lot more than for people wishing to become knights," Rodrigue almost pleaded, "it is both an honour to be a student there and an opportunity. What you study there could help you for the rest of your life, no matter what you intend to do with it."

There was no answer, but it was obvious in the way his shoulders were squared that Felix wasn't convinced. And so Rodrigue sighed.

"It holds some of the greatest professors and warriors in all of Fodlan," he said slowly, "I'm sure you would find opponents that would match your strength, there. People who would have a lot to teach you about fighting."

Finally, Felix's sword stilled and he turned, slowly, his gaze unreadable. Reluctantly, he stepped back from where he was and stared at Rodrigue, his chin held high.

"I'm listening."

The day he left, Rodrigue watched him do so, hoping that would be the end of that self-imposed loneliness of him. That he would find people there he could connect with. He heard Sylvain and Ingrid would be there and he hoped they'd reach through his walls. He knew His Highness would be there too and could only pray for the same thing, but he knew that task would be much harder.

Even if not one of those three, he thought, praying in the temple, please let him find someone that would steer him away from that dehumanizing self-destruction he had imposed upon himself. May some people manage to reach out to him the way none of them had managed here.

The Golden Deer House.

Rodrigue stared at Claude von Riegan despite himself, easily talking with his son and not minding his rebukes one bit, Felix looking annoyed as always, but not trying to get away from here either.

Last time Rodrigue had gone to Garreg Mach, during the matter with the Lance of Ruin, Felix had been exactly as he had been at Fraldarius and his heart had sunk. Alone, mostly ignoring even his oldest friends, known as ‘that guy who spends his time at the training grounds’ and not much else except for comments about rudeness. Lord Seteth had smiled tiredly at him but promised him not to worry and that while his son had a hard time connecting with others, he definitely wasn't unhappy here. Rodrigue had wanted to believe him and had left Felix to his own devices.

Their relationship had been better from afar. Felix sent letters detailing anything he thought might be interesting - mostly his progress and the monthly tasks the Blue Lions accomplished - that stayed courteous if not as familiar as Rodrigue wished, and he answered the same way, calm and impersonal. Maybe that was why Felix using the Monastery's size to avoid him hadn't hurt that terribly, they both probably prefered their relationship as it had been for the past months.

Felix had mentioned transfering classes, talking about the need for a better swords teacher and Rodrigue had winced at the added distance with people who had been his friends forever, but it was Garreg Mach, he consoled himself. Classes were just that: classes. Who you were with didn't matter much, you still mingled with the rest of the continent outside of lessons.

When he had called for his help, however, he hadn't expected him to come with his new house.

He hadn't expected Felix to bring more help than was absolutely necessary truth being told, perhaps asking for a few knights of Seiros to accompany him. Instead here he was, with all these youngsters who were happily blabbering about the White Heron dance competition, the ball, homework and accessories of all things.

Hilda Goneril seemed like a sweet girl, but also the exact kind of person that would annoy Felix to no end, yet he had been polite to her, even nice for his standards. Claude von Riegan was a strange boy, chattering his son's ear off with said son answering as if the conversation (about uniforms?) actually interested him.

It wasn't... bad, Rodrigue figured as he walked them to the border of his territories. It wasn't bad, in fact he was glad Felix seemed to have found people whose presence he actually enjoyed. It was just unexpected.

Eastern Faerghus bred people who were always preparing for war, he knew that. It wasn't something he liked or disliked, it just was. The Northern territories never let up, sooner or later war was part of your life. It had mostly made it hard for young people born there to connect with others who did not have the same preoccupations. He knew Lambert and him had been a bit lost at the academy (Oh, Judith of Daphnel had made fun of them back then, and Rodrigue wondered with a sad smile whether he would have enjoyed her presence the way Felix did his new friends, hadn't he been so intimidated by that boisterous yet beautiful young woman), among teenagers who had for most never faced actual battle before.

But maybe, that was what he needed, he figured as he said goodbye to the students, heart heavy. These last years, Faerghus had done nothing but wound him, push him towards fighting despite all it took from him, push him away from others who had been raised the same way but didn't share his convictions. Isolated, both by his own actions and Rodrigue's incapacity to figure out how to reach out to him.

Yes, it wasn't what Rodrigue expected or hoped for (he wanted his son to find happiness in the place he was born, with people he knew for sure would be at his side forever, but it would have been too easy, he figured, and if it could have been that easy, then maybe they would have succeeded a long time ago), but it wasn't bad, he decided firmly.

If it made Felix happy, then it wasn't bad, as long as it didn't break his heart in the long-term.

So. Rodrigue had had to tempt fate hadn't he?

It was like one day he was receiving a letter from Manuela, jokingly telling him that Seteth looked about to adopt his son (thinking, despite how obvious of a joke it was, that maybe Seteth would actually succeed where Rodrigue had failed) and the next, he was told the Adrestian Empire had declared war on the Church and decided to invade the rest of Fodlan.

There was barely any time to scramble up the defences before Gustave was calling him to Fhirdiad, begging him to come quick.

His Highness had been imprisoned and was awaiting execution. There had been talk about him killing his uncle and all of that was stabbing wound after stabbing wound. Rufus wasn't a perfect regent nor a perfect man, but he was one Rodrigue respected, he was Lambert's beloved brother, he was a friend.

And Dimitri was....

Rodrigue hurried to Fhirdiad, fear inside his stomach. This all sounded like a plot, an Imperial plot, from the beginning. Cornelia had been working with the Empire, obviously, and if he was right about that, then a lot of things begged asking.

They had never found Queen Patricia's body...

Despite rushing, so fast he almost killed his horse, he was too late. Already executed, they told him. In private, to give him the honour of intimacy for his last moments. An honour denied after death, for his corpse had been hanging to Fhirdiad's gates and Rodrigue saw red.

It was a hand, belonging to a fair young man, who stopped him from running inside and to his death, to avenge the boy he served, the boy he had promised to Lambert he would help, the boy, his boy, his king, and how dare they!

A hand, stopping him before his feelings got the better of him. Pale hair, pale eyes. A beautiful face and a smooth voice.

"Not him," the young man said, "I already checked. Wherever he is, this body is not his."

He was gone as fast as he had spoken, but his face had been familiar. Rodrigue had seen him, he believed, among the people who had come to his aid alongside Felix, what now seemed like a lifetime ago.

This voice, sure of itself and this face, one that belonged to a friend of his son, managed to calm him down. Calm him just enough that instead of charging, he went to the guards, the Sword of Moralta still firmly inside its sheath.

Every guard in Fhirdiad knew Duke Fraldarius, so it was no surprise that they were startled when seeing him, and started cowering in fear.

"My Lord," one gulped, "are... are you here to pledge allegiance to Lady Cornelia?"

"You insult me," Rodrigue answered icily, "I am here for His Highness."

A nervous glance.

"I hear he was executed without even a proper trial," some said winters in Fhirdiad were freezing, but Rodrigue was sure of it, his tone was colder even, "we will discuss what constitutes treason and infamy another day. Show me his body."

They would not. Not one of them, not even Cornelia, when she came and tried using twisted words to make him angry, would take that body down and allow him to examine it.

"You are afraid," he said placidly, his anger still there but tempered with hope, terrible hope, "you are afraid that if I see it from up close, I'll realize that it's not him."

He was still alive. Somehow. Rodrigue didn't know how, nor where he was, but the awkward and fearful glances made it obvious.

Dimitri had escaped. Dimitri was still alive.

And as long as there was no proof of his death, Rodrigue swore to himself as he turned back to Fraldarius, preparing for war, then he would hold on to hope.

They sent searching parties. Many times, as many as they could afford when the Dukedom, as expected, joined forces with the Empire. Rodrigue hadn't missed war. He hadn't missed the overload of work and battle and death and mourning. He comforted himself in little talks with Gilbert. He comforted himself when Manuela sang and kissed him slowly. He comforted himself every time his son and his friends came back alive, their faces dark and empty, but alive, alive. He comforted himself with the certainty that Dimitri was still alive too. That it wasn't death that was keeping him away from Fraldarius. He comforted himself as well as he could and did all he could not to feel dark, awful powerlessness creeping upon him.

"You know," Lord Galatea mumbled, face tired as he left for his lands, "I don't think His Highness killed the Regent."

Galatea didn't believe that Dimitri was still alive. He also hated the Dukedom and the Empire, but did not have the means to really oppose them and so his hands were tied. This might be the last time they could meet like this, Rodrigue knew.

"He did not," Rodrigue confirmed, "he would never."

"It's comforting, isn't it?"

Rodrigue looked at him, confused. Galatea smiled, small and sad.

"Knowing that someone I loved, even now that they're dead, would never stoop so low. It's comforting."

It wasn't. At least Rodrigue didn't think so, but he just nodded, despite feeling offended, maybe a bit insulted. It hadn't been the intent, he knew. But what comforted one man could only wound another it seemed.

He froze as he entered Fraldarius castle, these thoughts almost feeling like a slap. Like there was something about it that felt familiar. But what? What was it, he thought, swallowing heavily.

It only hit him what it was a few hours later, when a moody Ingrid reported that Felix was missing.

He had gone to the Alliance, Ingrid assured, it had only been a matter of time. Despite the worry on his face, Sylvain seemed to believe the same. Had he left a note? Rodrigue had asked, confused as to why they'd be so sure of it. No, nothing of the sort. They had just been expecting it ever since the beginning of the war.

Rodrigue stared at them and didn't know what to tell them as worry started eating at him, followed by abject fear and pain. Because no, that wasn't what Felix would have done had he left. He would have come to him, maybe to all of them, and told them point blank what he intended to do. He would have been angry and made them angry, he would have tried to sever these bonds. He would have been dishonest about his feelings, but honest about everything else. Felix wasn't someone who would quietly leave at night.

Felix also wasn't someone who would change his mind like that.

Rodrigue had been glad to see him come back home when it had started, frazzled, but strangely calm among the chaos around them. He had been glad to know he'd have him at his back and by his side. He had been glad because it would have made sense, indeed, if he had decided to instead join his new friends of the Alliance or that man named Seteth that seemed to have found companionship with him.

But he hadn't. He had come with them.

He wouldn't leave like that. Rodrigue knew that. For all that their relationship had turned tense, Rodrigue knew his son.

And as days went by and no sign came, the fear turned into sorrow and horror. Because there was one possibility only, again and again turning inside his head.

That night, he laid his head on Manuela's shoulder.

"I don't have the strength to tell them," he mumbled, "they're sure he's still alive."

"You think he's not?" Manuela kissed his hair.

"I think if he could come back, he would have. I don't know why they think otherwise."

"Well, it's reassuring, I suppose," her voice was terribly sad, "wouldn't you rather it be the truth too?"

"What do you mean?"

"If Felix really went to the Alliance, it probably means he's safe and sound. Even if he's not here, he's safe and sound. Wouldn't you like it to be the truth, too?"

"Well yes, of course!" Rodrigue raised his head, she put a hand on it to keep him down, gently. "Of course I'd rather he be alive and away than..."

He wasn't able to voice it. His breath got choked inside his throat. Manuela hummed, and he wasn't sure he liked that hum.

"You are stopping yourself from saying something," he whispered.

"I do not want to hurt you," she answered, her voice as low as his.

"Please. Do not stop yourself."

She inhaled, her breath trembling.

"What about Glenn?"

Rodrigue stared at her as if she had stabbed him, his heart painful. But mostly, he did not understand.

"What do you mean?"

"Would you rather he be alive too, despite what it would imply?"

Of course! That was what he told her, hurting and feeling awful, but sincere. Yes, of course. Yes, he was proud of him for his noble and selfless action. No, he wasn't sure he would have been able to forgive him if he had left the royal family to get slaughtered to save his life. But neither of these meant that he wouldn't have wanted him alive and well.

"I understand that," Manuela hummed against his ear, pacifying his raging emotions, "I also understand it because I know that your whole life was defined by your loyalty and by the love you hold for the royal family. I understand the complexity of your position, I understand all of that."

"I sense a 'but'." he muttered, eyes tired and full of tears.

"But," she said mournfully, "what grieving child would understand the same? What grieving child would hear these words and not understand them as an expression of joy at the death of his beloved brother? What grieving child wouldn't be so wounded by them he would spend the rest of his life abhorring loyalty and the way knights threw their lives away for sovereigns they might not even believe in?"

Maybe it was then only that it hit Rodrigue, what he had been trying to put his finger on when Galatea had left. Maybe he had needed it spelled out like that for it to make sense for him. Maybe he had just never understood why his son, who had loved Dimitri as much as Rodrigue had loved Lambert, would not realize what he meant with his words.

And of course. Of course it was now that it hit him. Of course it was now that it was probably too late. Of course it was now, and he didn't have anything to comfort himself with. He didn't know if Felix was dead or maybe hanging on to life in some unknown place where he couldn't rescue him. He didn't know how he had died, if it had been quick or drawn-out. He didn't know if it had been saving someone, he didn't know if he hadn't just let himself freeze to death, body and mind exhausted enough by the war for him to understand that urge. He didn't know. He didn't know and because he didn't know there was nothing for him to comfort himself with.

It was unbearable. As he sobbed on Manuela's shoulder, her soft voice shaking as she tried to comfort him, he could only wonder if that was how Felix had felt when Glenn had died, when Rodrigue had said those words that had wounded him so much. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell at his son's friends for thinking him so fickle, but he wanted their hope, too. Because he wanted him to be alive. He wanted him to be alive, he wanted Dimitri to be alive, and he wanted Glenn to be alive.

He wanted his boys. He just wanted them home and safe.

Felix came back.

Ingrid brought him, he was dazed and sick, his hair crudely cut, his face pale, dark bruises on his wrist. While she had given Rodrigue a full report afterwards, he had barely listened to it, only hearing the bare minimum. Bandits, slavers, people who lacked scrupules. They had captured him, somehow. Mistreated him, imprisoned him. They had hurt him.

They were dead and Rodrigue was almost sad about it. He wished he could have killed them himself.

Ingrid looked ill, Sylvain too even though he acted as if nothing was wrong as he so often did. They had believed him safe, and it was sickening for them to realize how wrong they were.

Beneath the anger he felt at his son's captors, though, Rodrigue was feeling the exact opposite.

Relief. So much relief.

His son was sick, bed-ridden, hurt and so resolutely mute, it was obvious how broken he felt. But he was alive.

He was alive!

That night, Rodrigue prayed. For hours. Until the sun came up. He prayed and thanked the Goddess for her mercy. He prayed and begged her to never let him realize his mistakes so late ever again.

He prayed to himself that he'd find the right words, one day, to tell Felix just how sorry he was.

"I need to go to Garreg Mach."

Rodrigue raised his nose from the reports he had been reading, surprised at hearing that voice.

Felix hadn't been seeking his company much, ever since the war had started, and not more since his capture. He had spent his time much the way he had before he had left for Garreg Mach, truth being told. Training, and when he wasn't doing so, joining the older soldiers into armed expeditions, protecting their people and pushing the Empire back.

Yet here Felix was. Talking to him. Not angrily or reproachfully even. Just talking. Asking.

Rodrigue was so surprised (and glad, far too happy for such a small thing) it took him a second to realize what he had been asked.

"Is that so?" he asked, curious. "Why is that?"

Felix grit his teeth, as if answering was physically painful for him. Rodrigue waited, doing all he could not to look too inquisitive. Finally, Felix's answer was succinct as always.

"I made a promise. I intend to keep it."

Rodrigue stared, shocked despite himself. It was strange, he couldn't help but think, how his son kept surprising him in some matters. His boy was down-to-earth, no-nonsense and very honest as long as we weren't speaking of how he felt. Yet here he was, at times, speaking as if a promise made five years ago, in peaceful times, would be kept despite all that had changed. It was some unusual, almost dreamer-like hope and Rodrigue could not explain it.

He also felt extremely bad about not being able to tell him 'yes, absolutely'.

"Garreg Mach has been abandoned," he mumbled as he thought out loud, "it's now full of bandits. And even the way there isn't exactly secure... Charon's lands are being assaulted as much as ours are... This is not a safe road."

Felix huffed, crossing his arms and Rodrigue shook his head, sorry.

"It's for the twenty-fifth, right? I will check on the situation while you're on border patrol. I'll tell you when you come back."

They both knew it was unlikely at best. Still, there had been no arguing on either part, so Rodrigue could only hope that they had both been reasonable on that aspect.

Dimitri wasn't fine.

For all that Rodrigue was overjoyed at him being alive and back with them, he wasn't blind to his state. And Dimitri wasn't fine. At all. His one remaining eye was glassy, staring into emptiness, exhausted and yet furious at the same time, seeing things no one else could see. Things no one should see. No, he wasn't fine at all. It was obvious in every little thing, how he settled inside the Temple instead of accepting rooms or even simply stepping inside the castle, his moments of temper that would have scared the bravest of men, or his mumblings, horrified and haunted, that followed Rodrigue into his nightmares.

No, Rodrigue wasn't blind to how Dimitri was definitely not the sound of safe and sound, right now. He could see it in Felix's eyes, how despite everything, this was every nightmare of his coming true. He could feel himself flinch too when Glenn's name was pronounced in vain. Part of him wanted to embrace his son and tell him that everything would be okay. That he understood, now, what he had seen as a child that had scarred him so much. What no one had accepted to believe he had seen.

He stopped his hand every time, knowing there was no way it would be accepted now.

And so instead he focused on Dimitri. Because he refused to give up on him. Because he was his boy too. Because he hoped, dearly, that he could help him by being a steady hand, by his side, the one who would stand by him at all cost.

Because he was someone Rodrigue loved and was loyal to, and Manuela was right about him: he was all love and loyalty. And that was all he could do for them, right now.

Judai was a strange creature. Small, young-looking and very much lost, but there was something ancient in his eyes. And what Sylvain had said about where Dimitri had found him raised many questions. A tomb. Sleeping.

Rodrigue had been wondering, as he cleaned himself up to welcome their saving grace. In their moment of duress, he couldn't help but think, the people of what would become Enbarr had been granted Saint Seiros' miracles.

Was this boy their miracle?

When said miracle looked at him and Manuela, sheepish and unsure, but his eyes kind, he felt himself soften up.

Dear Goddess, do not let him fail him the way he had failed his boys.

The ring was simple, yet beautiful. Rodrigue turned it in his hand, his heart feeling about to burst from his chest. Him and Manuela exchanged excited glances and hopes. A fool's hope, maybe. But hope anyway.

"We'll have Dimitri officialize the wedding after the war," he promised.

"Think we'll manage to have Felix as a flower boy?" She laughed sweetly.

"As best man I hope," he smiled back, taking her hands inside his.

There was a discussion he needed to have with him and he knew it. He knew it couldn't happen here, among corpses and pain and hopelessness.

But once it was over? Yes. Yes, they would have it. He would sit down with his son and apologize to him. With words, yes, but also with actions. He would ask him what he wanted to do and be. And he would give him his blessing, whatever that was. Whatever he decided to do. Even if he meant to relinquish his title. Even if he meant to leave. He would tell him it was okay, he would tell him he was proud of him.

Yes. They needed that. Both of them.

Gronder was a hellish sight. Even in all of the time he had spent fighting in Sreng, Rodrigue didn't ever remember such devastation. The greatest field of Fodlan, the place where so much of its food was harvested. Turned to ashes by its owners with no care for the consequences, as long as they killed more soldiers on the other side.

There was no time to be scared, no time to embrace Felix, no time to beg Dimitri to stay safe.

There was just the time to see the Alliance's colours, up north, and try to help them both the only way he knew how to.

The battle was blurrier than even most of his memories of Sreng. There was fire, everywhere, smoke making so many people pass out. There was death and blood and screams of rage and pain.

As he moved West, hoping to catch up to his boys, he found Dimitri alone, fighting a red-clad figure. There was a second of panic, there, when he saw Felix nowhere.

There was another second of fear when he noted that Dimitri wasn’t winning.

He wasn't losing either, yes, but this was Dimitri. No one had ever been able to resist Dimitri in battle.

However, this was an exhausted Dimitri, with most of his mind lost to pain and rage. He fought brutally, violently. Predictably. It didn't matter that the Emperor was slow and not precise enough to hit him. He could not hit her either, and while he usually would not have feared for his prince's endurance, Dimitri had just gone through a whole battlefield, hacking through soldier, tiring himself out.

She had stayed here, leaving the fighting to her men as she preserved her strength.

Sooner or later, Dimitri would make one mistake.

Rodrigue galloped ahead, calling for his magic.

Noticing him, the Emperor stepped aside, dodging the aura spell at the last second. He could hear soldiers, realizing that their sovereign did not have the upper hand anymore and rushing to her. Rodrigue tried to ignore them, drawing his sword.

Dimitri's next hit broke part of her armor. Rodrigue made sure to aim there when he hit.

He knew he wounded her. Quite deeply, for barely a few seconds after the hit, there was a call for retreat. Soldiers threw themselves at him and Dimitri, covering for their Emperor's flight. They stopped them. Not forever, but long enough for it to work.

It did not matter, Rodrigue decided after a few seconds of frustration, relief replacing all. It did not matter. They had defeated her here. They had won. They were alive. Now he just needed to find Felix...

Dimitri was running after the Imperial troops.

Rodrigue stopped him.

"Your Highness! We must retreat! The battle is won."

"We failed to capture her," Dimitri growled, "I will go after her. Retreat if you wish so."

Rodrigue shook his head, stepping down from his horse and refusing to budge on that one matter. There was no way he was letting Dimitri kill himself chasing after someone he would never reach.

"I am sorry. But I cannot let you do that. Your anger is understandable, but the Imperial Troops still surround us and have many strongholds they will reach before we even manage to get close to the Emperor. If we go after them, then all of our lives are forfeit, and for nothing."

"I will kill them! It doesn't matter if they're hundreds or thousands. I'll kill them all!"

His hands were shaking from exhaustion. Maybe that was why he had no answer making sense, Rodrigue knew. He needed to collapse. He needed to sleep.

It was then that he noticed the young girl who was coming to them. She looked spooked, but he recognized her. She was one of the people from Hrym who had joined them.

"You?" He stepped away from Dimitri for a moment, preparing himself to give her his mare if she needed to go back to safety. "What are you doing here? This is not safe, you should be with the healders."

Then there was a glint of metal.

One moment later, she was stabbing Dimitri.

He wasn't sure how he had managed to throw his prince away, the moment she raised her knife again. He just knew that the next second, it was him who felt the bite of steel.

Soldiers were running to them, Royal soldiers, hearing the commotion. They took the girl, he thought, stopping her from going after Dimitri again. Good, he thought absently as he fell to the ground.

It had probably been the liver, he realized quickly enough. Unless they had a healer here, with them, there would be no time to save him.

He was dying.

Dimitri was crying.

He just had a few seconds, he knew. Felix wasn't here. Dimitri was crying. There was only... one person he could still try to help, in his last moments.

And so he absolved him.

Of everything. Of the will of the dead. Of the need for him to be avenged. Of that unlife he had forced onto himself.

He tried to tell him, with all he had left.

He didn't know if he succeeded. He just prayed as he faded. He prayed that Felix would know how sorry he was. He prayed that Dimitri would be alright. He prayed that he had managed to keep his promise to Lambert, at the very least.

Please, Gods, let him have managed to keep his promise.

Darkness was all-encompassing. Suffocating. Nauseating. He could feel his body move more than he moved it consciously, but was it really a body he wondered. It felt light, made of nothing, a feeling more than a physical thing.

Something was calling to him. And a voice was telling him to leave, imperious. But he couldn't. He couldn't leave. The need to be there was stronger than the voice.

When he lowered his eyes, there was Felix.

Felix, under a funeral shroud, covered in blood.

His son. Dead. Dead or dying.

No.

Everything that was left of him refused. No, he thought he said out loud, no! He does not die here!

Not him. Not his youngest. Not his boy, who he had never been able to reconcile with but loved all the same.

The darkness surrounding him growled something in his ear, a warning, a reminder that it wasn't his choice to make. Rodrigue refused. He refused with all he had. He would make it his choice to make.

No.

He did not have a body, he didn't know how to stop it, but he would. By the Goddess, no, by all the Gods, he would!

Who do you think you are?

No.

Not him. And he had never managed to do anything for Felix before, so he would. This one time, he swore as he tried, desperately, to push him away. This one time he'd do everything for him.

The darkness howled in rage when he made contact.

"You are not taking my son."

Somehow, his fingers touched fabric. With one, heavy pull, he ripped the shroud from Felix's body.

He felt him disappear from this realm more than he saw him, the darkness rounding on Rodrigue and screaming at him, fury and outrage at being denied, defied that way.

He thought he saw green hair, for a second. And purple eyes, glaring at him.

You, it said, are never going to stop me ever again.

Then there was nothing.

He awoke among white shapes.

They were dense, so dense it felt like they were choking him. He tried to breathe and realized he couldn't. It was panic for a second, until his lungs refused to feel any pain.

He wasn't breathing.

He didn't need to breathe.

The white shapes moaned around him and he raised a hand. It felt like a small wind. Barely visible among the white. He could not even feel it.

He was dead, he remembered. He was dead.

He was one of those ghosts Judai could see.

Standing weakly he looked at the shapes around him, trying to figure out what to make of them. There were faces in them, some he thought he could recognize but did not have the time to.

He tried to shake them off, but went through them, as if they weren't there. He walked on nothing and left them behind.

When, finally, he was in a place that wasn't as densely populated by these ghostly forms, it felt almost as relieving as breathing.

It looked like an infirmary, he noticed. And when he lowered his eyes, he couldn't help his scowl.

The Emperor.

She was being healed, the wound he had caused her not yet scarred, but clearly not dangerous anymore as the healer went on and on about the recommandations. Rodrigue tried to go further.

After a while, he realized he couldn't. There was a moment where he simply couldn't walk more, as if surrounded by some invisible wall.

He tried for hours, from all sides.

It took him a whole day to understand he was forced to be by the Emperor's side. The wall moved around her, pushing him to stay near her as she walked.

This was the torment Death had imposed on him for defying her, he understood. Forced to watch his enemy plan how to destroy all he held dear while the shapes of old friends screamed by his side.

Death was cruel, he had figured that out a long time ago. He could do nothing but curse it, feeling powerless once more, as time went by.

When the Emperor transformed, the shapes went denser and denser. And suddenly around him the faces were more numerous and more horrifyingly familiar than ever. They were friends he had lost a long time ago, people he had mourned during what had maybe been the darkest day of his life.

These were the victims of Duscur.

Taken by a push of horror, he went through them, searching, seeking one face he wanted to have been able to hold, one last time before the end had come. He looked for Glenn, everywhere.

Instead he found Lambert.

But it barely even could count as Lambert. His old friend was howling, screaming, just like Dimitri had always described him. Not one part of the kind man Rodrigue had served was left inside him. He was just a husk, full of rage and despair but nothing else of him.

Rodrigue watched him, cursing Death again in dismay, to have to force him to see this. He cursed her, almost sobbing, before not being able to stand it anymore, leaving the throne room, going as far as his terrible punishment would allow him.

But as the tides turned, he saw a change happen.

For just one second, when their boys were in danger, Rodrigue saw a change in Lambert's shape. As if awakened, the King straightened up, his eyes staring at that blonde hair. And he screamed. Not a wordless howl this time, but an order. A refusal, not unlike the one Rodrigue had once said and now repeated, the refusal that had forced him to live this torment.

He could hear Judai's agonized scream as he tore himself apart to save their boys.

When the battle ended and Lambert left, empty eyes smiling peacefully, Rodrigue looked at Felix and Dimitri, thankfully alive and well. All he could do, standing near an exhausted Judai, was thank him again, and again.

The girl was sitting, quiet. She had been done with tears a long time ago, Rodrigue suspected, the only things left to her were her grief and her boredom.

He didn't feel anything towards her, truth being told, as he looked at her dirty blonde pigtails and loosely fit clothes. Some part of him thought maybe he should, this was the girl who had killed him after all. But he didn't.

Ever since he had been freed from the Emperor, his intangible steps had led him to this cell many times, he wasn't sure why. It never changed. Each time, he didn’t feel a thing. Maybe a bit of pity, he figured.

The sound of feet, walking briskly, attracted his attention. He could see her raise her head too, towards the corridor as they came closer and closer.

Felix entered the cell.

There was bread and a flask of water in his hands that he put down, eyes tired, as if he didn't even know who she was. Maybe he didn't, Rodrigue thought for a second. Maybe he had just been tasked with feeding the prisoners and didn't think twice about her.

The girl's gasp as she saw his face, however, showed that she knew who he was instantly. It made sense, Rodrigue thought with dark humour, they had their physical differences, of course, but it had always been obvious that they were related, he and his son. She braced herself, likely expecting some kind of assault.

Felix's eyes looked so stony when he stared at her, Rodrigue knew he had been wrong. He had known exactly who she was when he came here.

Yet, he simply stood up and started going towards the door, as if to leave now that his job was done.

"That's it?" the girl interrupted him, her voice more confused than anything. "You're not going to do anything?"

He stopped, his hand on the handle. There were a few seconds before he answered.

"I don't know what to make of you." It was a quiet admittance. "I'm not sure how to react to you."

"I... I killed your father."

"So I heard."

Another silence. She was shivering, unsure and afraid. Yet she had been the one stopping him from leaving. Rodrigue wasn't sure why. Maybe uncertainty was scarier to her than the threat of deadly revenge.

"I know my old man," Felix mumbled in the end, "he would never have gone down in a way he didn't agree with." He scoffed, the sound somewhat mournful. "He must be proud of his own death, the old fool."

It hurt. Rodrigue closed his eyes, pain overwhelming for a second. Maybe the worst thing, he supposed, was to know that it was true. If Dimitri had to die for Rodrigue to live, then he would make the same choice, over and over again, without any hesitation.

Felix knew that. And Rodrigue knew, despite his arguing and grumbling and annoyance and unbearable grief, that Felix would do the same. Would have done the same. Though, he smiled wistfully, remembering a dagger bouncing back on a shield, probably not the same way.

"Didn't you come to kill me? To avenge your father?"

Felix turned from the door, looking at her even if just for one moment.

"What would be the point?" he asked, bemused.

"... What?"

"What would that accomplish? I know vengeance. I've seen it and what it does to people. I know it's tempting, it's hard to resist its call. But really, what good would that bring me? Would it bring my old man back? Would it bring me satisfaction to kill a defeated, imprisoned woman who has already lost everything?"

A scoff. More self-deprecating than actually amused. And then a quiet question.

"Or rather, would it feel gratifying for a second, but then petter out until all I can feel about it is some kind of dull emptiness?"

She stared, her eyes quivering. Ah, Rodrigue thought through the pain, how hard must it be, to hear your own shortcomings in such a way.

"I know revenge," Felix repeated, "I know how it destroys people. I've seen enough of it. I don't know why I came here, when I know it's hard for me to resist it. But I don't want to fall into its trap."

She started crying. Silently.

"I'm not sorry," she sobbed, defiant anyway, "I'm not sorry for killing him."

Felix raised an eyebrow.

"Good for you. I'm pretty sure Judai doesn't regret killing your brother either. Not anymore. That's just what war does to people."

"Without the war," she spat, wiping at her eyes, "my brother would be home. With me."

Felix shrugged, looking unconcerned.

"I have no idea where any of us would be if not for the war," he admitted bluntly, "thinking about it won't bring us anywhere. We just have to live with what it brought, now."

"What... will my punishment be?"

Another shrug, a bit less sure of himself this time.

"This should not be left to me," he sighed, "it should be left to Manuela. But she refuses to make any decision when she's pregnant and mourning. So... I guess you're going to work."

"Work?" she repeated numbly.

"Yeah. Work. The ex-Imperial lands will need rebuilding, with all that was ruined during the war. They'll probably send you to work there. If we're lucky, we'll never have to meet again."

"... Lucky?"

His eyes were more stony than before when he glanced at her for the last time.

"After all, today I'm tired. I don't want to think or to argue, I just want to be done with this. Who knows how I'll feel another day."

And with that, he left. She stared after him, her expression unreadable. Rodrigue didn't care. All he cared for was the pride, swelling inside of him. It was melancholic in nature, but pride all the same, maybe a bit of relief.

His son would be okay, he figured with a smile. He was sure of it.

She was so small, that child, small and wrinkled, sleeping after exhausted crying, held into loving arms. She was so small, that baby. His daughter.

He felt like he could weep with joy, hold the world on his shoulders and dissolve into small particles of happiness all at the same time, like he would push through the boundaries of his ghostly form and be made real just to accomplish those feats. Quietly, he closed his eyes, pretending that he could feel the tears his heart wanted to shed.

By his side, Judai smiled tiredly through his own tears (his best friend - sweet Johan who had been such a nice companion to Rodrigue these last months - had just left this world, he was in mourning, yet he tried to smile. Rodrigue had no idea where he found this strength).

"So," he muttered among the hushed exclamations of joy inside of the room, as they tried to leave his Manuela to her well-deserved rest, "do you still want to leave?"

It was a painful question. But one that he knew had to be asked, no matter how much he hated it.

He didn't know, was the answer. He didn't know and it pained him. Slowly, he did the one thing that would either give him the resolve to go or not.

His hand went near his baby, his daughter, the sweet child whose name people around her were debating on (but that he knew, already, Manuela had whispered the names she wanted at night, knowing, feeling that he might hear them).

His hand went through her.

It was some dull pain. Yet it felt more excruciating than dying had been.

"Yes." he said softly. "But... not forever. I won't be able to. Just these first weeks, for now. I can't... I won't leave them behind even if it hurts... It's just..."

These first weeks would be hard on them, terrible. He didn't feel able to watch them go through it without being able to touch them, help them, talk to them, support them in any way. Hilda had her own duties that would keep her in Leicester for at least a few months, leaving him truly powerless when seeing them struggle.

Yet part of it felt wrong. He feared he'd change his mind tomorrow on the way. And then again after a few days of helplessness.

As if he had read his mind, Judai chuckled quietly.

"We'll have to arrange for Hilda to go to Fraldarius sometimes. But don't worry about that. We'll be back. Quickly. And for now, we're not even going too far, so if they need us, we can come back without problem."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Judai hummed, "the first place Indech and I intend to go to is Sreng, so we can enlist Macuil's help in our research. It's not too far from here, don't you agree? You... We'll be able to come back here often. And once we need to go farther away, well..."

He gave him a small smile.

"You will have time to think more about it."

It wasn't ideal. Nothing ever was, Rodrigue knew. Part of him would always hurt with how he would be leaving them behind, once more, as he sometimes felt like he had done far too often.

But not forever. No, he thought with a sad smile, he would be back. He would be there, as much as he could. He would watch his daughter grow, he would see his son become the Ambassador to the greatest country they had on their borders, he would see Dimitri turn into the amazing King he always had the potential to be, he would wait with his heart heavy yet hopeful to know whether or not his eldest had lived.

He would, he prayed, see all those he loved live long and happy lives.

And if he managed to do that, then no punishment from Death would be able to take that joy from him.

Chapter Text

Happiness

Pegasus Moon, Fodlanese Year 0

Hilda

"Again, Miss Goneril?"

Hilda batted her eyelashes innocently at Count Gloucester while handing him the papers she wanted his signature on.

"What seems to be the issue this time, my Lord?"

"It is already the third time you are presenting this ludicrous project of yours to me," Lorenz's father said, glowering, "it is starting to get tiring."

"Well of course," Hilda said with her best 'I don't see what your problem is' voice, "the first time you told me that you could not support anything unofficial, so I then brought you the official documents announcing my intent. Then you told me you wouldn't support a project that 'flimsy' unless families other than Goneril's would support it to mitigate the loss in case of failure. So this time, I bring you the pledges of support of all the families who agreed to my project."

She raised a pile of paper, chuckling as girlishly as she could.

"It gained quite a bit of traction, you see? After the war, many great families have found the idea of an academy made to create rather than destroy quite refreshing. I am still awaiting for a few answers, but I already got signatures from Lady Daphnel, Margraves Edmund and Gautier, Count Ordelia, Duchess Fraldarius, Lord Galatea, Lord Charon, Count Bergliez..."

"Nothing from Duke Riegan?" he interrupted her, sneering.

"Please," she gasped, "surely you know that our Duke Riegan is currently working on foreign affairs and that in the meantime, he officially named House Goneril as the one acting in his name. That means that of course I have his agreement, since house Goneril endorsed my project from the get-go."

Her smile was blinding and she knew it when she went back to her papers.

"Oh," she giggled, "look, I even got the King and the Archbishop's agreement! My, if I didn't know any better it'd look like you were the only great name who hasn't agreed yet. Is there anything else you'd wish to get? If you wish to know the means of financing it is in the report I handed you. The emplacement has been decided, on the outskirts of Derdriu rather than the border between Gloucester and Goneril as I had planned first, since you didn't seem to appreciate the idea at the time. We are only awaiting the last signatures to know who to invite to the opening ceremony, truth being said."

She was still smiling, though she didn't know if she managed to still look all so innocent this time.

"So. Is it still no for you?"

Lorenz was in the gardens with Ignatz, when she found him. They were speaking animatedly, voices soft but engaged. Probably about some painting they had seen or planned to have Ignatz make. Hilda came, greeting them from afar. Ignatz's eyes lit up when seeing her and Lorenz's smile grew larger and just that was enough to make her smile even bigger.

"Hello boys," she crooned, "sorry I won't have much time before leaving again."

"Do not apologize, Hilda," Lorenz bowed, "it is always a pleasure to see you."

"It is surprising to see you here," Ignatz said sweetly before wincing, realizing what he had said and not daring to say more in all of his tact.

Oh, sweet Ignatz. Everyone knew Hilda hated this place, even Lorenz, there was no issue about it. Lorenz also knew it wasn't the place she disliked so much as its current leader.

"Well," she chuckled, "I thought it'd be unfair not to ask Count Gloucester if he was still sure of his position on my 'useless whim of a project' now that I have basically the whole continent backing me up."

A nice way of putting the way she had decided to rub in his face how outnumbered he was in the current political world. It would probably be her last foray into politics (she hoped so), but she had wanted to make it as satisfying as possible.

And she hated Count Gloucester with a deep passion, the passion Raphael would himself refuse to hold towards the man who had caused his parents' death through greed.

"Hate to say it, my dear Lorenz," she sighed, "but your father is a jerk. And that's my nicest word for him."

"I know," her friend sighed, closing his eyes, distraught, "I have spent my whole life making excuses for him and his actions, but there are some even I cannot accept."

She patted his shoulder, sorry for him.

"Well," she said softly, "now that the academy is officially on its way, don't forget that its doors will always be open if you need a breath of fresh air."

Her workshop was small, compared to what most academies looked like, but it was just temporary and she couldn’t help but be absurdly proud of that small space. It was a start while they finished preparing her new locale. It was a starting point, some way to find a few pupils, a proof of concept of sorts, to make sure word was already going around about what her school would be about and how to join it.

There already were kids here, starting out and trying their hand at things. They’d come to a few classes, unsure whether or not they’d be able to keep going. Their reactions, however, had always been enthusiastic and that was already enough to make her glad. To make her sure that she had made the right choice.

As the day ended, she waved at the kids (and the the interested adults who didn’t dare participate) away and was welcomed by the sight of a gorgeous lady walking towards her. Smiling, Dorothea Arnault hugged her as a greeting. Hilda laughed, squealing in happiness.

Truth being told, she and Dorothea had a strange relationship. For most people, they were very similar. They were these two beautiful girls, at the academy, who would smile and flirt with you, who you would bend over backwards for, just so they’d thank you with a wink. They were these extraverted creatures who enjoyed gossip and dressing prettily in that world of military people who had come there to fight.

And yet, when one gave them a closer look, they could not have been more different. Hilda had always loved herself, but she had never held her abilities in much esteem, she had wanted to be good for nothing and kept that ideal for many years. Dorothea, on the other hand, knew her abilities, knew she was a good mage and a great singer. But she also loathed herself for some of the things she had done to survive. Ingrid and Petra had done wonders on that aspect, Hilda knew, and Dorothea was starting to realize that maybe she could live with these things. She had seemed much more at ease with herself, the last times they had seen each other.

They had drinks together, later, at a tavern, ignoring some men's leering eyes. There had been a time when Dorothea would have tried desperately not to show how these men disgusted her, there had been one where Hilda would not even have dared going into such a place unless she planned to use someone here. Tonight, they simply ignored them, for they were insignificant in their lives nowadays and that was worth celebrating too.

Though not as much as the rings at Dorothea's fingers.

"We've been searching for the kinds that wouldn't bother us," she giggled, "you know how my girls get when it comes to their training."

"They are so sweet!" Hilda squealed as she looked at the rings. "They're thin so it should be alright for them, but you managed to have them look so distinguished! I can say which one represents which of your lovers just with their respective shapes."

And maybe she was studying them a bit too much, but she couldn't help it. This was her job, now, but also a passion of hers. She loved accessories, and it was by studying the works of masters that you became one yourself.

"I'm glad you approve of them," Dorothea smirked, "you are our resident expert after all."

"Please, as if you were not a fashion expert yourself!"

"Maybe I am. But would I ever go deep enough that I'd create a school for it?"

"You flatter me", Hilda said with a smile, "it is just the beginning. While it is my project, I have a lot of supporters and colleagues helping me, I could not do something so big by myself."

"It's good that you are not alone. You know how harsh this kind of enterprise can be, especially at the start."

"I know, I know. I already have a mostly good starting point, truth being said. I sincerely believe I only lack one thing."

Dorothea's eyes were glinting when she bent forwards, closer to her drink.

"Oh? And what would that be?"

Hilda sat straighter, trying to figure out the best way to explain it, especially to Dorothea who might not see the point.

"A high-profile student," she ended up saying slowly, "someone with a big name. Someone who would lend... credence to the school if you see what I mean? I do not care whether my students come from the streets or some palace, but if I want the people with the money and means to help us to look at my school as something worth investing in, I need someone like that to take their classes there."

"I see," Dorothea said after a while, "you're afraid of most people seeing it as a whim of yours and not something you will really put your everything into."

Basically, yes, she had made a summary of her fear and followed her reasoning. It was more complex of course, but it was the general idea.

"So," she winked, "what do you say? You want to be my student?"

Dorothea laughed. It was a sweet laugh, not mocking at all, but Hilda pouted nonetheless. She knew a refusal when she heard one.

"I'm so sorry, dear," the songstress chuckled, "I wish I could say yes, but truth being told, I am quite busy these days, between my singing career and all the work being a future princess consort of Brigid implies. I am already quite glad I found the time to come and see you."

And it was already a glowing compliment in itself, so Hilda smiled, despite being a bit sad. Dorothea would have been the perfect choice, her notoriety and her background were the perfect blend of what Hilda hoped to achieve for her cute little crafters. She would have proved that you could become someone no matter where you were from.

But she had known it was a long shot from the beginning.

"A shame," she sighed, "but I unfortunately understand."

When they separated, later, Dorothea held her shoulder, her smile soft and beautiful.

"I will think about people who could fit the bill," she said as she hugged her goodbye, "see you soon, dear."

It was only a few weeks later and there was a hush in the workshop, suddenly. Hilda had been drowning in papers, leaving her assistants to overview the work. The school proper was less than ten days from its opening and everything needed to be ready and so she was extremely busy. Which was why it took a familiar voice speaking for her to realize that everything around her had become silent.

"Excuse me, may I speak with Lady Hilda Valentine Goneril?"

Ferdinand's voice was one she would have a hard time forgetting, and his face was one all of Derdriu knew well after these years he had spent in Claude's service. It made sense that so many would stare at him like that, in awe at the one so many had nicknamed 'the sunset-haired knight' (a nickname that had often made him flush with happiness), the man who had seduced the whole city through his politeness, hard work and earnestness (though his good looks definitely helped too, obviously).

"Ferdie?" she welcomed him with a tired smile. "What brings you here, dear?"

She embraced him, noting with more relief than she expected that he looked better than he did at the end of the war. Ferdinand had been back at Enbarr, alongside Linhardt and Caspar, when the last battle had been fought. The idea of his friends in such danger when he couldn't do anything hadn't done him any good. And it wasn't even speaking of... well, what Hilda would rather not speak of unless that helped him.

That wound would take its time to heal.

Still, he didn't look as gloomy as he used to. That was a victory in itself. He had been hard at work ever since the war had ended, it had probably helped busying his mind.

"Dorothea told me about your school," he explained once they had a bit of privacy, "it was intriguing and I really wanted to see it for myself."

"You're too sweet, Ferdie," she smiled as she sat him down, "this is still only a workshop, the school proper will open in a few days, I am currently reviewing appliances."

"Is that so?" his voice was awed. "I would not have believed it. While the place is a bit small, your students are already so radiant, flourishing under your care, that I would have believed them to have been here for months."

"Oh, you're such a flatterer," she giggled, hiding her blush, "it has been in the works for years, I'm mostly happy everything is going according to plan."

"You are very much like our Claude," Ferdinand smiled, "in that you always plan everything in advance to limit risks of failures."

"I like to think that I take less risks than he does."

There was a small laugh answering her, Ferdinand looking at the result of some of her students' hard work. Most were amateur work, but the passion and care that had gone into the creation of these bangles was obvious and Hilda knew it, so she let him do so, glowing with pride.

"This is beautiful," he mumbled as he passed a hand over a bangle, as if he didn't dare touch it, "how I wish I had the ability to create such things."

Maybe it was because for all their differences, they were still quite similar, but Hilda understood at that exact moment what Dorothea had planned when she had told Ferdinand of her school. She blessed her, smiling wider than she had just before.

"Well," she said slowly, "if you can temporarily step away from your functions as Duke Aegir..."

Ferdinand froze and she lost her smile. That didn't look like a good freeze. When he turned towards her, he looked sheepish.

"I... haven't taken the mantle yet. I was too busy at the capital... My aunt has been handling it ever since the war ended."

Yes, Hilda definitely understood Dorothea's plan. It was obvious when one saw him. He had locked himself in Enbarr, the place where he was born, but also a city that was nothing but ruins and the memory of death. He hadn't even dared going back to his own territories since, maybe ever since his father had died during a riot in Hrym.

It would take more than a talk and some good tea to cheer their Ferdie up this time, but she was ready to take action.

"That makes it even easier, then," she said, finding her cheer again, "and truth being told, you might even be exactly what I need right now."

Before he had time to protest, she started explaining what she had told Dorothea to him. There was a part of herself, as she laid out arguments, that wondered with amusement whether or not she had become so good at argumenting and politics due to the times she had manipulated boys with her charms.

There was no use of her charms as she told Ferdinand why she'd be overjoyed if he joined her school and how he'd actually really help her if he did so.

It was obvious, towards the end, that any hesitation he still had was due to guilt. There was always more to do, more to reconstruct, more people he needed to help. Could he really leave his people behind even though they were already being taken care of?

Ferdinand believed rulers were people who weren't allowed to be humans, for their people needed them to be always ready to make thought out decisions, ones that wouldn't be brought out by their feelings. He thought the very same for himself, she knew.

When he accepted, enthusiastic despite his guilt, she figured maybe it'd be time to show him that it was impossible to be as cold as he wished he could be.

Dorothea came back months later. The school had opened under applause, embraces and free sweets. Hilda would sometimes say it was the best day of her life, but she knew it was a lie. No, the best day of her life had been when she had awoken after the battle against Nemesis and been told that all of her loved ones had lived. Still. Close second, she'd tell herself jokingly during peaceful days.

In any case, when Dorothea came back, she wasn't alone this time. She had brought her two wonderful girls. And so Hilda had hugged Ingrid tightly and held Petra's hand and smiled at them as she gave them the grand tour. The moment she was alone with Dorothea, she shook her head.

"So," she said slowly, "Ferdie?"

Dorothea smiled innocently.

"Dorothea, my dear, you are an evil mastermind."

"Well," Dorothea laughed, "you respect evil masterminds so I do not see the problem."

"It's not a problem and I don't just respect that, I love that, hun. It's a shame you're already engaged."

Ferdinand was currently working on some weaving project, so focused he did not seem to see them as he worked. Dorothea smiled softly when she saw him.

Maybe that was why Hilda did not expect where the conversation then went.

"This reminds me. Are you still single, Hilda?"

Hilda froze slightly, trying not to show that the question was rattling.

"I am, yes," she sighed dramatically, "there are no more single evil masterminds for me to fall for so it had to be expected."

Dorothea laughed, but it was slightly strained. Hilda's eyes fell on Ferdinand once more and she wondered if she hadn't slightly miscalculated Dorothea's plan after all.

"Did you hope that Ferdie would find love here?" She asked quietly. "And not just solace?"

It took Dorothea a few seconds to answer as she looked at her friend once more. Then, she shook her head.

"I won't lie, it did cross my mind. Ferdie thrives when he knows he's being useful, helping. And you are the kind of person who will always find something for him to help with."

She inhaled, a sad smile finding her lips in an elegant curve.

"But I knew from the beginning that the chances of it happening were low. You would never settle for being a rebound, darling. No. I just want him to be happy here. Whether he finds love again or not."

"Please," Hilda laughed weakly, "some honest prince charming like him? I would eat him alive and you know it."

She would eat him alive. Yes, she would. Just like Hubert would have eaten him alive. Had, in some way. Some days Hilda wondered if Hubert hadn't known from the start that they were doomed. Some days, when she looked at Ferdie work, she could swear she heard the wind mumbling things in a voice that sounded like his, quiet words that she could not make out, but when she turned around, she couldn't see any of the ghosts she had been learning to ignore around her.

Despite not being in her mind, it seemed like Dorothea was thinking the same things.

"Well," she smiled helplessly, "it seems like his type is very much people like you."

It felt weird to hear that. She and Hubert could never have been more different. He was tall, dark and lean, always somber and solemn, the kind who didn't know how to show empathy. She was small, pink and curvy, all bubbly and smiles, and as time went on, her one goal had become making people happy and helping them through their feelings.

But yes. Both of them knew people, watched and learned a lot more than most supposed they did. They both drew dry humor from watching people being stupid. They both were cold and calculated in some parts. They were both smart and devoted and ready to do whatever it took to protect what they believed in. They both could take advantage of others if they thought it'd help in the long term.

Yes. She was very much Ferdie's type.

"His type is evil masterminds too," she said with a smirk, "if anything, we'd be rivals in love."

"Oh my," Dorothea snarked good-naturedly, "how narcissistic of you."

Hilda laughed at that. There was a certain melancholy in that laughter. There had been thoughts of love in her head for years, but she hadn't indulged them for a long time. There was always something more to do, something she could focus on rather than her doubts and fears. These doubts that told her that she was maybe too cold, too manipulative, too used to using others to be able to love.

But then she remembered confiding in Claude, once, the one time she had let herself drown her sorrows in alcohol and he had had to bring her to her room, kindly chastising her on how it wasn't like her.

She had broken down crying back then, real tears, so rare coming from her. She had told him everything, from her fears during the war, her doubts, her pain, and even that little worry of hers, so insignificant among all others.

He had listened and calmed her down, one argument after another. Even for that one. He had told her that it did not matter if she wasn't able to love others romantically, that she was still warm and kind and loving in every way that mattered.

"I think I'm too down to earth to love." She told Dorothea frankly.

The songstress turned to her, looking surprised.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that might not be the right term", Hilda hummed, "but that's how I explain it to myself. When I meet someone, I judge them for what they can bring me. Not... Coldly, I don't think so at least. But I look at them, I figure out how far I can trust them, what I can trust them with, and I only give them that. Never anything more."

She let her head rest against the wall.

"I don't let myself fall in love," she said with a tired shrug, "because I don't think anyone is worth abandoning my heart to. It's.. the most precious thing I hold, and so my head doesn't want to give it away. There are days where I feel I could have fallen in love if I had let myself. If I had chosen to."

There were memories, smiles and tears, faces of precious people she could have learnt to love in a romantic way, she was sure of it.

"Claude is my best friend. I would die for him." It wasn't as hard to admit as it had been the first time she had shielded him in battle, almost without thinking because of how unbearable the idea of losing him had been, much more than the idea of dying herself. "Yet, I did not let myself fall in love with him. I love Marianne to death, I want to cherish her and making her smile is enough to brighten my day. But I didn't let myself fall in love with her either. I wonder. Does that make me a coward?"

Maybe it was weird to tell all of that to Dorothea. While they had some kind of understanding, they had never been that close. Barely spoke together at the Academy, only started becoming friends during the war due to Hilda asking Dorothea for resources for her school, as she was pretty sure operas had to use services like hers. She could have gone to any of her deers for that. She could even have gone to Felix, even if just to see his confused face as he tried not to show how panicked he was that she was talking about feelings with him.

But here was Dorothea, looking at her blankly. And then smiling, small and sweet.

"I don't think it does. Feelings are complicated matters, don't you agree?"

The songstress leaned against the wall herself, closing her pretty green eyes.

"If anything, I understand, I believe. Maybe because I went about it the other way around. I fell in love, but kept my heart for myself anyway. I showered those I love with kisses and affection, but I never shared anything of myself, too scared of being a burden as I was. I love my girls, I'm in love with them, I know it. But..." She sighed, wistful. "Can you believe I'm only now starting to open up to them about my life in the streets? I gave them my heart without giving them myself. They are wonderful and of course they accept me anyway, but how idiotic of me was that? You do not build a relationship on lies and unsaid words. You, however? You give everything, except for your heart. No, I don't think it makes you a coward. I think it makes you brave."

Hilda didn't know why it was so reassuring to hear those words. She smiled back, small too, as sincere as she could.

"I'm glad you're happy now," she said.

"You too," Dorothea said, teary-eyed but smiling, "that's what matters in the end, isn't it? Us being happy with where we are."

On that, without any doubt, Hilda agreed.

It was when Constance came to visit her, mostly, that she realized she hadn't heard from Yuri in a while. Talking to Constance was pretty fun, she usually just had to ask her where the restoration of her House was to hear every single piece of gossip about Imperial nobility there currently was. She usually stored those inside her memory bank and took them to Yuri if Constance hadn’t done so herself, so he'd know what to make of them, and he'd himself bring those of interest to the people they may concern. It was a well oiled machine, something they had become used to during the war, and while Hilda knew she was only one of Yuri's informants, there always was something pretty nice about these meetings of theirs, usually over some nice tea, the one with albinean berries they both favoured. They would gossip, not caring one second that they sounded like old ladies, simply talking with no care for consequences, for anything unimportant would stay between them anyway. Sometimes, they would exchange tips over make-up, hair, anything that would make them look even better than they already did. It was a strangely simple relationship that they had, for such complicated people.

Constance laughed when she expressed her worry. She had come for Ferdinand, truth being said, wishing for his approval and advice on some part of her grand House Nuvelle Restoration project. But there they were talking, she and Hilda, drinking rose flower tea, and Constance thought Hilda worrying for Yuri was funny.

"It is commendable of yours," Constance laughed noisily, "to worry about that pretty snake. But you should not. He has a gift for getting out of problems."

And getting into them first, Hilda thought with mild amusement, just like Claude. Though Claude enjoyed having Hilda get him out of his problems rather than doing it himself, even though she didn't mind. But at the same time Hilda figured it was also the consequences of her first meeting with the beautiful young man.

After all, despite all he had revealed about Lady Rhea's involvement, Hilda had first met Yuri as a desperate man who had to rely on their teacher and kids he had just met to save his and his friends' lives.

"Or maybe," Constance added, "it is what he might be up to that worries you so? If so I do understand. Claude might be the one we called the Schemer, but I fear our Savage Mockingbird is very much the same in that aspect. But I learnt a long time ago that worrying was not worth it: whatever he is planning, he will do it anyway."

This time, Hilda laughed.

"I wonder what kind of havoc he will wreak upon the world," she said, more reassured than she'd admit. She had never been afraid of Yuri's schemes, but Constance was very right in that it was much more likely that he was doing something rather than being currently in danger.

"Not that it will matter to you," Constance sighed heavily, "more likely it will be us rulers' and future rulers' burden to deal with the results of whatever he is working on."

She took a sip of her tea and tilted her head, long, pale hair falling from a messy bun she had made to 'look plainer'.

"You gave up on your title and responsibilities, after all. While what you're doing is very admirable, I will always wonder how it is that such an option presented itself to you. I know our situations are nothing alike, but my house was always the most important thing to me and I cannot fathom how you could leave it behind like that."

Hilda smiled inside her tea cup, not surprised. She wasn't the first one to express such bewilderment, though she wondered how these people would react to Felix if they knew he had never planned to inherit his own lands before he ended up having no choice in the matter (she wondered if Rodrigue was enjoying his trip with Judai and if he had come back to see his daughter since). What many of them seemed to forget was that Hilda had never been promised any title.

"I am not the heiress of Goneril," she said firmly, "I never was and never will be. These are my brother's lands, the one time he tried to give them to me, it was because he was sick and thought he was dying. I never had these kinds of aspirations. It makes it much easier, don't you think?"

Constance shrugged, managing to look posh even with such a gesture.

"Oh, it is just as well for me, I figure. I'd much rather not find myself on the other side of your stare when it comes to negotiations. I know you are much more devious than you look."

"You flatter me," Hilda chuckled.

Constance looked somber, however, proof if needed be that it wasn't the end of the painful part of the conversation.

"Still," she mumbled, "speaking of your brother..."

People had different interpretations of what happiness was. There were people who had their happiness mixed with strong sensations, who thought they only touched euphoria when every single part of them was screaming, either with joy or with something else. There were others who preferred a quiet happiness, contentment in a routine or in the purr of a cat. The kind who felt that happiness was knowing where you'd be tomorrow and the comfort that came with certainty. Others wanted their happiness to taste like pleasure, feeling like they could only be happy when their flesh was stuck to another's, bodies intertwined in fervent desire. Some would temper it, saying that it wasn't pleasure or desire, but love that gave them this happiness. Those would feel happy too when exchanging a longing glance or hearing any language of love they spoke. Some only felt happiness while seeing misery, as if seeing people in awful positions told them that their sad existence wasn't that bad after all. Some preferred happiness to be as simple as eating a favourite dish or doing something they loved doing, whatever it was. There were those who believed happiness was a feeling, while there were those who thought it was a state of being. There were those who thought it was contagious, that seeing someone joyful was enough to feel happy yourself. Those who thought otherwise were neither right nor wrong, Hilda had spent enough time making people happy to know that simply pretending to be a happy soul lightened some burdens and made some smile. It just wasn't everyone who was subject to that form of it. But if it helped some people, she thought, who would be stupid enough to argue against it just because it didn't pertain to them? Many, it turned out. The world didn't seem to understand that every individual was unique and that their way of living things wasn't other people's. So some would take away facilities and people who helped many others because if it didn't help them personally, then it meant it couldn't help anyone and those saying otherwise had to be lying.

It had been better towards the end of the war, somewhat, as the mood got better and people stopped feeling so ill at ease in the presence of anything they didn't understand. While it had aggravated Hilda, she hadn't blamed them, nerves were a complicated matter that made you react excessively in times of duress. She had once stared a soldier in the face, one that had told her to stop smiling like that. And she had told him : "What if it helps me deal with what's happening? Is it hurting anyone?"

He had apologized, face crumpling and she had comforted him. Seeing him leave in better spirits had lightened something in her chest too. It wasn't happiness, no matter how much she had feigned it most of the time, happiness had been hard to reach during the war.

As she walked through Goneril's halls, it was hard not to think of happiness. Hilda had thought she was happy here, once upon a time. She had thought her lazy existence of doing nothing and batting her eyelashes at people so they'd help her with everything had been her happiness, the way doing what he loved - fighting - had been her brother's.

How wrong she had been on both accounts, she thought when she finally saw Holst's dark pink hair and beard, walking quickly and laying his strength on his new cane. He had gotten better, much better, at using it as a left leg.

Losing a leg had been devastating for him, as she had known it would be the moment she had learnt of the extent of his injuries. Then she learnt of all the casualties, all the people Nemesis had killed easily, without a second glance, and she had realized he had gotten off lightly and had hugged him tight. Just glad he was alive at all.

But she had worried too. There was no fighting on just one leg, and fighting had been his happiness, or so she thought.

It had taken her an embarrassing amount of time to realize that it wasn't and that Holst's happiness was pretty much the same as hers.

It had still been devastating, though, for people were scared and disappointed now, their great young lord couldn't defend them anymore, he couldn't fight anymore, maybe he should leave off the title to one who could...

Hilda had screamed, back then. Screamed at the lords under Goneril's influence, screamed at her parents as to how they dared show such disrespect to a true hero, one who had saved so many people while sacrificing himself. Holst was alive and deserved better than them, she had told them, he deserved better than people who thought he was only good when fighting. He was alive and would rule this territory as he had done for so long, because your quality as a leader and your quality as a fighter were two very different things. Because the war with Almyra was over anyway, so why would their house need to stay military-oriented?

She had stayed polite, but everyone had heard the three words she had thought every second of her speech anyway. Fuck. You. All.

Holst had held her afterwards, smiling in her hair and thanking her. Telling her he could still fight his own battles, despite his state.

He had been feverish and sick, and hearing these words hadn't helped. He had always been one who crumpled when he disappointed people. And so Hilda hadn't believed him, but she had told him that he would fight his own battles again once he'd get better. He had conceded defeat. Probably for the first time ever in front of her.

When he saw her come in, Holst's face brightened up and he walked quickly to her. She helped him down an armchair, smiling, as they greeted each other.

"I heard you're recovering well," she smiled.

"Not as well as the lords would want me to," he grumbled as he rolled his eyes, "one day they'll learn that a leg does not grow back."

"With all we discovered in Shambhala," Hilda chuckled, "I think they expect us to find medical ways that would allow for such a miracle."

"How great would it be," he sighed wistfully before shrugging, "but I won't hold my breath. If it happens, good. If not, I don't want to have hoped for nothing."

"You're getting better with your cane anyway. Soon you'll be running in the hallways with it."

"Already am," he smirked at her, "be careful. If you think I can't steal your breakfast anymore, you'll have quite a shock tomorrow morning."

"You wouldn't," she gasped, "I am such a frail young woman, would you really dare weaken me even more?"

He laughed. Later he would tell her about how glad he was to see her fly with her own wings, he would tell her that he had felt guilty when he had sent her to Garreg Mach without asking for her opinion, knowing that she would hate it, but not knowing how else to push into the world and out of the hole she had dug herself into. How scared he was when war was declared and she was stuck there, on the front line of the conflict. How he would never have forgiven himself if she had died there.

How happy he was to see her flourish now.

Later, she would hug him firmly and for full minutes. She would then tell him that if he told anyone she had done that, she would deny it. That would make him snort with laughter.

But at that moment, she saw him so happy, laughing out loud. And she couldn't help but smile back.

Ferdinand needed to go back to Aegir, even if just for a moment. It was the kind of duty he could have passed onto his aunt, Hilda knew, but the fact that he decided to take it was progress, big progress, and so she just told him that she would safeguard his current works in progress, as long as he was gone.

He looked much better than when he had come in, she noticed with pleasure. Maybe it was having been given the opportunity to create, but his smile was more sincere, his eyes were shining, and heartbreak looked like a memory on his face, something that would still hurt but wasn't as omnipresent in his body.

"I will be back," he swore, "I intend to finish my classes, Hilda. I..."

There was a small hesitation in his words, and then a small smile.

"I do not think I have ever felt as... content... as when I create something that then makes someone else happy. It's indescribable, that feeling. Both pride and contagious joy, and yet so much more."

She chuckled, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

"I understand, I think," he said, "why you enjoy it so much. You really are a wonderful being, Hilda."

"You flatter me," she chuckled, flushing, "but I appreciate the compliment."

"Please," he added sincerely, "I was burying myself inside a hole of my own making back at Enbarr. I see that now, and it is you who helped me out of it. Thank you."

"Please," she waved her hand, "thank Dorothea, hun. She is the one who had the idea."

"I will thank her," he smiled, "that doesn't stop me from thanking you too. In fact..."

There had been a satchel in his hand, one Hilda had noticed but not cared much about. He needed his things for the trip, she had figured. But he put a hand inside and took out a pair of beautiful jade earrings that she recognized. He had been working on these recently.

"I have a gift for Dorothea," he smiled sheepishly, "I think they would suit her. They would go well with her eyes."

"They are beautiful," she squealed, "she will absolutely love them!"

And she meant it too. Ferdie was good with his hands, they had figured out pretty quickly. And a quick study too. It hadn't even been a year, but what he made was gorgeous. His readiness to put on the work and his lack of perfectionism worked to his advantage. Anything beneath perfection was beautiful in its own imperfect way, it somehow made his pieces more unique and splendid. He took even the failures as learning experiences instead of feeling discouraged. Yes, she thought fondly, Ferdinand was a great student.

"Well," he smiled more shyly, "I hope you think the same thing about what I have to give you."

She had expected something for her, Ferdinand was like that after all.

She had not expected a tiara.

It was a simple one, less decorated than most were, with dark metal and a few blue gemstones. It wasn't precious enough to look like what a queen or duchess would wear but still, she thought gasping, that was what you expected to see on a noble heiress' head.

"I know you will never inherit," Ferdinand told her softly, "and that you prefer it that way, but that doesn't change how worthy of a crown you are. When I think of you, I never see anything less than a queen. A queen of her own mind and heart. And a queen of her craft."

There were tears in her eyes that she tried to chase away, but he didn't let her, his hands around hers as she held the beautiful crown-like beauty.

"I also know," he said in a lighter voice, as if to spare her from embarrassing herself by crying, "that you gave up on politics. But please, whether you get back to it or not, know that Aegir's doors will always be open to you."

"Even if just to sell hand-made jewelry?" she asked, wiping at her face.

"Of course," he promised her with a cute smile, "always and for whatever reason."

He would have loved to have her by his side, she knew as she waved him away. Just like many others would have. Because she was good at what she did, because she had a gift when it came to getting the results she wanted during a conversation and that was a political asset worth the world.

But he also respected that she probably wouldn't, just like all of her close ones did, because they knew that just because she was good at it didn't mean she enjoyed it.

She watched him leave, his step bouncing, healed enough to go back to the lands he had given up on for so long, and she was happy. She was happy to have been a safe enough space that he found himself again. It would stay that way, she promised herself, her academy would stay a safe place for others who just wanted to create and make others happy, a bubble of kindness and joy in a world that was sometimes too harsh.

She appreciated his offer, she thought with a smile as she went back inside her school, but she knew that unless the world forced her back to it, she wouldn't go back to politics.

No. As she walked the hallways, among focused students, happy children and exclamations of joy, she knew she would stay here.

Because it was that joy, around her, that made her own happiness.

Chapter Text

Onward and Upward

Harpstring Moon, Fodlanese Year 0

Yuri

It hadn't been that hard to learn of what had happened to the test subjects that had been found in Shambhala's labs, not only was Yuri an expert when it came to finding info, but he had been officially tasked by miss Archbishop Byleth Eisner herself to go lead operations down there, at least for as long as he needed to to get his closure.

The truth was that most test subjects had been in states that didn't allow for transportation, most would not survive if they had to go too far. And so it had been arranged for Shambhala's population to host them until they were strong enough to be moved back home.

Yuri had been slightly surprised to learn that they had accepted until he was told that the test subjects weren't all from the surface. Having brought back people they had believed dead or worse had done wonders when it came to the people's good will.

There had been reports about the hundreds of people there, all describing every little detail about them that could be found. And reports about the experiments too, though they had needed some of the inhabitants to help them decipher the words, writing in Shambhala was quite different from how it was above.

Yuri had gone to many of these people, sometimes hoping to find the face he was looking for. Others just to help them however he could. Judai had been right when he had said that they might need someone like him to help them find their way in the world again. After all, even if Yuri's underground had always been more metaphorical, it was still some underground.

He knew what it was like to live in places devoid of light and hope.

It had already been several months when his eyes fell on a report from a family. It wasn't the first time they were sending some shy report about how their 'guest' didn't seem to be improving, but this time there had been a disturbance.

The man had managed to steal a bottle and was now threatening whoever entered the room he was in with it. The report was understanding, but also worried. For it now meant the man would not even let them bring him anything to eat or drink. They were a bit scared and Yuri winced.

A quick look through the other reports told him that the man had been unconscious when they had brought him to his host house. Heavily sedated it seemed. Other reports called him nervous, mute, his eyes angry. The father of the house once mentioned how he had pushed his bed in front of the door to stop them from entering, since he didn't know that the bookshelf was another entrance. He mostly wondered about how such a famished and exhausted man had found the strength to push such a heavy thing.

It was that line that gave Yuri pause right before he started thinking about who to send to calm the man down.

With a sudden doubt, he stood and tried to search for the reports on what kind of test subject this one was. It had been part of those burnt down, he realized with annoyance, a shame.

So instead, he walked himself. Right to the house.

The young daughter squeaked when she saw him and he bowed, explaining quickly why he was here.

"What can you tell me about him?"

Not much, unfortunately. He looked a bit young? He wasn't very tall? He didn't speak much, but sometimes when he looked really scared, there were some weird lights around him?

Yuri had activated his crest. Yes, she had confirmed, looking a bit wary, just like that. Do you know him?

There was no certitude. There were a thousand other possibilities. But there was something inside him that just... knew.

"I think I do," he said, "can you lead me to his room?"

She showed him to a small door.

"He's not letting anyone come near him," the young agarthan said shyly, "he has let us give him food these past two days, but only if we stay far away and he never eats much."

"I see."

"Aren't you scared that he'll attack you?"

Yuri laughed darkly, knowing that was an actual real possibility and hating it, but hating the idea of staying put even more.

"He'd better not if he knows what's good for him."

And with these words, he opened the door. The woman gasped, he smothered the noise by entering and closing the door behind him. Immediately, there was a roar and a silhouette stood up, brandishing a broken bottle.

Yuri just looked at the bottle, smart enough not to take his gaze away from the one weapon in the room. Still, slowly, very slowly, he raised his eyes towards the face of the man facing him. A face that was torn by rage and exhaustion, immense bags under his eyes, so pale he looked like a ghost, malnutrition digging his cheeks and neck. And his hair...

His hair was long and white and brittle, barely held together by a dirty ribbon. Yuri looked at it for a second, before going back to his face. his angry, older, but still somehow familiar face.

"Well, that's not a way to greet the love of your life."

Whatever Glenn had expected, it wasn't that sentence, that much was obvious by how he stiffened and barely lowered the broken bottle.

"What?" his voice was rough with disuse - or with screaming, a voice reminded Yuri.

Yuri stepped closer and the bottle was raised once again. He glared at it.

"Put that down, dipshit. Let me see your ugly mug. Do you need healing?"

He could see it, the moment the words ‘ugly mug’ were uttered, something changed in Glenn's eyes. They opened, larger than ever, quivering with recognition, and something that looked like a mix of terror and hope.

"Yu..."

"Yes yes, don't bother, your throat is clearly hurting. Show it to me. How do you get yourself in such situations, really? I still can't believe they think of you as the ideal knight after all this time."

Glenn shook. Yuri had kind of hoped it'd be with laughter, a victory. It didn't look like a laugh. More like a sob.

He drew a small healing glyph on Glenn's throat, hoping it'd help, already more than glad he was allowed to touch him. Glenn shivered in his hands. He hadn't grown much. Yuri was almost as tall as him, now. But there was no time for that. Yuri tried to hold his emotions firmly, not letting them get the better of him. There'd be time for that later.

"There," he said, "all better. Anywhere else? Or can I take you back home?"

The bottle fell onto the ground, glass broke, and Yuri hissed in distaste. A shard had flown right into Glenn's leg.

"What in the Goddess..." he swore as he bent to heal it. "I didn't tell you to get new injuries!"

Arms stopped him in his movements, embracing him.

"Is this real?"

His voice was still rough, but also shaky, unsure. Yuri almost couldn't recognize his lover's self-assured voice in the pleading tone.

"Why do you ask?" he mumbled instead of answering.

"I have had this dream... many times but..."

He wasn't ready. Yuri threw a glance at the door and closed his eyes, feeling a burning behind his eyelids. It wasn't the right time, but... Oh Goddess, how did anyone expect him to react any differently?

"But everytime," Glenn rasped desperately, "I knew it wasn't real. You were always..."

"Too nice?" Yuri suggested, voice eerily steady. “Not pretty enough? Too perfect to be true? Not myself?”

There was silence. And then Glenn embraced him tighter. Yuri sighed. And returned the embrace.

"I missed you, ugly," he sniffled, "and I'm so sorry I let you rot in here."

Glenn started sobbing. And Yuri couldn't hold his tears either. His nose fell on Glenn's shoulder and he could feel tears falling on his neck as Glenn held him, like a drowning man holding one last breath of air.

"Damn you," he muttered, not as angry as he pretended to be, "I'm wearing make-up you know? How dare you? You're going to make other people realize that I have a heart."

There was a quiver, maybe a small laughter hidden in between sobs. Yuri smiled a bit. And then cried more.

He wasn't sure he had ever felt happier or sadder.

"How much do you remember of the last few years?"

Glenn was laying on the bed that had been lended to him, eyes hazy. Marianne had spent hours tracing healing glyphs on his skin, but after a while, even she had to say she couldn't do anything more. What they needed was to give him proper food, slowly so as to not overwhelm his stomach. And have him walk as soon as he'd be able to. And see some sun. He desperately lacked sunlight, she said. We're not made to live underground.

His grey gaze turned towards Yuri and he took a few seconds, recognition and wonder morphing his face. Hours later, he still could not believe it. Yuri's heart felt painful but also about to burst. He combed his fingers through Glenn's hair, like he liked doing with Felix. Just like his little brother, Glenn leaned into it, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Slowly, Yuri asked his question again.

"Do you remember much of the last few years?"

"I don't know," Glenn mumbled painfully, "it feels like a lifetime ago."

"Years, a lifetime, same thing really."

His hand sought Yuri's out, grip strangely weak.

"Years..." he muttered. "Many things can happen in years."

"Many things," Yuri confirmed, heart heavy, "we'll talk about what you missed later, okay? One thing at a time."

"One thing at a time," he repeated, yawning, "just... Please tell me something..."

His grip was stronger, suddenly, almost frenzied. Glenn opened scared, desperate eyes as something was suddenly rushing into his brain, a fear a decade-old.

"Dimitri," he asked, "did he escape? Is he alive?"

That question, Yuri thought, had probably been haunting him for the past ten years. Wasn't that what they had all said? That he had sacrificed himself to save Dimitri? He hummed slightly, his smile he hoped reassuring.

"Dimitri is alive," he confirmed, "he's ruling the country right now. We'll go see him later."

Glenn sighed again. Relief.

"Good," he said, closing his eyes again, "good."

Dimitri was alive and well, Yuri thought sadly, but how would he tell him about Rodrigue... He sighed again, hand still combing his lover's white bangs.

"I've called professor Hanneman," he said softly, "it shouldn't be long for him to come. A few hours top. I know he was in Derdriu. Working with our Lysi."

"I have no idea who Lysi is," Glenn exhaled, "but why do we need professor Hanneman?"

The white hair. Again. Yuri hated it and what it represented.

"We need to see what those monsters did to you and if we need to and can reverse it."

Glenn hummed and turned his head.

"My second crest, you mean."

Yuri's heart stopped. He leaned down, softly pecking Glenn on the lips, hoping his desperation didn't show. He had hoped for anything but that. But Hanneman and Lysithea were so close to finding an answer, the last time he had been here.... He had to hope. Glenn gasped a bit in surprise, but he returned the kiss as if he was feeling the same desperation Yuri did, but refused not to show it.

"Your second crest," Yuri said against his lips, "indeed."

And that answered how much of the last years he remembered. Yuri wanted to cry again.

The crest of Riegan.

It was almost hilarious in some dark way. Yuri glared at it as it floated in the air in front of Hanneman's device. Glenn was sitting, looking smaller and more tired than he ever was as a teenager. He was twenty eight years old, Yuri had to remember, he looked both like a child and a tired war veteran. Yuri had been sitting for hours in front of a blank piece of parchment, trying to figure out how to tell Felix and Dimitri of what had happened, who he had found.

Instead, he had written to Claude. Telling him to send Felix back home as soon as possible.

The crescent moon of Riegan, or, as they called it now, the Star crest, was glittering and Yuri had never hated it before this day. It had saved his best friend how many times? And right now, it was threatening his lover's life.

"The major Star Crest heals you from many things," Hanneman was saying, "we're going to make sure it's not keeping you alive from anything before attempting to remove it. A bit of blood should be enough. Do you know how long ago they put it in your blood?"

"Not sure," Glenn mumbled, "I don't even know how long I was in there. Years, apparently."

"Ten years," Yuri said gently.

Glenn doubled down, as if it was physically painful to hear.

"Ten years," he repeated, "so... Two.. Three years maybe?"

Hanneman nodded. Yuri couldn’t help but muse about the timeline. The war had already started… Had they kept going with that project because Edelgard was proving difficult and they needed someone to get rid of her?

That would make a terrible amount of sense.

"That gives us a bit of time. The strain on your body won't start having dire consequences before a few other years."

"How is Lysithea?" Yuri asked.

"Much better." The old man answered gladly. "The extraction was successful, it seems, though she still feels exhausted. And it's good that we now have decent basics instead of going blind like the first times. This will make the extractions much easier and safer."

Yuri nodded in relief.

"In the meantime," the professor said softly, "you should probably wait until you're well enough to travel. But I'm pretty sure there will be people who want to see you, young man."

Glenn nodded, eyes not all-there, likely still processing just how long, exactly, he had missed. It was more than a third of his life, Yuri thought sadly. He let his head fall on Glenn's shoulder, not caring that they had company who could see them. The time for secrets was long past after all.

"Ten years," Glenn repeated, moving his legs slowly, as he was instructed, "there must have been so many things that happened. How... How did Faerghus manage without its king? Dimitri was so young, he wouldn't have..."

"A lot of things happened," Yuri admitted, watching over him, making sure he didn't overexert himself, "most of them not good."

"But Dimitri is alive."

"But Dimitri is alive."

"And ruling the country."

"And ruling the country."

Glenn nodded.

"What about my family?"

Yuri felt his breath turn cold in his mouth and he turned away.

"A lot of things... changed."

"What do you mean?"

There was no right way to say it. Glenn had stopped moving, looking at him with anxious eyes.

"There was a big war, up here," Yuri said, lowering his eyes, "it lasted five years. Only stopped a few months ago."

"A war?" Glenn stood, alarmed. Yuri forced him back down with a frown. "What happened? Who... Was it against Sreng? The Gautiers were not enough to push them back, I kept saying, did..."

"It wasn't against Sreng," Yuri answered, "it was against the Empire."

Glenn shut his mouth and fell back, eyes open in shock.

"The Empire?" he repeated numbly. "But why?"

"It's a long story. But it was... very deadly."

He could see the way Glenn's face turned pale and figured there was no way to make it easier on him.

"Your brother managed to make his way through it alive. Your father... wasn't that lucky."

There was no pain Yuri could think of that parallelled the moment he saw Glenn's world crumbling inside his eyes.

Yuri was no stranger to grief. He remembered himself losing Glenn, he remembered the black hole he had found himself in, a hole he dug deeper and deeper, only getting out of it through spite and the wish to protect what little he had left. He remembered the refusal to show just how shattered he was, the sobs he refused to let out, the tears he kept wiping before they could smudge his make-up.

It was a terrible part of Faerghus’ culture, a disgusting thing in that country he loved, where some people thought you should not cry the dead, as if it wasn't honouring them. Maybe it was because Glenn was too tired, still mentally exhausted by the ten years of absolute torture he had been through that he didn't even try to fight the hysterical sobbing and crying that tore through him.

Yuri was no stranger to grief. And as such he remembered how no words help, no action, nothing. Maybe Bern had been a bit of light in his darkness, but it had been dampened by what he knew he'd have to do to her at the time. It was just so dark and lonely and maybe he had wanted to be alone, to die alone just like they said in songs and tales, just like his love had.

But maybe that loneliness was why he had spiraled. Torn from everything, thrown underground, alone, alone alone alone.

No words would help. So he just held him, shushing him, mumbling sweet nothings, some "I knows" and others in Glenn's ears or hair. Just holding him. Just being there as he cried and shook and maybe tried to scream, his sore throat stopping him at mere whimpers.

He stayed there.

That was all he could do.

"What else?"

More than two hours had passed. They were laying on the bed, Glenn hanging onto him as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. His voice was shaking. Yuri knew he wanted to know, right now, if there was anything else that would break him down. He hummed against his forehead.

"You have a little sister."

There was a small silence.

"Excuse me, what?"

"You have a little sister. She's eight months old and adorable."

"... My mother died when Lixie was two or three."

"Your father fell in love again. Do you remember Professor Manuela? The nurse? The songstress who used to be part of the Mittelfrank opera group?"

"Yes."

"Manuela Casagranda. She's the current lady of Fraldarius."

Glenn nodded, not asking why Felix hadn't taken the mantle.

"I swear," he mumbled with a wet laugh, "my father and Lixie, both of them. Music addicts. I shouldn't be surprised."

There were a few seconds of silence and shaky breaths, one somethered sniffle that Yuri pretended not to hear.

"What's her name?"

"Victorine. Victorine Ariel."

Manuela had named her after their victory. Ariel meant 'Goddess's’ lion’ in the old language, Yuri figured it was appropriate.

Dimitri had almost started crying when he had seen her. He was so nervous at the idea of hurting the little bundle, when he was told to hold her. Yuri had watched with fondness. How would the people of Fodlan react were they to see their king so moved at the simple sight of a baby?

They'd probably love him even more than they already did, he thought privately, the Savior King. The Savior King who one day would marry their master tactician, the one some people had already started calling the King of Unification.

Oh, in which order was he going to tell Glenn all of that? None of it was bad, but ten years underground, and everything had changed.

"Victorine Ariel Fraldarius," Glenn repeated with wonder, "born right after the war."

"You'll meet her soon," Yuri promised.

"Lixie didn't name her."

"How did you guess?"

"He never was good with names. None of his toys had one."

"I do believe that had we let him name her, he'd have simply taken the names of his best friends."

Glenn snickered. There were still tears on his cheeks, sobs in his throat, but that was good. Yuri caressed his cheek blindly.

"That sounds like him."

He sighed.

"So you got to meet him. I'm glad. Is he still the cutest thing in the world?"

Yuri laughed. More like the most beautiful one. But it wasn't a real question, he knew. Just Glenn hanging to what he still knew.

"He's in Almyra right now."

"... Isn't Fodlan at war with Almyra?"

"Not really, no. They helped us against the Empire and its future King is sweet on ours."

"Well, who wouldn't be sweet on Dimitri? Kid is cute as a button."

This time Yuri actually laughed. That mountain of a man. Cute as a button. Oh, Dimitri was handsome for sure, especially when he had Felix helping him with his hair, but he definitely was nothing like the delicate looking kid Yuri had seen in some of the palace's old paintings.

"Oh Glenn, my adorable ugly mug. There are so many things I need to tell you. I don't even know where to start."

"My close ones," Glenn said simply, "tell me about them."

And so Yuri started there. He talked about how Ingrid was engaged to a songstress and how they both were planning to move from Faerghus into Brigid. He talked about how Sylvain was about to succeed his father and would finally, finally make peace with Sreng. He explained quickly what had happened to Miklan. He talked about the Archbishop, leaving her position for a young mercenary with mysterious eyes and powers and how she had retreated to the Red Canyon to live out her last days.

Glenn looked disturbed at that. Lady Rhea had been a cornerstone of Fodlan for so long, Yuri knew, especially for Faerghus, plunged in faith as it had always been. He too had felt a pang of pain and horror at the idea of losing that, though it had been five years ago, when she had gone missing. He had never doubted her survival once, he knew, because a world without lady Rhea seemed impossible.

Yet the world had kept turning. And her decision made more and more sense everytime Yuri learnt more about the Nabateans. It was high time for that old soul to find some rest and mourn in peace.

He mentioned how one of the reforms was about the crests, how they now represented concepts instead of families, and how it was supposed to lower people's reliance on them for nobility.

"The Star Crest," Glenn mumbled as he was saying that, "that's why professor Hanneman called the crest of Riegan like that."

"You got it."

"It looks more like a moon."

Yuri snorted.

"Claude said the same thing."

"Claude?"

Yuri laughed a bit. How did one begin to explain Claude von Riegan.

"The last heir of Riegan."

"Riegan? That’s not the name of the Duke’s son."

“The old Duke’s son died a year after you went missing.”

“... Wouldn’t that mean that Riegan doesn’t have an heir anymore?”

"Indeed, it doesn't anymore. Claude decided to leave it in Dimitri's hands."

"... Wait, I don't get it."

"There's no more Alliance. No more Empire either."

He could feel Glenn's breath, catching. Yuri smiled softly.

"We're near Derdriu right now. In Leicester, the eastern province of the Holy Kingdom of Fodlan, ruled by Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, who is also some days called the Savior King of Fodlan."

"Are you shitting me?"

Yes, far too many things had happened in ten years. Telling them all to Glenn lasted... days. And Yuri knew he had forgotten some. There had been more tears, a few laughs, and confused looks. There had been kisses, too. Everytime Glenn woke up screaming or sobbing, or everytime he got that far-away look in his eyes that meant he wasn't sure he wasn't still a prisoner and test subject.

Everytime Yuri would kiss him slowly and ask him if it felt unreal.

They held each other a lot. Yuri didn't dare leave him for more than a few minutes. But it was worth it.

After a few days, Glenn already looked better. His skin had burned a bit under the sun, but his face wasn't as ghostly pale anymore, it was starting to glow in a healthier way. When Marianne had come to bring them food and said he was fit for small trips, he had smiled at her, and it had seemed to reach his eyes.

"We should be able to remove the crest soon," Hanneman promised, "we haven't found anything worrying in his blood. I am due a visit to Fhirdiad soon, so I will find you there, if you intend to go that way."

His eyes seemed to say ‘no more postponing’.

And so they had started traveling towards the northern province of Fodlan, which was still called Faerghus.

The trip was slow, intertwined with new questions as they came to Glenn's mind. He avoided the war, Yuri noted pretty quickly, instead asking about the new archbishop's reforms, about how surprised he was to see spice gardens in Faerghus, about the way the Alliance leaders were taking their reunification under the Kingdom's banners. Yuri answered patiently and told him about the professor Eisner, the professor who had arrived as a mercenary, saving the future leaders of the three countries that still composed Fodlan at the time. He told him about Dedue, his loyalty to Dimitri, and how his gardening knowledge was being passed around, making so many of Faerghus' citizens discover flavours they didn't even know existed. He told him about Lorenz Hellman Gloucester and the way he had told his father off right during a meeting for his opposition to change, about how Holst Goneril honestly wasn't a bad guy now that he met him (and Glenn wrinkled his nose at that and that was the cutest thing in the world). Finally, as they approached Castle Fraldarius, Glenn asked weakly about Felix.

"He must have been so alone after father died..."

Yuri hummed slowly, his hand in Glenn's as it had been for the last hours, holding it, Glenn almost clutching it back like a lifeline.

"He wasn't," Yuri said, reassuring, "it wasn't easy, far from it and... it was a scary time. When I heard about it, I hated myself for not being there for him. But he wasn't alone. That I can promise."

"You weren't there?"

"I wasn't part of the Kingdom's army at the time. I was fighting under the Alliance's banners."

"I see."

Glenn only knew that it was the Alliance and the Kingdom united that had defeated the Empire, it made sense that he wouldn't ask questions about that. So many things to explain, so little time.

"I know he wasn't alone," he started, "because Claude wouldn't have let him be."

"The Riegan kid that you've talked about."

Yuri laughed.

"I hope you meet him one day. You'd probably like him."

"Me? Liking a noble brat? How come?"

The tone was teasing, which Yuri liked much better than how scared he had sounded, asking about his brother. Yuri smiled, not sure how to answer.

"Well he's your brother's best friend and mine, so I kind of hope you will."

He could feel more than see Glenn tilting his head in confusion and maybe a bit of anxiety.

"Lixie's best friend? What about Dimitri?"

A whole other can of worms, that was.

"His relationship with Dimitri is complicated," was all Yuri said, "they've been through a lot. And Dimitri is king now. Felix loves him to death and he’s family for him. But it's not the same."

Glenn muttered something almost inaudible about how it made sense, voice sad. How sadder would he be to learn of how, for years, his two little brothers were unable to even see each other without hurting each other, willingly or not. Yuri let his thumb caress Glenn's hand, doing small circles in comfort.

"From what I’ve been told," Yuri admitted softly, "Felix changed a lot after your... disappearance. I don't know all the details, I know it wasn't the only reason either... But I had no idea who he was when I met him."

Glenn didn't answer, but his hand clutched Yuri's tighter, almost painfully.

"How was he?" he asked in a whisper.

"Angry."

"Angry?" Glenn repeated, confused.

"Angry," Yuri confirmed, "he wore it like armor. He's better now, calmer."

Glenn nodded tightly, swallowing, face torn in anguish. Yuri smiled at him.

"He's an amazing person, your brother, anger or not. Don't you worry about that."

Castle Fraldarius was looming on the horizon. Felix wouldn't be here for a few more days, of that Yuri was sure. His letter to Claude wasn't transpiring urgency after all. And it lacked explanations. Claude trusted him, but he wouldn't see any rush.

"What about Lady Casagranda? What kind of lady is she? I barely ever talked to her at the academy..."

Not the kind he would be used to, Yuri thought with amusement. The fact that Rodrigue had fallen in love with a commoner had been hushed down a lot, and they had only planned to marry after the war. Felix had legitimized his sister and called Manuela his mother-in-law in many official texts, forcing their wedding to be recognized posthumously. No one had the will to tell Felix Hugo Fraldarius no. Especially when endorsed by the king. So no one had said a word despite the disapproval of some stuck-up nobles and Manuela was officially lady Fraldarius, now.

"Well, you'll see her soon enough, won't you?"

Manuela greeted Yuri like one greeted a son who didn't send any letter. Which was probably how she saw him.

"Nothing in four months," she was rambling, huffing and puffing, "we've been worried sick! Not even Hapi heard from you, she actually came down here to know if we had news."

"I do need to apologize if I managed to make Hapi worried," Yuri said, smiling despite himself.

"The war has ended," Manuela said with a sad voice, "but there's still a lot of unrest. We fear the worst when nothing reaches us. You're lucky Claude sent me a letter to warn me Felix would be home soon at your request, I was about to organize a search party for you."

"Oh, Manuela, you needn't do that. I was doing work for the professor, she'd have told you immediately."

"Damned be the sealed lips of that woman. She's precious, but not everyone can read her mind."

The woman sighed, all and any anger leaving her body as she sat back on the chair she had greeted them in, the music sheets she had been reviewing before in hand. She turned to Glenn, tilting her head, curiously.

"Forgive me for ignoring you until then, I had to nag at one of my little treasures. Who are you, young man?"

Glenn jumped. Manuela wasn't intimidating, not really, but Glenn had been jumpy the very moment they had entered the castle. His eyes kept glazing over as he looked at places he knew from birth, trying to match his memories of the place with what it looked like now. For as practical and no-nonsense as the castle had always been, Manuela had managed to turn a few places homey and comforting. It must have seemed so foreign to him, yet familiar. A confusing situation.

Yuri coughed, thinking about the irony of Glenn needing to be introduced in his own home.

"Manuela, this is the person I was looking for when I accepted to search for the survivors of Agartha's experiments."

"Oh," the songstress gasped, "right. The hair. I'm sorry young man, I hope I didn't scare you with my screaming."

Glenn smiled weakly.

"It's quite alright."

"Now why were you looking for him in particular, my dearie? Oh, and I realize I didn't introduce myself. I am Manuela Casagranda and I guess I'm the current head of house Fraldarius, as strange as it still seems. What's your name, sweetheart?"

Glenn coughed and exchanged a look with Yuri. Yuri smiled, an invitation. He put a hand on his heart, bowing respectfully, more out of uncertainty than real politeness.

"It's nice to meet you, lady Manuela. I am Glenn Calixte Fraldarius and... it's been a long time since I've been home."

Manuela dropped her music sheets.

They had gotten an earful. Manuela hadn't screamed per say, but the way she had glowered and whined about a warning before giving an old woman a heart attack was almost worse, even though it had made Yuri smile. Once her shock had gone away, though, she had been overjoyed. Embracing her new son, as confused and lost as he seemed to be, instantly so loved by this strange woman, crying on his shoulder about how happy she was to meet him properly. About how Felix would be so happy, about how his father would have been so grateful to know him alive, about how- oh honey you need to meet your sister, come here, come here, Victorine is sleeping right now but she'll wake soon!

Glenn had cried too, when he had met his sister. She was still a babbling baby, with a short tuft of dark hair and grey eyes. His fingers were shaking when he lightly held her small hand as she laughed at him, small face scrunched up in incomprehensible glee. They had left soon after, as Manuela shooed them out, telling Yuri to get Glenn to his chambers.

Glenn had sat down in the bedroom that had belonged to him a lifetime ago, a bedroom Yuri knew they had originally planned to give to Victorine once she'd outgrown the nursery. No one would be sad to see that plan change with the current circumstances. It was clean, the servants had never left it to dust and rot. Yuri wondered if it was just as Glenn had left it.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"I don't know."

Yuri could hardly imagine how much grief and joy were probably fighting each other in his head. Here he was, home at last, with a bunch of strangers welcoming him.

"Lady Manuela seems... unusual."

Yuri snorted.

"You can say she's weird. That's why we love her."

"She's not a noble."

"Well, she is now."

Glenn had a small laugh, his smile a bit sad, but also sincere.

"My father could have chosen worse."

Yuri smiled at him and lightly pushed him down. Glenn let him, finding himself laying back on the bed, eyes shining, content, as he stared at Yuri. Yuri caressed his cheek and hair, smiling.

"I can't believe you're still mine after ten years," Glenn sighed, leaning into the touch, "how did someone like you not find anyone else."

"Oh, many would have wanted to have me. And I'd lie if I said I didn't try to find love and comfort in other people. But in the end, none of them compared to you."

"I'm so sorry I inflicted that on you. Ten years later, and you're still stuck on a broken man."

"Oh, Glenn," Yuri smiled, laying down at Glenn's side, "my favourite Ugly Mug, my knight, my idiot. Do not apologize for something not your fault. I think I am just like your father: I could have chosen a lot worse."

Felix was home.

Yuri knew he was home the moment he woke up and went to the kitchen just in time to see the household busy and chatting and smiling as they only ever did when their beloved young master was home. It wasn't that they disliked Manuela, just that they had a special attachment for the child they had seen grow all their lives. And as they hadn't made Glenn's identity public for the moment, most hadn't realized yet who he was.

There was only one, who had known him immediately. The stout woman called Mariette, the castle's intendant. The very moment they had met in the hallways, she had frozen. She had put her hands on his face, disbelief clear in her eyes.

"Young Master Glenn? How is that..."

She had not managed to finish her sentence, bursting into tears of joy. Glenn had held her, looking overwhelmed. Yuri blamed neither of them. Mariette had only stopped sobbing after hours. Hours of talking with Glenn, talking about all that she had wished he was there for. He didn't tell her much about what had happened to him, and she seemed to understand. She had been shaking and weeping with happiness and Yuri remembered having had uncharitable thoughts about her, back when he was a teen. Now that he saw her joy at finding one of the boys she had seen grow alive, he could only feel a bit ashamed of them.

She promised to stay silent, though, understanding the need not to overwhelm him. So, as Yuri looked at the joyful servants, it made sense that this chattiness would be due to Felix's arrival.

They found him at the stables, taking care of his mare. His back to them, he was checking on an injury she had sustained recently, during his absence. She had been a gift from Sylvain, to 'force him to get good with horses' the red-head had said. It was clearly working, Felix loved the beast, mutterring at her with the same fond annoyance he dused for the one he had received her from.

When he left the stall, he saw Glenn first and nodded at him. Glenn nodded back and Yuri felt his breath hitch and heart break when no recognition crossed either of their stares.

Of course.

Glenn was so different, right now. Ten years older, white hair, so many parts of him altered due to his life as a prisoner. Would Yuri even have recognized him hadn't he known what to expect? And Felix...

If Yuri had doubts before, he didn't anymore. The last time Glenn had seen Felix, he had been a child. A small, cute, smiling child with round cheeks and almost permanently wobbly lips, apparently.

Nothing in common with the frowning, beautiful and lithe man that had become one of Yuri's best friends.

Yuri coughed and Felix looked at him. There was another nod, though his eyes were fond. No smile, no. No matter how close they were, for Felix, smiles were still a private affair. And as far as he knew, right now, they weren't in private.

"I hear you arrived two days ago," he said simply, matter of fact, "are you done with your remaining business?"

"Hello to you too, Most Beautiful," Yuri smiled, "and kind of, yes."

On his side, he could see Glenn mouth ‘most beautiful?’ with confusion. Felix glanced at him again.

"So?"

"So do you want us to speak here or in a more private place?"

"Why exactly would we...

Another quick glance before going back to Yuri. And then his eyes darted back to Glenn's face. His face turned as white as ash.

It was like all life was sucked from the place suddenly. Like the horses had stopped eating, staying silent, or as if time had stopped. Felix's hands started shaking, Yuri was forgotten as he stared and stared and stared, his eyes meeting his lost brother's and never once turning away as they usually did.

Yuri swallowed and turned to Glenn. Slowly, so slowly, recognition and shock were making their way on his face too. Disbelief, realization, the proof that he was still picturing a little boy in his head, not a man who had grown and changed during his absence.

Well, that answered the question, Yuri thought bitterly, no private place for them.

Felix looked like he was seeing a ghost, and in all fairness, as far as he knew, he was. Glenn's eyes were quivering, emotion and amazement fighting each other in his stare, mouth open to speak words, but not knowing with which he should start.

"That's..." Felix started, voiceless, like someone was choking him. "That's not possible."

Glenn didn't seem to hear him, staring as he was, looking so sad Yuri wanted to drag him out of here and kiss him silly, forcing a smile on his face.

"Oh," the elder brother muttered, "oh. You've become so big."

And I wasn't here to see it happen he didn't say but Yuri heard it just as much.

Felix took a step back, jaw slack, hand falling on the stall's door, searching for something to hold him up. He looked about to burst into tears. Yuri sighed and closed his eyes. He knew these men and he loved them. He wanted to be there for them.

It also wasn't his place to watch them break down for each other.

"I'll leave you to it," he whispered before leaving.

He still didn’t miss the almost reflexive way in which Felix finally let himself fall into his brother’s arms.

The brothers didn't leave the stables for what seemed like hours. When they finally found Yuri again, their eyes were rimmed with red and puffy and Felix had his arms crossed as if he was trying to hold himself, but they were walking close to each other and Glenn's smile was blinding.

They sent a letter to Ingrid at Felix's behest. Yuri had told him the one reason he hadn't told him in a letter was that he was afraid his friend would think it a cruel joke. That might honestly have been the one thing that had stopped Felix from punching him for staying silent. He had been avoiding them the day after, Yuri realized sadly, staying in places hard to reach or simply disappearing inside the corridors he knew so well.

Seeing Glenn mope about that, Manuela had brought tea and told them not to worry. It was just a lot to take in. Yuri had known Glenn was possibly alive for a while after all, Felix had been confronted by that reality by his very face, with no preparation. While he was happy about it, no doubt, he was also confused, lost and a bit scared about all it implied. And in front of fear, Felix was the kind who either fought or fled. There was no one and nothing to fight here, so flight was left.

So when Felix had joined them, during morning, at breakfast, sitting at the table with them, barely looking at them but making a conscious effort to stay, Yuri had watched Glenn strain himself with the effort of not overwhelming him.

And then, as they were finishing eating, Felix finally opened his mouth.

"Have you told Ingrid and Dimitri?"

A silence answered him, heavy with meaning. Felix sighed and pushed away his plate, finally turning to them.

"They have to know."

“I actually sent to Dimitri as soon as I sent for you,” Yuri said softly, “but just like for you, I didn’t tell him what it was about. If he has already read it, he probably believed it wasn’t urgent. I figured it should be family first, so I only sent for you two.”

The way Felix looked at them was pained.

"And I'm grateful," he said with the tone of someone who had a really hard time saying that, "it's... just a lot."

"I know," Yuri said softly, "believe me I know."

Felix looked at his brother, emotions still chaotic, as if he still couldn't admit this was real.

"I know too," Glenn said hoarsely, "it took me days, after Yuri rescued me, to be able to admit that I wasn't dreaming."

Maybe it was just Yuri's imagination that Felix's shoulder seemed to turn towards Glenn's after that, as if he wished to hug him. He sipped his tea in silence instead of making a note of it.

After a few seconds, Felix inhaled.

"We need to tell Ingrid and Dimitri," he said, firmer this time, "Dimitri already wonders why I came home this early anyway. But he's going to be busy, so Ingrid will probably come here first."

"What about Sylvain?" Glenn asked.

"I already sent him a letter."

Glenn actually snorted at that. His little brother glared at him in annoyance, though that didn't stop him.

"Some things don't change, huh?" he said lightly.

"Shut your damn mouth."

"But it's so cute how you run to him every time you're overwhelmed!"

"Glenn, I just told you..."

Yuri smiled into his bowl. Knowing Felix, his letter to Sylvain had held lots of crossed-off words and shaky letters, most not making much sense. Sylvain, busy as he was, would probably answer with a panicked note, asking if something was wrong and if he needed to come. Though as he was currently in negotiations with Sreng and would be for at least a few more weeks, he might forgo the answer and run here immediately in his worry.

It still would make him the last to arrive, if they told the Fair Idealists soon enough.

And with how the brothers were currently bickering, Felix flushed in the face, annoyed but looking strangely young, while Glenn was beaming, teasing spewing from his mouth like second nature, Yuri figured it'd be his job to write the letters.

With no surprise whatsoever, Ingrid came first.

Maybe it should have been surprising, the young lady was supposed to prepare for a trip to Brigid actually, and Dorothea had already left for Nuvelle, to make sure everything was ready for their departure.

The moment she saw Glenn, well, like Felix, it took her a second look to get past the older face and the white hair. But then, immediately, she stumbled and then ran into his arms.

Weak as he still was, Glenn gave up quickly enough into spinning her around, as he clearly wished he could have done. Yuri looked at them with amusement, Ingrid babbling about, asking how it was possible with tears in her eyes.

The story wasn't all that long. Yuri simply mentioned how he had been tasked with searching for survivors from Agartha's experiments and found Glenn. He didn't speak of Judai seeing the ghosts of their victims, noticing Glenn's absence, notifying Yuri as if he somehow knew how close the two had once been - and maybe he had, after all he had talked regularly to a ghost that had been haunting Yuri all his life and wasn't that weird to think about and kind of terrifying.

Anyway, maybe it was because she had had time to prepare once again, but Ingrid didn't need to hide to process her feelings like her younger friend had. Instead, she latched onto Glenn, very determined to tell him everything he had missed. They had been engaged once, Yuri remembered, though he knew there had been no romantic feelings on Glenn's part. Ingrid, though, was a little girl with fairy tales in her head. She was happy now, with two wonderful women, but that didn't change the fact that she had always felt close to her fiance. Closer than they maybe really were.

"I hear you're engaged now," Glenn told her as she recounted the opera that she had seen not that long ago, recounting the events of the war in a very romanced way, yes, but still so close to home that she had had tears in her eyes listening to it, and really, Glenn ought to see it soon enough.

"I am," she said, suddenly shy, "they're amazing. I hope you meet them one day, and like them."

She had turned her eyes away, biting her lip. Clearly, she was expecting a negative reaction, maybe anger, maybe sadness or disappointment. Because young Ingrid in her fairy tale romance had loved that ideal knight she pictured, more real inside her head than he was in life, and she maybe had convinced himself that he loved her back. In a way she was right. The brotherly way she had adored him was pretty close to what he had felt for her at the time.

Glenn nodded, small but glad.

"I'm happy for you Inga, it's great. And I hear one is a princess too? You really stepped up the game, well played."

His tone was snarky, but sincere in some weird way too. Ingrid groaned, hiding her face in her arms for a second before raising her head up again, sheepishly. Glenn looked fond and she stared at him in wonder.

"You're not jealous?" she asked him shyly. "I mean, I understand, with everything that happened to you, our past engagement must be the last of your worries, but..."

But weren't you in love with me?

Oh, poor Ingrid, Yuri thought dramatically. He had thought as a teen that as she grew, the girl would realize the kind of feelings they really had for each other. Glenn's disappearance had frozen this possible acknowledgement in time, morphing what she felt into the ideal love that can only be given to a past that was long dead.

Glenn smirked, fondness and amusement fighting each other on his face.

"Well, how should I say that... It's not that I don't love you, Ingrid... But as a boy who spent years in an illicit relationship and never expected to be able to make it official because of things like duty and expectations... I am honestly pretty happy with the situation."

Ingrid gasped, shooting up in surprise. Her eyes, open wide, clearly expected it to be a joke. Glenn's smirking face wasn't helping matters.

"Are you kidding?" she asked, mixed emotions in her voice.

"I'm not," Glenn admitted, "to be fair I would have been happy for you even without it, but it's really perfect that way. You get to pursue the ones you love, I get to do the same with the light of my life."

"But..." Ingrid started, visibly racking her brain. "Who... ?"

Glenn caught Yuri's hand, raising it, happiness and adoration rolling down his frame to the point Yuri almost felt self-conscious, a pretty rare occasion. He flipped his hair, hoping it'd mask his unease, and clenched Glenn's hand tighter.

"Hey." he said simply.

Ingrid gaped at them. Then, to his surprise, she snorted.

"Well, I can't even be mad."

"I knew you'd understand," Glenn said as if they were sharing a great secret.

And with the way Ingrid's eyes were shining with amusement and joy, maybe they were.

Something was wrong. Yuri didn't have to see Glenn's face to know it. His lover was staring at his weapon, which Yuri knew he had just spent an hour training with, as if he had never seen it before. He trotted to him, discrete.

"Everything okay, ugly?"

Glenn didn't look at him. His body slumped over, as if he had just been hit. Yuri frowned, getting closer and raising a hand. Glenn answered with a tortured sound and Yuri froze.

It was a sound he hadn't heard in years. Because there were less than ten people, still alive, who knew about it and its connexion to Yuri Leclair, Savage Mockingbird of the Underground. It was weird, how unfamiliar his real name sounded to his ears, nowadays. But if Glenn used it, then...

Yuri embraced his lover with no hesitation. He knew a call for help when he heard one.

"I can't use it," Glenn mutterred brokenly, "I've tried, but my grip is weird. It's both too strong and not enough. It's all unfamiliar, as if my body had unlearned everything to focus on other things. I've been trying for one hour and not one move has felt right."

Glenn Fraldarius was a prodigy. That was something everyone agreed on. When it came to the lance, he had no equal.

"It will come back," Yuri promised.

"You can't know that," Glenn whispered back, "my body is not the same as it was. It feels unfamiliar, I'm..."

A stranger in his own body, or maybe his body was the one that was a stranger. It lacked the muscle memory it should have, it had lost lower body strength and its upper body strength wasn't how it was before, it lacked balance.

Glenn couldn't wield his lance. His lance that he used to think was part of him. If Yuri could have killed the Agarthans responsible for the experiments again, he would have, right now.

"It doesn't matter," Yuri said softly, "even if you were to never fight again, it wouldn't matter."

"But I want to! Fighting it's... It's always been me, you know? For the longest time, it was how I did everything. How I bonded with Lixie, and Dimitri, and Inga and Sylvain. Even you, sparring..."

That was how they had bonded the first times too. Fraldariuses fought, that was in their blood and how they were raised. Not being able to fight anymore, it was like someone had cut their arms.

"We'll figure something out," Yuri promised, "even if you just need to train, even harder than you used to, I'll help you. We'll all help you, you know that, right?"

Glenn exhaled and let go of his weapon, shaking.

"Okay," he mumbled, "okay."

Yuri let one of his hands slip into Glenn's, his forehead against his lover's back.

"Hey," he whispered, "do you suck as much with a bow as Felix says you do?"

"No I don't!" The outrage was immediate and Yuri felt himself smile. "How dare he?!"

"What a shame," Yuri laughed, "I would have loved putting my hands on you to correct your position."

Glenn's eyes glinted, though subdued. He smiled a bit, it was shaky and sad.

"Are you sure about that? What do you see in a man as broken as me, when you're..."

Yuri Leclair. Savage Mockingbird. Hero of the Great War. Lord of Fodlan's Underground, Abyss's guardian, friend of the Savior King and of his King of Unification, honored family member of the Fraldarius family, elected 'most beautiful man in the world' by far too many people. He could have had anyone and everyone.

A shame for all his suitors that he only wanted one.

"Don't you dare use that on me, disphit," he simply said, "now, are you good with a bow or not?"

"I may have exaggerated my talents?"

"Good. Now come here."

That night, as they made love, Glenn's words were a litany of both of Yuri's names, the ones that encompassed him. The street rat and the young lord. The thief and the mockingbird. The son of a whore and one of the most powerful men in all of Fodlan.

Yuri Leclair, who answered by worshipping that broken body of his, that was still as beautiful as it ever was for the only reason that it was his, and his only, no matter what had been done to it.

Yuri Leclair and Glenn Fraldarius. Glenn Fraldarius, beloved brother and broken man, strongest warrior and pitiful husk, handsome knight and experimentation subject. Glenn Fraldarius who he loved all the same. When they had met, Glenn had been on top of the world and Yuri climbing the bushes, trying to make a place for himself. Here they were, places interverted, and one thing hadn't changed.

Love, as corny as it sounded, love hadn't changed a bit.

Dimitri came next. His tired eye widened when he saw them all here and when it fell on Glenn, there were a few seconds where Yuri could almost physically see him try to place where he had last seen that face. Then he gasped.

Glenn had been speaking with Ingrid and didn't raise his head immediately. The Royal Retinue was small, probably smaller than was expected (and wise) for the King of Fodlan but he was just going to his neighbour state, his most loyal lands. There was no reason to fear going to Fraldarius, which probably explained why there was only Dedue and a few other knights.

It probably also explained why Glenn hadn't noticed that the King had arrived. Yuri looked at him, waiting, almost smirking in advance, for his face when he'd recognize Dimitri.

Felix had sent another letter to Dimitri, Yuri knew, explaining everything. Dimitri knew Felix would never joke about these matters, and it probably would be better than pushing one of the reasons for his traumas right under his nose without preparation. Still, with the way his eye quivered, it was quite obvious that prepared or not, Dimitri was going to break down, here and there.

Thankfully, Dedue was attuned to his liege's emotions, as always, and quickly pushed for them to get inside, in private. That was when Glenn turned and started searching.

As very often when Dimitri entered a room, he was the first person eyes turned to. Yuri expected the lack of recognition in his gaze at first, Dimitri had clearly changed physically, a lot more than Felix had. He had also expected, and kind of hoped for, the way his eyes suddenly widened, not unlike his brother's did when he was surprised too, and how his lips mutely pronounced the words ‘what the fuck’ when he realized who was in front of him.

Yuri smirked against his hand. Maybe he should have warned his lover that the small and cute girlish looking kid he always gushed about was now much bigger than Glenn himself was, and with a pretty masculine face to boot.

Then Dimitri stepped forwards, almost hesitantly, as if one move too fast would dispel what he was seeing, revealing it for a dream.

"Glenn?" He asked, voice so soft it was almost impossible to hear.

As if shocked out of his surprise, Glenn jumped and blinked. But then, he smiled. This small smile he so rarely gave, usually preferring his smirks or savage looks. Not this time, though. It was a small, reassuring smile.

He broke the distance between them and embraced him, the gesture feverish, frantic, relieved.

"I'm glad you're safe." He mumbled against his king's shoulder, because that was it, more than anything, that had been eating at him for his ten years of torment.

Yuri pretended not to see the way Dimitri finally let himself cry at that, his own arms embracing a friend he had thought dead for far too long.

"What do you think you will do once you're better?" Yuri hummed as he corrected the way Glenn's fingers held the arrow.

"I don't know." Glenn shot. Much better. He was starting to find his grip again. "I... guess I could help Lady Manuela here? I know Lixie would probably feel better too if I was here for her and Victorine. He could focus more on his ambassador job that way and not have to worry too much about being Duke Fraldarius too."

"That would be an option," Yuri admitted as he gave him the next arrow. Glenn had been raised to be the heir. He would know what to do and how to act, it would just take a bit of adjustment.

"I just... don't know if I'm ready for that," he admitted slowly, "my body still barely feels like my own, and I still have a time-limit on my head, so..."

"You don't have to make any decision right now. The key positions around here are in good hands, you can take your time."

Glenn snorted, as if he suddenly had a funny thought.

"Sylvain has become Margrave Gautier, right?" he asked with a laughing smile. "Did you finally tell him who you were?"

"I gave him a riddle. I don't know if he ever cracked it."

"That would be so weird to work with him," Glenn chuckled, "has he finally found a woman who could keep him straight?"

Yuri couldn't help his own amused chuckle.

"Not exactly. He's found a man."

Glenn's laughter was the most wonderful sound and Yuri enjoyed it for almost a full minute of hilarity. It was a pretty funny situation, Yuri had to admit. That lady's man, so charming, who had hit on Yuri because he thought him to be a girl, who apparently would make eyes to married women, grandmas and even the occasional scarecrow but never guys, ended up finding love with a man.

Yuri waited until Glenn was calmer, not barely breathing in between two bouts of laughter, before dropping the next bombshell.

"It's your brother, by the way."

All laughter stopped as Glenn stared at him as if he had never seen him in his life. Then he stood up, almost scarily calm.

"Yuri, where is my lance? I've got someone to kill."

It was Yuri's turn to laugh far too hard.

Fortunately enough, the reunion with Sylvain ended up without any maiming or even threats on anyone's life (or if there was any, Yuri didn't hear them). Sylvain's face when he saw Glenn might have been the most painful one in a way, because Sylvain wasn't Dimitri who had learnt the hard way that keeping your feelings inside could only make you self-destruct, nor Felix who had never been actually able to keep them inside, or even Ingrid who had never felt the need to hide any of her joy and sadness. Instead, Sylvain just stared at his old friend brokenly, as if not knowing how to act or react, eyes dry because they did not know that crying would have been a normal reaction.

Glenn ended up rolling his eyes fondly.

"Come here, big guy. Who allowed you to grow even taller?" He said before hugging him.

Sylvain shuddered in the embrace and then turned his dumbfounded face towards his boyfriend, as if searching for a confirmation. Felix nodded, his face closed, but honest as always.

And so Sylvain returned the embrace shakily, some kind of sobbing laughter in his throat.

"What, and I mean it, the everloving fuck?"

Glenn hadn't talked as much about his relationship with Sylvain as he had about the other three. It was soured by how he had never liked Miklan (might have punched him once or twice by 'accident' he had said with an angelic smile) and other little things that were now all forgotten.

But Sylvain had adored him too. Glenn had been the big brother he had wished to have rather than his own. Glenn had been the one person who could stop Miklan from hurting him just by being there. Glenn had been the knight Sylvain had wished to become as a teenager.

And in the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he realized that he was here and alive and hugging him, Yuri could almost see dreams, long gone, reforming themselves inside his heart.

It felt like a soft Faerghan summer day. It wasn't, in truth, it was spring and freezing, but it felt much softer. Yuri laid in bed with Glenn, smiling at his sleeping face. His cheeks were getting fuller, his eyes were finding that spark again. It was slow, but it was healing.

When he woke there was a kiss, and a snarky, smiling "you stink" before they went to bathe and eat breakfast.

Today, Glenn was a bit pensive, silent, as he ate. Yuri waited, knowing that whatever it was that bothered him so, he would tell him, sooner rather than later.

"Say," he mumbled once they were down to the training areas, "was I the only one you found down there?"

Yuri tilted his head.

"We found many prisoners we thought had died in battle or were missing in action one way or another," he said diplomatically.

"Yes, but I mean... From Duscur."

Ah. So that was it.

"Yes," Yuri answered bluntly, "but truth being told... there's another one we're searching for, right now."

And so Glenn inhaled softly.

"Lady Patricia."

"You saw her?"

"No. But I think I heard her. When they took me, I remember her voice, screaming. I think they took her too."

Yuri nodded. They had already guessed so, but a confirmation never hurt.

"We'll search for her", he promised, "and we will find out what happened."

Because even if she might be responsible, even if she somehow was involved in that incident, she might be one of the three sole survivors of that tragedy. And just knowing that there was more, even just one more.

Yes, that was comfort, one way or another.

Glenn, it seemed, still knew Fhirdiad's palace like the back of his hand. And still hated keeping still.

The extraction had been successful, but Lysithea and Hanneman had both told him to take it easy and rest. So of course, Yuri thought with a scowl, his dumbass of a lover had taken the cover of night to just... leave his bed and walk around in the palace, not caring about the number of heart attacks he gave others. And so Yuri was left to chase after him and find out where he was. Not the training grounds apparently, not the kitchen either, not even the gardens for a nice stroll.

Yuri didn't know what it was that finally led his feet to the right path, his heart in his throat as he almost hoped he wouldn't find him there. But he was.

The royal crypts.

Here he was, standing in front of King Lambert's tomb. The statue resting in front of him looked at nothing while Glenn stared at it, as if hoping it'd give him the time of the day. Yuri stumbled, not knowing if he should disturb that silence, full of pain and anguish.

The way he caught his breath was noisy enough for it to echo in the dark chamber, startling Glenn and making him turn around.

Taking away his second crest hadn’t turned his hair back, it was still that disturbing snow-like white, making him look frail and older than he really was. They didn't know if it would grow dark blue again and Yuri didn't care whether it stayed like that or not, but in the darkness of the crypts, it made him look eerily like a ghost. Yuri wanted to drag him from here as quickly as possible.

He also knew it was a wound that would fester if they did not take care of it.

"There you are, my Ugly Mug," he said softly.

Glenn smiled weakly at him before turning back to the statue. And so Yuri swallowed and went to his side.

He knew Glenn hadn't gone to visit his own father's tomb. It had been fear, mostly, fear that it'd make it real. Fear maybe also of finding his own tomb here despite joking snarkily about how now they wouldn't have to build him one for the day it really happened.

The issue with king Lambert, however, was something else entirely.

"I failed him," Glenn mumbled after a while, "I was supposed to protect him and I failed him."

"You saved Dimitri," Yuri answered, taking his hand inside his own, "that would probably make him happier than anything."

"Maybe..." Glenn held his hand tighter. "But it still... Some days I'm so ashamed of it. I lived while my king died. Can I really call myself a knight?"

Maybe that was the way Gilbert had felt, Yuri supposed, the reason he had left Faerghus to find penitence in the Church. It was the kind of scar that he himself had a hard time understanding.

Or maybe not. In a way, it felt similar to all the times he had apologized to the ghost of a living man for failing to protect his brother from all the harm that befell him.

"Only if you feel ready to be one again," he answered instead.

Glenn didn't say anything.

It was still some time before Glenn pressed against his hand and then turned, some weak smile on his lips.

"Let's go back," he said, "the delegation from Almyra should arrive today, right? I can't wait to meet that friend of yours."

Yuri smiled and kissed his hand and the ring there. He waited until they were out of the crypt to kiss his lips this time. A reassurance, a comfort and a promise. Glenn kissed him back, giving him the very same promise back.

They had their next months planned already. First, there would be a visit by Zanado, to see how Lady Rhea fared with Catherine and Shamir. Then, Glenn had wanted to assist with Enbarr's repairs, despite never having seen the city before. He felt it would hurt less than the state Fhirdiad had been in. He also hoped to visit Garreg Mach once more, and meet Yuri's fabled professor. Then, they didn't know what they would do, but it didn't matter. Whatever Glenn did from now on and until the end of his life, Yuri would be by his side.

That was a blessing in itself, he figured, their hands linked and smiles matching as they walked. And he would never ask for more.

Chapter Text

Old Patty

Patty was an old lady, people around her said, her mind isn't whole anymore. She's just an old lady losing her mind and it's pretty sad. In that city without light, people lost their mind, that was just it.

Patty thought they were the ones losing their minds. She wasn't mad, she wasn't even old by their standards. No, she wasn't mad.

She was an assassin, that was it.

She woke up screaming at night, they said, because her mind showed her horrors, unspeakable ones. They were right about that, but they weren't when they tried to guess what she had seen. They bet she saw the 'Fell Star', they bet she saw the monsters that had lived under their beds for their whole lives. They pictured dragons and destruction, they pictured boogeymen and monsters that only existed in the imagination of their sheltered lives.

Just a delusional old woman, harmless, dreaming of those they had been taught to fear. That's what they thought of her.

Patty wanted to laugh at them. But every burst of laughter sounded like a sob. They didn't know what she had seen. They didn't know what she had done.

Her mind reminded her, again and again. She saw her husband's head, torn from his body. She heard her son scream in agony as flames devoured his small body.

Fools they were to fear beasts and gods, she thought, the inhabitants of this city had no idea how much more fearsome humans were.

Humans had done that, to this man and this boy who had never been anything but good to her. She had done that.

"Patty!"

A girl knocked at her door, little Lissia, who had given her a home with her mother when she had been brought here. She remembered when the invaders came in, promising that they weren't here to hurt anyone. She remembered how Lissia had hidden in Patty's room anyway, scared tears running down her faces.

The invaders had kept their promise. They didn't hurt anyone who did not attack them. And in the end, people had relaxed. People had let go. People had accepted them coming in and learning and bringing them things from other places. Maybe that explained why there was a man behind Lissia, tall and with rosy cheeks, like the rest of the invaders who had known the sun all their lives.

"What is it, Lissia?" she asked softly after a glance at the man.

"This mister wants to speak with you," the girl said.

What would he have to say to Patty, she wondered tiredly, did it matter whether she wanted to talk to him?

"I won't be long," the man promised, his voice deep, "my apologies for bothering you."

Well, he was so polite. Why not after all.

"Not long," she said, "I do not feel well today."

Lissia’s mouth closed nervously. She knew very well what it meant. The man didn't, he just nodded and thanked her. This interview wouldn't be long. It wouldn't be long before he thought her insane like all the others.

She closed the door behind him but got away from it, making sure he could leave whenever he felt like it without her interference.

"What did you want?" she said.

"I just wanted to know more about you," he answered, looking for a place he could sit, "could you tell me how long you've been here?"

"Here."

"In this house, I mean. Living."

"I don't know. One year? Maybe two?"

The man gave her a startled glance. He was tall. Very tall. Broad shoulders too, he probably could snap her in half. He didn't look very old, though, around twenty-five she would guess.

"I... see. And where did you live before?"

"Where is this leading?" she huffed.

"Nowhere, as I said, I just want to learn about you."

The man fidgeted, strangely awkward when she glared at him.

"Do not mind me," he said softly, "I am just surprised. The young girl who welcomed me told me you had been living here for around a decade, that is all."

Patty's blood turned cold.

"That's a lie," she whimpered.

"I..."

"No!" She yelled back. "That is a lie! That is all a lie! I haven't... I'm not..."

She pointed at the door, snarling.

"Leave!" She ordered. "Leave!"

He bowed his head and obeyed, his eye sad. He only had one, the other hidden away by an eyepatch. She was reeling too hard to wonder about that.

In the city without light, time went slowly. Part of Patty thought that was why, probably. The world seemed to stop moving. Or maybe it was because it had stopped moving for Patty ever since they had brought her here. It had probably only been a year or two, but it had felt like ten times that and like less at the same time. She woke up some days, and she was the day after the fire. She was screaming and crying and begging that this wasn't what she wanted, this wasn't what she wanted, this wasn't...

The man came again, many times. Some days she forgot she had ever seen him. Some days she remembered he had been there before and didn't know why he came back. What did she have to offer him?

Every time Lissia would knock on her door, a quiet, shy 'Patty?' before letting him in.

Some days she asked him to leave before he over opened his mouth. Most days she just looked at him as he awkwardly told her about things that were happening in the city without light. She didn't know how to tell him that the names he spoke of she didn't know. She didn't know how to tell him.

Today, she was sobbing in her bed when Lissia let him in.

"Oh," he mumbled, "maybe this isn't a good time."

"Oh no, come in," she almost laughed, tears on her face, "come in and see the insane old woman. Tell her again about things she could never care about."

Hesitant, he closed the door anyway. For such an imposing man, he had always been strangely careful when he moved. It reminded her of someone whose head had been cut out before her eyes and it hurt. Maybe that was why she kept chasing him out.

"Why do you not care about them?" he asked softly.

For the first time, she waved to a chair, inviting him to sit down.

"I don't know them," she answered, wiping at her wrinkled face, "I never have and I don't wish to. They're not my people. They killed my people and brought me here."

He crossed his legs, listening intently.

"What," she snarled, "no question about that?"

"Whatever you have to say," he answered, his voice still strangely soft, "I am listening."

She laughed. She laughed, hard, with all of her pain. Tears were streaming down her face. He was listening! What a joke. Listening!

"Listening to what? To my insane rambling? They will tell you, I'm insane, they will tell you I've been locking myself here for too long, they will tell you I don't have a daughter, they will tell you I never married. A life made up so they would not ask questions. I refused to obey! I refused!"

"Well," he slightly smiled, "I don't care what they have to say. Tell me about them. Your daughter. Your husband..."

He...

He wanted to hear about them? He wouldn't call her insane, shake his head and say how sad it was that she was losing her mind?

She sniffled.

"I don't even know if my daughter is fine," she whispered.

"How so?"

"They told me she was in danger. They told me she needed me. My sister... No, she wasn't my sister, I should have seen it. But she told me things, worrying things. She told me that my husband knew and that he was hiding it from me so I wouldn't endanger myself by going alone."

And she had believed her. Because her husband wasn't perfect and could make mistakes and act unreasonable when he was unsure what to do. She believed her. And eaten with worry and the need to do something, to act, to save her little girl she...

"I agreed to a plan," she spat, "a plan to be able to go and save her. But they lied to me. She lied about everything. They did not do what they had promised to do. They did not even bring me to her afterwards. They just lied and lied and lied and brought me here."

She broke down again. Despair, horror, pain and grief. They had lied. They had taken everything. And it was only thanks to her. She had given them the means to do that. All because she had trusted the wrong person. And now, they were dead and she didn't even know if her daughter...

His hand was on her back when she came back to herself. She could barely breathe through the sobs.

"Please leave," she begged.

Leave me alone with my disgusting self. He nodded kindly, comforting, as if understanding her need to be alone.

"I will come back in a few days," he promised.

He did.

"My husband," she hummed as he cut apples for her, "he was the strongest man in the world. And because of that, he was always so careful with everything. I do not think he was ever able to peel fruits without ruining them. It made his life pretty hard, but he had become used to it."

"I am not surprised," the man smiled at her and she had never asked him his name, but she felt like it would be a breach of their relationship now, something she shouldn't do, "did you do it for him then?"

"Someone had to," she huffed, "he always looked so embarrassed when he had to ask our household for it. So I did it for him. He liked watching me do just anything, including peeling fruit."

"That was sweet of you."

"He was a sweet man," she sighed, "not soft, he couldn't let himself be soft most of the time, but sweet all the same."

She accepted the quarters of the apple he gave her, but could not bring one to her mouth. Thinking of him, she was always reminded of scenes that haunted her every second. She could not eat as she saw them again.

"I used to be another man's mistress," she whispered in the end, "when he started courting me I remember refusing him for that very reason. I had a child already. I was not a good prospect for him. But he, too, had one, he said, he said... He said we were very much the same."

She chuckled sadly.

"Where I came from, a man of his position marrying a woman who used to be an imperial mistress, one who had already borne a child, would never have been accepted. And even for him, it had been hard to sell the idea. It probably only was accepted because he had already had a child from his first wife..."

She brought the apple to her mouth but couldn't bite on it.

"There were days where I wished I had been that lucky woman, bearing the child of a man who loved her instead of one who loved many but refused to officialize any of them as anything more than mistresses. They used to call us the Imperial wives, but I never really was a wife before I met the one I call my husband."

"You loved him too."

"I did," she exhaled and finally bit on the apple. It felt tasteless, as food often did when she was having a bad day. "Yes, I think I did. I liked his boy too... So small and awkward... He looked at me as if I was the most wonderful woman he had ever known. Such a curious kid… There were so many things he wanted me to teach him.”

“Did you?”

“Most I did. One I couldn't."

"Really?"

"It was selfish," she mumbled, "maybe I realized it too late. But while he never dared asking me I could see he wanted me to teach him how to sew. it was... the last thing I had been able to do with my daughter before we were separated, you see? It was a selfish little thing, something I never wanted to share with anyone else since it was the last thing I had of hers."

"I understand."

"You are a kind boy," she mumbled as she bit again.

She finished eating the apple in silence. At the end of it, she asked:

"Will you come see me again?"

And he smiled.

"Of course."

So many times he went she lost count. He would smile sweetly at her on good days and talk about random things from the surface. He would look patiently during bad ones and let her rage and cry and wonder who he was as her broken mind refused to let her remember.

Today was a bad day, but she tried to hold it together. She was sitting on her chair, trying to hold on. She looked at him, tall and awkward and wanted to scream all she held deep in her heart to him. All she had been hiding for years, a decade according to them. All her shame and guilt and fury, for they had lied to her, they had lied, lied...

"Tell me, boy. Do you want to hear how I ended up here, in the city without light?"

The man blinked and sat, careful as always, as if not to scare her, as if she were a frightened beast and maybe she was.

"Only if it is okay for you to tell me, my lady."

She closed her eyes, awful recollection in her mind.

"There was a woman there, who was pretending to be my sister. I believe I told you about her, her and how she told me again and again that my daughter was in danger. And that my husband wouldn't let me go to her."

"You have," his voice was always so soft, she almost teared up and maybe he was an angel, that young, scarred man who would simply listen to her and smile so softly, without judgement.

"In the end, she convinced me to help her organize a plan. One where I could leave, run to my daughter's aid. They would cause a distraction, they said, during a diplomatic trip to a neighbouring country. There would be too many things to do for them to run after me immediately. I helped the men inside my chariot so they could do their thing. They warned me that there would be a commotion. That there might even be some damage done and I hated myself, but I agreed. I promised to myself that once my daughter was safe, I would come back, with her, and apologize, accepting my part of responsibility."

She laughed, bitter and angry and full of pain. Her eyes were watering. She had believed them. She had believed them like a fool.

"They lied," she spat, "they lied about everything. They never had any plan to help me see my daughter. Instead, they dragged me here, I don't even know why. And they didn't cause a commotion, they..."

She inhaled harshly, unable to breath for a second, the air failing to reach her lungs. She didn't know how to say it, the images that kept burning in her head, accusing, reminding her that this was all her fault.

"I agreed," she gasped, "to worry my husband and disappoint him. I agreed to probably harm some men who had done nothing but serve me in my time among them. I agreed to see my daughter. I didn't agree to killing my son."

She could still hear him screaming, that little boy, his wail as a head flew, a head she had cradled on her lap just a few hours prior, laughing with and loving him. As they dragged her aways, she thought she might have been screaming too, in horror and shock.

It wasn't until hours later that reality had fallen on her and she realized these two people she had called family for years were dead.

And that she was to blame.

On her other side, the man just nodded quietly, eyes tired, but sweet as always. He looked pained too. Perhaps for her, she didn't know. She did not deserve it. She was a murderer and a monster, she had caused that, she knew it, they would never have managed their coup if not for her and she had helped them kill her family.

She started sobbing.

She wailed as she so often did, mourning and crying for people she had betrayed or let down, people she had left behind and would never see again. People no one here believed were real.

After a few seconds, she heard quiet steps. Then strong arms embraced her carefully, giving her a shoulder to cry on. And so she cried. She cried, taking advantage of that strange angel who had decided she was worth his kindness. She cried and the arms were so familiar she closed her eyes and for a moment, and pretended that she was still a woman married to a man who loved her.

Somehow, she had expected it to be the end of it. She had told him of her worst actions. He had comforted her, settled her mind as if she deserved any kindness. For the first time in years, she felt calmer, almost free. He had done what he had come here to do, she supposed, what reason would he have to come again? Wasn’t that why the Goddess had sent him to her?

So she was surprised when he knocked on the door again. Lissia had left for an academy, they had told her, so she wouldn’t be there to knock for her anymore. She vaguely remembered her being a toddler when she had arrived. Yes, maybe more than a decade had indeed passed…

“You came,” she mused, amazed.

“Would you rather I didn’t?” he asked in a genuinely confused voice.

Not at all, she thought, embracing him. Not at all.

He never stopped coming and she loved him for that. For his kind looks and careful hands when helping her with one thing or another. With time, she started getting better, going outside. She wouldn’t speak with others, but she would go out and walk and find strength in her frail limbs again.

“I wonder why they brought me here,” she told him one day, winded by their walk, “I haven’t seen them again. They just left me here and only came back at the beginning, when I tried to leave.”

“If I were to wager,” he told her as he held out his arm so she could hang onto him on the way back, “I think they kept you here to use you against your daughter in case she proved… difficult.”

“Is that so? I mean, it makes sense. My daughter was not the only princess, but she clearly was the one her father favoured. He would have made her his heir… Say, boy, what remains of the Adrestian Empire, now? I figure, probably not much.”

Neither of the Kingdom she had learnt to love so. She feared asking that question a lot more than the one she had, somehow.

“The people,” he answered after a time, “the people remain. So do the cities and the landmarks. I did not have the pleasure of seeing Adrestia much in my younger years, but I have been told that the only great changes were the name of the land and of the family who governs it.”

It was still painful to hear, but not surprising. She had known for a long time that her daughter was probably dead, killed by the snakes who had taken her in, or twisted in a way that would be worse than death. She had known that they had infiltrated the Empire and that they would make it fall, sooner or later. They were everywhere, had been for centuries, there was no way to stop them other than finding Shambhala itself.

She knew that some people had, but the soldiers she had seen inside the city without light wore Leicester’s colours, not Adrestia’s. Maybe between the Kingdom she had ruined and the Empire the snakes had doomed, it was logical for the Alliance to come out the bigger power of the situation.

She just nodded. Her world had been destroyed more than a decade ago, it still hurt, but it was a bruise. She was used to that heartbreak nowadays.

As he helped her on her bed, she smiled tiredly at him.

“Always so helpful… My son and husband were the same.”

She missed them terribly, but somehow, when he was here, she missed them less. Felt able to speak of them without thinking too much about how she had condemned them to awful deaths.

“It is my pleasure,” he told her.

“Say, young man… If he had lived, what do you believe my son would be like, today?”

He looked at her with a strange look, that was not exactly wounded, but pained anyway, and yet sweet and soft, kind as always. His eye shone with sad fondness.

“I would hazard, my lady,” he said slowly, “that he might be a lot like me.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She raised a hand to his face and smiled, tears in her eyes as she looked at him.

“Yes,” she mumbled, “how nice. Big and strong like you… Yes, I think you’re right.”

If he still had two eyes, she thought with amazed fondness, yes, two eyes and a beard, how much he would look like her Lambert.

“I miss them,” she mumbled, “all of them.”

He held her again before leaving this time, and bid her a good night.

It was a night devoid of nightmares, for once.

“Do you think you would like to come home with me?”

It was asked softly, kindly. His eye hopeful and she looked back in surprise.

“Do you really want me to?”

“I would,” he smiled back, “I think you have been down here for so long, you should come and see the sun again.”

But did she deserve to, she wondered. Did she really deserve to?

When he looked at her as if she was taller than he was, she wanted to believe she did.

“What… What would I do up there?” she said, wringing her hands. “I don’t have many skills to use, I… I have spent so many years lamenting in the dark.”

“Well,” he laughed softly, “you could relearn how to sew. Maybe I could even teach you like a good friend once taught me.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. He took her hands, still so, so careful. It was the first time he held them so, and his hands were burnt, like hers had been in the fires of Duscur, so many years ago.

“I would also like to introduce you to my husband,” he said softly, “if it is alright with you.”

His… husband? She gasped. She hadn’t known, had he told her during a bad day and she had forgotten? What a terrible person she was if so.

“Oh dear, I had no idea you were married.”

“It is quite the recent development,” he smiled again, sheepish, “though a long time in the making.”

He fidgeted a bit, as if unsure whether he should or not say the next thing.

“You know… I had no mother nor father to give me away when we married. It might be a bit late, but…” his next smile was tentative. “I would be overjoyed if you were to give us both that honour anyway.”

She was the one who embraced him first this time. Tears in her eyes, she smiled.

“Of course, my boy. Of course.”

And so she followed him out to the sunlight and towards a world she had left behind, knowing she would find it transformed, devoid of the people who had made her life worth living.

Somehow, she didn’t mind.

For the first time in so long, Patricia's mind felt settled and at home.

Chapter Text

Calm

31st Day of the Verdant Rain Moon, Imperial Year 1186

Felix

It was Merceus, all over again. Wider scale, somehow better results, but as he looked at the underground city, partly destroyed by the fighting, Felix could see flashes of memory of what could have maybe been an alternative timeline. Realistically, he knew it was just the ruins of Merceus, clinging at him and his nightmares, reminding him of how twice they had almost ended up victim to its destruction, tingling at his senses as a reminder, a mocking laugh telling him 'I got you once, I can have you again, I can destroy all you care for, I will take whatever I can and you won't be able to stop me'.

He still wasn't able to call forth Lightning without feeling like burning.

Around them, Shambhala's soldiers were surrendering, some looking in shock, others looking furious, the kind of anger he used to see in his reflection for so long. Felix stared at them for a few minutes, feeling slightly out of his own body. There was something surreal about the situation, but he'd have a hard time explaining what. Maybe the fact that they were all still alive, he supposed, his mind kept flashing to those Pillars of Light in the sky, and the horrifying aerial ballet of the two dragons who had sacrificed themselves to protect them.

It was Judai and Lady Rhea's bloodied bodies' turn to flash into his mind and he finally moved, hoping to get rid of his annoying thoughts. Feelings could wait for when he wouldn't have anything else to do.

He passed near two Agarthan soldiers, one was crying in fear, the other too shocked to do even that. Dimitri and Claude were a bit further, ordering their soldiers, telling them clearly that they would not stand for any pillaging or intimidation of the population. Dimitri was covered in blood, which definitely made him look intimidating on its own, though Felix knew it wasn't his blood, mostly, nor even his enemies'.

He could still see him carrying Judai, asking for a medic. Seteth and professor Eisner had been trying to help Lady Rhea walk. But while their Archbishop had been able to stay awake longer than Judai had, she had ended up fainting too, face torn in pain and anguish.

Twice. Twice each, he thought numbly as he joined those who were dealing with rubble and searching for bodies and wounded people that could still be saved. These dragons had saved him twice now. The Archbishop, Lady Rhea, the Immaculate One, first when she had helped them evacuate Garreg Mach, then now. Judai Yuki or more exactly Yubel, his lover, the Grim Dragon, first in Enbarr's palace, then now. Twice he owed them his life.

Somehow he knew it wasn't that unique in some way, how many times had Sylvain or Claude saved his ass in battle already? How many times had he returned the favour?

It always felt more shocking, somehow, when it was such an incredible creature doing the same. Or maybe he was still too overwhelmed to take a step back, he figured.

With time, noncombatants joined the clearing of the rubble and the search for bodies and survivors. Some Agarthans insulted them, tears of rage in their eyes, some just looked, shy and scared.

After a while, one looked at him and asked, voice broken and weak:

"Is it true that High Chancellor Thales tried to summon the Pillars of Light on us?"

Felix didn't trust his voice. Hadn't since the end of the battle. Maybe he was scared it'd sound tired, maybe he just felt too out of it to use it. He simply nodded briskly.

The civilian started crying quietly by his side.

Felix thought of telling them how those who had saved them in the end were their boogeymen, the monsters they had been raised to hate and want to destroy. He thought of asking them what kind of salvation for humanity this kind of destruction could be and if they would still really be ready to inflict that upon someone else now that they had been threatened by it.

It was always like that when people were patriotically encouraging a war that happened far from their home. They never expected it to reach their borders and thus felt unconcerned by the destruction. It was the very thing Sylvain had always said about the war with Sreng too...

In the end, he stayed silent, any righteous anger snuffed out by exhaustion and the misery around him.

It was Lysithea who found him in the end. The young mage came by his side, looking tiredly at the rubble she was too physically weak to help them with, and then glared at him as if he was being unreasonable (which to be fair he could be some times).

"Aren't you tired?"

"A bit," he admitted.

"Yeah, I bet you are, you've been front line the whole battle. Have you even taken more than a five minutes rest since it ended?"

He couldn't help a slight smirk, maybe teasing, maybe amazed.

"Is Lysithea von Ordelia telling someone to rest?"

"Call me hypocritical all you want," she huffed, "but seriously Felix, you're swaying on your feet and don't even seem to realize it."

Oh, he very much realized it. It wasn't like he hadn't fought in a higher state of fatigue before, but better not tell her about that, he suspected.

"Looks like we really are a house of workaholics," she yawned as she dragged him away from the effort, "you, Leonie, Claude, me... let's add Annette, Dimitri and Ingrid, maybe we can try to cure our addiction together."

"Bold of you to think we wouldn't simply argue about whose turn it is to rest because none of us want to."

"Yeah, well, we really have to right now. Some troops will stay here to take care of things, but we are going home tomorrow at dawn. So go and catch some shuteye, will you?"

"Sure," he mumbled, "I'll just go and check on Judai first."

He stared at the moon, that could be seen through the hole in the ceiling. It was high already. He wondered if the inhabitants of Shambhala had any idea what it was and if they could even summon wonder as they saw it for the first time in their life, above the ruins of their city...

Of course Dimitri was with Judai. Felix didn't know why he was surprised, the prince had already had a hard time leaving him to the medics so he could go and give the necessary orders. Felix stared, feeling even more exhausted just looking at him.

"Dimitri," he called out to him.

One startled blue eye turned towards him and then a weak smile formed on his lips.

"Ah. Felix. Is everything alright?"

"Go to sleep."

There was a slightly offended look thrown his way, but Felix crossed his arms.

"I don't need a nanny," Dimitri protested.

"Are you sure? We're leaving soon tomorrow morning, you're leading the march, which means we can't have you slowing us down or collapsing."

He didn't know if he sounded annoyed enough, he feared tiredness was taking the edge out of his voice. Still, the way Dimitri sighed showed he knew he had a point. He threw another glance at Judai.

"I'm nervous about leaving him alone," he admitted softly.

"There's nothing you can do anyway," Felix clicked his tongue, "and where is Claude?"

Claude, who had apparently decided that a battlefield was the right place to kiss the sovereign of another country. He felt even more tired just thinking about it. What idiots. Seriously, why were his friends such dumbasses? Sure, it was only because of how familiar he was with how both of them looked and because he had kept an eye on the way they had gone in case things went south that he had known it was them, in the dark of Shambhala, but still. Indech slay him, he hoped it wouldn't turn into some kind of scandal, he did not have the patience for that, heads would roll.

"About that," Dimitri started, "Claude..."

He stopped himself and despite how dark it was, Felix could have sworn he was flushing slightly.

"Claude," he kept going after a bit of a stammer, "is still working, I believe."

Yeah, that was a conversation Felix was too tired to have anyway, good thing Dimitri had stopped himself before admitting that the two of them were... what, together now? Couldn't they have fallen in love with someone who was a bit less of a complicated situation? And wait, what did he mean 'still working'?

… Of fucking course Claude wasn’t sleeping either.

"Okay change of plans," Felix groaned, massaging the sides of his nose, "go force Claude to sleep. If no one does, he won't. Too many things to see and discover here."

Dimitri chuckled fondly. He was still hesitant to stand, so Felix rolled his eyes.

"I'll stay here," he said, "now go."

Then only, with a grateful nod, Dimitri left Judai's bedside. Felix looked at him go before turning his gaze back on the sleeping God. Two thoughts, not entirely dissimilar, went into his head at the same time, neither having anything to do with the boy.

The first was that he was an idiot for suggesting to keep guard when he was so tired. The second was that Lysithea would kill him the moment she learnt about it.

He wasn't sure how he managed to stay awake, not even dozing off (or not much) on his chair, for the few hours it took Sylvain to find him. The red-haired man had a long-suffering smile on his lips when he saw him and Felix tried to glare back, to tell him about how it had been a no-win situation anyway.

The truth was that he understood why Dimitri wouldn't want to leave Judai alone. In general, they owed the boy a lot already, but more than anything, there had been an understanding between the two of them. Felix knew it, had heard all of Judai's story. It was easy to picture why these two walking tragedies with a strength too big for their soft, fragile hearts would have found companionship in each other. And not only that. Truth being said, Dimitri's dear people had the bad habit of dying on him. So yes, it was easy to understand why the prince hadn't wanted his Godly friend out of sight.

It was slightly humbling to be trusted to watch over him anyway and Felix would probably long marvel at how easy it had been for Dimitri to forgive him for all the bitter and angry words, all the dehumanization and all the times he had desperately pushed him away.

Behind him, Sylvain didn't say a word and simply dragged another chair near Felix's. His arms closed on him, a tired embrace. Felix let him, closing his eyes and wondering, for the umpteenth time, how he had ended up gaining all of this.

He couldn't help but remember that moment, after the battle of Enbarr. The celebrations had ended, the repairs had started but everyone was too tired for it to go further today. Some soldiers had taken rooms inside palaces or deserted houses for the night. Felix and Sylvain had elected to go back to their camp and get inside a tent to sleep the battle off. It was there, only, that the thing so many people would later discuss enthusiastically had actually happened. And it had been nothing like the passionate and enthused embrace so many had recalled and would tease him about.

The truth was that when Sylvain had leaned in, Felix had just frozen. It was ridiculous in a way, it wouldn't even be his first kiss! Some eternity ago, Ingrid, Dimitri and him had tried to figure out what it was that their older friend liked so much about it. They had disliked it heavily at the time, grimacing and fake-puking like kids were prone to do. There had also been stolen kisses from rich girls who had maybe believed they could seduce him that way, earn some noble title or another. More recently, there had been a soldier, drunk, who had kissed him after a complicated battle. The soldier had been sobbing against him and it was that only that had stopped Felix from punching him. In the end, he had helped the drunk man to the infirmary. He didn't know what that had been about, maybe his drunk mind had seen someone who was dead instead of Felix - a familiar feeling.

In any case, that wouldn't be his first kiss. And yet, his whole body had frozen and he had completely forgotten how it was supposed to work. Maybe it was because it was Sylvain, who he had been crushing on for an embarrassing amount of time. Maybe it was because his mind was still half on the battlefield and contrary to what Dimitri and Claude seemed to believe, a battlefield was no place for such feelings.

Sylvain had smiled softly, kissing his cheek, or more exactly his cheekbone, right under his left eye.

“Relax," he had mumbled, “I won't do anything if you don't want it."

And maybe that was the problem, Felix had figured, he had wanted it for so long he had never thought he would actually get it. And now that he was in front of what he had wished for, he was at a loss as to how he was supposed to react.

There had been tender fingers on his right cheek as Sylvain went a bit lower, kissing near his mouth but not on it, as if he was asking permission.

Felix had swallowed.

"You missed." he had said.

That had been his permission. Maybe all of this wasn't as romantic or novel worthy as that embrace that so many people had mistaken as a kiss, but truth being told, it was a memory he had cherished as much as the relief of finding Sylvain alive after the battle.

They were shaken awake by a firm hand on their shoulder.

"Rise and shine, lovebirds," a voice chuckled near their ears, "we're leaving soon."

Judith of Daphnel was looking at them with amused eyes when Felix opened his eyes, hearing Sylvain groan weakly behind him. So. They had fallen asleep on their chairs, entangled together. Great. Gossip was going to go wild again. Was it too much to hope that people would simply leave the matter alone? How was any of it their business?

Judith sent him a knowing look.

"The boy found you two and didn't have the heart to wake you up, so he sent me," she said with a wink.

Which meant that probably no one else had seen them at least.

"You gotta start calling him more respectfully," he yawned as quietly as he could.

"Forgive me if I don't take that kind of advice from one who talks to his prince as if he were a disobedient puppy," she laughed.

"She got you there," Sylvain chuckled, stretching his painful muscles.

"More seriously," she added in a softer voice, "he'll always be the boy to me, my boy. And if Tiana and her husband don't treat him right when he goes back to them, I'm abducting him. But he's my dumbass boy all the same."

It was hard to argue against that. There were arguments in Felix's head that made sense on paper, but lacked humanity in face of her simple reasons.

The fact was that Claude had never received that unconditional respect that was so often freely gifted to great heirs. Dimitri was so worshipped that when Felix spoke harshly to him, it was him most people would look at disapprovingly. It didn't matter much if one of his men mouthed him off, especially if said man was Felix who not only had known him forever, but also was known for being disagreeable in general and very vocal whenever he disagreed with anything. It didn't matter much when everyone else was ready to kneel for him at a moment's notice.

On the other hand, no one gave that to Claude. If only Judith, respected Judith, beloved Judith, if only she started showing deference, then maybe some would follow. But at the same time, that simply wasn't Leicester culture and he had to realize that. In Faerghus, someone as insolent as Sylvain could still decide by himself to call his younger childhood friend 'Your Highness' just so he wouldn't undermine him in the future. In Leicester, you could win a hundred battles and still have the people under your orders call you 'kiddo' if only you had committed the heinous crime of being born after them.

Felix tore himself from these thoughts, throwing a glance at Judai. The kid hadn't moved, but he was still breathing. Nothing new on that front, but no bad news either, he supposed. It was better than nothing.

They left Yuri's most trusted men behind, as well as a good number of their own men, honorable generals, the kind both Dimitri and Claude trusted not to take advantage of their victory. What they wanted was for the reconstructions to start quickly, as well as to explain the situation to the population and show them respect. As far as Claud and Dimitri were concerned, the population of Shambhala had been victims of their leaders as much as those on the surface who had fallen under their assaults.

It was strange how few soldiers opposed being asked to stay behind despite the darkness and the work. Felix supposed it was the fact that it was mostly nonviolent and safe work, as well as the sun, shining brightly and lightening up that underground cemetery to the shock of those who had lived there forever.

Felix helped professor Eisner make Lady Rhea comfortable in the cart they would use to transport her back to the monastery. Judai was already tucked there, Dimitri having been enough to carry him as always. Marianne and Mercedes would take turns sitting in the cart and walking outside of it to check on them regularly in case there was anything they could help with.

It still felt strange to see the Archbishop and the God like that, unconscious, covered in dried blood. Felix had never seen either of them wounded before. Even when she had been brought home after five years as a prisoner, Lady Rhea had looked mostly unharmed, though he suspected it had only been appearances. As for Judai? Dimitri had mentioned how he apparently couldn't get wounded.

Except by the Light, it seemed.

Lightning burned in his mind again and he wondered how long just thinking about it would make him feel that way. Helpless. Desolate. Ravaged and sick and useless.

"Felix?"

Sylvain's voice dragged him back to reality. His brown eyes were looking at him with worry. He was still on the cart, he realized, hadn't moved away from the two divine beings' side.

"Are you alright?"

Technically, yes, he was fine, unharmed, away from the things that had hurt him the most in his life, the war included. But truth being told, he had doubts any of them could be alright ever again. Maybe in a very, very long time...

In the end he just shrugged. Sylvain pressed once on his fingers. I love you. Then, he nodded sadly at the two passed out people in the cart.

"It doesn't feel like a victory, huh? With the two of them like that..."

Felix nodded, getting off the cart. He and Sylvain started walking, close but not touching.

"It's supposed to be over," Sylvain mumbled, "yet no one feels like celebrating."

"It won't last," Felix answered, "it's shock and grief. Once we're back in Garreg Mach, they'll shake it off and remember they're done fighting. You can bet they'll celebrate."

"I hope so", Sylvain chuckled, "what about you? You won't?"

"I will sleep." And probably wonder what he would do with his life now. "That'll be enough celebrating for me."

Still smiling, Sylvain reached out with his hand. Tentatively. He was careful, always so careful and slow, ever since they had started this thing. Always making sure he wasn't doing anything that could bother Felix. It was sweet, Felix supposed, but also a bit annoying. Maybe part of it was posturing, but it felt weird to be treated as delicate.

On the first night on the way home, they shared a tent. When they started, it was slow too. Chaste. There was one precise moment where Sylvain seemed to realize his hand was lower than he thought it was and he took it away, looking apologetic. Felix groaned.

"I'm not made of sugar," he mumbled.

"Are you sure?" Sylvain chuckled against him. "After all, you're so sweet when you melt."

Felix blinked, staring at him with something strangely akin to amazement. How did someone ever invent such an awful statement?

"That was bad," he said bluntly, "seriously. Terrible. Never say that again."

With the way Sylvain laughed against his shoulder, it was obvious he didn't take it badly.

"But seriously," Felix added, "you don't have to... you know..."

"I don't have to what?" Sylvain's words were teasing, eyes fond and Felix felt himself flush. "Are you going to put words behind that?"

Would he take it badly if Felix slapped him on the back of the head for torturing him like that? Tempting...

"You can go faster," he gritted out, "I'm not going to break. And you know I can easily stop you in case you do something I don't like, if that's what you're scared of."

There was a kiss on his collarbone and he shivered against his will. He didn't know that was a tender spot before, but since Sylvain had discovered it, he loved being an ass and abusing it with kisses.

"I know," Sylvain answered after a while, "it's not... Well, I'm not scared that you would let me do something to you that you're not okay with."

"What is it then?" he knew he sounded annoyed, maybe even a bit pouty if he had to admit it to himself.

Sylvain had never been known as someone who took his sweet time in those matters, and maybe, just maybe Felix was a bit insecure. He knew Sylvain wouldn't do anything he didn't want to do either, but when he wasn't being confused at the delicate way he was treated, part of him couldn't help but wonder if Sylvain never went far because he didn't actually want to go as far with Felix as he had with others.

"I just..." Sylvain sighed. "Well, I know you don't like speaking about it, but... You know as well as I do that I usually jump straight to the point. I go fast and burn as fast."

"Except with me," Felix tried not to sound too put out by that.

"Yeah," Sylvain hummed in his ear, "because you're not just anyone for me. I... actually want us to work out, you know? I didn't go into this hoping to end it sooner rather than later. I want us to last. And I guess... I'm just scared that if I try to treat you like the others, I'll just fall into my old patterns and habits again. I don't want that."

Felix rolled his eyes, feeling something weirdly warm in his chest, and took Sylvain's hands to his hips, staring firmly at him.

"This," he said slowly, "is permission to go at least that low until you're ready to go further. Got it?"

Sylvain let out a startled chuckle and so Felix pressed more firmly on his hands, trying to get his point across.

"Also," he added, raising his chin, “it's bold of you to think I'd let you treat me like your past lovers. You can be reassured on that point.”

Sylvain's chuckling got softer and he brought Felix against him, the embrace close and intimate.

"Thank you," he whispered in his ear.

They fell asleep like that, forgetting about uncertain futures and disheartening victories, simply savoring each other's presence for as long as they could. When Felix woke up, entangled with his lover once more, there was a part of him, the one that loved its routine, that reminded him that it was time to go train, work out a bit.

For maybe the first time of his life, he ignored it, sunk deeper into Sylvain's arms, and let himself fall back asleep.

Hilda was staring at Yuri with something akin to curiosity in her eyes when they started seeing Garreg Mach. Felix would have questioned her if not for the sudden relief in his chest. He wasn't sure how warranted it was, but apparently something in his mind had kept expecting incidents to happen on the way back. Or maybe it was just seeing the monastery. Home, in a way. There was a pang in his chest as he remembered a time he hadn't been sure he wanted to go there.

He wondered what he'd be doing if he hadn't. Then, with one quick look towards Claude and Dimitri, decided it didn't matter.

Hilda seemed to have enough of her staring and turned to him and Sylvain, eyes sparkling. Oh, he didn't like that look. Bracing himself, he glared back. The young woman chuckled and nodded to herself.

"What are you planning?" He tried to have a warning tone, but it was definitely undermined by how he knew that it didn't matter what he thought of it, she'd do it anyway.

"Matching bracelets," she simply said, "noted."

Sylvain fake gasped as he leaned forwards.

"No way. Am I getting one of the legendary Hilda Valentine Goneril accessories?"

"Who said it was for you?" she asked, her eyebrow raised in a challenging expression.

"The fact that you just stared at us with your scheming face ?" suggested Felix.

"Circumstantial evidence, nothing more. Why, you're just one of the incredibly handsome couples surrounding me, give me one good reason it couldn't be for the idiots who actually kissed on a battlefield?"

Sylvain couldn't help but laugh and Felix's ears flushed slightly. Let them think it was because he was embarrassed at assuming anything, and not because it had been... far too long since he had heard Sylvain's sincere laugh.

It didn't have that calculated tinge that so often pertained to every single one of the sounds he made. It was startled and inelegant and much more beautiful than it had any right to be.

Hilda gave him a knowing look and he glared back, once more.

"Oh well," she winked at them, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

"I need a bath."

These were Sylvain's first words as they entered. Felix understood him. The Verdant Rain Moon had just finished and the weather was still overwhelmingly hot and sunny and miserable for anyone used to more normal temperatures (though he was well aware that most people would consider Garreg Mach the norm and Faerghus the outlier). In any case, it felt like being cooked alive and he could only imagine how Sylvain felt with his armor and fur-trimmed collar. Felix had had the bright idea of taking off his coat during the march at least.

"There's going to be a lot of people there already," Felix said anyway, "go change into something lighter. I'm going to help with Judai and Lady Rhea.

There would be a lot of stairs, and while Dimitri could definitely carry one of them easily and Dedue another one, he was pretty sure they'd all rather make sure there were a few more people to help in case there was any problem. He'd also need to tell Manuela they were home, his step-mother would both want to see him safe and sound and to examine Lady Rhea and Judai as much as she'd be able to, making sure there was nothing she could do for them.

Then, finally, it'd be indeed time to take off these smelly sweat-covered clothes and take a bit of time in the baths.

Sylvain pressed against his hand.

"It still doesn't feel over," he mumbled.

It didn't. There were many reasons for that, starting with their still sleeping, wounded deities, and finishing with what their troops would discover in Shambhala. And that was without thinking of what was awaiting Claude once he'd go back to Almyra. Another war, of a very different kind, but a war anyway.

Deciding to put all of these worries into a mental box for tomorrow-Felix, he shrugged.

"There will still be troubles for a while," he said, "the Imperial lands won't all surrender peacefully, we can expect riots and revolts, probably some coups from the lords. And we're still missing info. It's the uncertainty that gives that feeling."

"Since when did you become so wise?" Sylvain smiled. "Too much Reason Magic training?"

If only he was able to put it into practice again down the line... He shoved Sylvain without real strength. His lover laughed and kissed his hand.

It was a sweet gesture, once more, a promise. A 'whatever happens next, at least we're not alone'.

Felix rolled his eyes.

"You really are shit at aiming."

Yet, he didn't even try to pretend he wasn't smiling when he pecked Sylvain on the mouth.

"See you at the baths?"

Sylvain smiled against his lips.

"See you at the baths."

Chapter Text

STORYTELLER

"At that moment, the King raised his axe! And with a battle roar, he launched himself into the battle! By himself!"

There were screams and laughs around the table and Nader smiled savagely.

"He won of course!" He yelled. "His mighty axe and bow, his crafty mind and unparalleled strength... All of these were no match for the opposing army! Even alone against a hundred, no, a thousand! They were unmatched, for nothing could keep our High King down!"

Uproar around the table, applause and yells of 'of course!'. Nader kept yelling his story, inventing the most impressive feats he could think of, the High King decapitating three of his enemies despite two men holding his arms. Losing his boots but still fighting, his feet too strong to be hurt by the ground of the battlefield.

When he finally sat back down, laughing, he turned towards his King. King Abrar looked pensive. He was still young, that friend of Nader, his eyes usually shining with mirth during feasts, he'd be the first one to yell his approval at Nader's grand retellings of his exploits. He had gotten the throne too young, the unfortunate result of a clans border dispute, a few years before the time was right. Thankfully, the Mother Queen had helped him ever since he had ascended, giving him the education he was still missing and showing her hand when someone with more experience was needed.

In any case, it was unusual for Abrar not to be laughing at Nader's stories. He was picking at his food, as if it wasn't to his taste - which was ludicrous it was one of his numerous favourites.

"Something wrong, my friend?"

Abrar jumped slightly, startled. Ah, so he was really lost in thoughts, that explained it all.

"Nothing Nader, don't worry," the High King of Almyra smiled.

"If you say so. What are you thinking so intensively about? Another one of your crazy schemes?"

Abrar laughed, but there was something on his face, the bonfire lightening it strangely.

"I was just thinking of that enemy general, during our little fight with Leicester earlier," he ended up answering, "she wasn't one of our usual adversaries."

"Ah, yes," Nader nodded, "I heard that old Goneril was bedridden, so he asked for help from his neighbours."

"Yeah, I heard that too," Abrar hummed, "you know what her name is?"

"Regan, I think? Something like that. Why?"

That strange glint wouldn't leave him, but his friend's eyes were shining once more with mirth and something fascinated as he answered with an awkward laugh.

"Well, my friend, this shall never end up in your stories, but realistically speaking, she absolutely beat the shit out of me."

"She sure did," Nader cackled happily, "this is why you should do what I do and stay away from people who are stronger than you."

"Aye, aye, but see my friend? I don't have any 'Undefeated' title to defend, do I? So why take such precautions when there is so much to learn from people stronger than you are?"

Nader slapped him on the back with a wink.

"Are you sure that's all? You do know a battlefield isn't the right place to flirt, right? Especially with Fodlanese people, we don't flirt with Fodlanese people."

"Only if you're not brave enough," Abrar answered with a savage smirk, “as we say: don’t avert your eyes from the sun.”

“May you blind us if you please,” Nader snorted in answer, finishing up the usual salutation to the king.

And as Nader would only learn later, decades later, you did flirt with Fodlanese people. Especially on a battlefield.

It was only the first time he stopped someone from killing young Khalid that Nader realized how much he loved that boy. His little prince, with both the big green eyes he had inherited from his mother and the dark curly hair that came from his father. It was crazy how much of both his eccentric King and his demon of a Queen he could see in him. So maybe he had realized he was fond of him, yes, because when he pouted he looked just like Abrar and when he kept standing up no matter how many times he was pushed down, he was the representation of most of the things that had made Nader respect Tiana so much.

But it was only then, as he held the shoulder of a young Khalid, the boy holding a dagger belonging to someone who had just tried to kill him, quietly asking him why people hated him so much, that he realized that he wanted that boy to live. To live and to become his king, if only to spite all those who would do anything to stop him from it.

He took the dagger slowly and crouched in front of him.

"So," he said slowly, "want me to teach you how to use that, kiddo? This way if it happens again, you'll be able to fight back."

And so he showed little Khalid how warriors fought. He showed him how to use that dagger and then put a bow in his hands. His small, hesitant hands. The first time he shot, they were trembling, either from exertion or excitement. He couldn’t shoot right and Nader laughed softly, holding his hands and asking them to be still for little Khalid. He could hear the boy mumble it, then. ‘Be still, be still, be still.’ And then shooting. He had a sharp eye and once his hands started obeying, Nader had the feeling he would become one of their greatest.

It didn’t end with the dagger and the bow of course. He showed him the different ways you could use an axe, he showed him how warriors rode on wyverns. He taught him to throw a good right hook too, everytime his half-brothers bullied him. He gave said brothers the stink eye whenever they were about to plan a new way to humiliate their youngest. He did all he could, almost desperately, to stop others from hurting him, stop taking away his joy and innocence.

Yet he couldn't stop it. Day after day he could see it, the kid's eyes turning colder and colder, his smiles faker and faker, and the tactics he'd use to stop others from hurting him more and more ruthless.

There were moments when Nader thought the only times his little prince felt genuinely happy anymore were when he was taking care of the wyverns, riding them, or outshooting every warrior in his father's court - though even this one was sometimes marred by how so many people called foul play, refusing to be shown up by 'some half-breed brat' (Nader might have thrown hands with the last one to have used those words).

Then, when little Khalid turned sixteen, he looked his mother in the eyes and said:

"I've heard from merchants that came from the ports that Duke von Riegan is searching for an heir."

His mother stared back at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I am not going back there," she answered curtly.

"Of course," her kid smiled sweetly, "but I might."

Of course these words alarmed Abrar and Tiana. Of course they tried to dissuade him. Then Khalid bit into part of his dish, a part he had pushed aside immediately with the clear intent not to touch it. A few seconds later, there were lights surrounding him. Some kind of crescent moon, a magical display that he had shown a few times already, something that came from Tiana. A crest, she had called it, something supposed to heal him when he was wounded.

There was silence at the table. Khalid played with his fork for a few seconds, searching for his words as Nader swallowed his anger as to how some had seriously dared try to poison the crown prince at his father's table.

"I want to prove my other mother country is not made of cowards and weaklings," he said at last, "so that these stop happening. I want to know how it is too. I don't plan to leave and never come back, that would make Ilham far too happy. But learning about them... It would also mean learning more about me."

"People there might not be more tender with you than people here," Tiana warned him, "and we wouldn't be able to protect you there."

Khalid had laughed, small and slightly pained.

"Mah, I had to learn to protect myself years ago. Don't worry about me."

"I think the boy should try it."

Nader had spoken without thinking. Both his queen and his king turned to him, but the only one he was looking at, when he smiled, was the little prince, looking at him with amazement.

"I mean," he laughed, "you know the twerp, even if you tell him not to do it, he will. It just means he'll do it in a way you won't notice until it's too late. We taught him to be too crafty for his own good."

Abrar chuckled slightly, conceding it to be the truth.

"Let him go," Nader concluded, "you know nothing can keep this boy away from the things he wants to learn about."

"At that moment!" Nader yelled, hitting the table with enthusiasm. "The King of Fodlan, with his extraordinary strength, sent Prince Khalid to the skies! And with one single arrow, airborne, our prince shot down the bridge, stopping the enemy right where it was!"

Cheers and howling as always, people enthused by a good story. There was applause as Nader laughed to himself. He wondered if his delighted audience would believe him were he to admit he was barely exaggerating this time. He could still picture in his mind the moment he saw his prince shooting up in the air, landing and then taking that shot. It had taken very little prodding to learn that it was Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and his godly strength that had allowed for such a feat.

And here they were at the end of the war. He was yelling the heroic exploits of their least favourite prince, he thought happily, yet here they were, cheering for him and a foreigner they would have usually written off as a weak coward. Probably two of the worst words to describe the King of Fodlan, but preconceived ideas were harshly anchored in almyran people's heads.

Yet here Khalid was, having won a war there, a war against monsters.

He had already told tales about the monsters, the men living under the earth and the creatures they turned their victims into. There had been shivers of worry and almost no exaggeration on his part and he could see how terrified some were, for if even Nader the Undefeated qualified these monstrous beings as fearsome, then surely they really were dangerous and terrible.

And yet their crown prince, the one so many of them thought would never be a good warrior because of something as petty as blood, had won a war against them. Had already been winning it before he had asked for Nader's help, when his only backup were these Fodlanese people so many of them despised and thought weak and useless.

Nader sat back and drank, the beverage relieving his sore throat. He loved his stories, loved screaming them, but hated how dry it left his mouth afterwards. When he turned towards Khalid, his prince was drinking too, not surrounded by the lights that indicated someone had tried to poison him. His crest, Nader remembered again, just like Tiana had said, that was how they called these things in Fodlan. The Star Crest (Nader remembered looking at it and going 'That's bullshit, it looks like a Moon').

"Nice story as always," Khalid then smiled at him, "though I fear it lacked the usual embellishments."

"Did you really shoot while being thrown in the air, kiddo?" Nader laughed, slapping him on the back.

"I should try that," his prince answered with a wink, "who knows, I might pull it off."

"You might need to convince that King to come here so he could throw you, then."

Khalid chuckled, eyes fond. His little prince loved that king, Nader wasn't blind. He had seen the boy through his tumultuous teenage years, he knew how Khalid was when he fell in love. He had seen the signs immediately even if he wasn't sure his prince himself knew about it.

"Well," Khalid said slowly, "Dimitri won't be the one coming to Almyra soon, but I wonder if our guest would do the same for me."

"Unless he has the same strength, I doubt it."

There was a glint in his eyes and Nader took one more sip, wondering.

"Speaking of, I haven't asked you yet. Who is he, already? That guy supposed to serve as the Fodlanese ambassador?"

"Felix?" Khalid smiled almost as a reflex. "Not very tall, long blue hair... You've probably seen him a few times."

He had... no idea who Khalid was speaking of.

Truth being said, Nader wasn't that good with people. Unless he frequented them a lot or they left a strong impression, he tended to forget them pretty quickly. Out of Khalid's merry band of friends, he had of course remembered the King of Fodlan, it would be hard to forget such strength and prestance. He also remembered the lovely Judith of Daphnel, who had made him think that maybe, just maybe, he had an idea how Abrar had felt when he had first met Tiana. He remembered little Hilda Goneril, with her short body that held more determination and shrewdness than he thought was possible in one human being. He remembered that blonde lady, Catherine, who had sparred against him almost every day without tiring, her blue eyes shining with happiness. The new Archbishop, too, with her green eyes and emotionless face, the one who had defeated Nemesis (and it was still hard to think about his poor wyvern, some days, but she had been avenged quickly enough). A few others, mostly faces, almost no names. He was terrible with names...

He had no idea who that 'Felix' was. And that meant that he hadn't left too much of an impression on him. That, in turn, meant something Nader didn't like thinking.

"It's going to be hard for him to earn the people's respect," he mumbled.

Khalid almost choked on his wine, alarming Nader. He was laughing, Nader realized curiously, as if he had just found his remark hilarious.

"You're just sad it's not Judith," his prince said once he had stopped coughing between two bouts of laughter.

"What's that supposed to mean," Nader growled, faking a threatening tone.

Khalid's green eyes were shining with both mischief and genuine fondness when he looked back at him, the smile on his lips sincere, a rare enough sight for Nader to be taken aback.

"Don't worry," he promised, "Felix might have been a bit quiet during the last months of war, he had a lot going on. But I can assure you he will earn everyone's respect here. That, I can promise you."

If he said so. Nader raised his glass.

“Don’t avert your eyes from the sun,” he winked.

“That’s my line,” the prince answered with a smile, “also, did I ever mention how stupid that salutation is?”

“Believe me, boy, I’m pretty sure your father is only keeping it because he finds it hilarious.”

Felix Hugo Fraldarius was... pretty delicate looking. He was pale, thin, and clearly unused to the way the sun shone warmly upon the castle halls. Khalid and him were speaking hastily, the prince's eyes shining and Nader felt a headache coming. He could already hear the derogatory comments some people would definitely say about how, clearly, their prince had just wanted him here as a prostitute.

"Take off something," Khalid was laughing, "we can't have you fainting while I'm showing you around."

"I'm not going to faint," the young man growled back, "and I have to get used to it anyway."

"Your pride will kill you, my friend. Now come on, I have to give you the grand tour!"

When they came to him, Felix took a second to nod to Nader.

"Nader," he simply said as a salute, and maybe Nader felt a bit ashamed for having no idea who the kid was. Especially since Khalid seemed to really like him.

Nader winked back at him and followed them, smiling, adding his comments here and there while Khalid showed him places and people, giving anecdotes about moments Khalid had been an idiot or others, making the prince either flush or laugh out loud. The kid almost never left his frowns behind, despite a few glances and raised eyebrows at Khalid. What surprised Nader, however, was that he seemed to know a lot of these already. More than once, there would be Khalid showing him a room, and Felix would frown even more before mentioning the room's utility or some thing that had happened there, usually in question form.

He knew the place, Nader understood pretty quickly, not as someone who went there, but as someone who had talked with Khalid a lot about Almyra and thus had learnt. Learnt a lot more about them than most Fodlanese people would have.

Ah, Nader thought with a nod, maybe that was the reason then. Having someone who already knew the basics of Almyran culture definitely wasn't a bad idea, he figured. He was especially impressed to realize the kid could identify every single one of the weapons stored near the training grounds. That showed dedication! Khalid seemed to find it hilarious, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he mentioned how of course that's the part of my lessons you remember the best.

The kid might have elbowed him back and Nader had chuckled. He still wasn't convinced, but yes, Khalid and the Fodlanese King could probably have chosen worse.

Then came the meeting with the High King.

A private meeting, thank the Gods.

It was due protocol, people entering the Throne room while the King was present were supposed to wait until they were told to enter with the ritual salutation. Then, only, were they supposed to enter with the ritual answer. It was the kind of tradition that barely made sense in truth, they mostly did it as a reflex now, the King usually not even looking at who was at his door while summoning them inside.

“Don’t avert your eyes from the sun,” Abrar called out, permission to enter and talk to him.

“May you blind us if you please,” Khalid and Nader answered.

Silence by their side. Nader turned to Felix, who was looking at them with confusion. Khalid's eyes were sparkling with mischief and Nader wanted to groan. Heavily.

Of course Khalid hadn't taught the kid the ritual answer. He had taught him the utility of every single weapon in their arsenal, but hadn’t told him about the words that he would need to use every single day, probably because he thought them stupid.

The King and Queen raised their heads, wondering about the sudden silence in the room and while Nader knew his sovereigns had good humour, it was still such an unwillingly disrespectful situation.

Fortunately for everyone, Almyra's sovereigns knew their son well, and quickly it was to him that their stares turned, reproachful.

"Khalid," Abrar said with aggravated fondness, "why didn't you tell your friend about the ceremonial answer?"

"Because it was funnier this way," Khalid answered with a smile, “and because that salutation is ridiculous.”

The King shook his head, more amused than anything, while Felix glared at his friend, eyes promising retribution. Then, Tiana stood up, attracting their attention. Her eyes were shining as she looked Felix up and down.

"I know that face," she said, "you're a Fraldarius, right?"

Still annoyed by the prank Khalid had pulled on him, Felix didn't bow nor any of the usual grand gestures of respect Nader had seen so many Fodlanese people do. He simply nodded.

"Felix Hugo Fraldarius," he said.

The Queen was already moving towards him, leaning forwards to look at him closer. Felix took a step back, ill at ease, but she quickly nodded to herself and stepped back too.

"You're Rosaline's son", she said with a smile, "you have her eyes."

"... You knew my mother?" his tone of voice showed that of all conversation topics, he hadn't expected that one.

"Sure," she laughed, "I knew both of your parents, and most of their friends too. We went to Garreg Mach together, along with Judith. It was fun, picking on the guys. They were always so stiff and serious."

She didn't leave Felix time to react, crossing her arms with a hungry smirk.

"Now, I know since you're a Fraldarius this question might seem insulting, but still, I feel obligated to ask you. It's been a while since I've crossed blades with a Faerghus-trained warrior. So, do you fight, boy?"

The answer he gave was probably the most enthusiastic sound Nader had heard him make ever since he had arrived. And as he looked at the kid and the Queen spar, Nader was forced to revise his judgement.

Okay. So that was why Khalid had chosen him.

"And so!" Nader yelled. "Prince Khalid and I flew above the high walls of the fort they called the Old Stubborn General, or bows raining death on the enemy!"

The feast was nothing big for Almyran standards, it had been a spur of the moment idea, initiated from having had a great hunt right before a seasonal tournament, and so they had decided it was worth celebrating. That didn't mean Nader did not have the assembly at the edge of its seat as he always did. Even the young Fodlanese Ambassador was listening intently despite knowing how the story ended, looking captivated by the words, something Nader would have to admit he was quite proud of.

Once he was done yelling and was now eating, though, he started wondering. Since he had never paid much attention to him, he had no idea where the kid was during Merceus, what he had been doing. Were there stories he could tell about him? Not some he witnessed first hand, but seeing how good he had been everytime Nader had seen him spar, he could bet there were many.

"So," he asked the two boys by his side, "will the two of you fight during the tournament?"

"Unfortunately," Khalid sighed, "I'm still banned from seasonal tournaments."

"What?" Felix said, surprised. "Why?"

"I'm accused of crippling the competition. Also of having a body count in what's supposed to be a friendly duel."

Ah, yes. Nader remembered the two tournaments that had led to these accusations. He rolled his eyes with a groan. First there had been the bow competition where no one had been able to accept just how better he was than his competitors and so most of them had said they felt ill. Enough had used that excuse for poisoning accusations to surface. Then there had been the assassination attempt right in the middle of a duel. Khalid had struck back in self-defense and many witnesses and examiners had been able to confirm his version of the events, but rumors that the poisoned dagger had been planted still ran rampant.

"This is ridiculous," Felix grumbled before taking a bite of his food.

"What about you, kid? Gonna participate?"

"If the heat becomes more manageable," Felix groaned, wiping his sweaty bow, and Nader was never visiting his home country ever.

What kind of low temperatures was he used to if he hated Almyra’s late springs so much?

"Oh?" Khalid smirked. "I thought you were able to fight in Ailell. This isn't worse than a volcano."

"It's not a matter of being able too," Felix growled, "it's a matter of not turning into a puddle of water if I can help it."

"If I thought one day I would hear Felix Hugo Fraldarius refusing to participate in a tournament!"

Khalid’s tone of voice was teasing and Nader could see in Felix’s eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing. If anything, the way he raised his chin, a challenge in his voice, showed that he walked into it willingly.

"I didn't say I refused."

"So will you fight?"

"Yeah, sure. Even if I'm not at my best, that doesn't mean I can't beat them."

"You think you can win against Almyra's finest while dripping with sweat?"

"You bet I can."

Khalid laughed, his eyes crinkling with fondness more than any calculative edge. If anything, Felix’s eyes were the calculating ones, as if he suddenly had something to prove, but not to Khalid.

"I'll take that bet.” Khalid said. “You said you wanted to try out more spicy food, right? Well if you win that tournament, I promise you to find you our spiciest specialty. Deal?"

They shook on it, a smirk in front of a frown, yet neither gave the impression of having been played and Nader couldn't help but chuckle to himself. There was something familiar in that bickering of theirs, it wasn’t unlike the way Abrar would make fun of him and Nader would snark at him in return. He felt slightly amazed, truth being said, he wasn't sure he had ever seen Khalid tease someone so earnestly, acting as if he were provoking the boy into doing what he wanted, but without the usual coldness reserved to this kind of machination. If anything, he thought, it felt like both were having fun and were on the exact same page.

Two days later, Felix Hugo Fraldarius won the seasonal tournament to the Almyran's population and the warriors' shock. That thin Fodlanese man, with his sunburnt skin and pretty face, the one so many had assumed to be useless in battle, had defeated all of their best warriors despite being disadvantaged and suffering from the heat much more than his opponents were.

Some would say that maybe it was that disadvantage, actually, that had made him win. Their people knew it was a friendly competition, and their sense of honor had stopped them from fighting with all of their strength. Anyone who would say that would usually end up with someone answering 'so, you mean that our warriors lost because they underestimated a Fodlanese man?'

The evening of his victory, Khalid gave him the spicy food he had promised, eyes shining with amusement. The cooks had been instructed to make it days before the due date, proof if needed be that he had never doubted his friend's victory.

Nader had the distinct impression that as far as that bet came, both of them had won.

The boys were back from hunting, Nader noticed from where he was teaching the palace kids how to hold their weapons. They were walking, their horses and wyvern charged with a remarkable bounty. He felt himself smile in appreciation. That would be good on their reserves. They also seemed unharmed and in high spirits, which meant that the trip had gone well.

When they came closer, he heard they were talking about bow forms and how different it was when hunting and when fighting. When you were hunting, Felix was saying, patience was the most important thing. Khalid laughed, asking him since when he was the patient kind.

He was elbowed as an answer, the two of them saluted Nader as he came to them with a smile, leaving his pupils for a few seconds.

"So, the trip went well I see," he winked.

"Sure," Khalid said airily, "by the way their was an assassination attempt on the way back, but don't worry, we took care of it."

And just like that Nader's blood turned to ice as he heard some of the kids and teens gasp in shock behind him. Oh. Blinded by the smile that had been turned Felix's way, he hadn't realized how cold his prince's eyes were. Foolish Nader, foolish.

"Did you..."

"We know who paid the man," Khalid added apparently without care, "it'll be dealt with."

"Seriously," Felix grumbled as if it was nothing important either, "after more than twenty-four years, you'd think they'd know it's a terrible idea."

"To be fair," Khalid breathed as an answer, "they had a few years to forget."

Nader asked, of course. He wanted to know the name, take care of it himself if needed be. They brushed him away, not unkindly, but firmly anyway and that was enough for him to understand.

Ilham.

It had always been common knowledge that the middle prince didn't like his younger brother, hated his Fodlanese origins, wanted him gone, especially since he had learnt said younger brother was their father’s heir. But for most of their life, it had stopped at jealousy, petty fights and bullying.

The first time he had committed the irreparable had been when little Khalid had come back home one day with two white wyverns. He had been back before the instructors who were supposed to show him how to hunt in the rocky mountains near the palace. At his ankle there had been a broken chain and a manacle, proof that he had been tied up. (Later the instructors had come with the unfortunate news that prince Khalid had been ambushed by wild animals. Their faces when the kid they thought they had killed had turned up just fine and with two wyverns had been priceless.)

In any case, while Ilham hadn't been behind the attempt on his younger brother's life, much like so many courtiers and other nobles, he had been shaken that said younger brother had been chosen by two wyverns at the age of fifteen. Neither of his elder brothers had tamed a wyvern yet, neither were counted as adults yet. Yet here he was, that pipsqueak they all hated. Two wyverns. Wild wyverns. White wild wyverns, the most sacred beings in Almyra. And they had chosen him.

Little Kahlid, truth being told, had barely even looked at the shocked and jealous stares sent his way, enamored as he was with his new companions.

And then just a few days later, during an outing, not even far from the palace, there had been another attempt. They shot at the wyverns. The small one, barely a foan, was shot down, gravely wounded, but alive. The bigger one dodged the shot and then rushed in front of her little master when he became the next target.

Nader had never heard as much rage in Khalid's voice as when he had been nursing his only remaining companion back to health, not trusting anyone else near her, venomously pronouncing words of hatred towards his brother. He knew it was Ilham. Nader didn't know how, but he had known it was Ilham who had asked for the two sacred beings to be shot down. They couldn't have a half-breed chosen by two white wyverns. If they did, then what did that say about what they believed? That he was unworthy of the throne and that the Gods could not favour him. Could they still say it when two of their most sacred creatures sat behind him willingly?

At the time, once his little Lujayn was healed, Khalid had admitted to Nader that he didn't believe the poachers sent to kill the two wyverns were supposed to aim at him and had only done so in desperation so the adult wyvern wouldn’t charge at them. He hadn't believed Ilham able to order his death despite everything.

And now, here they were, and it didn't even look like a surprise.

Nader had held fondness towards Ilham, once. He had prefered Jalil, truth being told, more honest and better with weapons, but that didn't mean he hadn't respected Ilham's sharp mind and his iron will. The boy had been ready to do anything to accomplish his goal.

That trait had stopped being admirable once his goal had become making his younger brother regret ever coming to the world.

"So anyway," Khalid added lightly, "just in case the assassin lied to us, I expect the investigation to be thorough. It won't do to have an assassination attempt on our dear ambassador after all, what kind of hospitality are we showing?"

On their...

Nader blinked, looking at both of them. Felix's frowning glare seemed to imply that no, he definitely hadn't been the target of this attempt. But why would Khalid lie about that?

Eventually, Felix nodded to the game they had brought back from the hunt.

"I'll take care of it later. We need to bring these inside first."

"You're right, this can wait. The food can't."

"I’m always right. You should know it by now."

There was laughter accompanying them back inside and Nader looked, trusting them, but worried anyway. When one of his pupils pulled on his sleeve to ask him for the rest of the lesson, he had to admit: he had completely forgotten about them, for a moment.

The air was cool that morning, cold even for summer standards. Nader wondered if it was worth wearing anything warmer when he would probably forget about the cold after one or two bouts of sparring.

When he went down the training grounds, the Fodlanese kid was there, often one of the first to rise from bed to rush there. Nader suspected it was because he found the temperatures more bearable to work out at that time. Seeing how even by this cold he was barely wearing anything, Nader figured he was right with a small smirk.

He was focused on a dummy, so Nader chose not to bother him, clapping one of his men's shoulders instead so they'd go get warmed up.

One hour later give or take, there were precipitated steps coming closer. Nader raised his head from the basin where he was splashing water on his face and saw Ilham and his bodyguard. There was a perturbed look on his face as he arrived and looked around.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"Hey Your Highness. Where is who?" Nader answered.

"Hey your Highness," Felix's cold voice cut through the air, "are you going to join us?"

It didn't take more for both Nader and Ilham to understand that whatever the reason for Ilham to come here was, it had been planted. And here the Fodlanese kid was, staring at the one who rumours pretended had tried to kill him. Ilham paled slightly, more in anger than anything else.

There was a challenge in Felix's voice, all those who were present had heard it. And now everyone was looking intently and Ilham could not refuse. He could not refuse or send his bodyguard to fight for him, both of those would make it look as if he was scared of fighting the Fodlanese man. Which, honestly, would be fair enough after his performance at the seasonal tournament, but even a sound defeat would be better than running in front of one so many still saw as their inferior.

"I hear your king is a good warrior," Ilham finally said, "do your best to make him proud, then."

"It'd be unfair to compare Dimitri to anyone else," Felix answered with a smile that held no joy, "I'll let you warm up."

Ilham wasn't a bad fighter by any means. He was maybe the weakest fighter of his family, but that didn't mean he wasn't already leagues above many others. His mastery of the axe wasn't on Jalil's level, but he was more powerful with it, and quite faster too. Felix had already fought Jalil and thus showed everyone that the speed he had shown during the tournament wasn't a fluke, something encouraged by the promise of a good meal. It was hard to say who, between Khalid and Ilham, was the fastest brother, but it didn't matter. Nader had seen Khalid and Felix train.

It might not have been by much, but Felix was faster than Khalid. And much stronger than almost any man Nader had ever met.

The fight lasted barely a few seconds. With an ease that seemed to come from fury more than anything else, Felix ended up kneeling above Ilham, his sword against his neck.

For a few seconds, those watching held their breath. Then Felix bent down, mumbling a few inaudible words to the prince's ear. Finally, he stood up and left, looking satisfied despite his eyes, still thunderous.

It was confirmation as far as anyone knew. Confirmation that their middle prince had faulted by attacking a foreign dignitary. No one had accused anyone, avoiding a scandal, but it was then that Nader understood why they had chosen that lie. While attacking an ambassador wasn't worse than attacking his own brother, it seemingly gave Felix legitimate grief with Ilham. Bluntly said, he could officially put him on his shit list without it looking like he was doing it for Khalid. This meant that Ilham had made one more dangerous enemy in the palace, and that this enemy wouldn't play the game the way he was used to. Khalid would not stoop as low as ordering an assassination on his own brother and was too used to the way the court worked to imagine anyone would take his side in case he tried to make the attempts public.

But Ilham's hatred of Fodlanese people was well-known, enough for it to seem possible that he would attempt to kill a man who had come from there. And Felix had just shown, publicly, that he would not lay down and die, nor lie in wait the way Khalid usually did.

It wasn't humiliation on Ilham's face when he left the training grounds. It was fear.

"So," Nader asked lightly at the kid during mealtime, "what did you say to His Highness for him to look that spooked."

Felix shrugged, looking unconcerned.

"I just asked him how good his bodyguard was."

In the kind of threatening voice that said the bodyguard in question wouldn't be good enough to protect him from Felix, he supposed, laughing despite himself.

"That was smart of the two of you," Nader hummed, "this way Khalid doesn't have to deal with his brother himself."

And now that he was known as one who would assassinate political figures, Ilham was losing quite a lot of points with the court. With this new obstacle, he would have to play the game better than he ever had, or give up on his bid for the throne. Another botched attempt like that one would mean death, Felix had made that obvious. And as everyone believed he had been the target and thus had legitimate grievances, no one would oppose that decision.

"This morning's shitshow wasn't planned by Claude," Felix answered with a low voice.

Oh. So this one Nader hadn't seen coming.

"You?" He mumbled in shock. "I didn't peg you as the manipulative kind."

"Not me," Felix rolled his eyes, "I'm decent at military strategy but this kind of political maneuvering is too much for me. No, there's another Von Riegan here. Looks like it's in the blood."

The queen. Well, Nader should have seen it. He muffled his laughter in his wine.

"I'm surprised she hasn't asked you to kill the twerp," he added, "I'm pretty sure the only reason she hasn't made an attempt on his life herself is because it'd be seen as a political bid, giving more advantages for her own son to take the crown."

"She did ask me if I was ready to do it."

"Are you?"

"Yes. If necessary."

He looked at the wine, pensive, but didn't take it.

"It would not be the first time," he said slowly, "that I would have to kill a friend's brother for said friend's safety."

His eyes were shining, reflecting the fire when he finally took the cup of wine and turned to Nader.

"No one should have to kill family," he added before taking a sip, "so I will do whatever is necessary so Claude never has to make that decision."

Maybe it was a bit late to realize it, but it was the first time Nader noticed that he really liked that kid.

"The King of Liberation raised his weapon," Nader exclaimed, "and as he was about to bring it down, destroying us and the world we stood on, one person stopped him! And not just anyone, men, oh no! It was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen!"

There were days when Nader suspected he'd always feel a sting of pain when he thought of the battle with Nemesis. He had lost many men there, as well as his wyvern. Beings that were dear to his heart and that he would always pay tribute to when he drank. One sip for the fallen, may their soul fly back home, as he used to say.

There was rightful anger in his voice, he knew, when he spoke of that man who had called himself king but had no right to do so. That fury was only tempered by the way he remembered Judith's arms, dragging him to safety.

"Prince Khalid's arrow struck true," he concluded with a savage contentment, "striking down the mountain-slaying monster and allowing for Fodlan's best swordswoman to finally end his reign of terror, once and for all!"

Cheers, applause and toasts. Just as usual, Nader thought with a small smile as he drank his own wine. The people always enjoyed the storyteller's tales, and despite their misgivings about Fodlan, they enjoyed these stories never heard before. What tale was more epic than one of triumphing against such overwhelming odds?

"So," he heard Felix snark, "that's what you're doing when you're not telling me to shoot your bow?"

"You mean when I'm not stopping you from crashing onto the ground?" Khalid answered with laughter in his voice.

The teasing tone was unmistakable in both of their voices, despite the usual grumble in the Fodlanese kid's. Nader smiled to himself, happy to see his little prince in such high spirits.

Still, he realized with a frown as he put down his wine, these words made him curious. He knew the kid could shoot a bow, yes, but why would have Khalid told him to shoot his bow? And what was that thing about crashing to the ground?

He didn't know what the kid had been doing in that battle either, but clearly, Khalid did. Thinking about it, it was now obvious how close the two were. So close it sincerely surprised him he had never noticed the boy before he came here. Yet, he had never heard his name before (or had he forgotten, it definitely was a possibility), had no idea how Khalid and him had struck that odd friendship of theirs.

He had no story to tell about the kid, and maybe that was starting to feel a bit vexing, to talk about so many of the heroes that had surrounded them during the war, but not about the one that had ended up coming here.

As they left the feast, Nader caught Khalid's sleeve. Felix had left some time ago already, the Queen had wanted to discuss something with him.

"Say, kiddo," he smiled, "I was wondering... Do you have any story to tell about your little friend? Something tells me he must have done his own lot of feats back then."

Khalid smiled as if he had expected him to ask for a long time.

"Were you too busy being smitten with Judith to notice him?" he teased knowingly.

"Maybe," Nader answered back, laughing.

"To answer your question, yes, I do. Tons of them. But I won't tell you."

"What?" Okay, Nader hadn't expected that. The refusal startled him as he racked his brain, trying to understand why in the gods Khalid wouldn't want him to know about it.

"You may have noticed that we're pretty close," his prince smiled wistfully, "as a result I had a... privileged view of most of his feats in battle." He tilted his head, trying to find the right words. "The war wasn't an easy time for anybody. But the truth is that Felix went through a lot of personal stuff, all the way through. And so, it's hard for me to see his heroic actions without linking them with things he'd much rather keep private. A third-party, who saw him being exceptional from an outside perspective would be better. Don't you agree?"

Nader was the curious kind, but not enough to want to push this kind of subject matter. And so he simply shrugged.

“Can you at least tell me about how exceptional we are speaking? How much will I be able to exaggerate it before it becomes too unbelievable.”

Khalid laughed.

“Well, as we like to say my friend… Don’t avert your eyes from the sun. May he blind you if he pleases.”

“You really hate that saying, don’t you?”

“I find it ridiculous, that doesn’t mean I hate it.” He winked. “And in that case? I honestly think it’s pretty fitting.”

One thing Nader always thought funny about young Felix was that the only ones he bowed down to were the royal couple. And Khalid, but Khalid hated that, so he usually didn't anyway. Even as he was now, sparring against a pretty impressed Jalil, there was no deference in his gestures or voice. He didn't treat him as anything more or less than the rest of the people. This unflinching behaviour, along with his fighting prowesses, had actually garnered him a lot of respect. Him and Fodlan in truth, as well as Khalid. For what did it mean for their prince to have earned the loyalty and friendship of someone with such harsh standards for respect? Unbending. As his blade was, some would say.

"And you should see the way he speaks to his king," Judith cackled when he told her during her visit, "that boy could glare a God into submission I swear.

Judith had come here to visit Khalid and Tiana, she said. And she had. She had happily scolded and teased Khalid, and then she and the Queen had spent the night talking with low voices and clapping each other’s backs.

But then, she had come to say hi, of course. A few times in fact and Nader would lie if he said it didn't make him incredibly giddy and happy to have her here.

"You know," Nader laughed, "during his first days here, many people were convinced he was only here because Khalid wanted him in his bed."

"Claude's type seems to be on the taller side," Judith snarked back despite the amusement twinkling in her eyes, "and I wonder how the boy's boyfriend would take such rumours."

The kid had a boyfriend? Well Nader knew a few enamored fighters who would be disappointed.

"Really?"

She probably mistook the question he had tried to ask because she shrugged.

"You should sit down and talk with Hilda Goneril if you want gossip," she added with a smirk, "apparently said boyfriend used to be the jealous type. Which coming from a flirt like him is pretty ironic. But hey, they seem to have worked it out anyway, so knowing him he's probably going to tease little Felix instead."

"You seem to know a lot about them," Nader noticed, smiling.

"Not as much as I could," she admitted, "but I was in class with the boy's father and my lands aren't far from his. Plus, little Hilda really likes talking and she seems to think he's hilarious."

"That's great," Nader smiled at her, "that means you have stories about what he did during the war."

"And you don't?" she asked, surprised. "Stories about everyone kind of made the rounds in the taverns and at the marketplace."

"We mostly kept to ourselves, between Almyrans," he admitted, "turns out for all our bravado we prefer to lay low when we're in potentially hostile territory."

She patted his back with a wink.

"Not entirely, obviously, mister Undefeated. But yeah, I have stories about all of young Claude's friends. Why do you want to know about him?"

"It's what I do," he answered genuinely, "I tell stories. It's frustrating not to have anything to tell about him when he's been here for months."

"Oh dear," she chuckled, "and here I thought it was for political purposes, so people would like him better."

"Believe me," he chuckled, "for a Fodlanese boy, people here like him just fine."

"I'm not that surprised, he tends to grow on you, that grumpy cat, he's just cute like that. Oh well, there is a lot I could tell you even if I don't remember the details. One of the more popular ones is how he shot Fraldarius's Pegasus down while on Lujayn's back, there's also one that Faerghus loves about how he and Sylvain - that's his boyfriend by the way - apparently managed to defeat one of these titanic things you saw in Shambhala without help when they were retaking Fhirdiad. Claude's classmates and our new Archbishop seem particularly fond of his heroic feats at Gronder field, though.

"Is that so?" Nader smiled, sitting at her side. "Tell me more."

The coronation was just a matter of time. Abrar had already publicly declared his intention to leave the throne to his youngest son and the process was on its way.

So, of course, as with every Almyran celebration, there was to be a feast. A gigantic one, bigger than any the country had seen in decades. There were guests too, coming from allied clans and noble Fodlanese families alike. There was laughter, cheering, and a pleasant lack of assassination attempts for the moment. There were familiar faces from the war and unknown ones. There was the King of Fodlan, as imposing as ever even without his usual furs, eye lightening up everytime it fell on Khalid. There was the famed boyfriend, red hair and teasing smirk as he embraced his lover for the first time in what seemed to be long, long months. There was the Archbishop, listening intently to the little God boy as he talked. There was that incredibly beautiful man that made every head turn, and at his side there was a man with white hair who had embraced their ambassador even tighter than his lover had. It was because someone called Manuela couldn't come with the baby, he had said, so he needed to hug him for three. There also was Hilda Goneril of course, the only one here who had already seemed entirely at ease despite the heat. She was laughing girlishly with that blue-haired sweetheart who had come to heal Nader's men many times without hesitation during the war.

It was nice, seeing them again, he decided with a smile. It was a good night. A wonderful night. Everything was going on fine and everything was perfect.

Some people started clapping and he felt a smirk come on his face. Ah, as usual. He couldn't say he complained.

"A story!" Someone bellowed. "Storyteller, tell us a story!"

Cheering, more clapping, in a rhythm as the assembly started yelling. A story! A story! Storyteller! Tell us a story!

Nader waited a few seconds, seeping his drink to prepare himself and basking in knowing these people liked what he told them. When he finally rose, the cheering got louder.

"Tell us the story of the Locket!" Someone screamed. "The last battle of the Locket!"

"Tell us something about King Khalid!" Another yelled.

"I want to know more about the King of Fodlan!" A third one said.

Many other requests, hopes flashing through the air. They would be answered, in time. For now, there was another one he had to tell. Because Judith had had many stories, and maybe Nader understood what Khalid meant when he said the boy was as blinding as the sun.

Blind admiration. That was what Khalid felt for him after all they had gone through together, purely and simply. The kind his young king had never shown anyone other than his fabled teacher before. And maybe the king he loved so much.

Yes, Nader thought with a smile, let him blind the rest of their audience too.

"I do have a story," he answered, "it's a special one my friends. Tonight! I will tell a story about a field, and friends on opposing sides. This is a story about how even a war could not cut such bonds! And about how friendship can prevail no matter the circumstances!"

There was a hush in the audience, captive to his voice, waiting to know more. Nader raised his glass towards the two kings and the friends surrounding them, his smile proud.

"Tonight," he said," I will tell you how our Fodlanese Ambassador once saved our High King!"