Chapter Text
The thing about weddings was that everyone wanted their moment to congratulate the bride and groom, even at one so small as this one. After all, it was not every day that the king’s own sworn shield - and a man of Duscur at that - and a Church woman known for saving the lives of dozens (if not hundreds) of soldiers during the war married.
So Annette tried not to lurk too close to Mercie, the bride and the only one she really knew here (except for a very brief acquaintance with her groom), but every time another guest chanced to glance in her direction she smiled, more than willing to make a new friend, and hoped they wouldn’t read any awkwardness in it.
She doubted she succeeded.
“Oh, you must be Miss Dominic.”
Annette jumped and looked up - high, though not as high as she had to for Dedue, Mercie’s new husband - into a face that everyone who ever lived in Fhirdiad would recognize. “Y-your Majesty!” Her heart skipped a nervous beat as she curtsied, and she tried to meet his eyes before remembering he only had one, and was she supposed to not look at the patch or look at it? Or maybe she shouldn’t meet his eyes (or eye) at all?
Too late, when he raised an eyebrow, Annette remembered to answer, “Oh, yes, that’s me! W-what brings you here, Your Majesty? To talk to me!” she scrambled to add. “I’m sure you were invited to Mercie’s wedding and aren’t just gatecrashing.”
To her relief King Dimitri smiled. “Ah, no, I was invited,” he said, “though I am sure Dedue and Mercedes are grateful to you for being on your guard.”
“Well, I, uh, have nothing else to do,” Annette said, and immediately regretted it. She hid her face behind her wine goblet and prayed for the floor to open and swallow her up and spit her out in the Valley of Torment.
“What a coincidence,” said the king. “Neither do I, but I find it very refreshing.”
“I guess being king is a busy job,” she mused. She managed to smile - his light teasing helped set her at ease, and once her shock faded a million and one half-remembered and secondhand stories filtered through her mind - and add, “Even if you probably do have some help.”
King Dimitri grimaced before offering, “Not as much as you would think. Hard to know who to trust so soon after a war, but your father has been—I mean—” His gaze darted away from her as he cleared his throat and Annette’s grip on her goblet tightened. “Why don’t I introduce you to someone I do trust?”
“Oh, you don’t have to!” she assured him, raising a hand.
“Please,” he said, already crossing the small banquet hall and beckoning for her to follow him. “You look lonely over here by yourself.”
Her face warmed; was it that obvious? “I, well, I haven’t been to Fhirdiad since early in the war,” Annette explained, “and Mercie is the only one I know well here, but everyone wants to talk to her…” She gestured towards Mercie nodding along and smiling politely while an elderly nun held her hands and spoke as her towering husband’s hand hovered protectively against her back.
“All the more reason to follow me!” King Dimitri said. “I promise you won’t regret it, although he might.”
“Who…” Still, curious despite herself - despite some dread in her abdomen that seemed convinced that he would force her to face her father again though she’d double and triple-checked the chapel for him - she followed.
His Majesty was kind enough to walk at her short-legged pace and even frowned the first time she stumbled over the hem of her skirts but, graciously, made no comment. When he turned his back again, Annette drained her glass, the better to avoid spilling it on herself or, worse, on someone else.
He led her directly to another man hovering just outside the banquet hall, looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else, leaning against the wall and with his arms crossed and a blank stare that fell on the king as they approached before sliding down and sideways to her.
This time when Annette tripped it was out of surprise, then shock, then sheer indignation, because apparently Mercie was not the only one at the wedding she knew, if the one she knew best.
Her empty hand curled into a fist at her side, and it took all her willpower not to scowl as His Majesty introduced her to Duke Felix Fraldarius.
He straightened from the wall, his arms falling to his sides as his lips parted in the faintest expression of surprise that told her he recognized her too.
Annette barely heard Dimitri introducing her - didn’t know if he introduced her as Sir Gustave’s daughter or Baron Dominic’s niece or even Annette Dominic - through her blood pulsing past her ears, even drowning out the noise and the music that streamed through the banquet hall’s wide-open doors. She just stared at Felix Fraldarius.
Time, it seemed, had been kind to him, with the exception of an unfortunate haircut that looked self-inflicted with a knife and the suggestion of a scar that split one of his dark eyebrows almost cleanly in half. He was still a good head taller than her, still wore a sword at his hip (despite being a wedding guest), and still exuded that same self-assured air that had once so incensed her.
Except now it might even have been earned. Veteran of a dozen or more battles, reputedly bested the fallen Adrestian Emperor’s favorite henchman and general in combat, and recently made the head of one of the most powerful and oldest houses in Fodlan.
And in that, he would not be the same man - boy, really - that spoke so foolishly to her when they met the first (and last) time.
Yet Annette narrowed her eyes at him, at least until King Dimitri noted, “I’m beginning to think you’ve met before.”
She managed a neutral “yes” at the same instant Felix Fraldarius - what was she supposed to call him now? - said, “Once.”
“Perfect!” said the king.
Annette didn’t have the heart to contradict him, not that he gave her the chance. He excused himself, claiming to be in search of a drink or a snack, and left her more or less alone with a villain.
Her hands felt all sweaty while her stomach flipped, and she debated throwing the contents of her goblet at him (again) before sprinting back into the banquet hall and seeking shelter in numbers until she remembered she drained it earlier just so she couldn’t spill it.
The Annette of a moment ago obviously lacked foresight.
Felix rested his hand on the hilt of his sword as if he wanted to draw it, though his gaze drifted past her. “You...who invited you?” he finally asked.
“I’ve as much right to be here as you do!” Annette snapped.
He jerked back as if she struck him, and she felt a little guilty over how quickly her temper slipped away from her. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t,” he said. “I just meant, which one invited you?”
“Which—oh.” Heat rushed to her face, and she resisted an urge to bury it in her hands as the anger drained from her. “Mercie did,” she said. “I mean, Mercedes invited me. We studied together at the Royal School of Sorcery.”
Felix nodded as if he’d suspected as much.
“I guess you must be a friend of Dedue’s,” Annette said, for fear her opportunity to escape was past and before they could lapse into a long and awkward silence.
He crossed his arms, fingers tapping. “No,” he said, “Mercedes invited me.”
Her jaw dropped in surprise. “You know Mercie?”
“I guess we’re old classmates too,” he said, shrugging. “Isn’t that a coincidence.”
Annette’s first thought was that Mercie had betrayed her for this fiend, at least before she remembered that when she recounted the incident at that awful party early in the war she never mentioned a name. The villain who insulted my uncle she’d called him.
And now he was apparently the villain that my best friend befriended at the Officers’ Academy and liked enough to invite to her small wedding as well as a fiendish duke the king himself wanted me to meet.
Perhaps this was her punishment for throwing her drink at him five years ago, though from the stiffness in his posture it seemed she wasn’t the only one suffering it.
The silence that lay thickly between them was more agonizing than it had any right to be. Felix - His Grace? Duke Fraldarius? - crossed his arms and stared at the opposite wall, and Annette tried not to stare at him. Her fingernails clicked a rhythm against her glass, until he narrowed his eyes at her.
Felix drawing his sword and stabbing her would probably be less uncomfortable than this.
She was on the verge of cobbling together an excuse to leave him and return to the banquet hall when he asked, “Why weren’t you at the Officers’ Academy our year? You look like you’re about the right age.”
Annette’s eyes widened as they fell on him, surprised by his curiosity when he’d seemed so...uninterested. And though she’d never claim to know him well, she doubted he was one for simple courteous smalltalk. “I...um, I needed another year at the School of Sorcery to strengthen my application,” she explained, “but then the Empire declared war on the Chuch so I obviously wasn’t going to be able to attend, unfortunately.” She smiled, though her chest tightened at the reminder of a missed opportunity.
What could she have done, what could she have accomplished, if only she’d been a student there?
She would probably better know how to navigate this conversation, for one, and for another perhaps she could’ve persuaded—
“I suppose your delay spared you the Empire attacking Garreg Mach,” Felix said, something almost somber in his tone, “among other things.”
Annette pressed her lips together but couldn’t help retorting, “I wanted to fight on the Kingdom’s behalf.”
His gaze snapped to hers for a heartbeat, but it was unreadable. She couldn’t even find any reproach or accusation in it, despite her words laying perfect bait for a repeat of their first and last encounter five years ago.
“All the western lords are cowards for rolling over and bending to Cornelia’s and the Empire’s whims.”
“Or they’re just trying to protect their people from the fighting, like my uncle.”
“Your uncle is a fool if he thinks the best way to protect his people from the Empire is to bow to a would-be tyrant.”
His eyes slipped past her. “One more mage wouldn’t have brought us victory any sooner,” he finally said, “and likely as not there will be another war to fight before long.”
Annette blinked, more startled by his concession (if it could be called that) than by his ominous words. “Why would you say something like that?” she wondered. “We’re at peace.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than her face warmed at her own naivete. She jerked her face away so he couldn’t see her embarrassed blush. “I mean, the hope is that we’ll be at peace,” she amended. “That’s what King Dimitri wants, isn’t it? And every lord that defected swore their fealty, so…”
“You dislike me, don’t you?”
She gave up on predicting what Felix - or Duke Fraldarius, because villain or no she should not be thinking of him in such a familiar way - would say and only frowned. “I...is it...so obvious?” she said sheepishly.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable (which made two of them), before admitting, “It was a guess.”
“Well, yes,” Annette said. “I do dislike you.” Then, because one did not confess such feelings without some guilt attached, she added, “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, his expression unchanged despite her words, then said, “There’s your answer.”
“My answer?” she said. “For what question?”
“If you dislike me for something I said five years ago,” Felix said, “then it would be naive to hope mere words and promises will erase five years of war and centuries of grievances.”
Irritation flickered within her. Could he really compare their...cold war of words to a true war of swords and spilled blood? “It’s not nearly the same,” Annette said. “For a start, at least those lords apologized, even if their apologies won’t undo any damage.”
Felix paled. “I—”
“Well?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Maybe I’ll forgive you if you apologize, Your Grace.”
His jaw twitched before he said, “How can I apologize for something I don’t regret?”
Annette’s lips parted in a surprise that washed away any frustration he’d incited in her so far. “How can you—you called my uncle a coward for protecting his people!”
He pinched his eyes shut, as if he couldn’t stand to see her reproach (or feared it), before saying, “I understand his...reasons just as I don’t agree with his choice.”
“Oh, is that it?” Anger, hot and boiling, gripped her. “Then I suppose you must be the sort who would choose your own egotistical loyalty over innocents who can’t defend themselves!”
Felix flinched, and Annette had a quick, frightening thought of what he could do if she truly angered him, or if a punishment existed for disrupting her best friend’s wedding by shouting at a duke. But then he sighed and said in an almost strangled-sounding voice, “You just said yourself that you wanted to fight on the Kingdom’s behalf. How can you countenance what your uncle did?”
Her fury deflated with his bald question. “I never said I...agreed with it,” she said. “Maybe if I was in his place I wouldn’t have done the same. But I understand it.”
He nodded before a sardonic little chuckle burst from him. “It’s some kind of curse making choices for more people than just yourself.”
“I—do you ever make sense?” Annette wondered. She couldn’t follow this conversation anymore; it felt like they were having two different arguments.
“Do you?” he retorted.
A smile poked at her lips, unwitting and unwanted. “Of course I do!” she said. “Though maybe not to a villain like you.”
Felix’s brow furrowed - surely her little epithet wasn’t actually hurtful? - but he shook his head. “Maybe I’m not a villain so much as a hypocrite,” he mused, voice so low Annette wasn’t sure she was meant to hear.
Still, she found herself...more than a little curious, but before she could realize a polite way to ask what he meant, a face that would’ve been far more welcome a mere few moments ago poked out of the banquet hall doorway.
“Oh, Annie!” Mercie exclaimed. “That’s where you went!” Her gray eyes drifted to her...companion. “And Felix! I didn’t know you were acquainted, although now that I think on it I would’ve loved to introduce you.”
Annette scowled. What was it about her - and His Grace - that suggested to everyone from Mercie to the damn king of Fodlan that they ought to meet? “Um, Mercie?” she said as she cleared her throat. “This is that...fiend I told you about forever ago? At that party in Fhirdiad I went to at the beginning of the war?”
Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth to muffle a delicate gasp. “Oh my,” she said. “I...I’m so sorry, Annie. I didn’t know you were talking about Felix.” She offered a smile. “But really, he’s not so bad once you get to know him!”
“I would appreciate if you didn’t speak about me as if I’m not standing right here,” Felix said.
“I’m sorry,” said Mercie.
Annette glared at him; what did Mercie even have to apologize for?
“It’s fine,” he said, looking uncomfortable as his posture stiffened - it was almost baffling to her, how he shifted from indignant and exasperated with her to abashed with Mercie.
She did have that effect on people.
“I should be leaving anyway,” he added with a shrug. “Congratulations, Mercedes.”
“Won’t you at least stay for the cake?” Mercie asked.
Felix gave her a look that suggested she’d just posed a ridiculous question. “That’s not much of an incentive,” he said.
“At least finish your conversation with Annie!” she suggested. “You both looked quite riveted!”
To her amazement, his cheeks tinted pink. “I doubt she wants much more to do with me,” he said. Then, to Annette’s complete and utter shock, he smiled.
It wasn’t a very wide one of course, but it didn’t carry the arrogance of a smirk. It was just a simple uptick of lips, so subtle she might not have noticed it if she hadn’t been glaring at him.
It was a rather nice smile, she couldn’t help thinking. If only he smiled more than he scowled, he might actually be pleasant and polite (unless he opened his mouth).
Felix nodded at Mercie before his eyes drifted over Annette. There was something almost...contemplative in them, as if he was trying to read her thoughts, or perhaps measure her more than their encounter had allowed him. She met his gaze levelly despite the heat rising to her cheeks.
“Take care the wind doesn’t bite off your nose while you’re in Fhirdiad, Miss Dominic,” he said then. “It’s cold at night.” With that, he spun on his heel and walked away, cape swishing with the motion.
And Annette could only stare at him with the memory of their first meeting and that awful party consuming her, and wonder how the fiend still remembered enough to mock her.
“Shivering to my toes, shivering down to my bones, the wind bites off my nose, the wind—”
“If you’re so cold, why are you outdoors? Or is the cold easier to bear than Cornelia’s endless prattle about unity?”