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Felix has always detested those who follow blindly. He has never wanted to be his father, a fanatical follower of a dead king. He is himself; he is not Glenn. He will wield his sword and stand firm by the sides of those whom he serves, but he will not die for them. He will not follow them heedlessly, long past the point of reason.
Or so he thought, until Dimitri died.
When Felix first heard the news of Glenn’s death, all those years ago, his first thought was not one of grief, but relief: Thank the Goddess it wasn’t Dimitri. The thought would haunt him for the rest of his life, immense in its magnitude but a secret from the world.
Then, Edelgard tore his world asunder, and they were plunged into war. Felix has always thought that the worst day of his life would be Glenn’s funeral - his father’s silence, Dimitri’s empty gaze, Ingrid’s sobs, and the burning realization inside of Felix that something in him was irrevocably broken. Now, hearing the news of Dimitri’s death at the hands of Cornelia, he knows that his childhood thoughts were wrong.
This is the worst day of his life.
He sets his shield down with a heavy thump, staggering over to the side of the room as if he is the one that’s been struck down, not Dimitri. There is nothing certain in the world. If this can happen, anything is possible.
There’s no point hoping for better, and no point believing the world can be saved.
-
In 1185, Felix returns to Garreg Mach with Ingrid and Sylvain at his side. Ingrid insists that the war can still be won, and that there’s a purpose hidden somewhere in all this bloodshed. Sylvain knows better, but continues to play the ever dutiful son.
Felix only ever feels something when there’s hot blood spraying onto his face. To think, he finally understands Dimitri, and yet it has done neither of them any good.
It’s not until they draw close to the center of the conflict at Garreg Mach that Felix understands what is happening. The hulking mass of a man in the center of the battlefield is not a monster they’re working to defeat, but a monster they’re working to protect. It’s Dimitri, missing an eye and with matted hair. His mouth is curled in a battle cry and Areadbhar shines bright at his side, cutting through enemy bandits as though they’re nothing but ghosts.
Felix’s blood sings, and he slashes down his next opponent with a smile on his face.
After the dust has settled and the bodies are cleared of the rubble, the gravity of the situation finally sinks into Felix’s bones. Dimitri is alive. All is not lost.
Dimitri is alive, and yet he is further from Felix than he has ever been before.
His eyes are dead and soulless, and he stands hunched and alone at the edge of their campfire. He rebuffs their efforts to speak to them, even Byleth’s. When he walks away to stand in the remains of the cathedral, none of them follow.
Felix watches him walk away and feels the familiar sting of regret.
-
In the morning, Byleth gathers them for a war council and they begin the tiresome process of putting the monastery back together.
Felix helps, then quietly slips away when they break for lunch. His footsteps click on the marble floor of the church, echoing around what’s left of the building. Dimitri doesn’t move.
Felix stops just behind him. “Say something.”
The King of Faerghus does not move.
Felix swallows against the bile in his throat. “Say something.”
“You were right.” Dimitri’s voice is deeper than it was five years ago, scraping like rocks against Felix’s already chaffed heart.
Felix’s hand goes to the hilt of his sword.
“I am a beast,” Dimitri says. “A boar.”
He doesn’t turn around.
The worst part of it is that Felix agrees. Dimitri is a monster. They all are. Dimitri has murdered, and will kill again. He reeks of blood, and there is nothing about him worth saving.
Felix would kneel before him nonetheless.
“I thought you were dead,” he snaps.
“I may as well be.”
Felix scowls. “I was ready to walk to Enbarr and kill Edelgard myself when I heard you were dead. Shut the hell up.”
Dimitri doesn’t respond.
Felix wants to touch him. He wants to grab Dimitri and shake him until he’s the same boy he knew as a child, until everything is back to what it was at the start. He wants to spar with Dimitri as they once did as children, foolishly and with little knowledge of actual form or technique for their wooden swords. He wants to look at his friends and not know the best way to kill them.
He wants it back.
Felix’s hand curls tighter around his sword. “Say something!” he barks for a third time.
Dimitri sighs.
Felix grabs Dimitri’s arm without thinking, his fingers holding tight to his gauntlet. Dimitri doesn’t reply, and Felix grips his arm even tighter. He feels like he’s hanging on for dear life, and when Dimitri glances down at him, Felix’s heart stops in his chest.
Their gazes lock, and Felix wishes he knew the words to explain what he wanted to Dimitri. He wishes he knew the words to explain it to himself. “Don’t die,” Felix snaps.
Dimitri’s eye is cold and unfeeling. He’s carved from marble, from stone, a painting in one of the art museums Sylvain used to drag him to.
He’s too beautiful for words.
Felix yanks his hand away, his palm burning beneath his glove.
Dimitri’s gaze returns to the rubble. “Don’t haunt me,” he says, emotionless and dreary as ever.
Felix swallows. “I won’t die. Even if I did, my ghost would never follow you.”
Dimitri doesn’t say anything, but Felix can swear the tension in his shoulders eases. Whether Felix is deluding himself or not, he can’t say.
He allows himself one desperate, unfiltered moment to gaze at Dimitri’s back. When the moment is over, Felix takes a breath, steels himself, and walks to the mouth of the Cathedral. He may not know what to say to Dimitri, but he can do this. He can watch over him, and guard him as his family has done so before him.
There is devotion without death, even if it’s hard for him to see it in the midst of this war. He will not follow blindly, but he will follow. He will follow.