Work Text:
“You’re telling me that you don’t know any spells?” Annette asked incredulously.
Felix grunted, eyes narrowing, “Need I repeat myself? I don’t.”
“...Are you sure?”
“Ask again and I’m leaving.”
She gasped, aghast. “You can’t just leave! You’ve barely touched your dinner!”
“Then let me eat it.”
Annette pouted, leaning back in her chair. Felix matched her energy with a scowl before aggressively spearing his fork into the undeserving pheasant on his plate. She didn’t say another word, and the longer Felix went without interruption, the more he relaxed. The more he relaxed, the easier it was for her to sense it.
It was hard to believe Felix didn’t know how to cast a single spell with the staticky crackle of magic wafting off of him. Yet, he denied it with such conviction she couldn’t believe he was lying. Was some daring mage trying to pull a prank on the Blue Lions' notoriously cranky swordsman?
Then again, Felix was a villainous sort, unwilling to forget her embarrassing singing no matter what she offered. Maybe he lied just as easily as Sylvain. Although, he didn’t seem to have patience for that sort of behavior…
Ugh. So troublesome.
Annette had half a mind to risk asking again when the liar himself showed up in person. Sylvain took the seat to Felix’s left as if his bones had simply given up on supporting him. Felix glanced his way, expression sour, until Sylvain forked over a portion of his pheasant in exchange for Felix's boiled carrots. Had it been anyone else, the exchange would have been funny. Maybe even cute.
And Felix was a nasty, short-tempered villain. He certainly wasn’t cute—that would be ludicrous. Outright lunacy.
Right?
Sylvain caught her eye, snuck in a pointed look at Felix, and waggled his eyebrows.
Flustered, she mouthed, What?
The coy expression dropped from his face and he rolled his eyes, which was simply uncalled for. No wonder he and Felix were friends, there wasn't a shred of tact between them!
“From the line,” Sylvain simpered, “it looked like you guys were having a… cheerful discussion. Trouble in paradise?”
Annette squeaked, “Sylvain!”
“What worthless drivel are you spouting now?” Felix groused. “Don’t spoil my appetite.”
Conspiratorially, Sylvain leaned across the table to loudly whisper, “He’s a real charmer, isn’t he? Always has a way with words. Been like this since his voice started cracking, and let me tell you, that was hilari—ow! I've only got so many toes you can break, Felix ”
Unimpressed, he replied, “Eat your food before you find yourself eating my boot, idiot.”
Sylvain grimaced, sitting back properly. “Remember when you only came up to my ankles?"
"No."
"Hey, listen, Annette," he badgered. "Believe it or not, he used to be such a sweet little thing. Remember all that stuff I told you about the prince being a Nervous Nellie? When Fewix here was wielding butter knives instead of swords, he was so much worse. The waterworks on this one! Couldn't ever say no to him and ended up spoiling him rotten."
Before Annette could process that (it was not cute! It was not possible!), Felix proved that he could still wield a butter knife as a lethal weapon and stabbed through the meat on Sylvain's plate with enough force to shake the table. He dragged it across the plate with a horrendous noise that made her clap her hands over her ears and drew the odious attentions of students just trying to enjoy their dinner in peace.
"Living in the past hasn't done anyone a lick of good," Felix criticized. "Stop talking."
"Oh, don't be such a party pooper!" Sylvain whined. He laughed at Felix's venomous glare for half a minute before he cut himself off abruptly.
The fine hairs on Annette's arms rose as a static shock zipped over her. It was the same crackling magic she felt coming from Felix.
Felix, oblivious to his magical projection, pushed his chair back and growled, "That's enough. I'm done here."
The students milling around the dining hall gave him a wide berth as he stomped out into the gardens.
"Touchy," commented Sylvain.
"Say, Sylvain?" she queried. "You've known Felix for a long time, right?"
"For sure," he confirmed. "Friends from the cradle, or whatever. Practically brothers. Practically married, but don't worry, I don't plan on stealing him."
"Who was asking…? Um! Anyway, you'd know if Felix could do magic, right?"
"Felix? Magic?" Sylvain laughed again, but it was too sharp to be authentic.
"I'm serious!"
"So am I," he stated, and when he looked into Annette's face she realized just how much of a liar he really was. His reputation for breaking hearts was nothing compared to this: a jaunty persona, a lie of a life. The way Sylvain looked at her now, grin dropped and eyes dark, she would have never guessed it was the same Sylvain she'd seen soaked with well water after a girl caught him two-timing and tossed her bucket in his face last week.
He was full of dangerous potential and he knew it.
"You noticed it, didn't you?" he asked in a low voice. "His thunder magic. Shouldn't expect anything less from you, I suppose."
Sylvain pulled Felix's knife from his dinner and used it to cut his pheasant into manageable pieces, acting as though this was a simple dinner conversation and not concerning Annette.
"Felix's father tried to get him into white magic once, but Fe's a spiteful little fucker," he continued, "and he's never cast anything as long as I've known him. But that… It's clear he has a latent talent for black magic, but something's up with it. I don't know what it is, but it's getting stronger and I don't like it."
"Is it… hurting him?" she asked.
"I don't know.”
Which meant Felix, who’d been right there in front of her, could have been suffering and none of them would have ever known.
"H-how can I believe you?" Annette stammered, shaken. “You lie to girls all the time!”
A smile finally returned to Sylvain's face, rueful and tired. "I don't value a lot of things from our cesspool kingdom," he said, the bite of anger in his tone startling her, "but trust that I tell the truth about the people I care about. You read me, Annette?"
"S-sure," she answered. Slowly, like Sylvain would snap his teeth at her fingers if she moved too quickly, Annette reached for Felix's abandoned plate. "I'll keep an eye on him?"
"You're a real peach," Sylvain complimented, the shift in his disposition like night and day; his tone had lightened and his expression was once more masked by false pleasantry. The transformation hurt to witness. "Gonna bring him that?"
Forcing down her unease, Annette nodded. "He left so much. Do you think the kitchen staff will mind me taking the whole plate?"
"I'll tell 'em I didn't see anything. Go ahead."
When Annette got to Felix's dorm, she wasn't wholly surprised to find he wasn't there. He was probably at the training grounds, stabbing all his frustrations out on a training dummy or two (or, worse, unsuspecting classmates). It would be improper to enter his room without permission, but she wasn't going to stand around with a cold plate until Felix returned at whatever odd hour he deemed fit. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she cracked open his doors and slipped inside.
It was a simple mission, she told herself as she walked towards his desk. Leave the plate and leave.
It would have been easy if Felix's dorm was normal. If it looked lived in.
Instead, Annette was hard pressed to think Felix had brought anything but the clothes on his back to Garreg Mach. The dorm looked as pristine as hers had when she first moved in. If his room was this impersonal and lonely, she couldn't blame him for spending so much time outside of it.
Annette set the plate down. Mission accomplished, she turned to leave, but something caught her eye. She reached beside the plate to pick up a small piece of metal, turning it to better catch the dimming light. It was a black spur, no different in size or make than any other, with boxy, hairline cracks along the surface like it had been struck by lightning.
Instantly, the same static charge she felt at dinner washed over her, chased by a wave of nausea.
Hurriedly, Annette set the spur back down and her stomach settled. Whatever magic clung to the spur was alarmingly volatile and she was reluctant to let Felix keep it, but she wasn't going to just take it. She'd have to talk to him.
Surely, there would be time.
War came. No one ever realized how little sand remained in the hourglass until it was empty.
Felix's letters stopped four years into the war, but every report she heard after said that Fraldarius was still standing strong, defended by its duke in the south and by his son in the west and, when Gautier called for aid, the north. Felix had written only once about Sylvain's mysterious disappearance before he stopped writing together.
He suspected it was a defection, which shook Annette to her core. Just imagining meeting him on the opposite side of a battlefield brought her heartache, and for someone so close to Felix, it must have been devastating for him to come to that conclusion. But his letters stopped, taking all his thoughts with them, and she desperately prayed for one more, just a small token of their connection—a light in the darkness.
Instead, King Dimitri sent letters of his own, and a week later Annette stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her fellow Blue Lions before his throne. It was good to see them all again, even if weariness hung from them like ill-fitting rags. Still, there was a brightness in their eyes that made her smile.
Sylvain's absence was noticeable.
"It is a shame we have not found him yet," Dimitri said solemnly. "I hope that wherever he has gone, he has not suffered."
Annette stared at him, confused. Had Felix never shared his suspicions? There was no way he would let them fester inside of him for over a year, right?
"I'm sure you're all wondering why I summoned you here," Dimitri proceeded. "With the Empire absorbing the Leicester Alliance, we must reinforce our strongholds against greater enemy numbers. Gilbert?"
Ah, her father. Not once during the last five years had he returned home, remaining steadfast at Dimitri's side. Annette couldn't blame him, not with the war menacing their doorsteps, but on days when she felt less charitable, she selfishly wanted to. Maybe she’d take Felix aside and tell him about it; they’d commiserate and have a good laugh.
Gilbert stepped forward and declared, "We have intelligence that indicates Imperial forces will advance on Fhirdiad by the moon's end. While Edelgard holds Garreg Mach, there's a distinct possibility of an attack from the mountains, but we can't rule out an approach from Ailell or Arianrhod. As trusted friends and powerful generals in the Kingdom’s resistance, it has been decided that you are to be redistributed along these three points to support our forces there."
"Spreading us thin, huh?" Felix retorted, and although his tone was derisive, the rasp in his voice was lovely to hear again. "Might as well slit our throats here. Then Edelgard won't need to paint the floors red after she topples us like children’s playthings."
"Your father agrees with the plan," Gilbert responded coolly.
"My father is a fool. If anyone cared to listen to me for the last nine years, they'd know this."
Dimitri cleared his throat. "Duke Fraldarius has volunteered to take Ailell," he stated. "Ingrid, you shall be joining him. Your pegasus and battalion can ride above the flames easier than his soldiers can cross the fields on foot."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Ingrid replied. Annette admired her resolve, but was secretly glad she wouldn't have to take on the lava fields.
"Dedue and I shall remain here with His Majesty and Lady Rhea," Gilbert announced. "Mercedes, you are to join us."
Grimly, Mercedes nodded. Her job was unspoken, but everyone knew it; should anything to Fhirdiad, she was to prioritize saving the lives of the king and archbishop.
"Felix, Annette, Ashe," Dimitri called, "Your post is Arianrhod."
"The Silver Maiden?" Felix scoffed. "What a waste. Send me to Ailell. Perhaps with the heat I'll actually break a sweat."
"Arianrhod will be a difficult target for enemy forces to claim, it's true," acknowledged Dimitri, "but if Adrestia does conquer it, it will also be difficult to take back. Keep it safe for us, Felix."
Felix clicked his tongue, but didn't protest further.
A static sensation sparked down her spine.
"You have two weeks to prepare. Make use of anything Fhirdiad has to offer, my friends. May the goddess bring you back to me when the dust settles."
Two weeks wasn't a lot of time and Annette didn't want to waste it on lecturing Felix about his negligent letter writing. There were other issues in need of addressing.
She prowled through the castle like a hound on the hunt. Finally, she reached the guest wing, knocking on all the ornate double doors until a set of them swung open to reveal Felix's familiar scowl.
"I need to talk to you," she said.
"About what? We've only been here for half a day."
The way you haven't even said 'hello.' Your latent magic. The year you left me in the dark. Did our correspondence truly mean so little that you could throw it away without a thought?
Okay, maybe she was bothered about the letters.
Annette hissed, "Sylvain."
For a brief moment, Felix looked furious. Then, his expression flattened and he motioned her into the room, as if he had forgotten he was angry.
"Why haven't you said anything?" she pressed when the doors clicked shut behind her. "About what you think he did?"
And then Felix answered in a way that struck her cold, "Because it doesn't matter."
"W-what do you mean it doesn't matter?"
"I mean it doesn't matter. Better everyone thinks he's dead in a ditch in Sreng than parading around as Edelgard's puppet knight."
Shakily, Annette argued, "He was important to you. Of course he matters."
Dull eyes met hers. The static sensation returned, building up and up until she thought a lightning strike might come down on her head. Annette never imagined his magic would grow to be so powerful; it was a storm in his veins, a maelstrom spun into his chest.
No, not just his chest, she realized as she read the flow of magic. The storm churned, but at the eye was his heart.
"Do you think anything matters anymore?" she asked carefully, dreading the answer.
The magic pulsed.
"Not much is worth getting that invested in these days."
It roiled.
Somehow, Felix had managed to turn his own magic inward in order to shield himself from painful emotions. The greater the hurt, the more turbulent the storm grew, eating his feelings like a candle burning at both ends.
Her pulse jumped when she realized It was only a matter of time before he couldn't feel anything at all and the thunder magic destroyed what it was trying to protect.
Annette shook her head and gripped the sides of her dress to keep her hands from shaking. "I see. Don't worry, Felix. I'll fix this."
"Fix what?"
Brushing past him on her way to exit the room, she said, "Come find me tomorrow."
"Annette."
Whatever conversation he wanted to have, Annette was not going to be able to have it without bursting into tears. She left quickly, shutting him inside.
After taking two stumbling steps away from the door she noticed a servant across the hall, pretending they weren't staring with a blush dusting their cheeks.
Ah, darn. Annette had just left a man's room in an awful hurry, hadn't she? That was…! How inappropriate!
"It's not like that!" she claimed with a huff. Then, before she or the servant scared each other off, she asked, "Can you show me to the castle's library? I have work to do."
"Have you slept at all?"
Annette startled, frantically shoving her finger into her book so she didn't lose her place. She blinked her stinging eyes until they focused on her visitor.
"Felix?!"
He frowned. "You told me to find you. No one saw you at breakfast."
At the mention of food, Annette's stomach grumbled angrily. "Breakfast?" she mumbled to herself. "Oh, gosh, Annie what have you done?"
Felix dug into his coat and pulled out a bundle wrapped in one of the castle's fine napkins. "Scones," he explained, "so that you don't drop. What were you reading about so intently that it kept you up through the night? And what about it is supposed to fix anything?"
Her reply was a gamble. "Why do you care?” she asked and tried not to feel bad. “I'm not being mean, I promise. I just need an answer."
For a moment Felix looked so offended she thought he was going to throw the bundle at her, but the expression didn’t hold. He lowered himself into a chair and let the napkin parcel thunk onto the table.
The hairs on her arms rose.
"I… feel like I should," he admitted, "because we're friends."
If her last question was a gamble, then the next one was a double-edged sword. "So you're not worried about me? Are you performing? Or merely obligated?"
A real expression snapped onto his face: shock. Had he never been curious about his sudden apathy? Or had this been going on for so long that he was convinced it was his own sordid disposition?
"Obligated? Of course I’m not… Am I?" Felix murmured, the confusion in his voice a stranger to her. "Is that why…?"
"Something’s wrong with you, Felix, and I think it's been wrong for a long time," Annette told him, "but I've got two weeks to help. I won’t waste them!"
Her stomach growled, impossibly loud in the library.
"Um, after I eat. Thanks for the scones, Felix," she mumbled, embarrassed.
The goddess granted her wish for a light in the darkness: Felix huffed out a poor excuse of a laugh. It was quiet, barely an exhale, but it was a glorious sign of hope.
He wasn't too far gone yet.
Days passed and they developed a routine. Felix would herd Annette to breakfast before following her to the library. They would pour over the shelves and scribble notes on dozens of sheets of parchment until lunch, when Felix would shuffle her along to eat once more. Afterward, Annette would join him at the palace's training grounds, where he would spar with anyone that braved to challenge him. Then, Annette would order him to wash up for dinner, and when they were fed they'd return to the library. To end the night, Felix would march her back to her room to sleep, and in the morning they did it all over again.
Annette enjoyed the time they spent together. If things were better, she wondered if they could have gone and done more outside the castle (and, if she entertained the girlish imaginings that haunted her throughout the day, if those outings could be considered dates).
Two dark shadows hanging over them tempered her enjoyment, however; they weren't making any progress and their deployment date was approaching faster than she liked. According to the crossed-off days on her calendar, they only had half a week before heading to Arianrhod.
"I yelled at a knight today," Felix mused during their after-dinner library time, "but I don't think I was even angry. It was expected of me, so I did it. Is it bad that I can't feel anger, or is it everyone's blessing? You can tell the truth, I probably won't care at this point."
"Worry seems to have fallen to the wayside, too," Annette mused sadly. "I'm sorry this is happening to you, Felix, even if you can't appreciate it right now. Do you remember how you felt about things back at Garreg Mach?"
Felix hummed in thought. "The world was… bigger, unlike now. I could definitely feel things back then. Sylvain was annoying. The Boar was annoying. Everyone was annoying… except you."
Annette felt her cheeks heat. "O-oh?"
"Mm. I liked it when you sang. It made me happy, I think."
She remembered scolding and bribing him back then, humiliated that he'd caught her singing her silly songs and convinced he would blackmail her. Obviously, he hadn’t, but Annette never considered that he'd honestly just liked her singing; that it had meant something to him.
Felix continued, "I don't remember what it feels like to like things. That's… scary, right? But I don't remember how to be afraid, either. I don't know how much of me is left, Annette."
"I'll save you, Felix," Annette pledged. "Don't give up on this yet."
"Why are you trying so hard?" he asked. "With how the war is going, Edelgard is going to knock on Fhirdiad's front gates sooner rather than later and we're all going to die anyway. It won't matter."
"Fatalistic, aren’t you? Look, Felix,” she said, “you may not be able to like things right now, but that doesn't mean I can't, and I like you. So I’m going to keep on trying, got it?”
Immediately, Annette’s lips locked. It wasn't… a real confession, she reasoned, because it was the wrong L word, but her heart rate jumped as if she'd proposed. Frantically, she searched Felix's face for any sign he'd misinterpreted her words, terrified of his disgust or overwhelming apathy, but she saw none.
Instead, Annette thought he looked confused.
"You like me? Even like this?" he questioned.
Drawing from wells of confidence she didn't have, Annette affirmed, "Yes, of course."
Felix's hands began to fidget. He wasn't wringing his fingers—no, he'd never had that particular nervous habit and she doubted he could develop it now—but was instead spinning a small piece of black metal between his thumb and forefinger. With a particularly harsh spin, Annette felt his magic flare like a heatwave, blowing against her and exuding enough force to rustle their notes.
"I don't know how to respond to that," he muttered. "I'm trying to be honest so you can have accurate data, but I don't know what I'm supposed to—"
"Stop!" Annette ordered. She hadn’t meant to agitate him, as much as the storm allowed. Besides, stopping him hadn't been a wholly selfless gesture. "You don't have to do or say anything. I understand. Moving on, what's that you've got there?"
The change of subject was abrupt, but it seemed Felix didn’t have it in him to care. That was fine. So what if she didn't want to hear that he didn't like her—couldn't like her?
"This?" Felix held up a spur, familiar from the time she’d seen it on his desk so many years ago. "It belonged to my brother. When he fell during the Tragedy of Duscur, there wasn't much left of him to bring back home, so we got his armor instead. I've kept this thing on me since. Well, I lost it once, but the Black Eagles professor found it for me. I think I was grateful at the time. I liked them. I should be upset they’ve shown their face again as an Imperial toady, but you know I’m not."
"I know. Can I see it?"
Felix handed the spur over without an argument. As soon as it left his hands, the dangerous swell of magic she felt five years ago returned, turning her stomach.
"These marks," she said, trying her best to ignore it. "What are they from? It looks like thunder magic."
"I did that," confessed Felix. "I don't know how to do any magic, but when the knights presented us with Glenn's armor… something happened. I reached out to grab the spur, anything I could grab and run with because it hurt and I didn't want to be there anymore, and I managed to cast something. Foolish. The charge could have shattered it in my hand. My father gave me an earful."
Annette's breath caught in her throat. If her suspicions were correct… Could it really be that simple?
"Sometimes, when we're untrained, we can cast magic during moments of strong emotion," she explained breathlessly. "Would you agree that could have happened, Felix?"
"I can't recall what strong emotions feel like, Annette."
"But you had them?"
"Of course. You'd be stupid to suggest otherwise."
Annette hated what she would have to do. "Felix, I think you turned this into an anchor for a curse. You cursed yourself to try and make it stop hurting so much, but it's grown wildly out of control.”
“A curse? I’m no dark mage. You really think I managed that?”
Shakily, Annette nodded. “I know how to fix everything, but I don’t think you’ll like it, so I'm sorry!"
Magic flooded to her fingertips, slamming into the spur and clashing with the old magic twined firmly around it. Its resistance came in the form of crackling lightning, sharp bursts of heat eating into her fingers and branding her palm. The bookshelves rattled; their notes flew off the table.
For all the havoc it had inflicted on Felix’s emotions, the spur snapped easily with a clean break down the center. Everything went quiet.
Felix's chair flew back, shattering the silence with an unholy crash, as he lurched from it. A sheen of sweat beaded across his forehead, a drop rolling down beside his eye—and, oh, Annette felt for him when his pupils shrunk into panicked pinpricks. To feel everything so suddenly, so sharply, must have been overwhelming.
"Felix?" she prompted.
"I need to go," he murmured, his voice thin—breakable.
He needs to decompress. He needs to cope.
"Okay," she said, purposefully smiling for him despite the concern threatening to explode from within her. He needed to know they were fine. They were safe. "I'll see you at breakfast?"
Felix grunted what was probably a "yes" before fleeing the library. She tried not to feel forlorn.
He didn't come to breakfast.
Annette didn't see Felix again until the last carriage of the Arianrhod convoy was loading. He surveyed the attendants from the gate with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed, the physical definition of pissed off and uncomfortable.
Sidling up beside him, she asked, "Are you angry with me?"
It would be… not fine, if he was, but she would understand. She’d gone looking for him prepared for the worst.
Felix didn't look at her. "No."
"I don't believe you, you know.”
Felix gritted his teeth. "I'm not lying."
"Liar!"
"I'm not!" he shouted. Their privacy shattered for a moment, the attendants' curious eyes on them, until he snarled and startled them back to work. Taking a stabilizing breath, he said at a much more reasonable volume, "I'm not lying. I'm… I don't want to yell, but I don't know how to regulate this shit anymore. I was hoping I could get it down before we left for Arianrhod."
Annette didn’t recognize the relief for what it was for a moment before it smacked her across the face. After days went by of Felix steadfastly avoiding her, crushing her with guilt, Annette felt the weight lift mercifully from her shoulders.
"I thought you were mad I broke your brother's spur," she admitted, "and made you feel things again. We're at war, so I can't imagine you're feeling all that great."
"If I'm going to die, I want to die as my whole self," Felix declared boldly. "As for the spur… I should've known clinging to the past like that would hurt me in the end. I’ve only been saying it for years. Thank you, Annette."
"O-oh! You’re welcome. This is… I was so sure you hated me!"
"Never," he said, turning to finally look her in the eye. "After all, I think I like you."
Annette choked on her next breath. "F-Felix!"
"I'm still relearning what that's like so I can't be sure yet," he explained. "You want to stay by my side while I figure it out?"
"I…!"
"Or have I misread things? In my current condition, it's more than possible. I can forget the whole thing, if you'd prefer."
Oh. He was giving her an out. She could turn back the clock on their relationship if she chose, and Felix would either be none the wiser or just pretending to be. That wasn’t a power that should be so easily granted, but he’d served it to her on a silver platter.
It would be cowardly to take it. It would be nerve-wracking to deny it.
"Do you want to forget?" she questioned. It was her last line of defense.
"No."
"I don't want to forget, either," she said. "I like you, Felix."
Cautiously, he held his hand out for hers and Annette eagerly took it. She thought they would thread their fingers together, but he slid his searchingly over hers instead.
"The thunder magic hurt you," he commented. The whisper of regret in his voice should have worried her, but it was beautiful to hear him inflect after all this time. "My magic hurt you."
"Mercie took care of me," she soothed. "I'm fine."
"Mercedes isn't coming with us to Arianrhod."
"Dimitri is sending healers with us. Besides, we don’t know if Edelgard’s targeting Arianrhod. We could just be going there to sit around.”
"I know, I just… Ugh!” Felix groaned. “Worrying is the worst. I can't believe you've done this to me." His lips turned up, just slightly. A joke.
"You're welcome!" Annette cheered, beaming.
Felix had been right to worry. Whatever intelligence Gilbert had gathered had been a decoy or partially untrue, and as soldiers flying red banners stormed the Fortress City of Arianrhod, Annette despaired.
If the invasion of Arianrhod was a bad dream, then recognizing the fiery-haired general leading a mounted battalion against them was a nightmare.
Ashe was with her on the wall, ducking behind the rampart and peeking out to punish ambitious flying foes. She knew with his sharp eyes he had to have seen Sylvain, but he hadn’t acknowledged it except to spare her a pitiful glance. After all, Sylvain in red was no friend of Faerghus and they couldn’t pretend he was.
That didn't mean it wasn’t insufferably painful.
All the old tales of battle and glory made war seem glorified, spinning tales of bloody skirmishes that lasted for days. It became clear that the battle for Arianrhod would not be one of those historic fights as the Imperial onslaught overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, soldiers crashing through the gates with war cries roaring from their jeering mouths.
"Get Felix!" Ashe yelled over the din. "We need to fall back! I can handle things here long enough for you to pull him out, but we need to retreat!"
"Got it!" Annette called over her shoulder, already looking for the ladder down.
On the ground, everything was so much worse. It was louder, crowded, and easier to recognize the faces of dead soldiers. Marbled, unseeing eyes judged her as she sprinted by—why isn't it you, they demanded. Why weren't you quick enough so that I could escape, too?
She passed along Ashe's retreat order to their struggling soldiers as she found them, but Felix was proving to be a problem. He fought well when he knew he had the space to swing his sword with impunity and refused to lead a battalion because of it. Sure, it let him go all out without harming any allies that were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it also meant there was no one to help him in a pinch or articulate orders to him. He was always alone.
Even if Ashe hadn't tasked her with collecting Felix, Annette would have risked the battlefield to find him. If nothing else, he didn't deserve to fight and die alone.
A braying horse shrieked and Annette looked up in time to see a line of soldiers fall, an ominous black-violet haze rising from their wounds.
"It's been a long time, Annette," Sylvain greeted with a charming (charmless) grin. "I thought you'd be in Fhirdiad. Don't suppose you'll retreat like the rest?"
She hiccuped a miserable laugh. "So Felix was right, after all."
"He knew? Well, he's always been more observant than anyone gave him credit for."
"I believed him. I just hoped he was wrong."
Sylvain snorted. "Hopes don't mean much. It's why I'm fighting this war. Couldn't sit around and hope for stagnant things to change. My life is in my hands now."
"No, your life is mine!"
Felix's growl cut their discussion short as swiftly as his sword swung for Sylvain’s back.
"Shit!" Sylvain cursed, feet kicking out of his stirrups so he could roll off his horse before Felix severed his spine. As he went down, he swung the Lance of Ruin behind him, nicking a line across the bridge of Felix's nose as he tried to dance out his range.
"Get away from her," Felix demanded, swiping a thumb through the stream of blood trickling down his face.
Oddly enough, Sylvain's eyes lit up. "Oh? Did the lovebirds tie the knot while I was gone? Shame I missed it. Hey, just so you know, if you run, I won't chase you. I'm just here to take Arianrhod, promise."
"This isn't one of your chess games," spat Felix. "Don't treat it like one."
His chipper expression wilting, Sylvain brandished his relic. "As usual, you're right. Hey, Felix, remember when we were kids and we made a promise about dying together?"
"I remember."
"Well, seems we're about to kill each other."
"Sorry, Sylvain. You'll die first."
Felix sprung forward.
By the nature of Sylvain's weapon he had the advantage of range, and he made sure Felix knew it. Any time Felix made to lunge closer, his attack was either deflected by the Lance of Ruin or he had to dodge away when an expert parry turned the momentum against him.
Despite all of his complaints about training back when they were classmates, Sylvain was holding his own, his battle senses sharpened by real world experience. He saw opportunities to go on the offensive and took them, lashing out just as often and just as aggressively. A bright light flashed, the Crest of Gautier highlighting him in white light, and his next blow was faster and stronger than Felix anticipated.
"No!" Annette cried, throwing her hands out and tossing gales forward to buffet the Lance. It threw off Sylvain’s trajectory and afforded Felix the precious seconds he needed to back away.
"Now that's hardly fair," chastised Sylvain. "Two against one?"
"We're your friends," Annette pleaded. “We don’t need to do this.”
"There's no retreating for me," he replied before his fingertips were alight with fire.
"Dark knight," Felix hissed.
"I learned this for you, y'know?" Sylvain informed him casually, rolling the ball of fire magic in his palm. "I thought, maybe, I could fix whatever was going on with you if I could just understand magic. I guess it doesn't matter now."
Annette choked on the memory of Felix saying the same thing. How had their friendship decayed this far? What kind of sick tragedy had their lives become?
The fire spell shot towards Annette like an arrow, fast and deadly, but her wind magic was fast, too. One cast and Sylvain's fire was caught in her whirlwind, spinning around and around until it died out without a trace left behind.
"I won't let you kill Felix," she promised.
"Then I guess I'll have to kill you first."
If anyone asked Annette if it was a good idea to turn their back to Felix in a battle, she'd decisively tell them it was the dumbest, most reckless thing she could think of doing. That Sylvain so willingly did it frightened her not because of his incoming assault, but because his charge was nothing short of suicidal with Felix standing right there.
"Stop it, Sylvain!" she screamed, calling up her strongest winds to rebuff him.
The force caused him to skid back on the stone floor, momentarily off balance, but the distraction was all Felix needed to—
—not stab him in the back. Instead, he circled to Sylvain's front, blocking him from advancing on Annette again. He reached forward, grabbed Sylvain's wrist in an iron grip, and twisted.
"That's rude, Fe…lix…?" Sylvain grunted, his pinched expression slowly going slack with wonder. Whether it was because Felix was hurting him or because he was so astonished, the Lance of Ruin fell from his hands to thud against the ground. "Are you… crying?"
Oh.
"Fuck you!" Felix shouted in his face, his volatile emotions flying freely. His free hand scrubbed at his face and he winced as he agitated his wound. "So what if I am? It's your fault!"
Annette stepped forward to stand beside him, risking a glance at his bloody face. As she watched, tears ran down his cheeks, cutting paths through the smears of red.
"That's him… That's the little Felix I remember," Sylvain said with a sad, genuine smile, shoulders dropping. "How am I supposed to kill you with a face like that?" He sounded on the verge of tears himself.
"Are you…" Annette coughed, her throat gone dry. "Do you surrender?"
“Surrender,” Felix ordered much more harshly. “Just… just surrender.”
Sylvain looked down at his fallen weapon, Arianrhod's destruction, and then back at the two of them. Slowly, he nodded. "I said it once before, you know: can’t say no to your crying face, you cheater. You guys will have to cuff me, somehow. And take the Lance—Edelgard has allies that are too invested in Crest stones for me to feel safe leaving it here.”
Quickly, Annette unclasped her short cape. "Felix, cut this so we can bind his wrists. Sylvain, I regret to say that we're apprehending you."
Sylvain smirked, a grim little upturn of his mouth. "Whatever punishment His Majesty decides, don't let it involve my parents, okay? Surely you've got enough clout to help an old friend out, right?"
He didn't fight them as they tied his wrists. He didn't struggle as they confiscated the Lance of Ruin. He didn't even make it hard for them to escape, ducking away into nooks to avoid the Imperial army. They snuck through the eastern gate, the fetid scents of blood, sweat, and smoke chasing them long after their retreat from the fallen fortress.
They walked for two days before Ashe found them. He didn't question Sylvain's presence when he led them back to the other survivors.
In Fhirdiad, Sylvain was sent to the dungeons. There was a long deliberation as to how to handle Gautier's traitor, the devout backing Archbishop Rhea’s intolerance of treachery, but with so much of King Dimitri’s council sympathetic to their former classmate, he was allowed to live.
"I'll tell you everything you want," Sylvain had told them. It went a long way to convincing his detractors to let him keep his head.
The whole process was stressful for Felix. He'd been obviously on edge the entire time, his shoulders drawn in tight and his eyes searing rage into the council room's round table. He relaxed only when Sylvain’s judgment passed, sagging in his chair.
It wasn't until Sylvain was led away with real cuffs and a cheeky wink that Felix left his seat, snagging Annette's wrist to pull her away. She knew his emotions were still unstable, knew this upset was far too personal to just get over, so she followed his lead without question. When he was ready to talk, they would.
Felix's march ended at his room. It seemed impossible that the last time she'd been here was only weeks ago. The despondent return to Fhirdiad felt as if it had dragged on for years.
Annette closed the doors behind them with a click, leaning against them as she watched Felix collapse facedown onto the bed. His shoulders rose with a long inhale, and then his fist punched down into the mattress as he screamed into the bedding.
"Now, now," Annette chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood, "that's something I haven't done since we were classmates. You'd drive me crazy when you wouldn't accept my bribery attempts. Mercedes would come over and pet my hair while I screamed into a pillow and complained about a boy."
Felix was silent.
"Do you want me to come over and pet your hair while you can complain, Felix?"
He nodded into the bedsheets.
Annette walked further into the room to stand beside the bed. "I'm going to take your hair down, okay?" Another nod. "I'm sitting beside you now."
With his head at her hip, Annette freed his hair from its tie and began to comb her fingers through the dark strands. They were longer than she thought, the ends tickling at his shoulders. Each pass of her hand took some of Felix’s tension with it until he was all but melting beneath her touch.
His voice was a sleepy mumble when he turned his head out of the bedding and said, "When I figured out that Sylvain wasn't missing, that he'd joined the Empire, I was beside myself. It was such a blatant betrayal that I couldn't handle it. I think it did something to my… curse, or whatever, because soon after, it didn't matter. Nothing really did. Even writing to you didn't matter."
Annette's hands stilled. It made sense in a cruel sort of way. The magic responded to Felix’s sudden heartache and overcompensated, took too much, and left a gaping hole behind.
"Sorry about that," Felix apologized. "I've been thinking… Sylvain's defection fucked me up so badly, but I think if you'd stopped writing to me back then, it would have affected me the same way. I wasn't prepared to lose you, either."
Annette bent forward until she could see his face properly, observing his wide eyes and open expression. His brows furrowed when their eyes met, unsure if this amount of honesty was allowed.
What he didn't know was that Annette wanted that honesty. Because if that were true…
"I think you've got enough evidence to discern if you like me or not," she teased.
"What if it's not like? What if it's more than that, Annette?"
And what a beautifully terrifying prospect that was!
"I think," Annette replied lightly, "that neither of us is ready to explore that yet. But… I'm not afraid to find out when we are."
"We're going to die in this stupid war. I don’t know if we even have the time."
It was likely he was correct. With Arianrhod captured, the Empire was boxing the Kingdom into a tighter and tighter corner. Unlike when she was a teenager and always thought, Oh, we have time, she knew dark days were ahead.
Annette captured his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. "We’ll figure it out," she lied.
Politely, Felix didn't call her out for it.
They watched through a gap in the curtains as the sky changed color from bright blue to milky orange, and Annette began to hum. It was a wordless, thoughtless tune, full of random ups and downs, aimless in its delivery.
I liked it when you sang. It made me happy, I think.
Felix squeezed back.