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There were voices behind him. Humiliating, chattering voices, just a little too loud for the library. Felix focused on the worn and tattered spine of an atlas full of maps that had never been redrawn in all of history. It was a better option than watching Sylvain and Ingrid as they tittered noisily about Felix as if he couldn’t hear them.
“–and it fell right out of his hands! It was like he was a kid again, Ing. Although, he used to be cuter. What happened?”
“I haven’t seen Felix drop a weapon since we got here,” Ingrid murmured. “Is he sick, do you think?”
“Oh, he’s sick for sure,” Sylvain decreed. “It’s not contagious, though. It’s–”
“Stop,” Felix grumbled. He never had any friends, only the forgotten atlas that never got culled from the monastery’s library.
“–lovesickness.”
“I was surprised,” he argued. “Annette is in the same weight class as a mop and bucket, I didn’t expect her to lift a hammer half her size, that’s all.”
He felt two pairs of eyes dig into the side of his head.
“...So when you flushed as red as the Black Eagles’ banner, it was just out of surprise?” Sylvain asked doubtfully. “Speaking of, why aren’t they called the Red Eagles? Seems kind of inconsistent to me.”
“Who cares about the Black Eagles? And yes, I was only surprised. That’s all.”
Ingrid hummed carefully. “Felix, don’t you know what the Heroes’ Relic passed down through House Dominic is?”
It probably came up in one of his lessons back home. Something about relations with the other noble houses, something about possible threats in other nations. The last one had been interesting, and he knew all about the formidable Failnaught in the Alliance and the lost Rafail Gem from the Empire. He was also familiar with his family’s Relic and the Relics of his (former, dead to him) friends. As for the lesser-known Kingdom relics, he… may have neglected to retain such knowledge.
He wouldn’t do either of these clowns the courtesy of letting them know that, though.
There was a presence by his ear, Sylvain leaning in to whisper, “It’s a big hammer, Felix.”
“I–I know that!” he lied. “I just… was surprised!”
“Don’t shout in the library,” Ingrid scolded.
Maybe Felix would also befriend the book on blacksmithing. Then he could learn the trade and take his own big hammer and use it to beat his frustration out on hot metal where it would be considered socially acceptable. It was a better idea than double homicide.
“I guess I’ll leave to shout somewhere else, then,” Felix decided, pushing his chair away from the table and finally deigning to pass a cool look over the both of them.
“Boo, sourpuss,” jeered Sylvain.
“Weren’t we here to study…?” Ingrid asked herself.
Luckily, he didn’t need their permission to leave, and he walked out without looking back, only wishing his dearest friends, Cursed Atlas and Non-Homicidal Smithing, a silent farewell.
As Felix wandered back to the ground floor and onto the monastery grounds, lit orange by the early evening sun, he chewed over the event Sylvain and Ingrid were giving him such a hard time about. If there was one thing he took seriously, it was training. Going through his stances was as second nature as breathing, and he felt more at ease with his hand cupped over a pommel than not. Felix knew how to swing a sword before he could write his name and took pride in his ever-growing skills with a blade.
However, it had certainly been his sword that clattered to the dusty floor of the training grounds. Felix hadn't even heard it at first, too preoccupied with the unequivocal display of power from Annette Fantine Dominic.
First impressions had led Felix to believe Annette was an… interesting girl. For all the time he dedicated to the sword, she was pouring herself into books. She made friends as easily as he cut things in two, and it was no small wonder after he'd stumbled across her singing in the greenhouse; only an angel would sound so sweet. Petite and bookwormish, Annette hardly looked the type to be capable of feats of strength.
Then, Dedue had mentioned grabbing one of the hammers and training dummies, and cheerful, forever-helpful Annette had decided to take it as a request. The little noise of exertion she'd made as she hefted one of the thickest hammers from its resting place with the rest of the training weapons was cemented in Felix's brain as much as the brief piece of the song he'd heard her sing. The easy stroll back across the grounds to Dedue had arrested his attention and loosened his grip, much to Sylvain's glee.
Maybe his heart had beat a little faster. Maybe it hadn't. There was no one to prove or disprove it. Now that he'd left the library, there was no one to make fun of him anymore, either.
His frustration with Sylvain and Ingrid hadn't abated, though. What better way to burn it off than with the tried and true method of finishing an interrupted training session? This late in the day, there would be fewer students crowding the training grounds and the likelihood that someone would realize he was back and comment on it would be lower. No small talk, no jokes…
Just training. No problem.
It definitely wasn't a problem when Felix returned to the training grounds and saw Annette still there, a deceptively thin and unassuming war hammer in her hands. She was midswing when he stepped inside, letting him see the exact moment when the head smashed into a training dummy and broke its straw-filled neck.
Th-thump! Oh, it was his troublesome heartbeat again.
The dummy teetered and crashed to the ground, startling Annette into letting the hammer go, too. Surveying the mess she made, an annoyed whine carried across the training grounds. “Shoot, again?!”
“What do you mean, ‘again’?” Felix exclaimed, astonished. Was she in here simply eradicating the training dummies?
Annette shrieked, spinning on her heels, eyes wide as they searched him out. “Felix!” she called, voice high and cracking. “You’re, uh, here! Again! Is what I meant.”
“Liar,” he muttered under his breath before walking forward. With each step he took forward, he got a better view of Annette’s face, which was slowly paling with dread. Coming to a stop beside her, he questioned, “What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter… W-what’s the matter with you?!”
“...Did I do something wrong?”
Annette’s cheeks went pink as she tried to look him in the eyes, but she must have been cowed because she broke eye contact quickly.
“N-no, I suppose not,” she admitted. “Sorry. I was just… defensive.” She waved over to her fallen hammer and dummy. “You’re really into training, and I know you care about the facility being taken care of because it’s important to you. And here I am, just… throwing things all over the place right in front of you.”
Felix observed the sad puddle of devastating weaponry and disheveled straw man. “This looks like… normal training to me,” he said.
“H-huh?”
“Dummies get knocked over and ripped up all the time. Weapons get dropped, especially if you’re not used to what you’re handling," he explained. "It’s fine so long as it all gets cleaned up in the end. Yes, you have to respect the space you use, but this isn’t a problem as it is right now.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Annette mused, and the more she let his words sink in the more relaxed he watched her expression become. “I’ve been slacking, focusing more on magic than anything else. When I helped Dedue earlier, it reminded me that I needed to get back to my heavy weapons training!"
“Commendable.” Curious, Felix asked, “Did you train often before coming here?”
“My uncle insisted,” she replied, “and I’d help chop the firewood before the big winter storms would start to roll in, too. I’m tougher than I look!” Here, Annette flexed, but the effect was lost in the slimming, black sleeve of her shirt.
Felix bent down, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the war hammer. It was thin, but made of dense iron, so the weight distribution was wildly unbalanced compared to a sword. The heavy head tipped down toward the earth and the handle pushed insistently against his palm when he lifted it. Using a second hand to grip it felt more natural, easing the discomfort.
“So I can see,” he uttered, pretending he wasn’t quietly awestruck.
Beside him, Annette righted the dummy, grimacing at the ghastly rolling of its head. She attempted to balance it upright, but she'd killed the thing properly, so its false face fell forward to glare down at her.
"He looks so… baleful…" she murmured.
"What?"
"Y-you know, baleful, like threatening? And also he's made of straw, like, bales of… hay…"
Tilting his head contemplatively, Felix thought about how he should respond. For all their differences, he quite liked Annette. Her work ethic was admirable, her singing voice followed him everywhere at any time of day, and, feeling the weight of the hammer in his hands, she was more than capable of defending herself in battle. So, he didn’t want to be mean about such an… interesting… play on words.
“That’s quite a lofty pun,” he finally said and felt something in his soul wither.
“...Felix?”
“Loft… like a hay–”
“A hayloft!” Annette gasped excitedly. “That’s so fun, Felix!”
People didn’t call Felix fun. They said a lot of things that meant the opposite, in fact. Like sourpuss, a la Sylvain. The withered thing in his soul sprouted a new, springtime bloom.
“I wonder what kind of song I could make about a hayloft…” she muttered to herself, then froze like she’d been hit point blank with a Blizzard spell. “You did not hear that,” she stated firmly. “Not one word.”
Oh, she was flustered. Felix liked that look on her very much.
“A word about what?”
“About, you know…”
“I know many things,” he agreed peaceably, “you just need to be more specific.”
One of these days Annette would recognize this as an olive branch. She was getting what she wanted, after all.
It was not today.
“Don’t press me, Felix, I swear!” she admonished, an indignant flush to her puffed-out cheeks. Her hand reached out to reclaim her hammer, and Felix nearly jumped at the warmth of her hand against both of his, worming between them to get a firm hold on the handle. He relinquished it without a fight, hoping to see her wield it once more.
In her one-handed grip, the weapon did not waver.
Something a little like affection and a lot like excitement scorched beneath his skin, pulsing with the lub-dub of his heart. Felix backed off enough to give her room to swing, but he refused to take his eyes off of her.
Hammer in hand, Annette shot him a nervous glance. "You're going to watch?" she asked.
"Yes. Do your worst."
"I am a lady, I don't do the worst," she denied primly.
Felix cut a pointed look to the horrifically maimed dummy.
"I just—! Ugh," Annette groaned, her wet-kitten fury trickling out of her until she was running on the dredges of it. "I'm going to pretend this dummy is you. Dummy."
"Then you must absolutely do your worst," he instructed, "because if your opponent is me, you won't be able to get in a second swing if you miss."
"Are you threatening me?!"
"No? Why in the world would I threaten you?"
"We'll see about that!" declared Annette. "I won't need a second swing!"
Felix felt a grin pull at the corners of his mouth.
It remained through her haughtily turning back to her straw opponent. Eagerly, he watched her swing the war hammer into its body. The blow would have shattered someone's clavicle into dust, the dummy rattling on its post and held in place by the thick leather tying it here.
Th-thump! Th-thump! Th-thump!
"Hammers and haylofts," Felix said suddenly, his throat and tongue inexplicably dry. "Try a song about that."
Annette looked over her shoulder warily. "Like… about building a barn…?" she queried. "Hey, are you okay? You look a little feverish."
Ah, this storm inside of him was showing on his face. Sylvain had noticed before, too. Felix would need to figure out how to fix that. Probably. Maybe.
"I'm fine. I'm just—impressed," he replied. "My family doesn't handle heavy weapons. I can admit when someone else is skilled in areas I am not."
"H-humility? From you?" Annette dropped the war hammer with a heavy thud. "You're lying! You're totally sick!"
"Would you believe you're not the first person to falsely accuse me of such today?" Felix stopped to point at the hammer. "Don't leave that there."
Huffing, Annette grabbed her weapon and dashed off. Confused, he watched her return the hammer to the training rack before repeating her actions with her training dummy, lining it along the walls with a silent army of other effigies.
"You're finished?" Felix asked when she marched back towards him. If he was honest with himself, he was a little disappointed; he wanted to see more.
"One of us has to care about your well-being," Annette groused. She pinched his shirt sleeve between her fingers and started pulling him toward the big doors to the rest of the monastery. "If you're sick, you need to rest!"
"I'm not sick."
"You're too stubborn to go to the infirmary on your own, so—"
"I'm still not sick."
Whirling around to shoot him the meanest glare this slip of a girl could muster, Annette leaned in to let her angry eyes scan his face from his hairline to the point of his chin and into every pore. Such a close inspection didn't make Felix comfortable, but if she needed to look to dispel whatever mania this was, he'd let her.
Even if she was rather… close.
"...You do seem better than a minute ago," she conceded slowly. "You're sweating a little, though. Maybe not to the infirmary, but if I bring you to your room, will you rest before dinner?"
He shouldn't. He should stay here and train, just like he wanted.
"I can do that," Felix said instead.
"Really?" Annette pressed, the worry evaporating from her face and replaced by elated relief. Yes, he'd noted that she looked good flustered, but happy topped it by leaps and bounds. "Ah, wait, you're kinda pink again…"
"I'm okay," he assured. "I'll go back to my room."
"Okay, okay," she said, sliding her hand down from his sleeve to get a firmer grasp on his wrist. Tugging forward, she chirped, "Let's go!"
Felix had never been a coward. He worked for what he wanted, and feeling the ring of her fingers wrapped around his wrist, he wanted to take her hand instead. Yet, he could not, a wall of hesitation stilling the desire at the gate. It was frustrating. In hindsight, being made fun of for fumbling with his sword by people who were his friends was better than this quiet loss to himself. It almost made it so that he couldn't appreciate the gentle touch leading him around the monastery.
Almost. He still enjoyed it very much and kept his eyes focused on the warm cuff of her hand.
Later, after Annette had dropped him off with a warning to visit the infirmary if he started feeling worse, Felix sat on his bed and wondered if Sylvain had been onto something.
No. That couldn't be right. Even if Sylvain was smarter and more observant than most people thought, he was—an idiot, when it came to women. What could a womanizer know about love and lovesickness?
Nothing, he concluded, and that was the end of that trail of thought. He fell back across the mattress and shoved the whole thing into the back of his mind.
Yet, he couldn't will away the warmth of her touch from his skin, and wasn't sure he wanted to.