Chapter Text
A young Fern watches Frieren from a slight opening in the door. Surrounding the elf mage is a variety of leatherbound grimoires, all taken from Heiter's library. Frieren’s eyes scan over each tome, jumping from book to book, before circling back to the first, indecisively comparing each one against the others. It has been a few hours since Fern instructed Frieren to only take one, insisting that any more would be a waste of limited space. Frieren eventually relented, but was now dragging her feet in deciding which one book to pick. Fern frowns, watching her master from nearby.
She thinks to trudge in and demand that Frieren pick one immediately, stressing that they must leave as soon as possible. And she almost does, her hand on the door handle. But she hesitates and questions why exactly she feels the need to rush – Frieren certainly felt no urgency, despite being the one to say that they would soon leave following Heiter's death. No, there is no reason to act so urgently, yet Fern felt a rising need to leave now that Heiter no longer occupied this small cottage; even though Fern knew that, logically, nothing had really changed, with Heiter gone, the walls felt strangely cold and hollow, like there's an emptiness pervading this space she once called home. It no longer felt like a home to her, even with all the pleasant memories this small cottage has given her. It is simply not enough to push through the gloom encompassing her heart.
It is likely why, when seeing Frieren casually browse through the grimoires, that she feels this discomforting agitation bubble up. Pouting, she shuts the door and makes an effort to stomp up the stairs to her room, hoping that Frieren will take notice of her anger.
“She probably won't,” Fern mutters, throwing herself onto her bed. She hugs her pillow, pushing her face into it. “She never does.”
An hour passes and she slips into a light sleep, her face set into a grimace. Frieren knocks on the door, and opening it, Fern groans and turns her head towards the door, cracking open one eye. Brows raised, Frieren holds a book in her hand, watching Fern pull herself up into a sitting position.
“I've picked one.” Frieren says, entering the room. “We can leave now, if you like.” She looks to the window, noticing the evening sky. “We could leave tomorrow morning, since it's already late.”
Fern rubs her eyes, frowning. “You took too long.” Her voice is sharp, even with her sleepiness.
Frieren awkwardly rubs the back of her head. “You're mad.”
“Not really.” She turns her head away, lips pinched together. “We should leave now.”
She rises and moves past Frieren, leaving behind her a chilly trail. Sighing, Frieren follows her from behind, wondering what exactly to say. She mulls over it for a moment, before Fern turns back, her brows knitted together.
“Why are you not upset?” Fern asks, a strain in her voice. It surprises Frieren at first, though it is not the first time she's heard this question from others, all equally as angry with Frieren’s lack of emotion. She doubts it'll be the last either.
“What do you mean, Fern?” Frieren asks, only adding to Fern's annoyance. “Are you referring to Heiter?”
“Of course I am.” She huffs and looks away. “Nevermind…”
Walking away, Frieren thinks to stop her and explain herself, but seeing the girl’s anger, she thinks better of it. Fern has a surprisingly short temper, she finds, and any attempts to approach her will leave both of them smouldering. She ultimately decides that it will be better to give Fern the time and space she needs to cool off, knowing she'll be burnt to a crisp if she tries to interfere now.
Frieren has never been good at dealing with conflict, opting to avoid rather than confront any issues that may come her way. The whole ordeal of these misunderstandings exhausted her, though that is not to suggest that she cares little for those involved. She just struggles finding an easy solution to an otherwise complicated matter. After all these years, it is one of the few shortcomings Frieren has yet to overcome. Then again, Frieren thinks, this is hardly an issue that can be ‘solved’, not permanently at least, as Fern has proven to her time and time again.
Frieren shuts the front door behind her, Fern already a few feet away. The young woman looks back at the cottage, her eyes glazed with the distant memories of her childhood, of the man she once saw as a father. Lowering her eyes, she turns away, a familiar ache in her heart. This would be the last time she'd see this place as her home, their path ahead unclear. Frieren has not clarified where exactly she plans to go next, but as her apprentice, Fern will follow her for a long time to come. It was a bittersweet feeling, her melancholy and irritation warmed with the promise of the future. Frieren walks ahead, carrying her luggage, and Fern follows, the sun hanging low in the sky.
It's dusk by the time they reach the outskirts of the nearby village, an hour away from the cottage. From the hilltop, the two can see the small market square, with most of the villagers heading back to their homes for the night, or to the inn for a drink or two. It's this inn that they decide to stay in for the night, ordering themselves a warm meal and a shared bedroom once they arrive. The regulars are already familiar with the two, having seen them during their past visits across the years, and out of consideration for Heiter's recent passing, they insist on dismissing their bill. Frieren readily accepts the offer, and thanking them, they finish their meals and head to their room.
It all happens in what feels like a blur to Fern, who, all the while, is kept preoccupied with her own tumultuous thoughts. Her anger has simmered into a discontent she struggles to find the words for, feeling a little ashamed for accusing Frieren in such a harsh manner, but also bothered by Frieren's apathetic response, even while knowing this to be her usual demeanour. Having lived with her for years at this point, and remembering Heiter's warning, she should be familiar with Frieren's personality and expect this behaviour from her. And yet, during moments like these, Fern still craves some warmth from her sole companion, mentor, and peer. Was that something too far beyond Frieren's understanding? Was Fern wrong to hope for anything more? She continues to pout as these questions swirl around in her mind.
Entering the room, Frieren watches Fern move to one of the two beds, a rather glum expression on her face. Sighing, Frieren sits on the other bed, clasping her hands together on her lap.
“I am sad about Heiter passing away.” Frieren begins, catching Fern off-guard. “For elves, it takes us some time to process what it is we're feeling.” Frieren looks up, meeting Fern's eyes. “When my master died, I didn't cry. I had watched her age in what felt like a blink of an eye, and then she was gone. I had experienced loss before, but…” her hands tighten in her lap. “Still, it felt like something was missing following the years after her death. I know now that what I was experiencing was grief.”
“Miss Frieren…” Fern sits onto her bed, unsure on how she should respond. Frieren, however, smiles before continuing to speak.
“Then Himmel passed away, and I–” she frowns, carefully picking her next words. “It was only then that I realised how important he was to me. But by then, it was already too late, and I lost my chance to tell him these words. That's why I spent these past few years trying to help Heiter, so that I wouldn't feel that same regret after his passing.” She smiles again, moving her hands to her side. “I'll surely miss him, but I'm glad I was able to create so many memories with him. I'll cherish them, with all the others. Does that make sense?”
Fern nods, the warmth in Frieren's words seeping into her heart. “I'm sorry, Miss Frieren.” She bows her head. “I shouldn’t have assumed you to be so callous.”
“I know you're upset.” Frieren reaches out and places a hand over hers. “I'm…not very good at comfort, but I'm trying my best to understand. I guess I still need to improve, in that regard.”
Fern tilts her head to one side, a small smile on her lips. “Maybe just a little.” She sighs – a sigh of relief, as the tangled mess of emotions that had been building up within her unravels into a content acceptance. “I'll try to be more honest next time.”
It'll probably take her a while to adjust, Frieren thinks, knowing herself how difficult she found it to change to new circumstances. In the end, she is reminded of how familiar the two of them are, despite their many differences. With this thought, she pats Fern's head, who blushes in turn, but makes no effort to push Frieren's hand away.