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Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1184

The Month Of The Great Tree Moon

The First Day Of Spring

Dried mud and black rocks. That was what the skin of his remains resembled when his body was slumped before Felix. There was no golden hair to speak of on what had been his head, and pieces of him were missing where the cindered flesh faded into bones.

Felix heard the gasp and sob of Ingrid somewhere behind him, but she might as well have been miles away from where he stood, transfixed.

The metal armor must have pressed against his skin like a branding rod, Felix found himself thinking numbly as he looked over the body.

He looked again at the face of the thing that lay before him. It had, almost, been burnt beyond recognition. But, the flames hadn’t done enough to obscure the familiarity of those features he knew so well. Felix felt almost unconscious with the shock of it all as he stared down at what had, at one time, been the man he was supposed to protect with his life.

He had allowed this to happen.

“Now then.” The emperor standing across from Dimitri’s corpse spoke in a heavy voice. Felix’s eyes remained fixed downward, not looking up to meet her gaze.

“I believe we have terms of surrender to discuss.”

1180

4 Years Earlier

Felix’s reflection stared back at him with a dour expression as he pulled at the insufferably stiff tunic currently threatening to strangle his neck.

“Do I really have to wear this ridiculous thing?” He asked as he batted off the arm of his old man, who he saw reaching out behind him in an attempt to straighten the Fraldarius cape. “And what’s the deal with making the boar’s coronation into this much of an ordeal, anyway? We’re likely about to deal with civil conflict, as well as tensions with the Empire. We don’t have time for this frivolousness,” he said sharply as he gave his old man a glare through the mirror.

They were currently in Fhirdiad, the Kingdom’s capital, where in the previous week their forces had unseated and slain the former regent. There had been much turmoil and infighting that had spilled out in the days following, and taking the time for some showy ceremony hardly seemed like a practical idea in Felix’s opinion.

“His Highness’s ascent to the throne is nothing to shrug off,” the old man sighed as he extended his hand again, this time successfully managing to straighten out the cape before Felix could deflect the unwanted contact. “It is important that the archbishop be able to properly ordain him to back the legitimacy of his claim. And the people of Faerghus need a true king, not a temporary regent.” Felix rolled his eyes at this, feeling a deep sense of annoyance surrounding the whole ordeal.

The boar had been … slipping, as of late. That whole business in Remire village had dented the mask of his usual demeanor and, from there, the beast had only grown more unpredictable.

In terms of who ascended the throne, Felix could concede there wasn’t much of an option left to them. The boar’s uncle, a man recently exposed to be one of the instigators in the Tragedy of Duscur, was dead now. Head chopped clean off his shoulders, just as the late king’s was.

And it wasn’t as if there hadn’t been reason enough for the boar to kill him. The man had committed treason, attempted to seize the throne for himself, and made outlandish accusations of house Fraldarius puppeteering the boar in some way.

All traitors get put to the sword. It was the boar’s duty as the next king to do so.

Felix knew all this well and good, but it still seemed hard to shake a sense of growing unease.

“Whatever. I’m just waiting for this whole nonsense to be over and done with so we can turn our attention toward the ensuing fight,” Felix muttered resentfully, electing to not open the lid too much on his thoughts. He made one last attempt to wrestle with the fabric of the stuffy outfit before turning his gaze away from the mirror.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he sighed, meaning to pace toward the door — but was stopped by his father’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Not so fast,” came his old man’s voice as Felix turned to give him a questioning scowl. “Sit down,” He said as he placed his bag down and took a seat on a nearby couch, gesturing for Felix to do the same.

“Ugh,” Felix scoffed as he remained standing. “Can we make this quick?”

“For once would you please just…” the old man began, impatience creeping into his tone before he seemed to catch it and take a deep breath. He closed his eyes momentarily. “No. Not today. The truth is, I feel we need to talk.”

Felix, sensing an ensuing lecture, begrudgingly took a seat and resigned himself to hear out whatever foolishness the man wished to depart onto him under the guise of ‘fatherly advice.’

“For the longest time, I considered it my life’s mission to ensure that Lambert’s son assumed the throne … now, all of that is about to be said and done,” he began slowly. Felix listened with his eyes remaining focused anywhere but his father’s face. “With potential conflict ensuing … neither of us knows which day could be our last, so we should both ensure there’s no lingering regret when the time comes.”

“…Well, this is off to a grim start,” Felix said slowly with deliberate evenness to his tone as he studied the wall across from them, apprehensive. “…What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“I wanted to apologize for what I said about Glenn,” He heard his old man say suddenly, as Felix’s eyes snapped toward him. “It was ill-put, and I’m sorry … I should never have said such a thing in your presence,” His father went on. He wore a sunken, ashamed expression.

Felix gave his old man a side-eyed, skeptical look at the assertion. It wouldn’t be the first time his old man had apologized for what he’d said. Yet somehow, every time he did so, it only served to make Felix feel a renewed sense of bitterness.

“If you’re going to explain yourself, then you’d better get one with it.”

“Then I will not mince words … I, too, was mortified by Glenn’s death,” His father continued, tipping his head slightly. “Yet … he perished a hero.”

Felix closed his eyes, feeling resentfully unsurprised.

“He chose that life for himself and he chose that death. He fought to protect the future of Faerghus - and his friend -until his dying breath. As his father, I -”

“Shut up!” Felix snapped, not allowing him to continue with this charade for even one second longer. He opened his eyes to turn and glower at the old man. “You’re a damned fool, you know that?”

“Felix,” the old fool began in a warning tone, a light scowl now forming on his own face as well. “I will not tolerate such language from you.”

“Then get up and leave if you don’t wish to hear what I have to say,” Felix scoffed as he stood from the couch cushions. “But you’ve grown senile if you think I would sit through you touting on and on about how he chose that death,” Felix countered in a low growl of a voice as he scowled down at the old man. “You don’t know what he was thinking. Neither of us do… And neither of us ever will.”

There was a pause of silence between them, only filled with the faint sound of wind blowing against the palace’s walls from outside.

“You’re right - I don’t know for certain,” his old man said in a quieter voice as his eyes shifted down to the bag in his hands. Slowly and deliberately, he brought out a large golden shield from within the bag. He studied their family’s hero’s relic, looking thoughtful. “But… I know what I would’ve done if I had been there. I would have safeguarded His Highness, at all costs. I know that it wasn’t in Glenn’s nature to flee, either,” his father went on, continuously scratching away at the old wound that belonged to both of them.

“And you, Felix? What would your choice have been?” His old man asked, turning his eyes on his son with a meaningful expression on his face. “Would you have abandoned His Highness to save yourself?”

Before Felix could fire off another retort his father was, for some reason, standing up to extend the Aegis Shield his way. Felix didn’t answer as he looked between the shield and his father, momentarily distracted from his anger as he questioned why the relic was suddenly being thrust on him.

“I’ve been meaning to find a good time to pass this on to you,” his father clarified. “I once used this relic often as the shield of Faerghus … and I truly wish to believe that, someday, this legacy could find its way to you as its new successor.”

Felix looked down at the shield in the old man’s hands as a slow, painful feeling gripped him. It wasn’t as if his father didn’t do this sort of thing every now and then … talk to him as if he were saying goodbye. But this was the first time he had ever done so while trying to pass an inheritance to him.

“You speak as if you’ve got one foot in the grave, old man,” Felix stated dryly after a beat of silence. He awkwardly took the relic in his arms, feeling uncomfortable with where the conversation had drifted off to and not knowing how to reseal the lid on this topic.

He glanced back to his old man, waiting for some form of argument to the contrary but … none came. There was something there in the old man’s quiet stare, something about the lack of challenge in his silence that didn’t sit right with Felix.

“I’m done talking about this,” he muttered after a pause as his eyes drifted to the floor, feeling the indignation in him being replaced with a dull ache. “There’s never any point to exchanging words with you, beyond a headache.”

He had ended up accepting the shield, not seeing a reason to turn his nose up at combat equipment being freely given to him. But that conversation had irked him throughout the ceremony, and the entire day.

He hadn’t given his old man an answer to his question about what he would have done in Glenn’s place. But he found himself thinking on it again as he watched the boar prince become the boar king over the course of the ceremony. With how reckless the boar had been of late … it was hard to deny that the beast’s endangerment was something he was …wary of.

But still, the whole question was stupid, Felix thought to himself. Everything was always about courage or cowardice with the old man … when lives are at stake, warriors only have their instincts and skills. Felix’s skills should be enough to get both him and whoever he fought alongside out of danger, if the need arose.

Yes, that was right, Felix decided with conviction. There was little point in speculating on the old man’s foolish questions.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181

Felix walked through the capitol palace halls with a feeling of uneasy apprehension growing in his stomach. Their army had just deployed troops to escort the archbishop and other church authorities to the capitol for safeguarding.

The recent peace they had won from dissolving civil conflict over the throne’s succession was, evidently, not to last. The imperial princess’s ascent to her throne and declaration of war on the church hadn’t left the time for it.

The church wasn’t synonymous with Faerghus, not really — but by the way other noble lords had spoken of the ensuring conflict, it might as well have been. Felix hadn’t fully understood everything that was said during the meeting in which the boar king had officially decreed that the kingdom would safeguard the church. But he supposed it made sense — Sylvain’s father, along with a few others, had pressed the idea that war would be upon them no matter what. Felix conceded that it was likely true.

But the boar had seemed to teeter far too much on the side of personal frustrations for Felix’s liking. The beast was clearly letting his aggravation at having never pieced together the strange happenings back at Garreg Mach get to him. Even if the emperor had something to do with those events at the monastery, Felix saw little point in speculating further on the idea.

The Empire likely just wanted more land and subjects to tax, that sort of thing, he thought to himself as he rounded a corner. Felix had always considered himself to be the sort that was only useful during times of conflict, so the thought of throwing himself into war wasn’t what bothered him.

No, it was what his old man had done that irked him.

The old fool had up and left his territory to the watch of Felix’s uncle and asserted that he wanted to join their army — to fight alongside them.

There had been a lingering pit in his stomach ever since his father had announced that he hadn’t simply stopped by for a short correspondence with their forces. As of late, his father had seemed to be pushing more and more responsibilities onto Felix in preparation for ‘a future role as the governing duke.’

He didn’t want to believe he knew what the old man was planning … but he feared he did.

Felix didn’t know what he was going to say to his father this time upon finding him. His previous attempts at insulting the man’s combat abilities or intelligence had proved useless. Felix suspected there was little he could do to dissuade the man from being on the battlefield, but he would at least get a few more choice words in, if he was able.

“Are you in there, old man?” Felix called out as he lightly knocked on the door to the room his father had been staying in. He waited for a moment, and then another, hearing nothing. He was turning to look elsewhere when the silence was suddenly broken by the muffled sound of movement on the other side of the door.

“Ugh, can you hear me? Or have your ears withered away right alongside your mind?” Felix asked harshly as he turned the handle, swinging the door open abruptly. “Honestly, you’d think I-”

He halted in surprise at seeing not his father before him, but the boar.

The beast’s eyes came up to meet his own, widening slightly in surprise — he quickly stood from his position of kneeling over an open bag. Felix noted with some suspicion that he appeared to have picked up a sheathed sword from within.

“Ah, Felix,” the beast said stiffly, brushing a loose strand of blond hair back from his tired, sunken eyes. The boar looked to be even more of a mess than the last time Felix had seen him — when he had angrily stormed off in response to Felix's father urging him to get some much-needed rest. He had to admit it had been strange, and somewhat unnerving, to see the boar come close to something resembling aggressive behavior with the old man. The beast had always idolized him in the past, after all … not that Felix was keen on seeing either attitude on display.

“I presume I may … not have been who you were looking for,” the boar said as he fidgeted with the sheathed sword in his hands.

“No, you weren’t,” Felix answered evenly as he paced into the room, eyeing the blade. “Just what do you think you’re doing in here rummaging through my old man’s belongings?”

“Oh, come now. There’s little need for such audacious accusations,” replied the boar, sighing the words with an air of light annoyance. “Rodrigue simply informed me that he possessed an old sword of my father’s … he mentioned Margrave Gautier had borrowed it ages ago, and…” He trailed off, eyes darting toward Felix, who was still glaring up at him. “Well, I suppose there’s little need to bore you with details, but he expressed that he wanted me to have it again. Once he remembered to retrieve it from his bags, that is.”

“And so the boar goes straight to sifting through items that don’t belong to him,” Felix noted as a grimace formed on the boar’s brow. “So, what was it? Is the task of exchanging words to get what he wants too much to ask of his beastliness these days?”

“Hmph,” the boar scoffed. “Might I ask— what exactly is it that you want from me at present?” he asked tiredly. “I have every bit of confidence that Rodrigue would have little qualms with me retrieving a sword already promised to me.”

“Oh please, there’s no slight in the world you could level at him that he’d actually hold against you,” Felix countered as he watched the boar’s expression sour further. “I’d wager you could run a blade through the old fool, and he’d likely apologize for daring to dirty your sw-”

Felix’s words were cut off by the loud bang of the boar bringing his fist to crash against a nearby dresser. The furniture rattled and sent a satchel tumbling to the floor, letting loose papers and other items scatter on the ground between them.

Felix stared, startled, at where the strike had hit before his gaze drifted back up to the boar’s scowl. He took a step back, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“… Not another word,” the boar growled out.

“Psh, whatever. I was just on my way out,” Felix attempted to say dismissively, his pulse slightly quickening. “It’s not like I make a habit of idly chatting with beasts,”

He quickly turned to leave.

𓆩♕𓆪

The king watched as Felix closed the door behind him with a rather aggressive slam. Dimitri’s eyes slowly fell to the scattered belongings on the floor.

Dimitri heaved a great sigh as he set the sword on the bed nearby and looked down at the mess he had created. He hesitated for a moment before he began picking up the scattered items, feeling a tad guilty. However, he still carried a lingering sense of annoyance.

Rudeness was something he had come to expect from Glenn’s younger brother. He tried not to pay the man’s development of an overly sharp tongue much heed — after all, Glenn had also favored a dry, sarcastic way of speaking. But the longer this had gone on, the more he found himself believing all those insults Felix hurled at him were said in earnest.

Dimitri attempted to shrug off these thoughts as he picked up the last remaining bits of parchment and tucked them back into the satchel. He usually didn’t take Felix too seriously, but he had to admit, the remark must have gotten under his skin quite effectively if it had caused this mess.

He just … didn’t wish to face Rodrigue after how he had lashed out at him earlier. The man was only showing concern for his well-being, after all. Dimitri had done nothing to reward his concern — or eternal patience — other than spit it back in his face.

He really ought to get a better grasp on his temper. It seemed this type of behavior was spilling out from him more often, and without his consent. His thoughts would only return to him afterward and, inevitably, engulf him in a cold sense of shame.

At least Felix likely wouldn’t be the sort to feel wounded by his most recent outburst, Dimitri thought to himself assuredly. Felix seemed to despise him, and his attitude was nothing but cold indifference as of late.

Dimitri picked up the sword again, thinking back on the story Rodrigue had told of how it had ended up in the Margrave’s hands. The anecdote had turned into reassurance of his decision to shelter the church, and the king appreciated that greatly. Dimitri stood by his choice for many reasons, but … it was good to know his father would have likely made a similar call, in his position.

He owed the late king this, and even more.

It wasn’t enough to simply punish any and all who bore responsibility for the murder of his father, Glenn, and his stepmother. Leaving the academy a few months early to assume the throne, and dismantling the fair share of nobles who supported Rufus’s claim, had unearthed conspirators — now dead by Dimitri’s hand.

But it still wasn’t enough.

He had to find all of those responsible, Dimitri thought with deep conviction as he ran a hand along the blue hilt of the sword. Conspirators were still at large, and he would find them, every one of them … no matter how bloodied his path became.

Dimitri brushed a strand of loose hair from his face angrily, attempting to shake the sudden feeling of rage that threatened to boil over — as it often did when he let himself stew too long in his own head.

He was preparing to leave when he stopped, noticing one remaining sheet of parchment that had found its way under the bed.

Dimitri stooped, straining his arm to reach the paper. Once he had it in his hand, he glanced down with passive interest at what appeared to be an old note. He was beginning to return the paper to the satchel when he suddenly paused. His eyes scanned the words written on the note, now reading it in its entirety.

He read it again … then again - feeling, at first, only a deep sense of confusion as he attempted to will some other understanding out from the words. The note wasn’t something Rodrigue had written, nor was it addressed to him. The recipient was the late Viscount Elidure, a man Rodrigue had helped to expose as a conspirator months ago. No … it was the supposed identity of the sender that was entirely nonsensical.

There was a distant sound of a sword falling from his hand and crashing to the floor. He gripped the note with both hands, feeling his heart beat rapidly and intensely through his whole body.

The realization began to seep through him with a painful, numbing effect. The king didn’t need to see her neatly printed signature at the end of the note to recognize who the writer was. He knew this handwriting, knew the familiar arch of the way she had always drawn each letter.

The king stared aghast at the familiar curve of her penmanship. His mind slowly attempted to connect the writer to the actions she spoke of — and to the people she so easily agreed to do away with.

Dimitri paused for a moment before he felt himself fall to his knees. His eyes never broke contact with the note as he sank to the floor, staying frozen for what felt like mere minutes, but could have been hours.

He felt his eyes drift downward to once again read the words near the bottom of the page. And he felt hollowness slowly being replaced with something else. His teeth clenched tightly, his hands gripping the note with such intensity that the nails on his fingers tore through the edges of the paper and bled the palms of his hands.

Dimitri’s gaze became fixed at the lines where his stepmother had spoken of wanting to run back to the Empire …

Her sole reason for agreeing to conspiracy had all been to return back.

Back to her true child … to Edelgard.

Chapter Text

Part I | The Boar King

Imperial Year 1183

Month of the Wyvern Moon

Six Months Remain

It was a cold night during the Wyvern Moon when Felix found himself amid an army deep into enemy territory. They had just managed to haul the boar off from his chaotic rampage by the skin of their teeth. The beast lay unconscious within one of the healer’s tents— badly wounded, by the sound of it.

Felix had caught a glimpse of the boar as the old man and others rushed him off the battlefield. His monstrous face contorted with rage and anguish, blood gushing from his side. Felix doubted the injuries would dissuade him from attempting another assault once he woke.

The past two years had been nothing but one reckless mission after the next, and the Kingdom was losing land quickly because of it. About half of its territories had either defected or been taken by force.

Ever since the boar had found evidence of his stepmother’s involvement in the tragedy, he had lost any semblance of sanity left within him. The boar didn’t care how many of his allies he had to bury right alongside his enemies if it could lead him even one step closer to the emperor. Felix didn’t pretend to understand the source of his unadulterated hatred of her, or how he had decided she bore the brunt of responsibility for what happened in Duscur.

It hardly mattered. Dimitri had become nothing but a raving beast who’d lost its mind.

As Felix walked through the encampment, he found his legs taking him close to where he knew the boar would likely be.

Felix noted with some morbid curiosity that the tent flap was open just enough to peer inside. He felt himself inch closer, catching a glimpse of the boar’s face as he rested against a cot with a deep wound in his shoulder. There was an uncomfortable and unwelcome knot forming in Felix’s stomach as he watched the slow rise and fall of the wounded beast’s chest.

“Do you believe he’ll wake soon?” Felix heard his old man’s voice ask from inside the tent, sounding laced with worry.

“He’s stable, but I wouldn’t imagine he’d wake for another few hours,” replied one of the healers. Felix could see that his old man had taken a seat near the boar and was attempting to wipe the blood from his face with a damp washcloth. He watched his father reach out to gently brush back a strand of blonde hair from the sleeping figure’s face.

Felix decided he didn’t wish to see any more of the display before him and turned to leave, but paused upon hearing another voice.

“With the state of our current situation … when His Majesty wakes, we ought to advise him to retreat back toward Kingdom grounds,” said Gilbert from somewhere within the tent.

Felix saw his old man exhale and dip his head at these words, eyes staying locked on the boar’s sleeping form.

“Yes … that would indeed be the wisest course of action,” his father said in a heavy voice that carried a notable lack of confidence.

Silence filled the room for a moment as the unspoken truth permeated the air. Felix felt himself let out a quick breath. He felt freshly ignited anger spark in him as he turned to leave.

𓆩♕𓆪

It wasn’t until the following night that he found himself back in their presence, this time with the boar awake. The beast stood before them, with bandages tied to a blood-soaked wound, as he demanded they charge a distant enemy camp.

“The emperor could be within that base — possibly alongside her treacherous mother — and you all suggest we pass her by? Spare the life of my father’s murderer?” the beast growled in a low, menacing rumble as he scowled out at their faces.

Felix stared up at the boar, feeling his own scowl deepen. This was more or less exactly what he had expected to hear, but the expectation did little to dampen his anger.

This was beyond reckless, beyond idiotic — it was downright suicidal. Many of their soldiers were wounded, and they lacked the reinforcements to do anything but lick their wounds back in Faerghus. They wouldn’t even be in this mess if the boar hadn’t dragged the army to an offensive in the first place.

“Answer me this, boar,” Felix began, taking an assertive step closer as the beast’s eyes drifted down toward him. “Do you even understand any of the words we’re saying to you? Or are you just that -”

“Felix, enough!” his father interrupted sharply, cutting Felix off with a firm grip on his shoulder. “You will give the king proper respect, even when voicing a dissenting opinion.”

Felix smacked the old man’s hand away. His father looked back to the boar — trying, no doubt, to catch any sign of approval from the king’s expression. He was met with no such reward.

“Your Majesty, I will concede that I am personally advising against this course of action,” his old man started warily. “And as Lambert’s close and trusted friend, I feel I can say with confidence that I do not believe that he would have -”

“SILENCE!” the boar snapped. He sounded strained, as though anger was fighting to make full use of a voice that had rendered itself hoarse. “You hid their treachery from me for months! And now … you ask me to forgive them?” he growled as he glowered down at the old man.

The aftermath of the boar finding the letter hidden away amongst the old man’s belongings had escalated whatever issues already lay within both of them. It had once been jarring to see the boar turn his anger on the old fool — now, such displays were a regular occurrence.

“I would never ask that of you,” his father said in a steady tone as he clenched his jaw tightly. “You are my king, our king, and wherever you go, we will follow,” the old man said after a pause, his tone resigned and defeated.

Felix watched the display before him, feeling a painful twist in his chest that he preferred not to name.

“Your Majesty, I am confident that Lord Rodrigue did not intend to oppose your command,” added Gilbert. “It is our duty as your knights and subjects to obey our king’s command, and…” the other old man went on, spouting further nonsense.

But Felix had stopped listening.

Idiots, Felix thought to himself as he scanned the faces gathered in the tent. Only Dedue had not spoken. He had mostly kept his eyes on the boar, but at some point, his gaze had shifted to Felix. There was no anger or challenge within those eyes. However, this was little indication of his opinion — his expression was often reserved.

Even if the man had more sense than the boar, he had said nothing.

“Then I suggest you make the necessary preparations to set out as soon as possible,” was the last thing Felix had heard from the boar before he stormed out of the tent.

Felix stood silently, feeling a strong sense of hollow dread mixed with rage as he watched the rest of the gathering leave to prepare. Felix had had more than enough arguments with the old fool over the years. The man didn’t listen to anything his son said. Even if he could concede this plan was reckless, he would follow the boar anywhere.

Felix’s eyes flickered back toward the boar’s tent as he felt his legs take a step in that direction, then another, and then another, until he was fully outside. Cold air blew onto his face and sent loose strands of dark hair into his eyes. He felt the sensation of the beginnings of rainfall as he looked up to see dark storm clouds forming against the night sky. Felix lowered his gaze back toward the distant tent as he felt a useless — and possibly even dangerous — impulse tugging at him. Grimacing, he finally gave in and set out after the beast.

Chapter Text

The rain was beginning to come down harder as Felix made his way up the hill leading to the boar’s tent. The beast had seemed to push his tent further away from the group with each passing night that they camped.

The boar wouldn’t hear anything Felix had to say, he knew that all well and good. But that didn’t mean he would let his old man spare the boar from having to hear it. He couldn’t stand the constant dance around such an obvious truth anymore.

“What do you want?” Came the boar’s low growl. Felix was only just close enough to be within speaking distance of the beast that glowered at him from the entrance flap.

“… The whole lot of them are just as lost as you are if they sincerely mean to go along with this ridiculous idea of yours,” Felix said, ignoring the boar’s question.

The boar stared down at him, his hair a tangled and wet mess from the rain. Felix had never been fond of eye contact from anyone — the feeling of being watched while he spoke never felt natural. But when he felt the boar’s gaze on him now, it was as though he was looking entirely past him.

The beast saw no one. He assumed people’s intentions for them, then lashed out at ideas that no one had voiced. He looked in Felix’s direction from behind loose strands of hair, evaluating him, twisting his words.

“You call the wishes of my father ridiculous?” the boar asked menacingly. It was hardly a surprising response, at this point.

“Tch … I have no idea what your father would have wanted to do here. I’m speaking to you,” Felix asserted. “You can’t possibly hope to come out on top here. We’re in the midst of a retreat. So, tell me now — do you understand what charging ahead would mean for us? Or are you simply that set on burying your allies right alongside your enemies?”

“Stay here then, if you do not see the point in what I do,” the boar snarled, now looking off in the direction of the enemy encampment. “… I could kill them all myself.”

Ravings of a madman— that was all this was. Felix had believed, back at the officer’s academy, that the Dimitri he once considered his friend was already gone. At the time, he had thought the boar’s calmer demeanor to be some sort of intentional guise.

But now, Felix had to admit he wished he could be speaking to any earlier version of the man. However, it was too late for that. He didn’t have the Dimitri from three years ago.

Felix looked up at him, taking in a long, desperate breath.

“Those people back there will follow you wherever you lead them. If you’re going out to your death, it means …” Felix gestured back toward the Kingdom’s camp. “They’ll go to theirs as well.”

“It matters not what they’re capable of,” the boar growled dismissively. “I will do what needs to be done.”

“My mistake …” Felix muttered with resigned contempt. “There’s nothing to be gained from speaking with a crazed animal who’s lost its mind.”

“Then there’s no use in exchanging words.”

The boar looked away from him as he spoke, eyes still on the distant lights of the enemy camp — possibly expecting Felix to turn and leave.

Felix noted with anger that the boar was, not only resolute, but seemed entirely indifferent to his words or presence. He knew words held little persuasive power with the boar … beasts only understood the language of warfare and violence.

An idea sprung to Felix’s mind suddenly — possibly a dangerous one, but an idea all the same.

The boar’s head turned towards at the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath. His eyes widened, his brows coming together in anger as he saw Felix pointing a sword in his direction.

“You say you can take that encampment by yourself?” Felix asked as his eyes met the boar’s scowl. “Then prove it to me, boar.”

He had been coming at this from the wrong angle, Felix realized. Words might be pointless … but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one thing that might catch the beast’s attention.

“If you can’t win against one swordsman … even you’ll have to admit that staying here in enemy territory is pointless,” Felix asserted, slowly and cautiously.

This got a cold, joyless laugh out of the boar. There was no sense of amusement on his face as it contorted into a misshapen grin that leered down at Felix.

“I won’t hesitate to cut you down if you sincerely mean to stand in my way.” The grin slowly died from his face to be replaced with a glare. “…You’d only be a waste of time.”

“Of course you’d say something like that,” Felix scoffed. “Can the boar not make distinctions between sparring partners and enemies now?”

The boar seemed to be pondering the proposition, his eyes following the end of Felix’s sword. “No one’s offered to spar with me in some time …” he muttered.

“Anyone with a remnant of sense wouldn’t challenge a beast who’d likely forget it was only training.” Felix tightened his grip on his handle with resolve — his hands had already begun to sweat with apprehension.

The boar wordlessly lowered his lance, gripping it with both his hands. His eyes were now fixated on Felix, but his gaze was glossy. It was hard to see any signs of thought behind the boar’s expression as the beast studied his opponent. But whatever his inner rationale was, it was evident this had caught his attention.

If Felix could antagonize him further, perhaps it would lure him into attacking and cement the terms of the duel. He was easily angered these days, even by allies. Felix had watched as he had senselessly threatened violence upon people that he previously claimed to trust. Dedue, his father, anyone and everyone.

“Just look at you now,” Felix started. “If you manage to live much longer, soon you won’t even be able to string two sentences together.”

“It matters not!” The boar yelled as he lunged forward with his lance. Felix jumped out of the way with only a few inches to spare.

“It doesn’t matter?” Felix echoed resentfully, feeling his heart beat rapidly in his chest as he watched the boar pull back his lance for another blow.

“They deserve to enact their revenge,” the boar growled. “The dead deserve their tribute!” Although the boar was engaging him, he hesitated still, as though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing here with Felix.

“Give it a rest. That’s all you’ve been saying on repeat for years now,” Felix scoffed. “I watched people crumble around me after Duscar, but nothing that held a candle to your depravity… so, what is this really? Did the sight of slaughter leave you wanting more?”

The boar yelled as he put his full weight into lunging at Felix — it was just what he needed to throw the boar off balance. The boar outweighed him too heavily for Felix to even hope to knock him to his knees with strength alone. He needed the boar to be reckless, to put himself at risk, for Felix to get the upper hand.

As Felix sidestepped the attack, he put all his weight into attempting to catch him off guard — but all he managed was knocking the boar back a few steps before he appeared to regain his footing. The boar let out a frustrated noise at being pushed, glaring down at his opponent.

“You can’t possibly understand any of this!” the boar bellowed, raising his lance for the second time.

The boar wouldn’t restrain himself the same way Felix planned to, that was evident enough. Even back at the officer’s academy, the boar had little control over his own strength. And that had been when he was trying not to hurt his sparring partners.

The beast who pointed a lance his way now was even less contained.

Felix felt his grip on his sword’s handle becoming loose as sweat mixed with rainwater. He felt his heart beating in his chest, the sensation seeming to pulse through his entire body. He didn’t need to antagonize the boar any further to keep the fight going — but all the same, he felt his anger take the reigns.

“You’re right! I don’t understand … because there’s nothing in you to make sense of!”

The boar’s lance leaped forward at him. Felix pushed himself to dodge the incoming blow, the sharp tip flying so close to his face it might have cut his hair. Frustrated by his target’s movement, the boar erratically swiped downward, as if to slice Felix with the end of his lance.

“You weren’t there! You can’t possibly begin to imagine!” the boar screamed at him, frantically waving his weapon as though his only goal was to end the upsetting words by lodging a lance in the other man’s neck. “I saw my father beheaded! I watched Glenn die! I watched him choke on his own blood as it came spewing from his mouth,” the boar continued to scream, each sentence accompanied by a vicious swipe.

“SHUT UP!” Felix yelled as he lunged towards the boar, his own movements becoming erratic as well. The animal had left himself open when he raised his arms to swipe at Felix. And now Felix brought his sword down, forgetting his intended restraint.

Disarming the boar, or bringing a sword to touch the skin of his throat, should be his goal for this duel. Wounding him would only put their army at greater risk … but now, a bright red slash lay across the boar’s face from his left ear to his nose.

“You think I don’t know that?” Felix growled resentfully as he watched blood begin to ooze and drip down the beast’s face. He felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach that he did his best to beat down.

The boar deserved that, he told himself forcefully.

Felix jabbed the end of his sword at the boar in an attempt to hold it against his neck, but it was shot off course by the boar’s lance, pushing his blade to the right. The boar was able to take a few steps back and wipe his hand against his face before he brought his palm back, bloodied. He gazed quietly at the red stain.

“I should have died that day,” the boar said, his voice barely audible.

“That mind of yours …” Felix scoffed, still gripping the handle of his sword as they stood motionless. “If you’re so keen on dying, spare us the collateral damage and go out on that suicide mission by yourself.”

This grabbed the beast’s attention. The boar’s bloodshot eyes suddenly looked up from his hands, his gaze focused on Felix with a newfound sense of recognition.

“Is that what you’d want? My death?”

Felix stayed silent as the boar looked at him. He hadn’t expected anything he said here to be genuinely considered … but he realized suddenly that the beast leaving by himself would be the preferable outcome, if it could truly happen. If Felix couldn’t stop him, the boar would lead more people to their deaths in the next battle, and then the next … and the next, until the ground below their feet gave way entirely.

Felix felt his frustration mounting as he glared back up at the beast.

No, he didn’t need to consider this. He could still win — he could best the beast, and show him his limits.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy. In the years since the officer’s academy, while many people had gone thin and hungry as war plagued their lands, the boar had only seemed to grow taller and stronger. The large figure towered over Felix as he stared down at his opponent, waiting for an answer to his question that didn’t come.

Felix’s silence only seemed to enrage the boar king further. Suddenly, he gripped his lance tightly yet again and plunged it toward him. This time, Felix was able to sidestep with just enough space to reach out and grab the lance’s handle. Before he could think, he tried to pull the weapon out from the boar’s extended arms.

He might as well have been trying to strain against a mountain. The boar, frustrated, pulled back on his lance, trying to free it from his opponent’s grasp.

Felix, still holding onto the lance, was instantly flung forward.

Getting the weapon away from the boar had been his best option, but he now found himself much too close to the beast. With his free hand, he swung his blade towards his foe. But the boar had caught on too quickly.

Suddenly, an impossibly heavy force hammered into his torso and sent him falling backward. The boar had kicked him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

Felix hit the mud with a cold thud as pain shot up his spine. He attempted to gasp desperately for air before the heel of the boar’s armored boot painfully pressed down against his chest, crushing him. He struggled to even cough beneath the pressure of the boar’s full weight. The animal only continued to lean towards him, increasing the weight as his eyes studied Felix’s face for any sign of a fight left within him.

Or perhaps he simply intended to watch the man below his weight suffocate to death.

Felix fumbled blindly, feeling the cold metal of his sword’s hilt against the very tips of his fingers. He made a motion to grab his weapon, but just as quickly as he managed to scoot the handle into his grasp, he felt a deep surge of pain. The dull end of the boar’s lance forcefully dug into his wrist as he stifled a reactionary groan of pain. He felt the boar’s free hand yank the sword away, bringing Felix’s own weapon a mere centimeter away from his neck.

“F-fine,” Felix wheezed, shutting his eyes against the rain falling over his face. “Go. I can’t stop you.”

“Answer my question,” the boar growled, still holding the sword to his throat.

Felix could only focus on steadying his breath enough to keep his neck a safe distance from the blade pushing against his skin. There was a beat of silence before the beast broke it once more.

“Tell me!” the boar commanded as he glared down at Felix.

“Do anyone’s wishes— let alone mine— even matter to you anymore?” Felix asked, his voice hoarse. “You’ve been a walking corpse for far too long. Might as well make it official.”

Felix felt the weight of the boar’s body lift away as he stepped back, sword still held limply in his hand. Felix released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as he struggled to push himself up. Every muscle in his back screamed against his movements as he willed himself to a standing position. Although the physical weight had left his chest, his heart still beat rapidly. He realized his lack of air had been partially due to fear as he steadied himself. The monstrous force that could have killed him still stood there, but all signs of a fight had left him.

“I’ll … take that encampment myself. Alone,” the boar muttered, not looking towards Felix.

Somehow, the beast suddenly looked nearly as beaten down as Felix felt.

So … that was it, then. Felix had considered Dimitri already lost to him for years now, but it was another thing entirely to face his imminent death. His emotions were always at war with themselves when it came to the boar — fear, resentment, guilt, nostalgia, and …

“What happened to you?” Felix heard himself ask. He looked up at the boar who silently stared out at the enemy base. “I used to…” Felix started, but faded off, not sure what he wanted to say.

Felix might as well have been talking to himself now. There was no one here who would listen to him, not really.

The creature that had been Dimitri didn’t meet Felix’s gaze, nor make any acknowledgment of his words.

A brief memory flashed before him of younger versions of himself and Dimitri sparring with their father’s weapons — although, “sparring” was a generous word to attribute to the two ten-year-old’s who would play tag with training swords.

He had spent nearly his whole life with Dimitri in it. Being with him had often felt like home, but a home with a foundation that was breaking. It now seemed that, finally, he would be walking out as the surrounding walls collapsed.

He’s as good as dead now, Felix thought to himself as he looked at the shell of a person he had, at one time, considered his best friend. There didn’t seem to be anyone behind those glassy eyes of his as they once again looked out over Felix’s shoulder.

The boar’s coat was soaked through with mud, rain, and traces of blood as Felix grabbed hold of it and brought Dimitri’s vacant face down to his own.

𓆩♕𓆪

When Dimitri felt the sensation of a pair of lips pressed to his own, he didn’t register what it was.

… What was the man doing?

The person who had just cut his face and told him he wanted him dead was now pressing his mouth to his own. Dimitri stepped back, away from the contact. Felix only gave him another hard look as he gained enough distance to properly see at the other’s face.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Dimitri turned away towards the distant fires of the enemy encampment — and walked away. If his own death could be achieved alongside his revenge, he would make sure to fulfill it. Without his army, without anyone but himself.

Waiting for them, sparring, it had all been a waste of time that could have been spent out there. He had no need for allies — they would only get in his way.

Chapter Text

Rainwater and blood clung to Dimitri’s clothes, face, and hands. The downpour nearly drenched the king completely as he blinked against it, looking down on the corpses below his feet.

He had found a small troop surveying the outskirts of the base. They had been small enough in numbers for him to overpower easily. He studied the man below his boot, glancing over the mess of flesh that had, at one point, been a human face. Now, it was only a disfigured lump coated in redness. Dimitri had no recollection of the man’s features — the king had scarcely noticed anything about him as he had sunk his lance through the soldier’s skull.

It hardly mattered, he thought to himself. They were both murderers at the end of the day.

His eyes drifted toward the sound of shouting — another group of soldiers was making their way toward him. The meager number of troops approaching made it clear the base wasn’t yet aware of who they were facing, but that would change soon enough.

The violence began to blur as the metallic stench of blood filled the air and the wounds of his enemies became indistinguishable from his own. The gashes on his body protested against his movement as he gritted his teeth and attempted to bear it.

Dimitri couldn’t say for certain how many he slew before his own wounds overpowered him, sending the king stumbling to the floor. He looked to see a few soldiers, one of whom was drawing back a lance. But before he could even attempt to stand and seize the man, a scream stopped him mid-swing.

“WAIT!” cried out a woman’s voice from behind him.

“Wait!” She said again, this time more firm. Dimitri turned to see a young-looking woman with blonde hair braided on two ends. “It’s you….” she said in a low whisper, gripping the sword in her hands tightly.

He didn’t recognize the girl, though it was clear enough that she recognized him.

“Fleche, we can’t wait. We need to -” one of the soldiers attempted to say before the swordswoman cut him off.

“No! That monster needs to know why I’m the one who will end his life!” She commanded in a voice that had a hoarse, guttural quality to it. Dimitri looked again at the girl, noticing the rage in her eyes that seemed to border on hunger.

And slowly, an understanding washed over Dimitri as he felt the grip on his lance loosen.

His own anger dissipated as he felt a sensation like a cold hand holding him down, keeping him rooted on the ground.

“You… stole my brother from me,” she continued in a breathless voice, taking a step closer. “I swore I’d make you pay! Swore I’d make you suffer the way he suffered!” Dimitri heard her yell as he closed his eyes.

Yes. This was how it would happen, he decided.

Dimitri felt the tip of her blade make contact with his face, ever so slightly drawing blood. She slowly raked upward across his skin, bringing it closer to his right eye. There was an accompanying sound of hollow laughter, devoid of any mirth.

“Fleche…” someone beside her said.

“We need to end this… not later, but now,” another echoed.

“No!” the girl roared, and all at once there was a searing pain on the right side of his face. Dimitri only just stifled a scream, reaching up to grip his face as the damp, warm sensation of blood dripped between his fingers. “Do either of you think that monster gave my brother the mercy of a swift end?!”

Everything blurred around Dimitri as he heard the distant sounds of an argument, though he hardly processed the words through the agonizing pounding in his face.

The grass was damp and blood-soaked as Dimitri sank onto it, gripping his gaping wound. He could feel the sensation of rain against the back of his head, hear the moan of the wind and the gallop of a distant horse drawing nearer.

As if in a dream, he thought he heard fighting break out around him alongside the sound of his name being called out, but it hardly mattered.

All that was left to do was wait…

“No! I’ll kill him! Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill him!” Dimitri heard the girl from before scream as she doubtlessly lunged toward him.

Dimitri felt himself gasp as he braced himself for a blow that never came.

“Dimitri…”

Suddenly, his vision came into focus to reveal a face he knew, staring down at him.

Dimitri stared up at Rodrigue, aghast, and felt his mouth whisper the man’s name.

“Are you… okay?” Rodrigue asked between coughs. Dimitri felt his gaze drift down as he stared at the sword— intended for him— that was now lodged through the man’s chest.

This couldn’t be happening. Rodrigue couldn’t be here, he told himself in desperation. He continued to stare at the man before him — as if Dimitri were watching the events unfold from afar like some terrible dream. “Please… gah… tell me it wasn’t in—”

But Rodrigue’s words stopped as he slowly slipped off the sword, crashing to the ground before him to reveal the swordswoman from before, staring down at the both of them. Dimitri snapped from his haze in a violent spark of fury.

He hardly remembered leaping from the ground or killing the girl.

The young soldier didn’t so much as have time to scream before Dimitri was crushing his armored gloves into her neck, tearing into her skin as though it were as thin and fine as wet paper in his hands. He let her lifeless body fall from his hands as blood spewed from the corpse with a horrible squelching noise.

Slowly, he turned back around — back to where Rodrigue lay. He stumbled to the floor, gripping the man’s shoulder. Rodrigue reached out to touch Dimitri’s face and, for a moment, looked as though he were attempting to say something. His eyes found Dimitri’s, exhausting great effort to look the king’s way. He opened his mouth to say something, but…

The hand against Dimitri’s cheek fell to the ground… and the man said nothing more.

“No, no, no,” Dimitri murmured until his voice became a scream. “NO!”

There were others around them now, but he hardly processed it. The world seemed to fade in and out, swaying and flickering, before everything eventually went black.

𓆩♕𓆪

The first sensation Dimitri became aware of upon waking was the terrible ache in his head. He slowly opened his eyes — at least, he tried to, as he noted with a strange curiosity that only half his vision came into focus.

“Your Majesty,” a small voice rang out as he slowly looked to see Ingrid sitting nearby. Her eyes were red and puffy as she blinked against them and wiped a hand on her cheek.

He felt the beginnings of his memory threatening to resurface to the forefront of his mind, but the images smeared like wet paint before he could properly make sense of them.

Dimitri sat up and blinked, trying once again to see his surroundings more clearly but still… nothing more came to him.

“What’s happened?” he asked, still groggy. Dimitri brought a hand to his face to feel bandages covering his right eye. That must be why you can’t see, he thought to himself.

“Your Majesty… what do you remember?” Dimitri looked over to see Gustave nearby now as well, giving him a pained expression as he stood near the cot.

And suddenly, Dimitri felt his blood run cold as the blurred memories took on a clearer shape in his mind.

“Rodrigue,” he breathed out, feeling his eye widen in alarm and fear. “Where is he? Did the healers get to him?” He attempted to push himself from the bed, ignoring the accompanying aches and pains that told him he needed to stay put.

But he was stopped by a firm hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Gustave didn’t need to say anything. The truth was written on his face — in the way he clenched his jaw tightly, slowly shaking his head while not meeting the king’s eye.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” came Ingrid’s voice again from the corner of the tent, sounding as though she was making a great deal of effort to keep a tremor from her tone.

“No…” he heard himself say in a whisper as his heart dropped out from his chest. “No!” he said again — this time more insistent as he felt his head shaking, pleading for it not to be true. But even though he tried to fight it, memories were solidifying inside his mind.

He remembered what had happened now.

Remembered the way Rodrigue had jumped in front of the blade, remembered the vacancy in his eyes as Dimitri had screamed out the man’s name.

It had already been too late even then, he realized numbly as he felt a deep, hollow coldness engulf him. He was gone.

Chapter Text

Two Days Later

Dimitri shifted in his cot, feeling the various recent wounds on his body protest against the movement. He had drifted through the past two days with his mind in a horrible fog — barely even conscious.

He ran a hand along the bandages that covered half his face and felt a strange, hollow dip where his right eye had once been. The dull pain and nauseating effect of looking at the world with only half of his vision felt terrible … but it hardly mattered.

Such losses were nothing in the wake of Rodrigue’s death.

Dimitri had believed he would finally meet his end within the enemy base. Instead, the king had woken up in a bloodstained haze — only to discover himself back among his allies. The Kingdom army had, apparently, rushed to the base and discovered him lying unconscious beside Rodrigue’s body.

Dimitri didn’t understand how Rodrigue learned he was out on his own, or why he had followed him before waiting for more troops.

But, regardless of how it had happened, the king knew one thing for certain.

This was his fault.

The undeniable reality of that fact haunted him with an intensity the likes of which he had never known. The realization bound Dimitri in a cold binding chain, dragging him below frozen waters, further and further down — until he felt as though he were truly drowning in it.

There would be no relinquishing his hold on revenge, not after this. He simply couldn’t bear the thought of commanding their army to press on any further when it should be him and him alone out there. If any of his allies truly wanted to return to the Kingdom, then he would grant them that wish before next setting off on his own.

He deserved nothing but scorn from the people he had led out this far into danger. However, when he had first interrupted the war council to announce his apologies — and his immense guilt— he had been met with assurances of how it was all water under the bridge. Gustave had been especially quick to applaud his words … everyone seemed to take this as evidence he had ‘returned to himself.’

Everyone but Felix.

Dimitri had felt the man’s eyes fixed on him from the corner of the tent while he spoke. They hadn’t talked since their fight — since Rodrigue had died. Though everyone in the tent had been watching him, Felix’s glare alone seemed to see through his complete fraudulence.

Dimitri had never before noticed it like he did at that moment, never before felt as exposed under the man’s gaze as he did now.

He knew this would happen, a cold voice told the king. He tried to stop you.

Dimitri’s one remaining eye found Felix’s for the briefest of moments before the man looked away, silent, as the rest of those present spouted their baseless words of affirmation.

And then Felix had finally spoken.

‘Blind,’ he had uttered in a quiet, rumbling voice. ‘Every one of you is just as blind as that beast is now, if this is all you have to say,’ he continued, every syllable dripping with unadulterated loathing. ‘He can’t be trusted to take the reins on himself and go anywhere aside from a shallow grave … let alone lead other people.’

Dimitri had stayed silent, a hollow sensation rooting the king to the spot — telling him to hear Felix continue.

Felix’s voice was an airy gasp, spoken through clenched teeth. ‘Oh, but the beast is ‘sorry’ now, is he? Well, you could parade around all the anguish and regret in the world, and it wouldn’t fix this…' Felix kept his eyes on Dimitri, ignoring everyone else.

‘Felix, enough!’ Ingrid snapped. ‘I know you’re hurting, but you can’t-’

‘No, I …’ For a moment, Felix looked as though he were about to say more. But, something in him faltered. He covered his mouth, closing his eyes as though he was making a tremendous effort to suppress something more from spilling out of him. ‘I’m done wasting my time with you all,’ was all he said before storming out of the tent.

As he thought back on Felix’s words, the king realized with strange a curiosity that the outburst had had some sort of … painfully affirming effect on him. Dimitri racked his mind, wondering why this was until he realized …

He had wanted to hear someone blame him.

Though Felix’s intentions were surely anything but to give Dimitri what he wanted, the man had somehow ended up there anyway.

Chapter Text

Felix found himself a little ways away from camp, near a neighboring forest. The army had done their best to take routes that skirted around civilization to avoid being seen. Their camp’s supplies and food were running low at this point. In order to source his own meals, Felix had taken to hunting in the area.

Swords weren’t especially adept for this sort of task, but he was decent at throwing his dagger as well. Hunting was something he and his family had done together since he was a child, often on joint outings with the boar and the late king. It was practical and uncomplicated, a way to feed himself.

And, right now, it was a good way to avoid everyone.

Felix sighed quietly to himself as he stepped deeper into the forest, dagger in hand. He tried to focus his thoughts on something tangible and real, but the task was proving to be difficult as of late.

The reality still hadn’t sunk in yet …

His father’s body hadn’t even been recovered from where he had died protecting the boar. He had been left there, dead among enemy troops — and Felix would never see him again.

He had to admit there was a part of him that longed to run off into obscurity, to get away from it all.

As a teenager, Felix had sometimes fantasized about abandoning nobility and living off the land or traveling as a mercenary. Now, that fantasy was creeping back into his mind.

But, for whatever reason, he felt wholly unable to act on it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what his father would say to him if he could hear his thoughts. It wasn’t like when Glenn died. Felix and Glenn had both been younger, too young to have fought about anything other than whose turn it was to use which sword. Glenn’s voice and imagined opinions weren’t as clear to him as his father’s were proving to be.

The old man’s obsession with the imagined wishes of the late king— and, by extension, the boar — had been a constant source of turmoil. He had become blinded by it, unable to even see the tragedy in blood spilled for a ghost. And, over the years, that tendency had made the old man all too comfortable with the idea of dying.

Anger at the boar for his negligence, and even at the old man himself, mixed with guilt and an overwhelming sense of grief when he tried to think of any way forward. It was too much to sort through.

So instead, he tried to listen to the woods around him. The wind rustled the trees, bringing the cold air and smell of grass into his face. He closed his eyes, trying to sink into it, to clear his head. Finding food was all that mattered at this moment. As his eyes scanned the woods, he tried to move through them as silently as possible.

And that was when he saw it.

A formidably large deer was standing in a clearing, sniffing the ground below it. It was male, a stag. It had long antlers that branched out in front of it like pointed spears. The animal hadn’t noticed Felix’s presence, but there were a pair of eyes staring his way all the same. A bird, perched on the antlers, peered out at him — or at least, in his direction.

He gripped his toothed dagger tighter. If he could strike the stag’s neck here, it could feed him, and several more. Slowly he raised the knife while the bird’s eyes watched him, unblinking. It felt odd, being watched like this, even if it was only an animal.

Felix let the dagger fly from his hand as he swung his arm forward.

The knife twirled, soaring past the two animals — missing its mark entirely.

The stag’s head shot up in alarm. It briefly looked around its surroundings for the source of the noise before taking off in a random direction, the bird still perched on its antlers.

Felix’s right arm fell to his side in frustration. He watched his potential meal scurry off at speeds he couldn’t possibly hope to match.

“Felix, there you are!” He heard a familiar voice shout from somewhere behind him.

Felix turned to see Ingrid making her way toward him with a rather frantic demeanor. Ignoring her, he turned back to the clearing where he had just thrown his knife and moved out to retrieve his weapon.

“Wait! I’ve been looking all over for you,” she called out urgently as she began to close the distance between them. “You need to come back to camp!” Ingrid reached for his arm, tugging back in the direction she had come from.

“I’m not in the mood for another lecture,” he spat, annoyed as he pulled his arm away from her touch. “When we move our troops out, I will go — but you can’t drag me into pointless meetings about it. I’m busy right now,” he muttered, bending down to pick up his dagger from where it had lodged itself into the base of a tree.

He could practically feel the scowl she must be giving him burning into his back. Felix was attempting to prepare himself for another one of her lectures on the ‘value of his strategic input’ or the ‘responsibilities of knighthood.’ They had done this song and dance many times, for years now, but this time he felt as though he physically lacked the ability to tolerate her. He needed to be away from her, from everyone.

“Busy failing to catch anything, I see?” she asked, clearly frustrated with his attempt to brush her off. “You shouldn’t disappear into the woods without telling us where you’ve gone out to. Our army should have moved out an hour ago, but instead, we’ve spent time tracking you down that we could have spent on the road.”

“We aren’t supposed to move out till tomorrow morning,” Felix replied, turning to face her.

Ingrid paused for a moment as she looked at him, her expression warping some from pure exasperation to something else.

“Fraldarius territory is going to be invaded.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right. His home was near the north of the Kingdom, away from any borders besides that of the sea. The possibility of losing it shouldn’t even be a concern before the neighboring territories fell.

“We had word come in from our spies that the Empire has a naval fleet preparing to launch an attack and cut their way through Fraldarius straight to the capitol,” Ingrid said with a pained look on her face. “Our travel is being expedited — we’re trying to get on the road again, right now.”

Move from Arianrhod to his home? It was a multi-week long journey, at least. And, in the condition they were in, it would be a tremendous strain on everyone.

“We might not make it in time to defend anything except the strike on the capitol,” Ingrid admitted solemnly as Felix found himself now walking in step with her back towards the camp.

“We shouldn’t have been this far out to begin with.”

Ingrid turned to glare at him.

“Don’t make this about his past mistakes,” she warned. “None of us could have predicted the Empire would have resources like this. And, His Majesty cares deeply about returning to secure your territory as quickly as possible.”

“Let’s just focus on getting back,” he said, letting go of the fight. He didn’t want to talk about the boar, not while images of Imperial troops taking his family’s home were running through his head.

“How is this even possible?” He asked, trying not to let fear slip into his voice. “The Empire doesn’t occupy land east of Fraldarius.”

“Unless … they do occupy that land now.”

The Alliance … it seemed to be holding stability based on its limited contact with the region. But if their spies were accurate … then …

The inevitable conclusion loomed over the pair as they walked, too damning in its implication to be spoken aloud.

Chapter Text

Part II | House Fraldarius

Imperial Year 1183

Month of the Red Wolf Moon

Five Months Remain

Felix found himself walking the halls of the Fraldarius castle for the first time in months. Securing it against the assault launched by the Imperial navy had been a taxing endeavor for their army. They likely would have lost this place had it not been for the reinforcements that had come from the capitol and the few spies they had left in the Empire.

They had somehow managed to arrive just before his house’s military force had been overrun. Felix had all but accepted they would lose the castle, but the boar had pushed on with a renewed sense of vigor. Once they had joined the fighting, the battle had eventually turned in the Kingdom’s favor.

The day following the attack had been filled with efforts to refortify their defenses. When nightfall came, it was only natural that their group found themselves inside the home of the late Rodrigue Fraldarius.

Felix’s uncle had been left in charge of the territory while the old man had rushed out to join the Kingdom’s army. His uncle was now one of many soldiers on bed rest after the most recent battle to defend the castle.

Maybe it was cruel, but Felix found himself reluctant to visit the man. They had never been particularly close, and the healers would soon treat him to be as good as new — with or without Felix present. There wasn’t any need for him to see him hurt.

Felix shook his head, trying to clear it of unwanted thoughts as he made his way into the dining hall. Most people had eaten and gone to bed by this time, but there were often leftovers from dishes prepared throughout the day. He had been called a picky eater his whole life, mostly by his father — and Glenn. The old man had supposedly expected him to ‘grow out of the habit’ as he got older, but he never had.

As he entered the room, he noticed a few piles of paper scattered across one of the tables. Upon closer inspection, they seemed to be some sort of… musical score? The sheets were covered with rows of lines, each filled with small markings and dots.

He had no idea how some people read this type of thing. If he remembered correctly, he had seen Annette with sheets like these before in the greenhouse back at the academy. She had a good singing voice. He had told her as much, but she seemed to have a negative reaction to the whole thing. Compliments weren’t generally listed highly among his skill sets.

Still, he should check to see if this belonged to her. She had always been losing and misplacing her belongings left and right ever since they had been students together… always so scatterbrained. He should return these to her, if he could find her.

Felix wandered the castle halls in search of Annette for ten minutes or so before he had eventually run into Mercedes. Upon asking where her friend was, the healer had told him that she had passed her here — following Gilbert, strangely enough.

‘It might not be a very ideal time to chat with her, I’m afraid. But I’m sure she’ll-’

‘I don’t need to chat. I just need to give her this,’ he had said, gesturing to the sheets in his hand.

As he walked further down the walkway, he began to hear voices. One of them sounded like it belonged to Annette, the other Gilbert.

What would she want from that man? He thought to himself as he approached. Felix found Gilbert insufferable — the man’s renewed devotion to the boar seemed almost religious at times.

As he got closer, he could make out a raised voice coming from around the corner and stopped in his tracks. He suddenly realized what Mercedes must have been alluding to. Annette sounded… angry.

During past war meetings, Felix had voiced more than a few choice words with the man as well. But what reason would Annette have to confront him? Her tone was admittedly surprising. Felix could have counted the times he had seen her genuinely angry or upset on one hand. Sure, she had raised her voice once or twice — occasionally at him, even — but this sounded intense.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward a few more paces to see if he could make out the words she might have been saying.

“Would you please just stop walking away and listen to me!?” Annette bellowed in a tone Felix had never heard come out of her mouth.

“Annette. Please…” came Gilbert’s perpetually feeble voice. “I do not deserve your company.”

“This again?” Annette scoffed. “What about back at the academy? You would talk to me sometimes… that doll you made me…?”

This was… personal, Felix realized uneasily. That was certainly unanticipated.

Had he known the two had some form of family relationship with each other, he might have listened to Mercedes’s warnings. He had to admit he knew little of the allies here that he hadn’t grown up alongside. He should back off for now, as quietly as possible.

He took an awkward step backward and winced as the floor below him creaked under his weight.

Perhaps staying silent in his position would be the best course of action. The two had seemed to be walking away from where he currently was, after all.

“You are not a little girl anymore,” he heard Gilbert say, “You told me as much yourself. I apologize for my behavior.”

“It’s true, I’m not that kid anymore. I just hoped…” She paused. ”I just hoped that you would come to see me for the person I’ve become. But avoiding me altogether? Again?”

“Please, you must understand.”

“Is it really that you think you don’t deserve time with your family?” She asked, her words slow. “Or do you maybe just… do you maybe just not care about…” The question faded out into silence.

He shouldn’t be listening to this. It was evident enough at this point the two were likely father and daughter. Felix slowly dared another step backward as he mentally focused on moving as gently and silently as he could.

“No. I care for you and your mother deeply.” His voice sounded strained, like every syllable caused him great effort. Although frankly, it wasn’t that far off from how Felix had sometimes heard him talk under other circumstances. “Please don’t ever doubt that. You know why I faced exile. I have many regrets about my choices in the past… accepting my banishment was never one of them. But I am… sorry for the way it has affected you.”

Silence followed— even the smallest sound could have been heard. Felix held his breath, waiting for them to move on or resume their argument so he might have the cover of noise to retreat.

“I must go now,” he heard Gilbert’s voice say. It sounded as though Gilbert was now turning away to run off in a hurry.

“Wait, look out!”

What followed was the sound of a rather large crash as something came toppling over. Felix watched as a helmet rolled out from behind the corner, stopping a few yards in front of where he stood. It appeared Gilbert had tipped over one his father’s decorative armored statues… perhaps Annette’s clumsiness was an inherited trait.

“My apologies,” Gilbert mumbled. Felix heard the shuffle of feet as the man seemed to continue his retreat.

“Father!” he heard Annette huff in an exasperated tone.

Before Felix could make a move to bolt off under the cover of the ruckus, Annette was in front of him, attempting to pick up the helmet.

“Are you really just gonna leave it like…” But the words died in her throat as she stood up, helmet in hand, and met Felix’s gaze. Annette’s eyes widened and the helmet dropped to the floor once again.

“Felix!” she exclaimed, brows furrowing in realization. “Were you eavesdropping on me?!”

“No!” Felix exclaimed reflexively, before realizing it was entirely untrue.

She briefly glanced toward the hall where Gilbert had gone off — it seemed as though her father had simply walked away from his mess. Now, Felix found himself under her stern scrutiny as she waited for an elaboration, clearly not buying his response.

“Well, I didn’t mean to,” he tried to clarify before remembering his original reason for looking for her. “I was just trying to find you to see if these belonged to you,” he said, walking up to Annette and holding the papers out toward her. Annette’s gaze fell to the sheets in his hand, her expression softening.

“Oh… my sheet music,” she said in a smaller voice. “I was working on writing a new score during dinner… I must have left them there.”

“You wrote these?” Felix asked. He hadn’t realized it had been her own handiwork — not that he knew how to read this kind of thing, anyway.

“Yeah, I…” She was beginning to smile as she reached out. Suddenly, her hand stopped — and her face fell. “I really shouldn’t be wasting time writing musical scores when we’re at war like this. These aren’t useful to anyone right now… I should just stick to magic books,” she muttered, still looking towards the papers as he awkwardly lowered his hand.

He wasn’t sure what to say in response to her sudden shift in demeanor, but at least she didn’t seem angry. “It’s my fault you had to come looking for me in the first place,” she continued. “And I suppose I can’t exactly get mad at you for walking through the halls of your own castle… it’s not like I tried to find a secluded area…”

Halls of your own castle…

The words echoed through his mind as he realized they were true. He hadn’t officially accepted the inherited role as Duke Fraldarius — not yet, anyhow, but… it was likely an assumed truth to the other nobility.

Felix felt an unpleasant sensation take hold of him as he looked back to his suit of armor, now dismantled on the floor.

“I, uhm…” Felix said in a far-off voice.“Even still, I should have left sooner,” he added awkwardly.

“No, no, I’m sorry you had to hear that… however much you did end up catching,” she replied, a small nervous chuckle escaping her mouth. “Well, I suppose I should clean up after him now.” Her gaze lowered back to the corner where his armor set lay on the floor.

Felix wondered if this would be an appropriate moment to excuse himself from her company. He probably would have, if it weren’t for the mess she seemed to be trying to fumble through on her own. So, he shoved the music sheets into his coat pockets, bent down, and began grabbing a few armor pieces here and there to reassemble.

She probably wanted him to say something in response to her situation. She seemed to be embarrassed about him hearing the argument. He hesitated for a moment before eventually breaking the silence.

“Don’t feel like you have to apologize to me about him,” he said. “At this point, I’m quite used to hearing ludicrous claims from the man,” he added as he pulled the bulk of the armor back up to be propped against the wall.

He heard a stifled laugh from Annette and looked back at her, puzzled. At first, he felt defensive — what had he said to make her laugh at him?

“He can be awfully hard to reason with, that’s for sure,” she said, smiling in his direction. He lowered his guard back down as he realized she seemed to be in agreement with him.

“Hey, Felix,” she started as she brought over a loose shoulder pad. “I know this must seem strange, but I’d appreciate it if you kept that detail about him being my father to yourself. It’s a bit of a complicated situation.”

Ah. So it hadn’t been common knowledge he had simply missed by chance.

“I don’t see why not. Does anyone else know?” he asked, realigning the strap on a loose piece of armor.

“I think people have their suspicions, but I’ve only ever told Mercie. And His Majesty would know— my father did serve the royal family before the… when His Majesty was younger.”

She had been about to say the Tragedy of Duscur, hadn’t she? Felix had heard talk of the royal family knight who had come back from the Tragedy, only to run off into banishment. In more recent years, it hadn’t been hard to put two and two together and figure out that it had been Gilbert. He had no idea the man had been a father throughout all that time away from the Kingdom, much less a father to someone he knew.

“He went into exile after Duscur, didn’t he?” he asked, back still turned towards her as he placed together parts of the armor piece. The set was coming back into its proper shape now, resting against its support poles.

“Yes… he did.”

A moment of silence passed between them as Felix worked. He turned around to take the scabbard Annette was holding, noticing she seemed to be stiff again.

“He should be grateful he got out of there with his life,” he said, a little more to himself than to her. He took the set piece from her and began attaching it back to the belt of the armored suit.

“I-I think so too,” she said. “You know, it’s nice to hear someone else say that. I know most people don’t outright tell him he should have died trying to protect the former king, but still… it’s hard to come back after something like that.”

Hard to come back?

The phrase seemed to linger in his mind as he tried to tether the scabbard back to its proper place. He had done it a million times before, and yet somehow his hands seemed to be forgetting the motions.

Felix hadn’t given Gilbert much thought before. Yet now— for some reason — he found himself wondering what kind of things had been said about the man’s safe return.

There was something about all of this that seemed to prod at him.

It’s Glenn, he realized slowly. It was making him think about Glenn.

The idea that people may have had peculiar responses to his brother’s return, had he survived, had never occurred to Felix. However, now that the thought was in his head, it seemed strange that it hadn’t crossed his mind.

But…. no, this sort of thinking was pointless. Annette was speaking of her father. And he didn’t pity Gilbert, the man was insufferable.

“Is that sword buckle giving you trouble?” she asked as he turned to see her giving him an expectant look. She fidgeted with the helmet, the final missing piece to the armor set. Felix realized suddenly that she had anticipated some form of response from him about her situation with her father. He’d been absorbed in his own head for far too long… he didn’t know what to think of her words, much less what to say to them.

“No… no, it’s not,” he said, trying to clear his head. “I tie my own every day.” He glanced around at the hallway for a moment, realizing he wanted to leave sooner rather than later. “Let’s just leave this as is. It’s my house’s things, after all. It’s not like anyone can get mad at me for not picking up after myself.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” she said, placing the helmet down beside the armor set— her expression unreadable to him. “…maybe we could talk again sometime?” she asked, sounding hesitant.

“About?” Felix looked down at her quizzically, caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t as if he never spoke to his allies. There were always tactician meetings to handle. And it was hard to walk through their base without running into at least a few familiar faces.

“Oh,” Annette’s face fell and Felix felt an immediate impression he had done something wrong. “I just…” She seemed to struggle with her words as the thought faded off into an awkward pause. This topic of her father and the situation surrounding it had likely been difficult for her, but he was hardly the person to go to about such matters. Still, she looked disappointed in his answer.

“In truth, I’ve never been told I was a great conversation partner,” Felix said, looking away. “But, I… won’t stop you if you want to come looking for me.”

“Oh… alright then,” she said, seeming to brighten up slightly. “Hope you don’t mind if I take you up on that.”

“I suppose I don’t. I should get going for now,” he said as he walked away from her and the armor set — still missing its final piece.

He found himself replaying the interaction in his mind as he finished off his day and, eventually, as he laid down to attempt to sleep.

Perhaps he was drawing too many comparisons where they didn’t need to be drawn. His brother’s death being celebrated as heroism by a few fools was hardly the same situation as a man feeling shame for the life he still possessed. Both were stupid and dangerous notions, for certain, but that hardly linked them together in any meaningful way.

‘I should have died that day.’

The boar had uttered those words as he stared at his blood-soaked hand. The guilt one could carry after witnessing death wasn’t a foreign concept to him. It was self-inflicted — no one was telling the boar he should have died in Duscur.

Dimitri was the prince, another voice inside his head told him. There’s no one propped up as being more important than him.

Felix sighed as he closed his eyes. This didn’t matter. He hardly knew anything of Gilbert’s reception by the Kingdom other than what Annette had told him and a few passing remarks here and there. He couldn’t waste time speculating on a situation he had little knowledge of, regardless of how oddly familiar it felt to him.

And… anything that drudged up memories of arguments with his father was hardly something he wanted on his mind right now.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since they had fended off the Empire from Fraldarius territory. Felix had done his best to avoid the boar, who he knew lurked somewhere within the castle. He may be the next to rule this territory, but with the boar king present, no one would need to pay any mind to the opinions of a would-be duke.

Still, that didn’t mean he could escape being pestered — and it wasn’t long before Ingrid found him.

“I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you,” she said, her voice low as it echoed through the dimly lit hallway of the castle.

“That depends on what it is you’re asking,” Felix replied, back still turned to her as his eyes scanned the walls of the castle he and Glenn used to race across as children.

“Well, this is… was… Rodrigue’s estate.”

“I’m aware.”

“Everything’s happened so fast. It seems his passing has yet to fully cement itself in my mind… I’ve missed him sorely over the past month, as I’m sure you have too.”

“Where are you going with this?” He asked, turning to properly face her. Ingrid stood with her arms crossed loosely around her chest, her hands restlessly fidgeting with the lining of her shirt.

“I wanted to go see his room,” she blurted out suddenly. “I thought carrying a keepsake with me… might be a good idea. But of course, everything in that room, this whole estate… it all belongs to you now,” she added, her words growing quieter as she spoke.

“Take whatever you want. I have no desire to see that room,” he answered dismissively.

In truth, the idea of visiting his old man’s living quarters had crossed his mind. However, a sense of overshadowing apprehension had kept him pacing the halls near the room rather than actually stepping inside.

“Really, Felix, I must insist,” she persisted. “It wouldn’t be right of me to just take whatever I pleased without your consent. And you might find something you wish to keep as well.”

“I doubt I’d need anything from there,” he sighed, pacing down the hallway in an attempt to dissuade her from the subject.

“Is that a fact?” Ingrid questioned as she stepped forward, closing the distance again. “What about the spur you used to carry around with you?”

“What are you even talking about?” He asked, looking her way again as a defensive anger began to simmer.

This was just like her, he thought to himself bitterly. To find out something she had no business in and lord it over him like some sort of trump card.

“Glenn’s spur,” she clarified. “I recognized it when that mercenary student found it and asked me if it was mine— said it had been ‘misplaced’ somewhere in the training grounds.” He noted the extra emphasis on the word ‘misplaced’ with an unpleasant twist in his stomach. “I hope you’ve been keeping better track of it lately. It was a personal gift to him from the late king.”

“Right,” Felix said, caught between anger and shame. He still carried it around with him, occasionally losing track of it.

At the end of the day, it was still just a piece of metal.

“Regardless,” she began, “I simply don’t wish to take anything that might be meaningful to you, however unlikely that might be.”

“Fine,” he eventually relented. “Just keep it quick.” After all, they had much-needed sleep to catch up on to keep up with war preparations.

As soon as the pair stepped into the room, Felix couldn’t help but feel that he had made the wrong decision. The moonlight shining from the window illuminated the furnishings — they were exactly as Felix remembered them.

…Yet, everything felt smaller than it once had. Everything from the deep blue canopy bed, the nightstands, the writing desk, the suit of display armor—they all seemed to have shrunk drastically. He had scarcely had reason to see his old man in his quarters since he had been a child. Ever since they had started fighting about Glenn, Felix had avoided his father, this castle… and this room.

His old man’s mahogany desk was covered in scattered papers and what appeared to be a half-written letter — the owl’s feather was laying on the parchment instead of back in its inkwell. The desk’s chair was left slid out to the side, as though someone had just gotten up and would be returning to it soon to finish his letter … or so it would have looked, had it not been for the thick layer of dust that had settled over the room.

Felix continued to stare from the doorway as he heard the sound of Ingrid’s footsteps traverse past him. Her hands reached out to touch the sheets of the bed, and the papers on his desk, and finally came to stop at a mounted lance, looking towards it fondly. Her eyes drifted back towards him before she spoke.

“Will you not come in?” She asked, invitingly.

“Did you find something that suits your needs?” He paced towards her, stopping a few steps away — his feet still angled towards the entryway, as if itching to leave.

“This lance,” she answered with a small smile growing on her lips. “This was one of his best ones, forged with true silver and engraved here with your family’s crest.”

And so it was. The handle guard was engraved with many small, intricate patterns that spiraled around into the shape of the Fraldarius crest. Blue paint accented the markings against the silver base; it was a finely crafted weapon in all regards.

“Maybe you should take it with you,” came Ingrid’s voice. “I know swords are your weapon of choice, but even still, it could be good to have. I would not mind giving you lessons in lance work if you so desired it.” She turned towards him, hopeful. “After all, I learned almost as much from him as I did Glenn. They were the only people who truly supported my training.”

“I don’t know…” Felix began uneasily. “I don’t see myself suddenly taking up a new weapon. Besides, I told you before, we’re only here for you to take something.”

She looked slightly disappointed at this, before turning back to look at the mounted weapon. They stood quietly looking up at it, shoulder to shoulder.

“…He was a legend to watch on the battlefield,” Ingrid broke the silence. “He could have fought well with any weapon, but this still seems… well, it seems special. I know it may not officially be a hero’s relic— however, I would still consider it to be a relic of the true heroism he showed… to the very end.”

Felix took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes, feeling a familiar sensation well up inside him.

Of course, Ingrid would see it this way.

“You’re being foolish,” he muttered as his eyes drifted down towards the floor, readying himself for the argument that was sure to come.

“Excuse me?”

“My old man didn’t need to die out there. There was nothing remotely heroic about the way he went out. And there was nothing about his actions worth idolizing,” Felix went on, his voice growing more resentful with each word.

Noble sacrifices, true heroism, it was all wrong. His father hadn’t had a strong will to live in years. And the boar’s behavior had only made matters worse. His old man had gone into every battle with that far-off look in his eyes— as if his only real goal in any of this was simply looking for a fitting place to die.

“Oh, why am I even surprised?” Ingrid scoffed, interrupting his thoughts before he could dwell further on the growing pit in his stomach.“I simply thought if you had something like this, then…” But her line of reasoning faded off, her tone defeated. “The fault is mine for expecting you to understand. You’ve always hated displays of sentimentality.”

Hate displays of sentimentality? Perhaps he did. He was no stranger to being called insensitive, after all.

“If you’re so keen on spitting on his legacy…” Ingrid started up again once it was clear Felix didn’t have a rebuttal for her. “Then, I’d at least like to carry it with me,” she said, reaching for the weapon.

But as she spoke, a sudden familiar feeling of apprehension gripped him.

That lance had, at one time, been intended to be passed on to Glenn — a future gift from their father to commemorate the early days of his knighthood.

It had never made it to him.

Mere months after his knighting, Glenn was dead — struck down in Duscur, his body left behind in enemy territory with dozens of other Kingdom soldiers.

Felix felt his pulse quickening as he watched Ingrid’s outstretched hand near the lance. All at once, a vision of her lying dead and bloodied swam to the forefront of his imagination, her body left behind in the chaos of war.

Before Felix could think twice, he had drawn his sword — and brought the blade down in between her hand and where the spear lay mounted.

“Don’t touch that!” He commanded, his tone harsh and intense.

“Felix!?” Ingrid yelled, jerking her arm backward in alarm.

Felix stared back at her as she clutched the hand she’d been reaching out with, clearly waiting for an explanation. He felt his heart beat quickly in his chest as he grasped for something to say.

“That lance… belongs to House Fraldarius,” he attempted to assert before he wavered. Even though it was him alone who had drawn a weapon, he felt oddly… cornered.

He shouldn’t have agreed to come here in the first place.

But no… this was all her fault, he told himself assuredly as he felt his resentment growing. If she hadn’t pestered him in the first place, none of this would be happening.

“And, if you… if you want to inherit the wealth of your dead husband-to-be, you’re going to have to wait around for me to die as well.”

“Wealth?” She repeated, her eyes widening. “Is that truly all you think I’m here for?”

For a moment they both stood there in tense silence, Felix’s sword still stretched out between her and the lance.

“If you want to be a grave robber, I suggest you try somewhere else.”

“… A grave robber, huh?” She muttered in a low whisper, the fight leaving her. She blinked rapidly, making a move to wipe the sleeve of her shirt against her cheek.

Then she left without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Felix stood there, frozen in place, until the silence of the room was broken again — this time by the sound of a sword hitting the floor.

His back hit the wall, and he slowly allowed himself to slide down to the floor. Felix let out a long shaky breath and pinched the bridge of his brow. He felt sick.

He tried to pull himself together to stand up, to leave, to do something— but he felt he lacked the will for any of it. Even trying to gather his thoughts proved a difficult task. As he tried to reach for any one line of reason that could provide some explanation of what had happened, each thread seemed to dissolve in his mind before it could reach any meaningful conclusion.

He sunk completely to the floor, the cold wood against his cheek feeling oddly comforting.

At times like these, when he felt overwhelmed or confused, he usually defaulted to an especially intense training session. But the idea of picking up the sword made him think of Ingrid, and the way she had looked at him when he had swung it down in front of her.

So instead, he elected to lie there on the dust-ridden floor. As he turned his head to the side, he found himself staring underneath his father’s bed. A golden shape caught his eye amid the various boxes and storage crates shoved haphazardly together. He feebly reached for it, his fingers brushing against the edges of a wax seal stamper. Felix turned it over in his hand, watching it gleam in the moonlight.

He remembered playing with this when he was young. He would sit up on his knees at the desk, stamping down imaginary Fraldarius seals with imaginary wax. His father had eventually shown him how to properly use the stamp, along with the set. This instruction had happened in response to Felix’s initial attempts at dripping wax directly onto his letters, nearly setting the desk ablaze. His father had rushed to pick him up in a panicked hurry to get the open flame away from the stacks of paper surrounding it.

After he had been scolded, his father had sat down with Felix in his lap and shown him the proper way of pouring wax. He carefully dripped it into the metal spoon before pouring it out onto his letter and sealing it with his crest.

‘Who are these for anyway, Felix?’

‘Ingrid and Dimitri and Sylvain, obviously,’ he answered. ‘They’re going to see me next week,’ he continued as he set the first letter down and prepared to try and seal the next.

‘Letters are normally for when you can’t see people,’ his father had replied, chuckling to himself. ‘But we’ll go ahead and get these ready for them anyway. You know, I really am glad you’ve gotten along so well with Lambert’s boy and the others. His father and I were close childhood friends as well.’

Felix’s head ached suddenly. He let his hand fall to the floor, still clutching the stamp.

He lay there on the hard floor, closing his eyes as the throbbing in his head continued. Eventually, the pain subsided into unconsciousness as he felt himself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

𓆩♕𓆪

“Felix?”

No response came from the passed-out figure on the floor.

“Felix!” Sylvain crouched, shaking the other man’s shoulder. Only with a third attempt did Felix fly upright, one hand automatically moving to the empty scabbard at his belt.

“Ghuh!” He shouted, eyes wide and darting around the room, until they eventually focused on the person staring back at him.

“Sylvain? What are you doing here?” He asked groggily.

His voice wasn’t the only thing disheveled about him. Felix’s tied up hair fell half undone, his eyes red and puffy. He had clearly had a rough night… and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

“Me?” Sylvain half laughed, pointing to himself. “What are you doing here laying on the floor? Still wearing your fighting gear and everything — when I first saw you, I thought you’d been knocked out!”

Felix looked as though he was taking a moment to register Sylvain’s words. “How long have I been here?” He asked, peering around the room in confusion.

“I guess that means you didn’t sleep the night away on the floor in this musty old room on purpose, then. Your back must hate you for that about now.”

“It doesn’t feel great,” Felix muttered, making no movement to stand up. He did, however, start blearily rubbing his eyes with his free hand, while the other clung to something small and golden.

“Whatcha got there?” Sylvain asked, pointing to Felix’s closed fist.

“Nothing,” he answered quickly.

“Listen, buddy, how about we get out of here? One more minute in this dust and my eyes are gonna start to look as red as yours,” he joked, offering a hand towards Felix. This earned him a glare but, to his surprise, the man took his hand anyway. Sylvain pulled them both up to their feet — as they stood, he noticed Felix stuffing away the gold object into his coat pocket. Well, none of his business.

As they made their way out into the hallway, Sylvain decided to finally broach the topic he’d come here for in the first place.

“Hey, so… Ingrid talked to me last night,” he started carefully.

Felix stopped dead in his tracks.

Sylvain raised his hands in the air defensively, as if to stop the reflexive insults that were about to be hurled his way for bringing up anything resembling a sensitive matter.

“So, she won’t talk to me now? She’s sending you of all people to be our messenger?” Felix questioned, crossing his arms and scowling.

“Messenger? What? No, she— she was just letting off steam about the, uh…” Sylvain trailed off, searching for the best way to phrase this. “Well… the gold digger accusations,” he finished.

Felix watched him, silent.

“And, listen, man to man here, I totally understand where you’re coming from,” Sylvain added hastily. “I mean, if I had a bronze piece for every time a woman was only interested in me for the family fortune, I’d be richer than every noble combined. But! Buddy, I’m sure this will blow over in no time!” Sylvain said, clasping him on the back of the shoulder. “I mean, she’s bound to be used to this from you by now, anyway. You two have been friends for… how long?”

“Sylvain,” Felix interjected, looking at him with a grimace. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? All I’m saying is, things are gonna be fine. Just gotta let her simmer down, is all. Trust me, I’ve offended enough women to know.”

“So,” Felix said in a low, dejected tone. “You’re saying she told you that she doesn’t want to see or speak to me, right? But all you know how to do is jump ahead to an empty reassurance that she doesn’t really mean it. Have I got that right?”

“Heh, I mean…” Sylvain paused, starting to feel an awkwardness hang over him. “You had to already know she’d be mad,” he supplied.

“Yeah…” Felix muttered quietly. “I’m going to eat alone.”

“Ah, what? But—”

“I know you’ll only make a mess wherever we go, and trying to cover for your social blunders is too much of a headache. You should go fetch Ingrid instead.”

And with that, Felix was off down the hallway. Sylvain thought briefly about chasing after him, but decided against it. Maybe they both needed some time to simmer down.

Sylvain realized he didn’t even remember asking Felix to go with him to get food before the man had rejected the imagined offer.

But…he supposed it didn’t matter. Felix was right about Ingrid being the better of the two at cleaning up after his messes, that was for sure.

Chapter Text

A week after the incident in his father’s room, Felix was spending yet another afternoon staring at the ceiling. Some days he would consider leaving for the training grounds, but that option carried the possibility of running into any number of unpleasant scenarios. The boar was still roaming in the castle somewhere… and now, for entirely different reasons, Felix found himself apprehensive at the idea of running into Ingrid.

Still, it seemed even locking himself away in his room wouldn’t allow him to hide forever.

“Felix?” Annette’s voice called out. He heard the tentative knock on his door, accompanied by her soft and unsure-sounding voice.

“What is it?” He asked from his bed. She had mentioned something about wanting to talk to him again… for reasons that were still entirely unknown to him.

He didn’t dislike her; in fact, he had always considered her one of the more tolerable people within their army. But he hardly would have called them friends.

“Oh, it’s me, Annette!” She clarified quickly.

“I know,” he replied, still waiting for her to explain herself.

“Oh! Right!” He heard her say as she chuckled to herself about something. “I was just wondering if you were free.”

A pause lingered behind the closed door before she continued. “We’ve been stationed here for a while now, and I almost feel like I’m running out of ways to help out around the territory.”

“What did you need me to do with you?” Felix asked. She got on well with the other people here for the most part, Mercedes especially. There shouldn’t be any reason for her to seek him out like this.

Felix pulled himself up from his bed as he looked at the door he knew her to be behind. Regardless of her motivation to be here, he had been needing a sparring partner of late. She was mainly a magic user, but she carried a light axe with her for close-quarter combat too, though she hardly used it.

Perhaps this would be good for both of them. After all, she was small and fragile-looking on the battlefield. And although she had to be somewhat capable to have made it this far, she still seemed like an easy target. Training would probably be beneficial for her.

“Well, we can do anything, I suppose… if you haven’t eaten yet, we could—” Annette was cut off by Felix’s door swinging open.

“If you’re this desperate for something to do, then… what about sparring?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?” She replied, caught off guard. “Oh, I mean, sure!”

“Good. I’d prefer to work somewhere away from the training grounds for now, perhaps outside on the outskirts of the castle somewhere. After we get your axe, of course.”

“Okie-dokie!” he heard Annette say beside him as he lead the way to the castle’s exit.

As they walked down the corridor, Felix began thinking of ways they could efficiently hone their skills. Sparring between two swordsmen was what he felt most comfortable with— attacking and deflecting in close range against each other. When it came to swordplay, there was always satisfaction in knowing his opponent’s technique was a craft he was well-versed in himself. But, of course, he wasn’t always fighting other swordsmen on a real battlefield.

“We really have been in Fraldarius territory for a while now,” Annette said from behind him, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m honestly starting to wonder what the plan is.”

“If there even is a plan to begin with,” Felix muttered. Felix found he didn’t have it in him to wish to be back on a battlefield — not when their army was commanded by the boar.

But still, the lack of orders was strange. The beast was never one to shy away from a fight, after all. Felix could only hope that this stillness implied that there might be some stability at their borders, yet it seemed too optimistic to assume the boar’s mind was even still intact.

“I wasn’t sure what to make of His Majesty’s demeanor back at the academy, but I didn’t see him too much… but now… I can’t say I’m not a bit worried,” Annette said. “My father hardly speaks to me, much less giving me a full debrief on what happens in those war council meetings. What’s the impression you’ve got from them?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Felix answered as they continued their walk. “I haven’t been going to them.”

“Oh, really?” She questioned, sounding a bit surprised. “I guess I just thought, since you’re gonna be the duke and all…” The implied question faded off. Felix chose to ignore it. He was still unsure of the idea of taking up his father’s title — not that he had discussed the matter with anyone.

“Well, if you wanted my company to learn about where our king’s head is at, I can’t help you,” Felix answered.

“Oh, no, that wasn’t it!” she clarified. “I mean—I was curious, but it’s fine that you don’t know either! I suppose these kinds of decisions are pretty much above me anyway,” she said, her voice tense in a way it hadn’t been before.

Great. He was making things stilted and weird. Felix elected to remain silent as they retrieved her single-handed axe and made their way outside the castle walls.

Felix worked with her on her close-quarter combat abilities for some time. Annette was skilled with that axe, more than any passing soldier would have given a small girl like her credit for. But combat that was up close and personal was his specialty, and he could tell he was tiring her out.

“Hey,” she said in between exhausted pants. “ I think I need a moment to —” she faded off, breathing heavily, “ — to catch my breath.”

“By all means,” Felix replied as she took a seat on a nearby boulder.

“My practice normally consists of studying theory,” she said, laughing a bit, “But, I need this too.”

Annette seemed to steady herself, taking a deep breath as she looked up at the clear sky. “You know, I don’t know many other people who only use a sword.”

Felix studied the blade in his hand. “What about it?”

“Well, isn’t it kind of impractical to not have anything ranged?” Annette asked curiously. “I know they try to teach magic to most people who only use swords, but I’ve never seen you use any.”

It was true that a majority of sword users normally worked in tandem with something else. Mercedes had a short sword she used for close-range combat, for instance, but she was primarily a healer. Teachers at the Officer’s Academy had tried to encourage Felix to learn some basic spells, but he didn’t take to the idea. Every boy in Faerghus was taught how to use swords as a child; it was just what felt the most right in his hand.

“I just don’t have interest in it. I’m fine with the skills I already know.”

“And I don’t favor my axe like I do magic, but it’s still important to work with a physical weapon — you made sure of that today,” Annette pointed out. “Have you had difficulty with magic in the past?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, dreading the idea that he could see forming in her mind. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Felix!” She exclaimed, smiling. “You have to let me try and teach you something! At least one spell!”

And there it was.

He had been called stubborn and hard-headed more than a few times by many others for his unwillingness to try his hand at magic. Attacking with his sword felt as natural to him as walking — in the heat of battle, he knew he would never be able to rely on something as unnatural and foreign to him as spell casting.

And, aside from all that, he just never saw the image of a mage as something to aspire to. They were useful, for sure, he knew not to undervalue them. But it hardly suited his ambitions. Using magic implied your strength alone couldn’t get you to where you needed to be — and that never sat right with him.

“No, thanks,” he answered, not looking towards her.

“What do you mean, ‘no, thanks’?” she asked, giggling. “I can’t believe you’ve never even tried. Listen, I wasn’t always good with this stuff either, but given time and effort anyone can do it well.”

“I just prefer my sword. I’d only be taking time away from honing my real craft if I messed with that stuff.”

She sighed at this, and he could practically feel the look she must have been giving him. “Then what have I been doing for the past hour? Magic is my main thing, after all.”

“I didn’t make you train on your axe with me. You’re the one who seemed to want to spend time with me for whatever reason,” he shot back.

There was a brief moment of silence. Felix glanced back at Annette to see her eyes downcast, the playfulness of her manner gone. “Sorry,” he added awkwardly.

“Have I been bothering you this whole time?” she asked, uneasily.

“No, you haven’t,” Felix said truthfully. He should say something else. He had gotten too used to people like Sylvain and Ingrid never taking his scorn seriously. Those two always sought him out again and again, regardless of how genuine his bitterness had — or hadn’t — been.

Or at least Ingrid had… used to.

“It’s nice to have a sparring partner … and I don’t dislike your company,” he said, after a pause.

“‘Don’t dislike it’?” she repeated with a small smile on her face as she studied him. “Heh, well, alright then… same goes for me, you know,”she said, seeming to relax a bit.

Felix turned his attention back toward the blade in his hand, unsure where else to look.

“But, I… did wonder why you chose to seek me out in the first place,” Felix said warily, after a small pause. “Wouldn’t you prefer to spend your free time with Mercedes, or someone else?”

“I do like hanging out with Mercie…” Annette faltered for a moment. “I guess this must seem a bit silly, but it’s just that… not many people who know who my father is, or… know what he can be like.”

A pause lingered between them as Felix pondered the implications of her words. He felt unprepared for whatever task she thought him capable of — he didn’t particularly want to speak about the man, with the way their last conversation had made him feel.

“I complain to Mercedes about him sometimes, but she has a way of… how do I put this?” Annette brought her hand to her cheek, squinting out into the space before her. “She doesn’t know him that all that well, and… tends to imagine him in the best possible light, but I’m not sure it’s very accurate. Even though I sympathize with him, he’s just, well…” She paused to take another deep breath. “Stubborn.”

That woman always did seem prone to rose-tinted assumptions of people, Felix thought, remembering the many times Mercedes had explained away the behavior of the boar, Sylvain, and many others. He doubted knowing Gilbert better would have changed her mind.

“She’ll give out charitable interpretations of anyone, not just your old man. I doubt he did anything special to earn it,” he supplied hesitantly, waiting to see where this would go.

“Probably true,” she chuckled. “It would be hard to get Mercie to say something genuinely mean about anybody.”

Felix began to feel less on edge. If she simply wanted him to agree with any insults she leveled at her old man, he should be just fine at doing that.

“I care about him, of course,” she continued. “And I want him to come home to us after all this is said and done, but…” She bit her lip. “Sometimes I think that, if he did come back to the kingdom for good, it’d only be so he could serve His Majesty again.”

Felix glanced her way before turning his eyes back on his sword, trying to weigh his responses in his mind.

“The man’s simply a lost cause, if that’s really the case,” Felix replied, reflecting on his own personal grudges against her father. “He’s constantly worshiping the ground the boar walks on. I’d say he’s lost his mind, but I don’t know if he ever had one of his own to start with.”

“Yeah,” she said, after a brief pause. “Well… I guess I can’t say I don’t sometimes feel jealous.”

“Jealous? Jealous of who?”

He heard Annette let out a sigh behind him.

“Well, jealous of His Majesty… I know my father never speaks of it as anything beyond guilt over his ‘failed knightly duties,’ but…” she hesitated. “The way he used to describe His Majesty always made it seem like he thought of him as… something of a son.”

All at once, a… strange feeling of unease began to build within him.

“There’s nothing of value to feel jealous of,” Felix found himself saying as he twiddled the sword in his hands, trying to rid himself of the unsettling sensation. “A fool like him likely isn’t worth the time of day anyway.”

Annette let out a laugh at this that sounded as though it possibly wasn’t born of amusement, but something else. Felix turned around to look toward her and saw she was wearing a lopsided smile that didn’t fully reach her eyes.

“Sometimes I think he might want me to think of him like that— to see him as a lost cause, or even to condemn him along with everyone else,” she said as she let out a sigh, turning her gaze up toward the open sky. “It certainly makes trying to see him all the more frustrating.”

“You don’t have to bother with what he thinks of you,” Felix said distantly as he looked back at his blade and the way it gleamed in the sunlight. He found he desperately wanted this conversation to be over and done with so he could return to a task that would make use of the sword in his hand. “He’s just delusional. The less of him the better.”

“Well… I don’t know that I’d say that,” she replied as another awkward chuckle escaped her. “He’s tiring to deal with for sure, but… he’s still family at the end of the day.”

“So?” Felix asked with an icy tone. “What’s a relationship with him worth to you? His priorities won’t change.”

“Felix,” Annette said in a surprised tone. “Look, I’m sorry I dumped all this on you randomly, but why are you getting worked up about it? He’s my father.”

“Because his judgment is beyond impaired if this is how he chooses to act,” Felix snapped. He felt oddly defensive about this, but he knew Gilbert more than he’d like to at this point. One only needed to speak with him once or twice to know that the man had gone mad in the head.

“I know he’s stubborn, but… I’m not gonna just give up on having any relationship with him just because we don’t see eye to eye on everything,” Annette said, sounding bewildered.

Gilbert’s actions repulsed him. But now, even Annette’s pursuit of him seemed ridiculous. Would she just make peace with the fact that his priorities were set on the protection of the boar first, before his own daughter? Would she happily accept any scraps of affection from him, even under terms as pitiful as those?

“We’re in a precarious situation here,” she continued, after it was evident Felix had nothing to say in response. “It’d be wrong to just give up on my relationship with him when either of us could end up not coming back from a battle. I couldn’t live with myself if I parted ways in hatred, not even trying to improve things between us.”

Felix felt his body go numb under her words. He felt sick, and… suddenly his mind was back where it had been that night in Imperial territory.

‘Felix!’ his father’s voice came from outside. Felix had returned to his tent and had been staring up at the roof for an amount of time he couldn’t begin to guess at. It could have been a few minutes. It could have been an hour. He had no way of knowing.

The boar could be dead by now…

After Felix had brought the beast’s glassy-eyed face away from his own, the boar had wandered off in the direction of the enemy encampment— not a word of questioning as to what Felix had just done.

But he did go off alone. It seemed Felix had managed to get something through that thick skull of his after all.

Still, if only Felix could have been stronger. Maybe … they’d both be back at their own base right now. It was the only thought in his mind. He didn’t even remember making his way back to his own tent. Everything in front of him had only been a vague impression.

‘Dimitri is going to die,’ he repeated in his mind. ‘Dimitri might already be dead.’

‘Felix!’ came the old man’s yell again as he ripped open his son’s tent flap. Felix stared at him wordlessly. His father’s face was panic-stricken and wet from the rain. ‘Have you seen His Majesty!?’

Felix looked away, rubbing at his wounded wrist with his free hand. He couldn’t deal with this.

‘Why are you asking me?’ he muttered, attempting to sound unaware.

‘Because,’ the old man started, a light scowl forming on his brow. ‘He was supposed to meet us back with the soldiers before we headed out, but now he’s nowhere to be found! One of our men said he saw you making your way to his tent. Did you see him then?’

‘I went there to tell him this was all a stupid idea. Then I left.’ Felix answered dryly as he shifted his gaze back up at the ceiling. It was a true enough statement.

He didn’t need to look at his father to know the old man was glaring down at him.

‘Son, this is serious. His life could be in danger.’

Felix closed his eyes as he breathed in heavily, trying to steady his voice. He tried to quell the rising memory of the boar’s face as he asked Felix if he wanted his death. He couldn’t fall apart now— not while they might still go after him.

He opened his eyes upon hearing his sword being picked up beside him. His father was examining the blade closely.

The blade that still had the stain of the boar’s blood on it… from that cut to his face.

‘I saw you polishing your weapon during our last war council meeting, did I not?’ his father asked. And Felix felt his stomach drop out from under him.

The room seemed to swim around him as he heard his father’s voice call out his name.

Felix opened and closed his eyes a few times, willing himself to wake up. He felt odd enough. This might all be a nightmare. ‘What happened out there?’ His old man asked, demanding an answer from him.

‘I… I don’t know,’ Felix said, at a loss for words.

‘He’s… he’s gone out by himself, hasn’t he?’ his father asked, the horrifying realization coming over him as he looked to Felix — whose silence seemed to be all the confirmation he needed. ‘No,’ he murmured to himself. Before Felix could react, his father had abruptly left.

“WAIT!” Felix yelled, springing to his feet. He ran out of the tent, catching up just in time to grip his father’s arm — momentarily stopping him in his tracks. ‘Don’t go after him! Don’t take anyone to go after him!’ he insisted desperately, pulling at the sleeve of the old man’s jacket.

‘How could you not tell us he left!?’ His father screamed at him. ‘I… I thought you cared for him just as much as I did, under all that… But you…’ He struggled for words as he looked to Felix, unable to comprehend his son’s motivation.

‘If you bring an army out there to protect him, all it will do is kill more people,’ Felix pleaded, still holding tight.

‘I would gladly give my life in the name of His Majesty!’ his father shot back definitively, ripping his arm away and freeing himself from his son’s grasp.

White-hot anger seared through Felix’s body. The next thing he remembered feeling was his fist as it burned with pain. His old man was doubled over in front of him, gripping the side of his head. He let out a muffled sound of pain, fixing Felix with an expression of shock— and anger.

The last time Felix had hit his father was years and years ago. A mere teenager’s strength had done little to his old man, aside from wounding his feelings.

This had evidently done more than that. But all the same, his father straightened himself before turning away from him and facing the rest of the camp.

‘I am going to defend our king… with or without you.’

As the memory faded, his gaze refocused on Annette. She looked up at him with an expression of confusion and mild annoyance.

Parted ways in hatred — that had been what she said. It was exactly what he had done.

She didn’t want to end up like this — like him.

“Right…” he said, all fight dying out of him instantly, like fire splashed with cold ice water. “I should… get going.”

She stared at him for a moment before her eyes widened, and her hands flew up to her mouth.

“Oooh, I mean,” she began in a voice several octaves higher than usual. “Oh Felix, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off. He couldn’t stand her pity, or the fact that she had, evidently, read every private thought of his merely from his tone. His fraught relationship with his father had hardly been a private matter within their army. The old man used to constantly complain about Felix’s inability to ‘put a lid on it’ when they were around others.

“No, really,” she insisted, “That whole thing came out wrong!”

“Don’t — I don’t need your pity. You meant exactly what you said.” He turned, leaving her behind him as he returned to the castle, feeling sicker with every passing moment.

He shouldn’t have agreed to spend time with her—or anyone else for that matter.

Chapter Text

It was quite some time before Felix pushed himself back to the training grounds— which he was thankful to find empty.

He had been avoiding more than a few people as of late. Felix was no stranger to ending conversations on a distasteful note, but even he had to admit that these last few encounters had felt more… intense than the usual arguments. His recent behavior had earned him nothing aside from resentment or pity.

Perhaps it was this castle, messing with his head. He wanted to leave this place, to get away from the constant reminders, but their army had stationed itself here for weeks with no sign of moving out.

When he finally found himself in the training grounds, he stopped to take in the all-too-familiar scenery. The previous night’s snow had left a blanket of white over every surface exposed to the sky. The stone steps led into a wide patch of dirt with straw targets propped up in the distance.

He had spent much of his childhood in this place in particular, constantly losing skirmishes to an older brother whose strength and size had seemed unconquerable to the young boy he once was.

Now, Felix was much older than that fifteen-year-old he used to spar with.

It felt odd to think about Glenn as being younger than himself. He would always be cemented in his memory as older, taller, and stronger… though a mere difference of two years wouldn’t have meant much now, if he were still alive.

He reached out his hand to disturb some of the snow along the stone walkway as he quietly approached the stairs.

On days like these, the official Fraldarius training grounds had been the designated battlefield for snowball fights. He thought of how his father used to act as though he was relenting to some imagined pressure from the two of his sons to engage in a child’s game. The old man had hardly needed asking from them before volunteering himself, Felix remembered with some amusement. However, that emotion was fleeting and soon replaced with a dull ache.

Everything felt sickening to remember. The good, and the bad.

People like Ingrid seemed to intentionally seek out places like these that would well up old memories. His father had been that sort of person, too. But for Felix, memories just seemed to invade his thoughts without his permission.

He felt himself let out a sigh, watching his breath fog up and float off into the sky.

Felix decided he ought to simply grab a training weight and retreat back to privacy. He glanced at the distant displays of equipment in hopes of finding something he could rush off with. Instead, his gaze caught the movement of a green and blue figure outlined against the white snow. Before he could react, they made their way down from the opposite end of the outside hall, heading straight for him.

It was Seteth.

As the man made eye contact with him, he began to walk towards Felix with more intent. He swung his arms uniformly, his hands gently balled into fists as he strode — the man didn’t look angry, but uptight, which was all too common for him.

Seeing Seteth outside church cathedrals still felt odd. He always had a formal quality about him, regardless of his supposed attempts to appear approachable. Even now, he was a matching set piece to the monastery.

Seteth had approached him on more than one occasion during Felix’s time at Garreg Mach. He wondered if the man had intentions of, once again, warning against the ‘impractical nature of solitude.’

“I thought I might find you here,” Seteth called out, stopping a few yards from where Felix stood.

“Do you need assistance from me?” Felix asked stiffly.

“Perhaps,” Seteth answered thoughtfully as he crossed his arms. “I feel I need to discuss something with you. I have noticed your absence from war council meetings of late. Has this been purposeful on your part?”

“Yes, it has,” Felix admitted easily. There was no point pretending otherwise. Even though Ingrid had stopped hounding him about his lack of professionalism, it seemed the pressure would still come from somewhere.

But this was different than before. He couldn’t stand the sight of that same blind obedience when everyone should know just as well as he did what the boar really was. They chose to forget what he had become— what he was capable of.

… But more than anything, Felix didn’t want to see him.

He couldn’t articulate the emotions that welled up inside him at the idea, but they were forceful — not something he could push down, even if he attempted to fight them.

Felix glanced back to see Seteth looking his way expectantly. Apparently, he wanted more than an admission.

“…I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m not doing myself any favors by avoiding the people I have to fight alongside?”

“That may be true yet,” Seteth paused. “I’m aware that circumstances are different from when you were a mere boy at the academy. The King has changed drastically, and you have had… much to contend with, as of late.” Seteth’s words stung with hints of pity as he alluded to his old man. Felix did his best to ignore this.

“That ‘change’ was a side of the boar I’ve known since we were young,” Felix scoffed. “It went ignored then, and it goes ignored now. I won’t attend meetings of fools who look to that man as their leader,” he said, looking away from Seteth and back towards the snow-covered stairs leading to his destination.

He slowly stepped a few paces downward, hoping this might discourage the man from pressing this issue further; as he walked, he heard the light crunch of snow behind him. Seteth was, evidently, following.

The man could, at times, act so much like his father— a trait he had noted with annoyance back at the academy.

Now, the similarity seemed to draw something different from him.

“You may hold the belief that, at times, his majesty is not fit to lead — but it will not change the circumstances of his power and influence,” he heard the voice behind him say. “The Kingdom owes much of its identity to the Blaiddyd family, and many have given their lives to protect that legacy. There simply are not many who would share your convictions.”

“As if being alone in my sentiments is any news to me,” Felix scoffed. “No matter how many people his recklessness kills, and no matter how ludicrous his plans get— they still follow the boar, like moths to a flame,” he said, agitation seeping into his voice.

“I’m afraid there is some truth to those words,” Seteth replied in a quiet voice.

“Afraid?” he echoed, the anger in his voice momentarily being replaced with surprise. Felix had occasionally heard others admit that the boar rarely let the likelihood of unfavorable outcomes sway his mind. However, this never seemed to dissuade them from following his every word.

It was another matter entirely for someone to acknowledge that the pattern was alarming.

“I believe his majesty to be a caring man,” Seteth began. “But, the burden of responsibility alters people in a way that most — myself included — cannot even begin to fathom. I believe this ‘madness,’ as you refer to it, can sometimes be an unfortunate result of this burden.” His voice lowered solemnly. “Year after year of making hard decisions that heavily affect the lives of thousands of people … it’s something very few are equipped to handle.”

“I never said it was easy,” Felix retorted, not entirely sure if their conversation was an argument or not. He looked up at where the older man stood a few steps above him. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at here. I already know more about the boar’s situation than I’d care to, but it doesn’t change the way things are.”

“That is precisely the reason I’ve sought you out,” Seteth said, a sudden enthusiasm creeping into his tone. “You know his majesty better than most — as I understand it, the two of you share a near lifelong bond.”

Felix stared up at Seteth in uncomfortable silence, waiting for him to continue with his reasoning.

“The way I see it, you have two options,” Seteth continued. “You may wish to assert that he should not be king, as you wait for time and strain on His Majesty to eventually prove your sentiments correct again and again. An endeavor that, in my opinion, only serves to validate your own beliefs back to you.”

Seteth paused, shifting his weight to one side as he gave a meaningful look.

“… Or, you might use your insights and close relationship with His Majesty to guide him — and the Kingdom — down a safer path.”

Felix felt himself scoff lightly at the bold assertion.

“In my eyes, the latter is a more suitable and productive path to choose,” Seteth added encouragingly.

It seemed Seteth’s tendency to spy on him had now extended to sticking his nose into history that was none of his business. But, no matter what information the man had drudged up, it wouldn’t matter. The two of them hadn’t had anything resembling a friendship since they were young children.

The idea that their past would be of use to him now was nothing more than some absurd joke.

“I don’t claim to be saving our army when I avoid him … but if you think that boar would listen to me, your memory isn’t any better than the rest of them,” Felix pointed out, frustrated. “You were at those meetings. You saw his stubbornness, his threats. He even suspected my old man of betraying him when he found that note.” Despite his claims of the old man being a ‘second father’ to him, Felix thought but didn’t say.

“Yes … I am aware,” Seteth replied carefully as he stepped a few paces downward, nearing eye level with Felix. “Given the circumstances … I can hardly blame you for feeling the way you do. Had I felt that my words might have meant something to the king, I would have tried to reason with him.”

Admittedly, it was good to hear that someone was able to see the boar’s madness, even if he said nothing. Felix couldn’t deny that it was reasonable enough for Seteth to presume that speaking his mind would have been pointless. At best, the boar wouldn’t have listened to him — and at worst, he would have retaliated violently.

“But the situation with you, His Majesty, and your … no, my apologies.” Seteth sighed, seeming uncharacteristically unsure of his phrasing. “I mean to say that, I believe your words might have more sway with him than you might believe…“ The man faded off.

Felix crossed his arms, his eyes darting downward. The stiff silence felt suffocating, and he felt himself exhale deeply.

“I know it may seem that, at times, he is permanently resolute and stubborn as his grief leaves him transfixed,” Seteth started up again. “But in these times he needs, more than anything, someone he knows has everyone’s best interest in mind… to advise him against acting on emotions alone. And not just for her own sake, but for the sake of everyone at the mercy of those choices as well. Someone must be capable of being that anchor, and -”

“Whose sake?” interrupted Felix, his gaze snapping back to Seteth.

“I beg your pardon?” replied Seteth, seeming surprised to have remembered his audience’s presence.

“I think I can understand what you’re saying, but… something about ‘her sake’?”

Seteth’s eyes widened with realization.

“Ah,” he exhaled, seeming uncomfortable. “Forgive me, I misspoke. I meant to say his sake — King Dimitri… His Majesty.”

He hesitated before attempting to regain his footing in their dialogue. “But still, I hope you will consider my words. The way I see it, few possess circumstances that could lend them credibility to the king — and even fewer have the confidence to challenge him. It is people like you who I believe this kingdom needs.”

“You think my behavior back then with him was confidence? Not disrespect?” asked Felix.

This brought the edges of the older man’s mouth up into a bit of an amused smile “Though I can’t claim your word choices were tactful… your message was sorely needed. I can’t imagine I was alone in thinking this.”

“I see,” Felix said, sticking his hands into his pockets awkwardly. He felt the cold metal of the seal stamp against his hand as he fidgeted with it under the fabric of his coat. “I… appreciate knowing that.”

Seteth looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something else, but was mulling over his phrasing.

“We’re planning on having a discussion in the dining hall tonight,” Seteth finally said. “I hope I am not overstepping, but… I cannot help but have high hopes for you.”

“Right,” Felix responded, unsure of how to proceed.

It seemed that Seteth was satisfied with his message — he made a nod in Felix’s direction before pacing back up the stairs towards the castle.

Felix stood alone now on the steps leading out to the courtyard, listening to the receding footsteps. It was quiet now — he hadn’t noticed just how still and silent everything had been before Seteth had approached him, but in his absence, it was hard not to notice. It felt exposing, as if even his thoughts were now loud enough to be heard.

He needed to leave… he had only meant to stay a short moment anyway. As he brushed snow off a set of iron training weights, he thought over what Seteth had said.

‘Your message was sorely needed.’

Seteth’s words replayed in his head as he walked back to his room. He was accustomed to being berated for the way he had all but attacked the boar while they discussed strategy. It would have been relieving to hear someone say that his perspective had merit during one of their meetings.

Felix still felt strongly that the boar, no matter what state he was in, wouldn’t listen to a word he said.

But… he found himself giving serious consideration to the idea of attending anyway.

There was something about the way Seteth spoke to him that he found oddly persuasive.

Chapter Text

The great hall smelled of cooked turnips and crayfish when he entered; it seemed the kitchen staff had prepared a dinner for the meeting attendants. It was far from a banquet, considering the circumstances. Faerghus wasn’t known for its culinary ability at the best of times — at least, that was the reputation Felix had heard. He had always preferred Kingdom dishes to the other options given to him at the academy, regardless of how unpopular they seemed to be.

The boar wasn’t here yet, oddly enough. Felix noted this with a mixture of relief and annoyance. As much as he dreaded seeing the beast again, this had been the primary reason for his attendance.

Seteth sat near Gilbert, a man Felix felt a newly kindled resentment for. Even if his father couldn’t be here to scold him on his lack of proper etiquette toward the royal boar, Gilbert would doubtlessly jump at the opportunity.

Felix noticed that the Margrave Gautier sat at the table as well. He had apparently just made the travel from Gautier land down to Fraldarius to meet with them.

It felt odd to think of the fact that, if Felix were to accept his father’s title as his own, he’d technically outrank the Margrave — a man he had primarily known as Sylvain’s authoritative father.

Maybe coming here was a mistake, he thought to himself. It was possible none of them had noticed him yet, and he could still quietly slip out undetected before it was too late.

But, as he turned to make his retreat, he found himself face to face with the boar.

The beast’s figure suddenly blocked his exit from the great hall, shambling slowly into the room. As Felix recoiled, the boar stared down at him, his expression seeming just as surprised as Felix felt.

He looked terrible. His hair was greasy and disheveled, nearly concealing his one functioning eye. Nearly — but not enough for Felix to miss the dark gray circle that encompassed it, almost making him look as though he wore two eye patches instead of one. Felix noted with some bitter twist of emotion that the scar across his cheek and nose was still very much present.

“Felix,” he said, in a voice close to a whisper. If Felix didn’t know better, he might have said the beast sounded almost fearful. “I wasn’t aware you were attending this meeting,” he continued warily.

“And what about it?” Felix shot back in his usual accusatory tone. “Has the royal boar banned me from attending them?”

“No, of course not!” the boar said quickly. “I just… we haven’t seen you here as of late.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Felix retorted in an awkward attempt at assertion. The boar’s uncomfortable gaze was only torn from him by Gilbert standing from his seat near the end of the table.

“His Majesty King Dimitri has arrived,” Gilbert announced, his voice echoing throughout the hall as he gave a low bow.

“Please,” the boar started uncomfortably, “There’s no need for the formal address.”

A sentiment which would almost certainly go unacknowledged, Felix knew.

“His Majesty and the soon to be Duke Fraldarius as well, it seems,” said the Margrave, looking at Felix curiously.

“Indeed,” Seteth confirmed. A faint smile of approval shown through on his face as he glanced Felix’s way. For reasons Felix couldn’t parse, the gesture seemed to repulse him as much as it glued him to where he stood. “He will need to be caught up to speed on the recent developments, as well.”

Felix found himself seated next to Seteth and across from the boar as they spoke. The boar was seated in between Gilbert and the Margrave, still looking more like a cornered animal than a ruling leader.

“Should I summarize our findings, Your Majesty?” came the sound of Gilbert’s perpetually haggard voice. The boar only nodded at this, not giving any verbal confirmation.

“As you wish.” The older man brought his hand to his mouth as he cleared his throat. “Last month we fought off a naval invasion keen on taking Fraldarius territory, as I’m sure everyone is aware of. We have been making efforts to rebuild damaged areas of the land, as well as gather intel from the attack. Our army captured some invading soldiers, who have given us some troubling news.” He breathed in as though preparing himself to continue the report.

“When we were fighting off the invasion, were you surprised by the naval fleet that brought in soldiers?” Seteth asked, addressing Felix. “We had spies who tipped us off to the possibility but, still, seeing it manifest was … something else entirely.”

“I was,” Felix confirmed. “The thought of Fraldarius territory falling before lands that currently border the Empire… didn’t occur to me.”

“Indeed,” Seteth said solemnly. “Even if the Empire had such a strong naval force unknown to us, they would have had to take those ships all the way around the eastern borders of Almayra to reach us in Fraldarius where they did. But nonetheless, ships came here — and, if we hadn’t been here to stop this, they could have cut a shorter path straight towards Fhirdiad.”

“So…” The Margrave began quietly. “Where do we think these ships came from?” he asked. Though his words were soft, the distinct pronunciation of each syllable spelled anger boiling under the surface.

“I regret to inform you both,” Gilbert said, wearily eyeing Felix and the Margrave, “that our captives confirmed our theories — the Alliance has now allied itself with the Empire.”

The Alliance was with the Empire.

The full gravity of the statement hung over the table as the implications began sinking in. The entire Kingdom was now engulfed on both sides by invading warfare. Faerghus’s situation had seemed grim from the start, but it was difficult for this revelation to feel like anything but the nail in the coffin.

“No…” came the shaken voice of the Margrave. The older man’s hands shook as he set his goblet down on the table, betraying the immense restraint he employed to avoid slamming it down violently. “Those traitors…” he said darkly. “The gall of them to sit there on land stolen from us, from the Holy Kingdom, and proclaim themselves allies of Adrestia! It’s sickening.”

“I know what grim news this is to you all, but I must ask that we not give into despair,” Seteth interjected. “We have intel that a large number of Alliance military was dispatched directly to aid the Empire. Their lands, and our previous Kingdom borders, are far too strong for us to attack directly at present.”

“And how exactly is that supposed to make us feel better?” Felix asked, now beginning to feel alarmed himself.

“Because,” Seteth continued, “the Alliance is currently unable to defend their own land as effectively, with much of their military might deployed in Imperial lands.”

“Are you suggesting mounting an attack on the Alliance?” came the Margrave’s voice.

“The Alliance is likely acting from a purely strategic standpoint,” replied Seteth. “Though the Church does not have as strong of a foothold in Leicester as it does here in Faerghus, I would still wager that they are simply allying themselves with their more powerful neighbors to avoid conflict. If the Empire has forced their hand in some way, it may be possible to persuade them into changing their course. Even if we may only break through to just some territories, now would be the time to investigate and act.”

“But what of our own lands that are currently under threat from the Empire?” countered the Margrave. “Gideon and the territories along the coast have been in danger for some time, as they stand on the new border of the Empire territory. Should we not seek to fortify our own fortresses first before reaching out towards the Alliance?”

“I fear we may not be able to afford only taking one route,” Gilbert began. “It may be prudent to split up our army along the west and east sides of the border. If some of us do march on the western border, I believe there may be an opportunity to reclaim House Dominic of my elder brother… but, of course…” he faded off, turning his head towards the boar. “Any and all decisions belong to His Majesty.”

The boar looked up toward Gilbert, surprised, as though he had not been prepared to be addressed directly.

“What is it, boar? You’ve been oddly silent during this discussion,” stated Felix. He hadn’t just been silent — the beast had hardly looked at anyone as they spoke until just now.

“Claude…” the boar began, as if speaking to himself. “I can’t help but wonder… but, no…”

“Your Majesty?” asked Gilbert, sounding unsure.

“My apologies — I must seem rather scattered.” The bore wore an odd expression as he spoke. He gaze was fixed on his hands as they rested on the table, his fingers drawing small circular motions into the wood.

“It’s quite alright, Your Majesty,” Seteth replied. “But, in regard to your opinion on how we should proceed with moving our troops, I know that in our previous meetings this has been a point of … stress … for you,” Seteth continued, chancing a glance in Felix’s direction as he spoke. “However, we would all like to hear when and where you plan to move out.”

“I understand.” The boar began with a nervous edge to his voice. He briefly flashed a glance towards Seteth before looking down again. Felix noticed his leg bounced up and down quickly as he spoke. “Well, I seem to be having trouble with the framing of this question as only having two viable options for us, both including relocation of troops,” he started, taking a deep breath. “First, I would like to point out that there are still further actions we could take to rebuild Fraldarius territory. Much of this land’s defenses were damaged during the attack, and relocating Kingdom soldiers away from it would only make the possibility of a second naval attack more likely to succeed.”

Felix studied the boar as he spoke. Further actions? They had so little to do — even Annette was now wandering the halls in search of ways to fill the time.

“I must say, I would strongly encourage moving troops to the western border,” the Margrave responded. “A second naval attack is certainly possible, but neglecting other regions would also spell doom for the whole of our kingdom.”

“My apologies,” the boar nearly whimpered. He seemed to take a deep breath before continuing. “There is truth to your words, and I do not wish to disregard that…” he trailed off as his eye darted to Felix for a moment before darting away. “I just fear … well. I-uhm.”

“Of course,” Felix breathed out as he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

“Pardon?” He heard the boar say. Felix opened his eyes to see he had the full attention of their small group.

“It’s you. You’re the only reason we’ve been stuck here for so long,” Felix muttered coldly.

“I…” the boar looked as though he was sinking deeper into his chair, trying to disappear into it.

“I wondered why we didn’t have orders to move out, and naively thought it might mean there was relative stability being reached outside these borders. I thought, there’s no way the boar would turn his nose up at the idea of more bloodshed,” Felix said, anger boiling over as he spoke. “But there’s no strategic reason to stay here — you’re just bound in some new emotional hang-up.”

“Take care with your words,” came the low warning tone of Gilbert. “What would Lord Rodrigue say if he could be here with us now?”

“Well, he’s not here with us now,” Felix replied in a low, resentful growl of a voice. “He can’t be here now… because that beast,” Felix said, wrenching an accusatory hand at the boar, “all but tried to get himself killed in enemy territory!”

“Enough! I’ve held my tongue with you this far because of who you are, but I cannot allow this manner of speech to continue,” Gilbert said, rising to his feet.

“I believe everyone needs to take a moment to collect themselves,” Seteth cautioned, attempting to put out the incoming fire. “We cannot forget we are allies. We are working towards the same goal, in the end.”

The three men began arguing amongst each other, but Felix hardly heard them. He could barely make out his own thoughts over the pounding in his chest.

There were times when, even though his life was in no apparent danger, he felt the rush of battle all the same. Now was one of those times — his sweaty hands moved automatically along the rim of his sword’s handle. He tried to will this horrible sensation to slow its pace.

“Where has His Majesty gone?” Gilbert’s voice suddenly broke through Felix’s daze.

Felix looked towards the vacant seat where the boar had just been sitting. Seteth let out a long sigh, placing a hand on his temple.

“I will go to search the grounds for him,” Gilbert announced, rising from his seat.

“As will I,” the Margrave said, walking past the table. He paused briefly to look at the two men who remained seated. “ Perhaps when His Majesty returns, we can have a more productive and … civilized conversation?”

Felix remained silent as the Margrave left without another word.

Only Seteth remained now.

“Guess I wasn’t exactly what you hoped for,” Felix stated bitterly. “ Did you stay to reprimand me as well?”

“No, I don’t believe such an endeavor would be productive,” Seteth sighed. He gave Felix a curious look, his tone and face unreadable. “I won’t mince words — an issue that is going entirely unspoken is keeping the King rooted here in Fraldarius territory. Your assessment was the same as mine, in that regard.”

“You’re saying you already knew this when you asked me to come here?” Felix asked.

“I had my suspicions,” Seteth answered. “But, when you came to that same conclusion on your own, that was all the confirmation I needed. In any case,” Seteth rose from his seat, “we should look for him, both of us.” He paused thoughtfully. “King Dimitri spent a great deal of time here as a child, did he not?”

“… he did,” Felix confirmed. It had been a common occurrence for the boar prince to visit the Fraldarius castle they were younger. But … after The Tragedy, such visits became less frequent—until they had stopped altogether.

He remembered vividly the day that a fourteen-year-old Dimitri had been brought back to Fraldarius territory — along with the news of the King’s death. Of Glenn’s death.

For Felix, the horror that had been those following years had marked the beginning of a rift between himself and what, at times, seemed like the entire world.

In the months following, there had been some conflict between the boar’s uncle and Felix’s father with regard to where the boar prince ought to stay. Eventually, the boar had ended up leaving with Rufus. The last time Felix had seen him before enrolling in the Officers Academy was when he and the then-prince were sent to quell that rebellion.

Ever since that day, he had been glad the boar was with his uncle. Better there than here, a beast lurking in their castle.

“I think I will check the gardens,” came Seteth’s voice, interrupting his thoughts. “I do hope we’re able to find him.”

Felix found his memory drifting back to those few months when the boar stayed with them before being swept off back to Fhirdiad. The young prince had continuously locked himself away in his guest room — so often that, some days, Felix had nearly forgotten he was there at all.

Felix took a deep breath. He stood from his chair, setting out to where he knew the boar would be.

Chapter Text

The door to the guest room that had often been given to the young prince was shut tight when Felix came to the threshold. But, as he slowly turned the handle, he found it was unlocked — it swung forward with a loud, drawn-out creak. The light from the hallway spilled in around Felix’s shadow and into the dark, musty room that hadn’t been properly used in years.

And there, in the far corner, was the boar. He was slumped over in a heap, his fur coat draped around him — lying in the dark by himself.

“I suppose it makes sense that you would know where to find me,” the shape against the wall sighed.

“What are you doing back here, boar?” Felix asked, annoyed. He let himself in to the room, taking a few paces towards the figure. The boar stayed silent as he approached. “Wandering off in the middle of a war council meeting like some roaming animal?”

“I…” The boar’s voice came, soft and broken. “I can’t bear this any longer,” he admitted, seeming to sink under the weight of Felix’s gaze.

“You can’t stand what, exactly?”

“This place. These people. Everything and everyone is watching me,” he said, becoming more animated as his hands went up to gesture wildly. “They expect me to be something I can’t. The rooms speak to me, the pictures on the walls seem to taunt me.”

“The walls are taunting you?” Felix repeated dryly. It was meant as an insult, but as he spoke, he couldn’t help but think of the way every room had seemed to fill his mind with unpleasant memories as well. Within these halls, he was trapped in a constant cycle. Wandering from room after room, being assaulted with memories that brought with them guilt, grief, and a whole host of unwelcome emotions.

But, unlike the boar, he knew how to control himself.

“I…” the boar started again. “My apologies. I can’t imagine you came here wanting me to spill my anguish to you.”

“You’re right. I don’t care to hear about it,” Felix answered bluntly. “And you lack the time. You have a war council meeting that, for better or worse, needs you present to continue.”

“I can’t go back to them,” the boar practically sniveled. “I, and I alone, ought to bear the weight of this war. Yet… no matter what bloodstained path I tread, there would only be more who would find me and follow.”

“You’re not making sense,” Felix snapped, frustrated with the man’s pitiful state. “Danger is on its way, whether we go out to meet it or not! If you really can’t stand this place, then listen to those advisors and get us moved out of here.”

The boar only seemed to sink further into the corner at Felix’s words.

“This castle was nearly taken from us,” the boar mumbled, his eye roving over the walls as he reached out a hand to touch them. “Had we not been informed of the possibility of a naval attack, Rodrigue’s territory would surely be lost to the empire. What kind of king am I? To have let him die in my place, and allow the Empire to nearly lay siege to his home …” He asked despairingly, seeming to be on the complete verge of tears.

Felix found it incredibly hard to watch. Every instinct told him he ought to just remove himself from the man’s presence.

But that wasn’t an option right now. He had to make this stop … somehow.

“All this talk of how you can’t run away, while you quite literally ran from our meeting,” Felix said, now thoroughly uncomfortable and annoyed by the boar’s rambling. “You have better things to do than blubber all over yourself — I should think even you would know I’m not some shoulder to cry on.”

“My apologies,” the boar answered, averting his gaze. “I… I truly must be such a burden on everyone. You’ve made as much clear on numerous occasions,” he said, seeming to ignore the point Felix was trying to get at. “I should have endured your words instead of fleeing from them …”

Felix sighed, crossing his arms and staring blankly at the floor.

He was beginning to feel an unwelcome sense of guilt at the idea that it had been him to send the beast fleeing.

“I didn’t show up to that meeting to … torment you into running off, if that’s what you think I was doing back there,” Felix replied quietly.

An uneasy pause passed between them.

“What you said carries truth to it all the same,” the boar spoke into the silence. Felix chanced a quick glance down at the beast. His one functioning eye remained fixated upon the space in front of him. “His death is on my hands …” the boar murmured as he hung his head and hunched his shoulders — making himself smaller. “Who else is to blame? Was it not me who killed him, as surely as if I had wielded the blade myself?”

Felix looked away, feeling agitated with where this conversation had drifted off to.

It was one thing to point out the fact of the boar’s culpability when he was surrounded by advisors who turned a blind eye to his madness. It had been easier to say it to the Margrave after he had been asked to ‘behave more like his father.’ The room felt combative and oppressive; Felix had held that accusation like a sturdy weapon in his hand.

But this … this was different. The boar lay before him already defeated, weak, and pitiable.

Yet, to Felix, the assertion was still no less true. The boar seemed to grasp this as easily as he did.

“I’m referring to Rod-”

“Yes, I know,” Felix interjected quickly, raising a hand and cutting him off. Felix took a long breath, in and out. “Look … there’s nothing to be gained by dwelling on it. Just come back and let the others —”

But, to Felix’s immense discomfort, he was cut off by the sound of a sharp intake of breath and a shuddered sob from the corner.

“N-nothing to be gained?” the boar echoed between failed attempts to control his breathing. “I-I don’t deserve to be free of this guilt! If I had only listened to you back then maybe he’d … maybe he’d still be alive!”

Felix winced. The boar’s hands now covered his face but did little to obscure his tear-stained mess of an expression.

…This was all wrong. He felt as if he was intruding on something private.

Did the boar want some kind of response from him? Or did he just lack self-control? Everything he had said was already a verbalized opinion from Felix. Even if Felix felt compelled to make the man’s bawling stop, he had no counterarguments to offer.

So, instead, Felix awkwardly stood there in disquieted silence as he mentally willed the boar to calm himself.

An inordinate amount of time passed with the only sound between them being the boar’s shaky sobs.

Eventually, the man’s breath seemed to momentarily steady itself.

“You deserve every bit of vindictive rage you must have for me…” the boar finally spoke, sounding as if he was making up his mind on something. “If you wish to kill me — do so now. Though I must apologize if you wished to forcefully take my life from me … for I have no will left to fight for it.”

Felix stared down at the beast, startled. He felt his own eyes widening and his brow furrowing as he was left entirely unsure if the ludicrous statement had actually been said in earnest.

“Me? Kill you for senseless revenge?” Felix repeated. “Don’t be ridiculous—I’m not you.”

“But you must hate me, Felix,” the boar seemed to insist. “I’m to blame for the deaths of the only family you ever knew. You must want this.”

Felix momentarily stayed silent under the assertion, feeling even more alarmed and unprepared for the direction this conversation was moving in.

“Don’t think you can tell me what I do or don’t want,” Felix countered— unsure how else to combat the assertion.

“You insisted as much the night he died,” the boar argued. “You were the one who said that enemy camp should kill me … and me alone,” he said forcefully.

So he does remember the details from that night, Felix realized uncomfortably.

“Don’t twist my words,” Felix started. He paced forward, glaring down at the insufferable mess of a man. “Asking you to go without waiting for the rest of the army is different than wanting to run a blade through you myself.”

“So you won’t kill me?” the boar asked after a pause.

“No, of course not!” Felix snapped, still entirely unsure if this had been a genuine request. “Sometimes I can’t even begin to imagine how that mind of yours works.”

The boar almost looked disappointed by the answer. He hung his head, seeming to contemplate what was, apparently, new information.

Felix had the sinking feeling that this was decidedly not what Seteth had pictured. Felix’s only power in this moment seemed to be inflicting even more emotional distress upon the boar — it was far from helpful.

“If I had really gotten my way that night, no one would have left camp. But I … lost that duel,” Felix said, watching as the boar’s eye slowly drifted back up towards him. “If you really feel so guilty about not listening to me … listen to me now. You have an army that needs proper commanding if we’re going to stand even a sliver of a chance against the Empire.”

“Do you believe that’s what he would have wanted from us? From me?” The boar’s voice was small, even tentative.

Felix didn’t answer at first. He looked back at the boar, his figure slumped against the wall as he stared up at Felix pleadingly.

Suddenly he remembered something Seteth had said.

‘But the situation with you, His Majesty, and your… no, my apologies — I mean to say that, I believe your words may have more sway with him than you might believe…’

Oh, Felix thought. Of course.

Felix took another deep breath. “I think I understand what’s happening here,” he muttered, feeling a deep sense of unease.

He had never appreciated the boar making comparisons between him and Glenn after his brother was gone. Even so, being seen through the lens of his dead brother was something he had gotten painfully used to; he should have predicted something like this was bound to happen. If the boar couldn’t have permission from the old man to leave Fraldarius, then…

Felix was the next best substitute.

His eyes found the boar’s briefly. The man looked up at him as if he hung on every word— waiting earnestly for Felix to make sense of this for him.

… Dimitri had never felt so delicate to him.

“If I had to guess. I’d imagine he’d want you to … that he’d want …” Felix thought now. He was sure his father wouldn’t have kept them trapped in his own estate. But still … his father’s hopes for the boar had so often been rooted in his memory of Lambert.

But what did Felix even really know of Lambert? The idea of telling the boar to act with Lambert’s wishes in mind conjured up unpleasant memories, to say the least.

Felix had lived through enough of those around him constantly prioritizing the wishes of the dead. It felt deeply unsettling to attempt to imagine what his father would have wanted from them had he been here.

But Dimitri’s earnest gaze was infectious.

The gold sigil stamp felt cold in Felix’s pocket as he turned it over in his hand.

He wouldn’t want Dimitri to be abandoned, he found himself thinking — remembering the times his father had seen the troubled young prince as the recently orphaned fourteen-year-old he was.

The man who now lay before Felix strongly resembled that utterly broken and lost child.

He wouldn’t have wanted his death for Dimitri to be in vain.

He recalled the look of betrayal his father had given him upon learning that Felix hadn’t alerted the camp to Dimitri’s dangerous departure. For all the boar’s guilt, Felix wondered if things might have gone differently had he not intervened to begin with.

It had been Felix’s own meddling that led his father to chase the boar alone, after all.

As his gaze found Dimitri again, it all became clear to him. The boar needed to hear someone give him permission to leave this place.

And … it appeared he would need to act in his father’s stead.

“My father wouldn’t want us only protecting his own land at the expense of Faerghus as a whole,” Felix said, now with more conviction in his voice. “And he certainly wouldn’t have wanted you to end up in a state like this over it.”

Dimitri sighed as he looked down.

“I believe you’re likely correct in that assertion,” he admitted in a defeated voice. “I… apologize for my behavior.”

“I’m hardly the only one worth apologizing to, though I doubt you’d hear an acknowledgment of that from anyone else once we return,” Felix said, taking a few steps closer toward Dimitri. Sighing, he offered a hand to pull him up. “Come on, boar. We should find the others.”

Dimitri looked surprised at the outstretched hand. Still, he allowed himself to be hoisted up to his full height, towering over Felix once again.

“Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri said, looking down at him from behind a golden mess of hair. “Your perspective has been … helpful to me.”

A memory flashed in Felix’s mind— the feeling Dimitri’s lips pressed against his own. The impulsive action had been dwarfed by the following events, and Felix hadn’t thought of it once since then. He had believed the boar was on his way out to die. But now, he briefly wondered how much of the boar’s memory from that night remained.

With all the chaos that had transpired that night, Felix could only hope that impetuous decision hadn’t remained intact in the boar’s mind.

“Yeah, well. I just couldn’t stand the pathetic look on your face, is all,” Felix grumbled, pushing the frivolous thoughts from his mind.

Moments later, he returned to the great hall with the boar in tow. The five men were able to sit amongst each other once again and return to strategic meetings, this time with a more agreeable Dimitri.

As they talked, Felix couldn’t help but notice Seteth glancing his way with a look of sincere approval.

Chapter Text

Part III | Departure

Imperial Year 1183

Month of the Ethereal Moon

Four Months Remain

Dimitri once again found himself staring up at a tent ceiling. Sleep had been evading him, as it usually did after waking up from nightmares.

He had been dreaming of Rodrigue again — the feel of the man’s hand against his cheek as he slipped away into nothingness. Warm blood from his palm had left its mark on Dimitri’s face as Rodrigue’s hand fell and all signs of thought had left his eyes.

It had felt like losing his father all over again.

Except this time, he was no mere boy. He could have done more. He should have done more.

But … he hadn’t.

He was as helpless and as useless as he had been as a child— just the same timid boy, trapped within the body of a towering figure.

Dimitri recalled a time in his childhood where, in the late hours of the night, he had developed a habit of summoning Dedue to his room to comfort him. He would often veil the plea for help under some justification of wanting to defend the other boy from the other castle inhabitants.

Suddenly, he furrowed his brow in guilt.

Dimitri hadn’t spoken to Dedue since he had shouted at him to leave his sight in some fit of anger he could not even remember the specifics of.

Even if he had apologized to a group that had included Dedue, that hardly excused everything. Dedue need not avoid him any longer — he should seek out the man, sooner rather than later.

Sleep would not come to him if he left this unsaid, he was sure of it. Dimitri grabbed the coat, eye patch, and boots that lay next to his bed and exited his tent. He was immediately hit with the harsh, cold air of the north that he knew so well.

Their army would soon be marching past the capitol. He was planning to check in with Lady Rhea, who he had granted temporary jurisdiction over the city, as there were no remaining royal family members to be stationed there.

Before long, Dimitri stood before what he knew to be Dedue’s tent. He decided it would be rude to barge in so late at night without making the man aware of his presence.

“Dedue!” he called out, clinging to the warmth of his coat. The air was chilly, and the wind made his discomfort all the more intense.

“Dedue, I must speak with you,” he called out again, this time reaching his hand out towards the tent flap. The curtain was quickly yanked aside to reveal Dedue’s face looking out at him.

“Your Majesty,” he said in a surprised tone, his eyes widening slightly as they locked onto Dimitri’s. “Do you … require assistance from me?”

“No, not assistance — though I hope I did not wake you. I must apologize if that is the case,” he said to the tired-looking man in front of him. Dedue was dressed down in a simple long-sleeved white shirt and pants — clearly preparing for sleep, if he hadn’t already been resting.

Dimitri hadn’t bothered with doing more than slinging his coat over his own sleeping clothes. “Might I ask if I can come in? It seems to have gotten more chilly than usual tonight.”

Dedue seemed to hesitate; his eyes lingered on Dimitri’s face. Eventually, he stepped back, pulling the curtain aside.

“Certainly.”

“You have my thanks,” Dimitri said as he stepped in, now sheltered from the harsh cold winds. Dedue’s tent was short — too short for either of them. Dimitri was forced to crouch slightly to avoid hitting his head while Dedue sat down on his cot. He seemed to study Dimitri’s movements, waiting for him to initiate conversation. Dimitri remained standing with his head and shoulder bowed to the side, awkwardly avoiding the ceiling.

“Firstly, I owe you an apology,” the King began slowly, contemplating his words as he looked down at Dedue. The man’s expression was reserved and careful, as was often the case. “I should never have turned you away as I did,” Dimitri continued, remembering with shame the way he had scorned his friend’s advice. “I was callous with so many people here, but I feel I owe you more than a blanket apology among a group. Your concern has only ever been for my well-being, and I neglected your counsel when I needed it most. For that — I can truly never apologize enough.”

Dedue blinked. There was a pause where neither of them spoke. Dimitri wondered if he should have saved this conversation for when Dedue would have been properly awake in the following day. It was late, and the two hadn’t directly spoken to each other in some time now.

“I … appreciate your concern,” Dedue replied, slowly with a cautious hesitation. “I’m certainly glad you seem to be in better spirits as of late.”

“I fear I cannot describe myself as such,” Dimitri lamented dimly. “I decided to come here after giving up on a peaceful night’s rest.”

“Nightmares again?” Dedue asked, as his eyebrows came together. “You used to summon me to your room often, back at the palace … ‘to protect me.’”

“Yes,” Dimitri confirmed, smiling with a mixture of guilt and nostalgia. “Though I fear it was only a pretense to seek your consolation.”

Dedue had been a comforting figure to him as a child. In a way, he and Dedue had both lost their family to the tragedy. So much of Duscur was slaughtered in misdirected revenge for his father, and Dedue’s family had been among the thousands killed.

Dimitri had to admit— he felt immense guilt for how the Kingdom’s devotion to Lambert, a man Dimitri still mourned, had brought upon the deaths of so many people. As such, Dedue having suffered at the hands of the Kingdom made his reassurances mean all the more to Dimitri.

“I …” Dedue seemed to falter. The man looked tired, and possibly unsure of himself. “… You’ve been through many hardships of late,” he said, not meeting Dimitri’s eyes. Then he sighed, his head hung slightly as he studied the floor. “Have you need of me, I am always here.”

“I appreciate it — as always, you are a true friend,” Dimitri responded, smiling softly. He was already beginning to feel a bit better.

“I suppose you wish for me to come back to your tent and stay there on a cot?” Dedue asked.

“I find I lack the exhaustion for sleep.” The nightmare, on top of the freezing temperatures, had woken him up quite a bit. “I thought I might take a walk.”

“… Would you have me join you?”

“Oh, there’s no need. I’ve woken you up from sleep you need, after all,” Dimitri assured him.

“Very well,” answered the man. “You know where to find me have you need of my assistance.”

“Oh,” Dimitri replied, caught off guard. The King had expected Dedue to argue that he should return to his rest, or at the very least insist on coming with him to help clear his mind. Dimitri didn’t feel comfortable directly asking for any of this, but … Dedue’s tendency to persistently offer on his own had always been reliable.

Dimitri’s gaze returned to his friend, searching his face for an explanation. If Dedue recognized the surprise in Dimitri’s voice, however, he pretended not to.

Suddenly, the King felt entirely unwelcome in this tent.

“Very well then, I hope you’re able to return to a good night’s rest,” Dimitri finished meekly.

“As am I,” he heard Dedue say behind him as he stepped out back into the cold.

What was that just now? He wondered, feeling the chill of the night as his heart seemed to sink right along with the temperature.

They don’t want to forgive you. Not even Dedue. Who else will turn you away now that they know what you’re really capable of? A voice inside him jeered. And you deserve it. You deserve every bit of scorn leveled at you.

No, Dimitri attempted to tell himself. Dedue simply wanted to return to his sleep, did that really spell hatred? Is the man not allowed even a simple night’s rest without being pestered with selfish demands from the King?

He walked alone into the night, fighting with the lingering anxiety that threatened to dictate his every thought, before finding himself near a hill on the outskirts of the camp. A figure appeared against the moonlight, knee deep into a patch of tall grass, who seemed to be practicing dual sword moves — probably Felix.

Perhaps he couldn’t sleep either.

The last time they spoke had been in Fraldarius territory, when Felix had found him in the old room Rodrigue had given to Dimitri as a prince. The King had acted disgracefully in those moments, and he never would have expected Felix of all people to have attempted some form of reassurance.

Dimitri paused, considering if he ought to approach.

The King eventually decided he would. Felix had now officially inherited Rodrigue’s status, effective since their last strategy meeting. It was a long-standing tradition that the Duke of Fraldarius would become the king’s right hand man. While the road to once again making this custom into a reality seemed uncertain, he should at least give it consideration.

It wasn’t long before Felix noticed him as well. He whirled around, pointing one of his blades in the King’s direction.

“Oh … it’s you,” Felix said, only slightly lowering the sword as he made a sour face at Dimitri.

That was certainly more like him, Dimitri thought to himself. If there was ever one thing to appreciate about Felix, it was that he was forthright with his disdain. One brief moment of attempting to help Dimitri out from his spiraling madness hardly spelled a complete turn around.

“I’m afraid it is,” Dimitri answered, stepping a few paces closer to enter comfortable speaking distance from him. “What has you out so late at night?” he asked.

“Training,” Felix answered simply.

“I see that,” Dimitri replied as Felix seemed to return his attention to slicing through the air. He likely didn’t want to talk right now, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. “I should leave you to it — my apologies for interrupting.”

“I didn’t say you can’t be here,” Felix said, not looking in Dimitri’s direction as he continued his sword practice. “You’re out late too. Why’s that?”

“I simply … couldn’t sleep,” Dimitri answered, electing to skip the specifics.

“Well then, might as well make yourself useful to someone,” Felix said. He turned towards Dimitri, extending the hilt of one of the swords out to him.

Dimitri stared dumbly at the blade between them. Spar? With Felix?

“Are you …” Dimitri started uncomfortably. “You want me to … spar with you?”

It had been some time since they had last … sparred … fought? Dimitri couldn’t even honestly call that duel a sparring match. Surely the man didn’t mean to imply he felt comfortable training with Dimitri again, after all that?

“Why else would I be giving this to you?” Felix replied bluntly.

“Well, it’s — I must admit that …” Dimitri floundered awkwardly. He reached towards the weapon but held it at arm’s length, not sure what to do with it. “I didn’t imagine you’d wish to practice with me again after…”

“What? You think I’m scared?” Felix accused, clearly offended.

“No!” Dimitri said quickly. “It’s simply…” He trailed off, pondering if this was worth elaborating on, given Felix’s explosive nature. Admittedly, he found the prospect undesirable and guilt inducing. But Felix was requesting Dimitri to do this, so he should. “Never mind,” he said, forcing himself to grip the handle as he held the sword awkwardly.

“Good,” Felix said, backing up a few paces and positioning his own weapon to be at the ready.

It had been a while since Dimitri had practiced with a sword, but it wasn’t anything he didn’t know his way around. All the sons of Faerghus nobility were trained with swords as children, but most tended to branch out into some other weaponry like lances, magic, or archery — but not Felix. He had stayed fixed entirely on mastering swordsmanship.

The man was certainly more in his element here as they fought, and a formidable foe. But more than that, Dimitri found himself hesitating, holding back. When he and Felix had trained together as teenagers, it used to remind him so much of Glenn — almost like he was able to spar against his old friend once more.

But now, he couldn’t keep images of their last fight out of his head. Dimitri could have seriously injured him with how reckless and unrestrained his rage had made him.

Felix, on the other hand, was currently showing incredible control over himself, withholding any actual damage to Dimitri. And although their swords were dulled training weapons, he stayed his blade with perfect precision any time Dimitri failed to block an attack.

He didn’t deserve such restraint. He found himself hoping, even, that Felix might genuinely strike at him as he had before.

“What’s with the hesitation?” Felix asked, glaring at him as he stopped his sword from meeting the king’s inner shoulder. “You’re just playing defense, and a lousy one at that,” Felix commented, leering at the King as he stepped back, readying his sword.

“I’m out of my element here compared to you,” Dimitri answered defensively as he ignored an opening Felix seemed to be intentionally giving him.

“Liar,” Felix snarled. “I know you’re not this hopeless with swords.” Felix seemed to be studying the King’s expression — Dimitri had always feared he had a habit of broadcasting every private thought on his face. He heard Felix sigh, his glare intensifying. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get me to hurt you again.”

“Pardon?”

“Back at Fraldarius — you practically begged me to end your life. Don’t think you can try and pull some wild stunt like that again.”

“Oh, I see,” Dimitri said, eye darting to the floor rather than his opponent. “I apologize … for you having to witness that.”

“So, that’s what this is, then?” Felix scoffed, lowering his sword. Dimitri was clearly making him more frustrated by the second.

“Well, it’s … not that — not entirely,” Dimitri started in a feeble voice, lowering the sword in his hand as well. He knew Felix wouldn’t appreciate hearing his answer, but he was asking all the same. “I apologize,” the king began. “I fear our last duel is somewhat … hanging over me,” he admitted.

“And … what’s that supposed to mean?” Felix asked in a tone that implied he already suspected the answer.

“I … I’m deeply ashamed of how reckless I was,” Dimitri admitted. Felix was a strong soldier, there was no doubt there. He had held his own against the King and landed that scar on his face.

However, they both knew Felix had never matched Dimitri’s strength.

He doubted Felix wanted to hear of how, near the end of their fight, Felix had felt like a bug squished under his boot. “I was so consumed with rage against Edelgard and my stepmother that I … lost control. No one else deserved to bear the brunt of my anger, least of all my allies. And for that, I can never apologize enough.”

He heard Felix let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m tired of hearing you apologize.”

“I fear I don’t know what else to say, I’m deeply sorry for that,” he said, too late to catch himself.

“Enough, I mean it!” Felix said sternly, bringing his free hand to his temple.

There was a pause between them as the King felt unsure of what to say. Felix seemed to be thinking over Dimitri’s words as he scowled towards nothing in particular. Dimitri expected him to either return to sword practice or declare he was ‘fed up with the boar’ and leave.

But instead, he did something else.

“Why did you have so much vindictive hatred toward the Adrestian Emperor?” Felix asked, the annoyance in his voice fading somewhat. “You had a written confession from your stepmother, yet that mind of yours somehow twisted it to be evidence against the Emperor. She would have been as young as either of us at the time.”

Ah. It made sense people would have wondered about that.

He had been angry with her— and was still angry with her for forcing his hand into protecting the archbishop and the church from her tyranny. That frustration had blended together with the utter betrayal of his stepmother.

“My stepmother’s betrayal was born out of a desire to see her biological child again, as you might have heard,” Dimitri supplied, feeling a sense of guilt hang over him at the reminder of his senselessness. “I supposed some part of me wanted to assign purposeful intent to Edelgard as well … though, I must admit, I was likely letting a sense of personal feelings guide that rationale.”

“Personal?” Felix echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I know the woman was technically your step-sister, but I thought the two of you didn’t even meet each other until the academy.”

Dimitri paused, wondering if he ought to clarify the information. Edelgard’s brief stay in the Kingdom had been a secret to most — even more of a secret than his stepmother’s lineage had been. But, he supposed there was little need for such details to stay private now.

“Actually, I did know her before the officer’s academy,” Dimitri said. A mental image flickered in his mind of the young Edelgard he had used to know— a child’s face. The girl’s hair was brown and her eyes carried a kindness and openness that had seemingly been extinguished from the young woman he met at the academy.

Her appearance had changed, yes — but even more notable was how different her demeanor was. It made sense, obviously; they weren’t small children any longer. But she had seemed distant, and her expression hardened. Dimitri suspected she hadn’t even recognized him.

Dimitri had been informed that his childhood friend had been the Imperial princess, but he had no idea if she had ever been told that the boy she knew as ‘Dee’ had been him. She might not have even known who he was, and yet… while in his rage, he had thought of her as some sort of mastermind to the tragedy of his life.

Now that idea seemed a tad foolish.

He looked back towards Felix, who was watching him, eyebrows squinted together in confusion.

“When would you have even met her?” he asked.

“As a child … Edelgard was given sanction in the Kingdom,” Dimitri began. “There was political unrest in the Empire, and … she and her uncle needed sheltering away from the turmoil. She stayed with us for close to a year and was briefly a good friend of mine, though at the time I possessed no knowledge that she and I were siblings through marriage,” Dimitri explained, feeling a bit of nostalgia alongside an unpleasant twist in his stomach at the memory.

Felix looked at him for a moment before something appeared to click into place for him.

“… That girl Sylvain used to tease you about,” Felix said, almost looking embarrassed for Dimitri over the implication. “That wasn’t her … was it?”

Dimitri felt himself bite his lip. He had made the miscalculated decision to tell Sylvain of his attempt to win over the young princess. Of course, he hadn’t told the other boy who she had been, that would have spelled disaster for him at the academy. Still, Sylvain had very excitedly told Ingrid and Felix the story of Dimitri’s blunder with a girl — he never ceased, permanently lauding that whole business with the knife over Dimitri’s head.

“Yes,” Dimitri admitted uneasily, feeling as though Felix likely already guessed the answer. “The very same.”

He hadn’t imagined Felix would be able to put these two pieces together at this moment. Talking about his past relationship with Edelgard wasn’t ever something he had pictured himself doing with the man.

“Are you telling me… the Emperor of Adrestia,” Felix continued after the pause of silence, now holding his head against his hand as he stared at Dimitri. “Your step-sister, and the woman currently waging war on the church— who sent you into some crazed revenge spiral … had you acting like this because you had a…” Felix faded off, sounding flabbergasted. The King winced, suddenly wishing for the floor to open up and swallow him.

Suddenly the space between them was still and quiet; even the faint sound of the howling wind now sounded embarrassed for him.

Perhaps it would have been best to stay in bed to begin with, Dimitri thought to himself. He sighed, taking a seat on a nearby boulder. Even though the assertion arguably wasn’t the whole truth, there were pieces there that he couldn’t deny. Edelgard’s choices had felt like a stab in the back precisely because of what she had meant to him.

But the weight Edelgard had held in his heart wasn’t only because of the feelings that had gone unrequited back at the monastery. He had to admit that, ever since learning of Edelgard’s parentage, he had felt a deep sense of jealousy.

He had always felt that his stepmother’s affection was elsewhere, and now he knew it was true.

Patricia would always buy and make gifts that seemed as though they might have been picked out with a little girl in mind. However, she would never give them to anyone, or even make use of them herself. It wasn’t until much later that Dimitri began to suspect that they were collected with her in mind.

Although Edelgard hadn’t been present, she owned the sole affection of the only mother Dimitri had ever known.

“Ugh, you’re completely insufferable! Do you know that!?” Felix snapped as Dimitri glanced his way—suddenly remembering the man’s presence. “I can understand you wanting revenge on your stepmother for participating in the tragedy, but—” Felix glowered down at him, gesturing vaguely toward Dimitri in an agitated manner. “But not whatever this is!”

“I cared for her, specifics on the exact nature of those feelings aside,” Dimitri exhaled, feeling a deep sense of defensive discomfort. “And so, at one point I … found myself believing that the two of them conspired together against my father and I,” Dimitri continued, thinking over his previous rationale, or lack thereof. “But, truthfully … I can’t say she even knew of her mother’s new whereabouts,” murmured the King to himself as he closed his eye.

“Once again, you’re not making any sense,” Felix accused, sounding annoyed and impatient. Dimitri turned back toward him, realizing he had said those words more to himself than to Felix . “You just told me Edelgard and her uncle, your step-uncle, were sheltered by your family for a whole year. How could she have not known where her mother had gone off to?”

Dimitri tensed at this point. He knew exactly why this was, but these memories. He didn’t touch them. With all the tricks his mind had played on him over the years, he hoped that they might not even be reliable accounts of his father.

“I …” Dimitri started. “I apologize, it’s difficult to open up on the spot,” he said feebly.

“Ugh, I’m not asking you to do anything of the sort, boar,” he heard Felix scoff. “Just forget I even asked. It doesn’t—”

“It’s simply that I have this memory,” Dimitri started anyway. “A memory of my father, back from when Edelgard was first visiting. I had told him I was befriending the girl visiting from Adrestia, and he took me aside and asked something rather strange of me,” Dimitri began, remembering the way his father had brought him to a secluded area away from the servants, away from anyone who might hear.

At first, the young prince thought he was in trouble for something, but his father assured him he wasn’t in the wrong for anything, only that he had a ‘very important job’ for him. “He told me that if my stepmother should ever come to see me while I was with Edelgard, I should tell him immediately.”

He looked back up at Felix, who watched him silently before Dimitri continued on. “For a while, it was just Edelgard and I, spending most of our time together uninterrupted. But one day … my stepmother did come to find us.”

Dimitri paused, letting the distant memory back into in his mind’s eye.

“We had been playing with the wooden training swords together, out in a small field a little ways away from the palace, when my stepmother approached. She had a stuffed bear she wanted to give to Edelgard, who seemed not to know what to think of the sudden gesture …as though she was meeting this woman for the first time,” Dimitri said, remembering the way his stepmother had seemed to be withholding emotions. He could have sworn he remembered seeing tears on her face that she brushed away, saying something about the wind in her eye.

“She didn’t tell Edelgard who she was to her?” Felix questioned.

“No,” Dimitri answered. “She, too, seemed to be acting as if this was her first time meeting the child … but all the same, she looked at Edelgard with … undeniable affection in her eyes.”

Dimitri had watched his stepmother tuck a stray lock of Edelgard’s hair behind her ear, commenting on how beautiful it was. Dimitri had loved his stepmother, his only mother, but she had never looked at him that way — not the way she looked at her true child. Her complete indifference to him in that moment had unsettled the prince as a young boy. “I … told my father what she had done, just as he had requested of me.”

“And then … ?” Felix watched Dimitri, his brows knitted together.

“I …” Dimitri started, now feeling his heart rate picking up. “I didn’t see my stepmother for weeks after that. I was told she had come down with a cold, and I was not to disturb her rest.”

He tried not to speculate on what this meant. Rodrigue had always done well to assure him that, from his perspective as another adult, Patricia had been happy to be with them. She was there, willingly, carving out a new life for herself within the Kingdom.

But then he had discovered that accursed note stored away among Rodrigue’s belongings. A note from Patricia to another conspirator, detailing their plans to betray his father — to have him killed in Duscur. He had lost himself in the betrayal of it all — from his stepmother, and even Rodrigue to some degree.

But … Patricia, she had to have been planning this all along. That must have been why his father never trusted her. He must have known.

If he hadn’t known, or if she wasn’t always planning this…

Then that would have meant…

But just then, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Felix’s voice.

“I’m guessing you don’t think it was a cold anymore — what with the added context,” Felix stated. Dimitri felt a surge of anger spark within him at these words. He whipped his head back to where Felix was, and stood up suddenly to his full height, towering over the other man.

“Don’t,” Dimitri growled as he saw Felix’s eyebrows raise. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”

How dare he … how dare this man insinuate his late father had been violent towards his wife. If his father had conducted himself in such a way, Dimitri would not have been so naive as not to have seen it. “Don’t forget— it was she, that woman, who betrayed him.”

Felix took a step back, clutching his sword tightly in his hand but not raising the weapon. Dimitri, in turn, took a step forward, not allowing Felix to lengthen the distance between them.

“All I said was that —’’ Felix began before Dimitri cut him off.

“She was the one responsible for your brother’s death!” Dimitri bellowed. “And you would sympathize with her? Sympathize with your brother’s murderer?!” Dimitri took another step forward as he glared ice down at Felix.

But this time, Felix didn’t back away.

“Dimitri!” Felix said sharply. “Stop this. Right now.”

Dimitri paused, momentarily stopped by the sheer forcefulness in Felix’s voice. “I’m not sympathizing with anyone,” Felix said in a slow, steady voice.

“I…” Dimitri said now realizing he was still holding the sword Felix had given him; whether intentional or not, his hand had pointed it in Felix’s direction.

Felix, who was trying to steady Dimitri rather than fight him.

He dropped the sword with a sudden disgust and shame for his actions. “I-” he stuttered, gripping the sides of his head in shock at what he had done. That beast within him was far from gone. Subdued temporarily, but still there, still lurking within him ready to rear it’s ugly head.

“What is the matter with me?” he asked himself in a breathless voice, feeling the beginning of a sob building in his throat. He looked at Felix, who was staring at him with discomfort? Concern? Fear? Dimitri found he couldn’t quite place it.

Felix should be furious with him, should strike him down where he stood. But based on Felix’s previous response to such an opportunity, he knew it was something he could never ask for again.

“Dimitri,” Felix said again. It felt oddly grounding, hearing his name being spoken to him like this. “Look, just—” Felix’s gaze wandered anywhere but Dimitri’s direction as he spoke. “Just, don’t go blubbering all over yourself again.”

“I apologize for being this way,” Dimitri whimpered as he fought back the tremor in his voice. “You were right about me being a monster — I’ve always been nothing more than a bloodied demon.”

“That…” Felix began, exhaling with frustration as he shot a glare the King’s way. “That doesn’t matter right now. You need to be in control of yourself.”

“But I’m not!” Dimitri insisted. “Those who are responsible for such acts of depravity done to my father and Glenn in Duscur must pay for their sins, I know that to be true,” the King continued, momentarily letting himself speak with conviction again before his certainty flickered out. “And yet I … continuously bring harm to people who need not suffer it. How am I to ever trust my own mind again, after all the damage I’ve caused?”

“Yeah, well,” Felix began before faltering, seeming to be scrambling for the right words. “We can’t afford to lose you to yourself right now,” he finally said, a slight hint of desperation notable in his tone. “So, stop wallowing in it. Whatever you need to do to stay attached to yourself, do it,” he commanded.

“… You’re right,” the King attempted to agree. Whether Dimitri was actually up to the task was another issue altogether. “My apologies for everything — you shouldn’t need to put up with such behavior, least of all at this hour of the night.”

“Like I said,” Felix answered flatly, “I don’t want more apologies. Saying them every time you open your mouth only makes for a headache.” He sighed. “You should go back to your tent. Get some rest if you can. For your own sake, and everyone else’s.”

“Yes… I-” Dimitri said, glancing back in the direction of his tent. “I can agree to that. You should rest too.”

“I’ll be fine,” Felix replied, bending down to pick his other sword up from the ground where Dimitri had dropped it. “And, Boar…”

“…Yes?”

“Let’s keep that momentary outburst between us,” he said, his gaze locked on the sword. Dimitri stared. He hadn’t been planning on the contrary, but still, what reason would Felix have to be ashamed or secretive of this?

“… between us?”

Slowly, Felix looked up with a distant, resigned coldness.

“Everyone’s just had their confidence in you reinstated. It would be wise not to shake that.” And with that, Felix turned back and began walking off to where his own tent must be.

“… Right,” Dimitri murmured, answering to no one but the distant howl of the wind.

Before long, the King was back in his own tent. He found himself staring yet again at the ceiling for what must have been hours before a fitful sleep eventually claimed him.

Chapter Text

It was midday when their army reached the castle in Fhirdiad — Dimitri’s home.

Unbeknownst to the citizens, Rhea had been left in charge of events there. As far as most people were concerned, the Archbishop was far away in hiding within a remote, secretive location in the Kingdom.

At first, Dimitri hadn’t known where to place her for protection. But Lady Rhea had offered up herself as a stand-in while the King was out commanding his army.

He appreciated her assistance greatly … or at least, attempted to appreciate it. He did, after all, owe her a great deal after her assistance in overturning Rufus’s claim to the throne.

But with the way this war was going, he had a lurking thought in the back of his mind — a fantasy of some kind — a longing to cut ties completely.

Dimitri had never been a particularly devout follower of the Seiros faith. He knew he ought to be; the Kingdom had been indebted to the church since it’s very conception. The previous Archbishop once ordained Loog, their first king, here within this very palace hundreds of years ago. Ever since then, the church had maintained close ties, sharing their soldiers and wealth whenever the kingdom might have need of them. Without the church’s assistance, Faerghus’s legitimacy as a nation would have quickly dwindled. This had been one of many reasons behind his rationale for agreeing to protect the church.

Yet now, after everything … it was hard not to wonder how events could have turned out differently had he refused.

The King attempted to push these uncomfortable thoughts aside. Snow crunched below his boots as their party approached the long, arching stairs that led to the capitol palace. It had been a long time since he had seen this place — his old home. He had lived here with his father once, in better times, but … after the tragedy, this place had become little more than a prison.

Rufus had taken custody of Dimitri after a bitter conflict with Rodrigue. His uncle was a strict man, who constantly monitored any and all communication his nephew attempted to make. Nothing entered in or out of the walls without the man knowing of it.

But despite his uncle’s determination to exert control, he had been slipping through the entire ordeal. Rufus had always had rather poor health, for reasons that had never been made entirely clear to Dimitri as a child. Dimitri was eventually able to make the case for his enrollment in the officer’s academy where he could live away from his uncle.

While he had been glad to escape the miserable confinement, the young prince had never gotten used to the constant uncertainty, constant change. Change between his parental figures, change in where he lived, all of it.

Dimitri extended a gloved hand to brush snow off a nearby railing as he looked up toward the palace’s walls. It was nearing the time that he was meant to meet with Lady Rhea, but he felt exhausted. His eyelids were heavy, and even though the snow provided some cushion against the ground, his feet still ached from the constant marching.

A few guards opened the throne room’s large double doors, sending an accompanying creak reverberating through the open space before him. Dimitri stepped inside, glancing up at the towering ceiling looming overhead that always seemed to make him feel small.

As Dimitri approached, the two figures standing near the throne paused their hushed conversation, turning towards their visitor.

“King Dimitri,” Lady Rhea began, a small smile visible on her face. Beside her, Seteth nodded briefly in the direction of the king, but his gaze never wavered from the archbishop.

Dimitri hesitated, eyeing Seteth; the man’s brow was creased and his posture stiff. Clearly, he desired to finish the discussion the two of them had been having.

“If I am interrupting your conversation, I am happy to meet with you at another —” Dimitri began. The archbishop raised a hand, gracefully waving off his voiced apprehension as she made her way toward him.

“You need not worry, for Seteth has business elsewhere he must attend to,” she said dismissively, not glancing toward the man whose expression soured at her words.

“Of course, Archbishop Rhea,” Seteth acquiesced with what may have been barely withheld agitation. The man made a small bow before turning to leave. Lady Rhea’s gaze lingered on the doors as they shut behind him, and only with the soft ‘click’ of their closure did she turn her gaze back to Dimitri.

She had always had such large eyes, Dimitri found himself thinking. Her gaze carried a calculating and perceptive quality to it that he had never quite gotten used to. She could doubtlessly see how beaten down he was at the moment; it was an embarrassing state for the king to find himself in.

“The journey here must have been hard on you and your soldiers,” the archbishop said gently as she looked over at him. “And yet, it brings me joy to see you have returned with your life intact.”

“I—thank you,” Dimitri began stiffly. It was nerve-wracking, being the complete center of her attention. Guilt over his past behavior hung over him like a dangling blade as he met her eyes. This woman had ordained his rule with the Goddess’s blessing, and what had he done with it? Senseless murder and recklessness. It was disgraceful. That she could smile so warmly upon him now, after witnessing and hearing of his transgressions, was a kindness he did not deserve.

“I … must apologize for my lack of proper correspondence, of late, among many other things,” he continued. “My behavior has been unbecoming of a king. I … never intended for my actions to reflect poorly on the church.”

The archbishop eyed him thoughtfully for a moment before responding.

“Know that I appreciate your consideration of the church’s reputation,” she began slowly, gracefully. “And while I am looking forward to fighting the Empire as a more unified front, I must say that I do not believe you owe an apology.”

Dimitri stared at her.

She couldn’t mean that in earnest, could she? She had to understand the danger his decisions had put them all in — it was an awful lot to hand wave away for simple politeness. He was all too used to his own subjects behaving in such a way, but Lady Rhea was hardly someone he had authority over.

A moment of silence passed between them as Dimitri struggled to know what to say. He suddenly realized, much too late, that he had been simply staring blankly into the face of the archbishop for an inordinate amount of time.

He was about to open his mouth to let loose a response, the specifics of which being a complete mystery to himself. But, before he could find out whatever it was he was going to say, the archbishop’s face loosened into an understanding smile.

“You seem tired, young King.”

“I-” Dimitri started, embarrassed. “Yes, I must apologize for showing up in such a state of exhaustion.” This was utterly humiliating. It was one thing to act unprofessionally amidst the other kingdom nobility, but Lady Rhea was the closest thing the King could have to a figure of authority. “I hadn’t meant for you to catch me so off balance.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” She asked.

“Of course.”

“The furniture in the nearby gardens has been a wonderful place for me to sit with myself of late. And, a cup of chamomile tea wards off the chill quite well,” she said, her voice soft and gentle. “If you would have it, I think it would be an excellent place for us to have our discussion.”

Chamomile tea? It had been some time since he had the pleasure of sitting with a cup of it. It had always been his favorite.

Dimitri hardly remembered agreeing to follow Lady Rhea through the palace and into the gardens. It was almost as if he had floated from one location to the next, as if in a dream. Before he knew it, he was sitting — quite comfortably — on a cushioned seat with a warm cup of his favorite tea in his hand. The steam rose up from the glass, warming his face.

“Do you find this arrangement to be suitable?” he heard the archbishop ask. He looked back towards her as she smiled softly at him, holding a glass of her own.

“Yes,” Dimitri answered. “I must thank you. Truly I don’t deserve such treatment,” he added awkwardly.

“Nonsense,” she cooed. “You have faced many difficulties and losses of late. Such hardships leave wounds, especially for one so young and new to the throne.”

“That may be true,” Dimitri said dimly as he stared into the tea glass. “Though I can hardly call my actions appropriate.”

There was a small pause before Lady Rhea spoke again.

“In my eyes, wrath is only a natural response to the injustice and vile wickedness at the heart of the Empire,” she stated with gentle confidence. “No one aside from the Goddess herself may pass judgment upon any who seek justice for their departed loved ones.”

Dimitri looked up at her, taken aback yet again. Did she truly mean this? He wondered with uncertainty.

Dimitri hadn’t forfeited the idea of revenge — far from it. But even those who had followed his every order seemed to know, to some extent, that his tendencies had endangered their troops more than a few times now. The king had long since decided he was willing to accept tainting himself in the process of his revenge — viewing himself as a mere tool to achieve an end that must come to pass. His only recent regret had been allowing his recklessness to affect his allies, those who need not suffer it… people like Rodrigue.

“If I may speak openly for a moment…” the archbishop said, looking to Dimitri for a sign of approval. He gave a small nod her way as he brought the drink to his mouth. “I fear you may not take my words in earnest, yet … know that I speak from personal experiences,” she relayed in a quiet voice. “These … demons who assisted that wicked girl in turning her blade against the heavens were likely some of the very same perpetrators who aided in the death of King Lambert,” the archbishop paused, “and … who stole someone very near and dear to myself,” she admitted in a quieter voice.

Dimitri watched her, somewhat surprised by the personal nature of this implication.

“That’s horrible,” he said in a tone he hoped conveyed the proper amount of sympathy. The archbishop had always seemed far off; it was easy to forget she must be a regular person deep down. Someone who had loved ones of her own. “You have my deepest condolences — I’m sorry you had to endure such a thing.”

“You have my gratitude,” the archbishop replied. “In truth, no matter how many years pass… thinking of her, I always feel the wound as fresh as the day she was taken from me,” she said forlornly. “The idea that Edelgard and those monsters walk free inside Fódlan’s borders pains me beyond what mere words may express. Any who would walk alongside her are responsible for egregious sins against our creator. And although the kingdom has suffered losses of late I would hope that your faith in the Goddess’s will has not been shaken,” she said as she leaned over, teapot in hand, to pour out more drink into his cup. “I for one, have faith that she will carve a path forward that allows Faerghus and the church to continuously foster each other’s sanctity,” she said giving him an inquiring look as she sat back down.

All at once, Dimitri felt as though his earlier doubts might as well have been written on his face in ink.

“Certainly, Lady Rhea,” Dimitri said quickly, feeling a sudden guilt-driven need to reassure her of where he stood. “The church and the Kingdom have always had a close working relationship with each other. Faerghus’s citizens — nobles and commoners alike — value the central church deeply. To imply otherwise would undermine years upon years of history.”

The archbishop watched him for a moment, her hands folded neatly in her lap as her teapot lay on the table between them. Then a small smile formed over her features.

“If you wish,” she said thoughtfully, “you may call me simply ‘Rhea’ — no need for the title.”

Dimitri felt himself gawk at the archbishop in surprise, losing his composure for the umpteenth time. “… Pardon?”

“I deeply appreciate the closeness our two institutions have with each other,” she started. “And, should you feel in need of it, I may also be here for you.”

Well, this certainly wasn’t where he had feared this conversation was headed. There was undoubtedly an implied invitation to let his guard down, but he hardly knew if he wanted to take it; he had no idea where this all was coming from.

Dimitri felt deeply unlike a king in this moment — he may as well once again be a mere teenage student of hers.

“Authority is difficult to inherit so young; the privileges of learning from your successor are stripped away from you,” she continued. “You may find yourself without any guiding example to follow… I can understand how this would weigh heavily on one’s soul, and make decisions all the more … troublesome.”

“I must admit there’s truth in that,” Dimitri said quietly, as his thoughts drifted back toward his father and Rodrigue.

In recent years, Rodrigue had been the closest thing to a guiding hand he had. A second father to him — mature and familiar with what ruling a kingdom required. He should have allowed him to be an anchor, but … it was too late for that. The king was adrift, constantly guessing at which way his father or Rodrigue would have wanted him to turn.

“If you ever feel in need of guidance or personal council,” Rhea said softly. “know that I am here to offer help, in any way I can — whether it is offering political support or listening to your burdens.”

“I … I appreciate the offer, deeply,” Dimitri said truthfully.

The king elected to leave a sealed lid over his mixed feelings… for now at least.

Their conversation eventually turned towards more practical matters, namely plans to return to Baron Dominic’s land and attempt to reclaim the territory. He found himself becoming more at ease, relaxing in her presence. The archbishop was actually rather easy to talk to, in a way he hadn’t expected her to be.

Dimitri couldn’t fully shake that sense of intimidation and obligation he had felt towards her back at the academy, but he was at least able to re-evaluate it. He had always felt tied down to the church rather than a willing participant of the faith. But perhaps that could be different in the future — he found the idea was admittedly comforting to think of.

Some time later, Dimitri made his way back among the rest of the kingdom’s army that would soon move toward Dominic’s land. As the party packed up the day and departed, he noticed Felix approaching him, again.

The man had sought him out surprisingly often over the course of their journey out from Fraldarius. Whether it be for a sparing match or some sort of lecture, he found he had often been turning around to see Felix unexpectedly close by—checking up on him.

“So, what did she talk to you about?” Felix asked.

“Oh,” he said, turning to face the other man. Dimitri felt suddenly like he wanted to conceal this conversation away from Felix, away from everyone. He found the impulse jumped into his head without a concrete reason, but regardless it was there. “Our plans to reclaim house Dominic,” he answered simply. “She fully supports our current operative.”

“That’s it?” Felix questioned, twiddling absent-mindedly with a knife in his hands. At first, Dimitri prepared himself for the skepticism. But to his relief, Felix seemed not to be questioning him. “I suppose I didn’t really have a concrete idea of what she wanted out of that to begin with,” Felix said, sighing as he turned his eyes away from Dimitri and back towards the road. Dimitri stayed silent, looking at Felix. “It doesn’t matter, we should focus on the fight ahead of us more than anything.”

“Yes, I can agree to that,” Dimitri said, letting the previous topic slip away. They did have a long road ahead of them after all.

He often found himself thinking about the archbishop’s words throughout the day and her invitation to be a source of personal council to him. He wasn’t sure if he even ought to be genuinely considering something like that. After all, he wasn’t even convinced it hadn’t simply been a gracious lie extended out of politeness that she neither believed nor wanted him to act on.

But, he had to admit some part of him found the idea appealing.

Chapter Text

Imperial year 1180

The Officer’s Academy

On the 25th night of the Ethereal Moon, the young prince Dimitri found himself at the Officer’s academy ball. In truth, he had not been especially looking forward to this event. With the way the year had been going, it was hard not to think about this night as a mandatory waste of time. Lonato’s rebellion, Miklan’s horrific death at the hands of a hero’s relic…and then there was this Flame Emperor character. Dimitri had felt, and still did feel, that his time would be better spent out there looking for the menace than it would be dancing around at an opulent party.

But when he saw just how much everyone’s spirits seemed to be lifted by even the mere preparations for the event, it was hard not to feel swayed. His classmates deserved some time to enjoy themselves. For some of them, these past few months had been their first exposure to real combat, and that bloodshed must be weighing heavily on their souls. They all had much to come to terms with, just as he once had.

So, if this dance was able to ease everyone, and put this many smiles on people’s faces, maybe it was worth the time spent.

That being said, even though Dimitri had made peace with being here himself, there seemed to be no talking himself into a relaxed and confident mindset when dealing with the prospect of dancing with women.

He had been approached by the occasional female student and had politely accepted the invitations, but he found his footwork was lacking. He hadn’t danced since Edelgard had taught him how all those years ago. He could practically hear the stern yet childlike voice correcting his every move as he clumsily swayed back and forth, attempting to lead the young lady across from him. However, if any of his partners noticed, they were all too polite to comment on his stiffness.

He wondered what it would be like to dance with Edelgard again after all this time. Perhaps if he could dance with her again successfully, he might shake the anxiousness she had instilled in him. He had privately hoped to reconnect with her again while they were both present at the academy. Yet, at every opportunity to speak with her, he had felt that her mind was preoccupied or that his words were coming across in misconstrued ways.

The prince scanned the ballroom for her, looking for any sign of her distinctive white hair or bright crimson attire. There were several couples on the dance floor, and he had seen Edelgard out there a few times— once with Claude. The man must have gotten to ask her while she was away from her retainer, whose sole goal at this dance seemed to be reminding every man who approached Edelgard of her rank in comparison to theirs.

At the moment, though, Claude seemed to be on the floor with a new student…a new male student. The two seemed to be laughing to themselves as they danced around the ballroom, surrounded by couples. Perhaps it was some sort of humorous joke between the two of them to dance around the ballroom together. In any case, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, which was always good to see.

Sylvain could easily be seen chatting up a different young woman every 20 minutes. Right now, he seemed to be engaged with a young lady from Claude’s house who wore her long pink hair up in two tight ponytails. He believed her name to be Hilda, but he had never spoken to the young woman. She seemed to reciprocate, so Dimitri could only hope she had the sense to not take Sylvain too seriously.

A little ways away from him, near the corner of the ballroom, stood Glenn’s brother and Ingrid next to a refreshments table. They seemed to be occasionally exchanging a few words and glancing in Sylvain’s direction. Dimitri couldn’t see Edelgard from where he was standing, so he began walking toward the pair.

Ingrid seemed to catch his eye as he approached and offered a friendly wave. Felix’s scowl became more pronounced upon seeing him, but there was little surprise there.

“Your Highness,” greeted Ingrid with a tired-looking smile.

“Done trampling everyone’s feet yet, Boar?” Felix asked as he eyed Dimitri resentfully from behind the glass he was bringing to his mouth.

“Felix, that’s rude,” interjected Ingrid before Dimitri could respond. “I’ve had enough of Sylvain acting out tonight. I don’t want to chastise you as well.”

“As if I would behave in such a buffoonish manner. I’m just waiting till they announce we can leave this pointless dance,” Felix replied dismissively as he turned his gaze toward the exit doors.

“I’m not against him having fun, but I do hope he hasn’t ruined any poor woman’s night with false promises.” Dimitri sighed as he picked up a drink and looked out towards the crowd from his new perspective, still trying to make out any sign of the young imperial princess.

“I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t sneak off into the night with a young girl and ruin her innocence,” Ingrid tutted. The idea of Sylvain stooping to that level of indecency made Dimitri bristle uncomfortably.

“Should we not go and check on him?”

“Do you know what he told me?” Ingrid asked as she turned to Dimitri. “He told me to ‘leave him be for the night’ because he couldn’t very well ‘score girls with one already following him at his back,’” she repeated bitterly. “I’ll have an enormous mess of broken-hearted women who he’s got his fill from and left,” she huffed.

“I don’t envy those conversations,” Felix commented. “I hardly understand why he bothers with romance or women in the first place. It’s all a nuisance.”

“You know, Ingrid,” Dimitri began. “We’re all encouraged to enjoy ourselves here. Perhaps if Sylvain didn’t have you to amend his wrongs, he would take more personal responsibility on his own. I’d hate for anyone’s time here to be wasted worrying about things outside our control.”

“Hmm,” Ingrid hummed as a smile tugged at the edge of her lips. “That’s a nice thought. But I’m hardly any man’s first pick,” she said, looking toward Dimitri. His eyes flickered back to meet Ingrid’s monetarily.

“I’m sure someone might ask soon. And if not, there are people to chat with if nothing else,” the prince answered awkwardly before electing to change the subject. He turned his attention back toward the sea of dancers, searching for any sign of Edelgard. “Have either of you seen the Imperial Princess on the floor recently?”

“… No, I haven’t,” she answered after a small pause, sounding put out.

Just then, he saw her. Her long white hair was braided on each side and joined into one long ponytail that spilled out behind her back, while a few stray locks came in front of her shoulder. Next to her stood that tall and older-looking retainer of hers with a complexion that could rival a corpse, and greasy jet-black hair that fell muddled over half his face.

Dimitri had found the man extremely off-putting ever since meeting him. Perhaps if the prince could slowly make his way closer to the two, he could wait for an opening when that man wasn’t around and ask Edelgard to dance.

The prince set down his drink, wordlessly leaving Felix and Ingrid. As he inched closer to where the princess stood, he could hear the two of them conversing amidst the chatter of the crowd.

“I can’t help but feel out of place here, keeping in mind what we know is to come,” Edelgard said to her retainer…? Friend? He wasn’t quite sure what their relationship was. “Here at the officer’s academy, we’re students very much like the rest of these carefree children and yet…” Carefree was a strange word choice from Dimitri’s perspective. Although he knew what it felt like to feel out of place amongst the students, many had now seen and been in battle.

“You are never a mere student. These people are beneath you at all times,” answered the snake-like voice of the retainer.

“Oh please,” Edelgard sighed. “Hubert, we have been over this multiple times now. I don’t-”

But before Edelgard could finish her response, there came another voice from a student approaching the pair. “Edelgard, Hubert,” interrupted that perpetually tired healer of theirs. “Something’s come up.”

“Proper form of address, please…” Corrected Hubert. “What do you mean something’s come up?”

“Right, right,” he answered, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s Caspar. Some game he was playing knocked over quite a bit of the drinks and food and…”

“And?” Questioned Edelgard. “Couldn’t he and the servants clean up whatever mess he made?”

“And, Ferdinand happened to be over there and insisted to the servants he would take charge of cleaning up the mess, but he’s just sort of well…” The boy trailed off, seeming a little puzzled by the whole event. “The mess seems to be getting dispersed more than anything else.”

“Ugh.” Hubert scowled. “That complete and utter imbecile,” he muttered, bringing a hand to his temple.

“Anyway, I’m sneaking off to nap, but I’d hate to leave them both in hot water. Goodbye,” Linhardt added in a strangely abrupt manner as he turned heel and walked off to the exit doors.

“What bright and competent members of the future Imperial nobility we have before us,” Hubert commented, with what seemed a fair bit of resentment.

“Indeed, though I suppose that remains to be seen, in more ways than one,” she answered.

“I shall be back momentarily.”

As he walked off, Edelgard now stood to the sideline of the ballroom by herself.

This was his chance!

After all those years, they could have the opportunity to dance together again. Perhaps it could awaken memories that otherwise lay dormant in her mind. He had long suspected since coming here that she did not remember or connect him to the boy she once knew. They were both very different people now, but perhaps it wasn’t too late.

“Edelgard,” Dimitri greeted as he awkwardly shuffled his way towards her. She turned around to meet his eyes with her own.

“… Dimitri,” She answered in turn, waiting for him to continue. Suddenly, he felt nervous. Should he lead with the request to dance, or should he make conversation first? Did he even have the time to make small talk before her vassal returned?

“I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself at the ball tonight,” he said. Surely this was the wrong move. Hadn’t she just told her retainer she felt out of place here?

“I suppose I can’t say it has all been unpleasant,” she answered.

“I feel similarly.”

A moment passed, filled with lively talk from the surrounding students.

“Would you care to dance with me?” He blurted out, extending his hand suddenly.

Wonderful, he thought to himself with instant regret. He would never have heard the end of it from Sylvain if the man had been watching this display.

She looked down at his hand, surprised, then back up to meet his eye. She seemed to think over it for a few seconds while his hand lingered out in between them.

“I suppose I could. That is the point of these events after all,” she agreed— to his surprise. She then took his hand, following him to the floor.

And just like that, he was on the dance floor with her, one hand around her waist as the other held her hand in his. She delicately placed her free hand on his shoulder as she looked into his eyes with an almost calculated expression. It had been some time before he had been this close to her without the context of a mock battle.

They swayed like this for the shining brief period of time Dimitri was able to go without misstepping before—

“That’s your wrong foot, Dimitri. You’re supposed to lead with your right,” Edelgard noted in a much more matter-of-fact tone than she had once. His eyes snapped off the floor and focused on her face, wondering, hoping that maybe she remembered. But she only stared back at him with slight confusion.

“My apologies. I haven’t danced since I was taught as a child.”

“Well, that was evident enough,” she stated bluntly. “Not much opportunity for balls in the kingdom, then?”

“No, not…not of late,” answered Dimitri uneasily. “I plan to head out soon myself, I fear I’ve spent much of the evening tripping over feet.”

“Oh? To turn in for the night?” She asked.

He had privately planned to search the nearby grounds for any sign of how the Death Knight or the Flame Emperor had been getting in and out of the castle. But this was hardly appropriate to mention during a ball.

“I don’t believe there’s anywhere else to go,” he supplied. His gaze fell back toward his feet as he attempted to keep some semblance of correct form.

“If the gossip is to be believed, it seems some students endeavor to run off to the goddess tower on this night,” Edelgard commented. “Be it for a tryst or an attempt to have the goddess grant a wish, it attracts many during this time of night.”

“Ah, the goddess tower,” he said. “No, I don’t imagine myself attempting to see if that legend actually holds any merit.”

“I hardly see a reason to put stock into a legend surrounding the goddess either. But for some people, it seems to be a nice sentiment,” Edelgard replied passively.

“Legends are legends. Nothing more. I doubt that there are many who believe wishes can be granted,” he found himself saying. “The goddess just watches over us from above… That is all. She would never so much as offer her hand, and even if she did, we lack the means to reach out and grasp it. That is how I feel about her anyhow.”

Edelgard paused her swaying to look at him, really look at him. And suddenly, Dimitri was hit with just how strange his words must have sounded, how oddly open it was for him to admit.

“That’s an intriguing thought,” she stated with a sudden interest that hadn’t previously been present.“I’m surprised to hear you say something like that. The Kingdom has always had especially strong ties to the church, so I wouldn’t have guessed their crown prince to feel this particular way.”

“My apologies,” Dimitri said reflexively, instantly regretting his words.

Now you’ve gone and done it, a voice inside his head scolded. How uncouth must it appear for the crown prince of Faerghus to freely state such blasphemous ideas? Amend this situation, quickly.

“You mustn’t take those words as anything other than the fleeting thoughts they were. I mean nothing by them, truly,” he insisted.

“I won’t do anything of the sort,” she countered. “I rather agree with that sentiment myself, ” she continued confidently. “The goddess does nothing to help humanity. People’s own ability to self-determine is where real power lies. And I believe it is time that we acknowledge that truth, regardless of what the current church has to say about it.”

That’s a rather extreme jump in logic, Dimitri thought to himself with discomfort. Neither of them ought to say such things, least of all within the church grounds.

“Come now,” Dimitri laughed nervously. Suddenly, he felt as though her hands that held him seemed more like a snare, pinning him in place. “I was merely making a comment about the occasional couples who engage with a legend for the sake of romanticism.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of it.”

Edelgard’s left eyebrow rose slightly as she watched him, skeptical.

“It’s as you said; the Church has done much for the kingdom. Not all traditions rooted in the goddess are as frivolous as something like the goddess tower. Many of them have been a pillar of our society for decades— the King’s Divine Right to rule being one of them. And such customs would not have stood the test of time if there wasn’t some good to be gained from them,” Dimitri said. He sorely regretted allowing this conversation to drift off to wherever they were.

“The wide impact of these traditions is precisely why they should be challenged,” Edelgard asserted. “Fódlan has no right to orient thousands of people’s lives around a set of rules simply because the generations before us valued them.” He winced as he heard a slight bit of anger creeping into her voice.

The prince wracked his mind for something to say that would amend this situation. Dimitri did often find himself privately sharing her grievances with the church’s customs. Yet, that hardly meant the whole institution ought not to exist—nothing was perfect.

“While I understand your point and can sympathize with the sentiment, you must understand the church’s side of this as well,” he started up again. “Even if there are some challenges to our way of life, changing all this and replacing it with a new structure would only replace it with a new set of ideals that could be equally dogmatic or harmful to the people.”

“I see…” she tutted as she looked at him, now with a scowl plastered on her face.

“I-in any case, I apologize for bringing up something like that,” he replied uneasily. “This is time for celebration, not personal disagreements,” he added, desperately trying to backpedal his words.

But why had she insisted on extrapolating my words to this extent? He found himself wondering this a little resentfully. He only meant it as a passive expression of frustration, nothing serious. Regardless, perhaps he ought to tread more carefully in the future if his opinions could be interpreted so… radically.

“Thank you for the dance, Dimitri, but I should be getting back to Hubert. I can see your mind won’t be swayed.”

… And suddenly she was turned away from him— walking off, and leaving the prince standing amidst couples who were only halfway through their dance.

Three Years Later

As Dimitri lay in the cot in his tent, he found himself thinking about the night of the ball as the month of the Ethereal moon came to pass. All this time when he had been pursuing Edelgard, he hadn’t given proper consideration to what her goals, and now what even Claude’s goals, might have been.

He had been too engulfed in his rage at her. She had been the driving reason for his stepmother’s betrayal. At the time, Dimitri had thought, she may have even intentionally asked this of her mother.

…But now, looking back on those assumptions, they seemed, perhaps, misguided.

To some degree, he still felt the sting of Edelgard’s turn on him; however, now what he needed to seek more than anything was information.

What, if anything, did she know of her mother’s involvement in the tragedy? And why had she started this rebellion? He needed to revisit such ideas now that he was returning to this war in, what he hoped, was a clearer head-space.

He now remembered that talk at the ball he had with Edelgard as a teenager.

True power lies within the people. That had been her claim, hadn’t it? And yet it was she, a princess of nobility, that had started this uprising against the church.

How could she be so sure that this was what the common folk wanted? Were there sentiments among commoners that radical new freedoms would actually improve their lives? The king found it hard to believe that their current way of life needed such drastic intervention.

Dimitri had known a few common-born people from the officer’s academy. Ashe still stayed among his troops to this day. Some soldiers had expressed doubt about the relatively high rank Dimitri had awarded a commoner, but even still, the man was here and doing well for himself. The existing system wasn’t so obtuse that it couldn’t allow for any common-born person to achieve power.

But then again, Dimitri hardly saw other common people or the way that they lived. Heading into town was something a king was generally discouraged from doing, what with the unnecessary risk of it all. Perhaps he could converse with Ashe about this situation for some reassurance or find a reason to head into town himself.

After all, if he were to fight a war against Edelgard’s ideals, he should be ready to explain his own.

It was hard to trust his mind again after everything he had done. But the king hoped that finding more information would help assure him of his choices and settle the growing pit of worry in his stomach.

Things were probably going okay the way they were.

Things… had to be okay the way they were.

Chapter Text

Sylvain Gautier was currently on the streets of Gideon territory.

He ventured out quite a bit more than most nobles, especially back during his time at Garreg Mach. There were so few Kingdom towns as prosperous as the ones he had found while at the monastery — and this was one of those few. And while the army was on the road here, just on the outskirt of a rare wealthy city, it would be the perfect opportunity.

A fresh, new sea of girls who knew nothing about him yet.

As Sylvain walked further down the dirt-covered streets of rickety stands and shop owners, that was when he saw her … a girl dressed in a tan and brown dress, with a light dusting of dirt dotting the hem of her skirt. Although the fabrics were worn, they fit her form well. She was leaning against the frame of a small stand selling herbs when Sylvain started his approach.

“I must apologize, sir,” he heard the girl lament to the boy running the shop as he drew nearer. “I’m just a few copper pieces short for lavenders.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the price is what it is,” replied the boy uneasily. The young shopkeeper couldn’t have been more than eighteen. “I mean, I’d give ‘em to ya, miss. But it’s my dad, you see, he’s a bit of a stickler.”

“I see,” mumbled the girl, sounding dismayed. “I’m sorry for the trouble. You’ve been so kind to me, and I don’t even have the proper coin to pay you.” She reached into her waist pocket and brought out a white handkerchief. “I promised my mom I’d have these for her tonight. Oh, I’m so sorry… I don’t know what to do…”

Sylvain chuckled to himself as he stopped in front of the stand next to the girl. This naive boy might not be able to recognize it, but he could spot insincerity from a mile away. It was practically oozing from her pitiable performance.

“Pardon me,” he began, announcing himself to the two. The boy instantly straightened up upon seeing him, as though he was caught in the act of his consideration. “I don’t suppose this will rid the poor maiden here of her troubles,” he said as he placed a handful of gold pieces on the table between them. Sylvain only ever saw silver and copper pieces out and around the townspeople. The nobility didn’t do business with them. This left him overpaying in small areas like this, but it was hardly something he would feel the absence of.

The girl brought a hand to her mouth.

“Oh goodness,” she exclaimed as she looked up at Sylvain. Her face wasn’t nearly as appealing as her silhouette and neatly braided hair had been from the backside, but he supposed she was still pleasing to look at. “Are you… offering to pay for my lavenders?” She asked in an attempt at innocent appreciation.

“But… this is enough to buy out half of my inventory,” said the boy, amazed.

“Then I suppose I’ll go ahead and pick these up too,” Sylvain said, reaching for a bouquet of roses nestled in the stand and then extending them towards the girl. “I came to this town looking for beautiful flowers, and it seems I’ve finally found the perfect one for me.”

She looked at the flowers extended out to her, smiling nervously.

“That was very kind of you to pay for my items, sir, I-”

But just then, she was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain already knew the voice before he whirled around to see His Majesty and Felix walking the streets of Gideon.

Many thoughts entered Sylvain’s mind at once. Why in the Goddess’s name were the two of them together and out here of all places? The next thought to enter his brain was of Ingrid, back at the military camp, who was supposed to have no way of knowing where and what he would be getting up to tonight.

He had to destroy the evidence.

He hurled the Bouquet of flowers behind him, not caring where it landed, as he walked briskly away from the sounds of confusion where the two commoners had stood.

“What are you doing out here?” Asked Felix, leaning to one side with a hand on his hip.

“Having a night out with the town’s women, I’d imagine,” Dimitri answered for him with clear disapproval.

“What? Me?” Sylvain asked, pointing to himself jokingly as he approached to be within speaking distance. “I happen to be running much-needed errands for our military base; thank you very much.”

“Oh, it’s errands, is it?” asked His Majesty in his best attempt at sarcasm. He crossed his arms, frowning Sylvain’s way. “I didn’t realize our errands consisted of …skirt-chasing,” Dimitri finished awkwardly. The jab might have been better executed if the King wasn’t perpetually embarrassed by the vaguest implication of anything sexual.

“Listen, I swear on the Goddess, this…” Sylvain gestured vaguely back towards the stand. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“What’s with the denial?” Felix asked. “You’ve never been shy about the time you waste with women,” he noted with mild curiosity.

Sylvain sighed. He had to admit his cards might have better been played, acting like he had nothing in particular to hide here.

Ingrid had always gotten on his case about his habits, but the context was a little…different now, so to speak.

Ingrid could hardly call herself close with the other women in their army. Sylvain had spent a lot of time around her after Felix had decided to avoid them both… well, after he had decided to avoid them both more than normal.

And after a while, one thing had just sort of… led to another.

Sylvain had very few female friends. Ingrid’s gender had always come in handy when he needed someone to smooth out relations with the latest girl he had offended. He had never really thought of her as being on the table romantically. But she had become quite attractive in the last few years.

Sylvain had never gone into a relationship with a history of friendship behind it. Any potential ending to this relationship would likely prove to be more of a mess then his previous dalliances. It would certainly complicate matters at the very least. As things stood, he found he rather liked this arrangement, and so he was determined to keep this going steady for longer than his previous endeavors.

… And that meant not getting caught!

Sure, he cared for Ingrid, but he couldn’t just up and change who he was.

“C’mon, guys, enough about what I’m doing out here. What are you two even doing out here together?” Sylvain asked, pivoting the conversation around. He really was quite curious to know what had them outside the base.

“I’m still asking that same question,” Felix answered a little resentfully. “I saw his royal idiocy leaving the camp by himself. The boar claimed to ‘want to help with errand running’. We’re already at war. If our king died from something random and preventable, we’d be in even more of a mess, and for what? Some groceries?”

“And so, Felix generously accepted my offer to have him accompany me as a bodyguard,” Dimitri added. “And the common folk hardly know what I look like; surely it won’t be so dangerous. Everyone’s been smiling at us and greeting us cheerfully. I rather say it’s a very welcoming atmosphere.”

“Well, they might not know you’re their King. But you hardly look like the run-of-the-mill commoner. Neither of you do,” Sylvain pointed out as Dimitri and Felix looked towards him curiously.

“I suppose that’s true,” said Dimitri, not seeming to pick up on the implication.

“Tell me, Your Majesty, were the smiling, friendly people shop owners?” Sylvain asked.

“I suppose many of them did appear from behind venues.”

“Uh-huh,” Sylvain said knowingly. “Did it occur to you that they might only be behaving in a friendly manner because you look like you could buy out this whole street?”

Dimitri’s face fell suddenly. “No…I must admit, I hadn’t considered that.”

“Trust me, I know these types. Most only seem nice because they want the gold lining your pockets.”

“Hmph, why even waste time in these towns so often if you despise the people living in them?” Asked Felix.

“Well,” Sylvain began awkwardly, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. “They have their charms.”

“Sylvain,” asked Dimitri, seeming to perk up with an idea. “Might I ask a favor from you?”

“Wait, don’t tell me. You finally want me to hook you up with a girl, right?”

“Hardly,” Dimitri huffed, annoyed by his antics. It was genuinely reassuring to see him back to something that resembled his normal self, Sylvain found himself thinking. It had been some time since they had banter like this. “It looks as if you know a great deal about the towns of common folk,” His Majesty continued. “I would like to know more about how they live and what they think. I don’t suppose you could guide us through the streets?”

“Tch,” Felix let out a disgruntled noise. “I thought we were here to get supplies for camp.”

“You wanna know more about town folk?” Asked Sylvain, as an idea popped into his head. “Hey, I’ll take you guys anywhere you wanna go if you, in turn, can promise me one thing.”

“And that is?” Dimitri asked hesitantly.

“To please,” Sylvain began before pausing as he brought his hands together. “not breathe a word of the girl you saw me with. To be on the safe side, don’t even mention I was here before you guys. Let’s just say I was with you all from the start.”

“Now I’m also starting to wonder why the sudden need for secrecy,” Dimitri commented warily as he brought a hand to rest against his chin.

“Probably some girl back at the base,” Felix scoffed dismissively. “What was it? Did she have an unanticipated protective brother or some such trouble?”

“Heh, you know me,” Sylvain chuckled, letting the likely answer fall into place.

“Oh fine,” Dimitri relented, disappointed yet willing to be strung along. “I do feel for whatever poor girl you’re stringing along this time, but I suppose I can agree to those terms.”

“Promise me, both of you,” Sylvain said, looking between the two of them. “I just need to hear it out loud, that no matter what you might hear, this stays a secret.”

“Okay, yes, yes, you have my word,” agreed Dimitri, taken aback by the seriousness.

“I don’t care what you get up to out here. I’m not some gossip. You don’t have to worry about me talking about you,” Felix said, rolling his eyes. Sylvain had to hold back a chuckle at that assertion. Felix could only talk at length about two things: sword fighting techniques and the various ways everyone in his life got on his nerves.

“Alright,” Sylvain said, satisfied, “I suppose let’s get going then.”

𓆩♕𓆪

As Dimitri walked the streets of Gideon territory alongside his two companions, he began to feel his mind being put at ease already.

Sure, a few shopkeepers might have been looking more chipper than usual to attract some coin, but that couldn’t explain the smiles on two children’s faces as they ran through the streets playing a game of chase or the friendly wave of a passing elderly woman. Shouldn’t the mere existence of happy children and an aging population indicate that the common folk were relatively healthy and stable? These people were living their lives right now, with no talk of an organized uprising in sight.

As they continued to walk, they came across a paved street as the space opened up into a square lined with all sorts of establishments and townsfolk.

“Now, this looks like a nicer area,” Sylvain said, surveying the square. As they made their way around the area, Dimitri watched Sylvain buy an assortment of items. Right now, he seemed to be engaged with a woman selling jewelry. Sylvain perused her items in search of what would likely be a gift to win over his latest girl.

Now that Sylvain had commented on the comparatively upper status of this place, Dimitri couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t getting the most realistic look into what most commoners lived like. And he couldn’t rid himself of the lingering feeling that he was still being treated as something akin to royalty. Perhaps sometime, he should dress down a bit before venturing out. However, given how Dimitri had been dishonest with his reasons for coming, he wasn’t sure he could avoid another argument with Felix if the man caught the king attempting to leave camp again.

He looked over his shoulder where Felix had last been but now found the space empty.

“Felix?” He said, looking around his immediate vicinity of the jewelry shop Sylvain had brought them to.

“Did he disappear on us?” Sylvain asked, turning around to scan their vicinity. “Honestly, I’m surprised he stayed as long as he did. I could hardly ever get him to come into towns with me when we were at the officer’s academy. And the one time he did, he left me as soon as I suggested finding some girls,” Sylvain went on, chuckling to himself.

“He was just here a moment ago. Surely he wouldn’t have gone far,” Dimitri said as he looked around for any sign of him.

However, it was then that Dimitri saw something else that caught his attention. An older woman and two children, a boy and a girl, sat on a blanket outside one of the establishments. They had an open sack in front of them, and the woman seemed to hold it out to those who passed by.

“Sylvain?” Asked Dimitri, keeping his eye on the family as he turned his head vaguely in the direction of the other man.

“What’s up?”

“Are those people over there alright?” He asked, gesturing towards the woman and children as he saw a man walk past them, seemingly ignoring their outstretched satchel.

“Oh, them?” Sylvain asked, his expression falling as he looked in the direction Dimitri had pointed. “You see stuff like that all the time in towns, beggars and such. This place has been much nicer than most others, but you’re still bound to see it eventually,” he said, sighing a bit. “Man, stuff like this always puts me out.”

“You mean they…can’t take care of themselves? And you’ve seen this before in other regions?” Dimitri asked wearily.

“Well, I mean yeah,” Sylvain exhaled as he rolled awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “But I’m sure the war can’t be helping with this problem.”

“The war,” Dimitri muttered thoughtfully. “That could be the case.”

But he talks of this as if it were going on for some time.

“Hey, listen—nothing’s perfect. There are always cracks that people fall into in any given situation. It just can’t be helped,” Sylvain added, attempting to lighten the mood.

“I can understand your sentiments, but still, I…” Dimitri said uneasily. “These are my citizens. I am their king. Shouldn’t I consider how I could better their lives?”

“I guess you’ve got a point there,” Sylvain said absentmindedly as he stretched out his arms behind his back.

“Do the churches in this territory know of this? Perhaps if they had more resources, they might be able to help our citizens better,” Dimitri speculated out loud.

“That sounds promising,” Sylvain replied. “Of course, we’ll have to wait till the war is won to really enact moving resources like that.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Dimitri admitted, deflating.

These people… That family, they were suffering now.

Edelgard’s words came back to his mind. Suddenly, her actions seemed misguided to him. What were radical new freedoms to a family who couldn’t put food on the table?

Dimitri reached into his coat pocket and felt the bag of coins he had grabbed before heading out. Did he really have endless wealth compared to these people? That was certainly how Sylvain described it. He could end their worries here and now.

“Hey, where are you going?” He heard Sylvain call out behind him.

As he approached the family sitting on the floor outside the shop, he saw the woman look in his direction.

“Hello there,” he said awkwardly as he looked down at the family. The woman seemed to eye him apprehensively as she held one of the children in her arms. “Apologies for the interruption…I just…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself.

“Is there a problem, sir?” She asked wearily.

“Oh no, not at all,” Dimitri answered hastily as he reached into his coat pocket. “I just came here to give you this. I hope that’s alright. In truth, I have no idea how helpful this will be,” he said as he placed the entire satchel on the floor in front of her. The bag spilled open, revealing its contents of golden coins.

“…You- you’re giving all of this to us?” She stuttered in disbelief as she hesitantly reached out a hand toward the money, still eyeing Dimitri cautiously.

“I-Yes, if that’s acceptable to you.”

Is this appropriate behavior from me? He wondered, feeling suddenly regretful. The ruling king of Faerghus hoped he wasn’t breaking some unspoken rule. He hesitantly eyed a few passing strangers as he looked to make sure he wasn’t drawing unwanted critical attention to himself.

“Acceptable? I-I don’t know what to say.” She scooped up the spilled coins back into the satchel, taking it into her grasp as she stared at it.

“Then this will… help you?” he asked, still unsure of himself.

“Help me? This changes everything,” she breathed out, rising to her feet. “You’re really just going to give this to me?”

So it was a pleasant surprise after all. A smile began to form on his mouth at seeing just how much this meant to her.

“Yes, I am,” he answered.

The king could feel his previous guilt melting away from his mind in the face of her sincere appreciation.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see Sylvain, who had caught up to him. “Alright, alright,” he said, seeming to be amused. “Let’s get you out of here before you lose any weapons made from valuable material as well.”

As they walked off, Dimitri could feel Sylvain’s eyes on him. He looked over to see the man wearing a thoughtful, lopsided smile.

Dimitri sighed. “What is it? Have I made some sort of royal fool out of myself?”

“Heh,” Sylvain chuckled lightly as he looked at Dimitri, smiling. “Not at all, I was just thinking,” he said, pausing momentarily. “You’re a real considerate man, Your Majesty. Many other nobles or rulers wouldn’t care about some random common folk’s happiness. Faerghus is lucky to have you as their king.”

“Thank you for your words, Sylvain,” Dimitri said, genuinely grateful. Though something also seemed to rub him the wrong way about those words.

‘Lucky’… There was something about that word that rubbed him the wrong way.

But all the same, Dimitri was thankful that the guilt he had been carrying seemed lighter now. Being able to help individual people had always brought him immense peace of mind. Perhaps he ought to do something like this again should he ever feel weighed down or doubtful.

He felt this outing had helped him come to a comfortable understanding of what the people needed from him.

They needed resources, perhaps in the form of charity from the church— but not political power.

Edelgard’s ideals, while understandable, were sorely misguided in their methodology. Drastic change would be all too sudden, not just for the nobility, but for the commoners too. The common folk were currently in no shape to take on governing responsibilities.

The burden of a great political upheaval would strain the common people. He wanted to help those struggling, and dismantling the nobility would only draw into question his Divine Right to rule. There had been enough civilians caught in the turmoil of that debate already. Yes, the status quo, while not ideal, was surely still preferable to chaos.

And, even if he hadn’t invited war by sheltering the church, there were still all manner of catastrophes that could have resulted from trying to bring equality to Fódlan too quickly. Who knew what could befall his citizens if he allowed drastic change to be forced down their throats.

Progress, especially progress in a stubborn land such as Faerghus, needed to be granted through the proper channels of the church— enacted slowly and incrementally.

Yes, that had to be right…

“Felix, there you are!” Sylvain exclaimed as Dimitri was pulled from his thoughts to see Felix turning to look at them with a bottle in his hand.

“Ohohoh?” Sylvain said, eyeing the bottle curiously. “Did you sneak off to buy us something fun? Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s oil. For weapon maintenance, something we actually need. If I have to be here, I’m not wasting my time at some jewelry shop,” Felix answered dryly. “Shouldn’t we get going back to camp?” He grumbled, turning his gaze on Dimitri. “We’ve been here for far too long.”

“Man,” Said Sylvain in mock disdain. “I forget just how allergic to fun you guys can be.”

“Fun is something we, unfortunately, have little time for,” Dimitri said a little defensively.

“Well, I try to make time for it when I can. There’s no point in fighting for any of this if we can’t also enjoy it.”

“Of course, you’d say something like that,” Felix scoffed. “You never take anything seriously.”

“Sylvain has yet to inherit his title the same way we have,” Dimitri added, sympathetically. “There’s not the same weight hanging over him.” Dimitri turned to face Sylvain now, who was looking at them with raised eyebrows. “I’m not telling you, you can’t enjoy yourself. Breaks can be enormously helpful to the morale of soldiers.”

“Psh,” Sylvain huffed, putting his hands behind his head as he studied them. “You say all that, but what about your morale?” He asked as both Dimitri and Felix looked towards him skeptically. “Hey, you know what? I have one last spot I’ve been meaning to check out in this town. I hear it’s the perfect place to find girls for the night. You two should come with me!” He said, bringing a hand down to point at them.

“I’m not doing that,” replied Felix disinterestedly, scowling at the bottle in his hands.

“Really, Sylvain, I don’t know about all this,” Dimitri protested. “I’m hardly comfortable with the casualness of these affairs. I’ll have to be married eventually for political purposes, and I doubt I’ll meet that woman in there.”

“Oh, you’re kidding, right?” Sylvain asked with a lopsided smile pointed at the King.

“No, I don’t joke. Why does everything have to be about women when it comes to you?” Felix scoffed, seemingly believing that the question had been aimed at him just as much as it had Dimitri.

Dimitri shifted uncomfortably as he sighed, waiting for this line of questioning to be dropped.

“Ugh, you two are being sooooo boring.” Sylvain sighed dramatically as he looked at them. “C’mon, Your Majesty,” he begged, still with most of his attention on Dimitri. “I haven’t seen you pursue a girl in years. There was that one girl all the way back when we were preteens and practically nothing since then. I just think it’s time you tried something new,” he said and now turned his attention towards Felix. “And Felix, you really ought to give this just one go. Just one?”

“No,” came Felix’s quick and simple answer.

Dimitri had to admit Sylvain was right in terms of how the King tended to behave with women. He could, at times, have a bit of a one-track mind. He had occasionally made attempts with other women, but nothing that had gone reciprocated. And he was clearly still letting his childhood feelings for Edelgard get to his mind.

Part of what baffled him so much about Sylvain was how he seemed to be drawn towards most women he met and able to bounce between them freely. But he had tried loosening up once, as promised to Sylvain, back at the academy, and it hadn’t gone entirely ideal.

“You know what? If either one of you can tell me you’ve at least kissed someone before, I’ll drop this whole thing,” he said as he looked at them expectantly.

“Oh, will you simply let this go?” Dimitri complained, turning his gaze on the ground— now a bit embarrassed about his utter lack of experience. He was in his twenties. Something ought to have happened by now—and yet nothing ever had. “You already seem to know my answer.”

“And? What answer might that be?” Sylvain asked, feigning ignorance to the King’s deep annoyance.

Dimitri crossed his arms, failing to meet Sylvain’s eyes as he made another noise of exasperation. If he could avoid admitting that his answer was ‘no,’ that would be preferable.

“I don’t suppose you can pull us out of this ordeal, Felix?” Dimitri asked as he turned to look at Felix, who was unexpectedly still. His eyes darted quickly to Dimitri in a glance that almost appeared… nervous?

“Feeeelix?” Sylvain asked in an amused and drawn-out voice. “Simple yes or no question here.”

“I…” Felix started uneasily. Now, Dimitri could easily see the man was unsure of the answer he wanted to give and looked deeply uncomfortable about it. Again, he chanced a glance at Dimitri, which Dimitri knew not how to respond to. Then a scowl formed on Felix’s brow. “Ugh…this is stupid. I’m not going with you no matter what my answer is.”

“So, it’s a no, then?” Sylvain asked, now looking towards Felix, clearly enjoying the emotional torment he was inflicting upon his friend.

Felix only answered with a silent glare, and for Sylvain, this proved as good as an answer.

“If it were anyone else, I’d take this silence to mean they were embarrassed about their complete lack of experience, but you?” Sylvain said, smirking down at a now very distressed-looking Felix. “Well, how was it? Do I know her? What did she look like?”

Felix exhaled deeply as he pinched the end of his brow.

“Tch, don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve never kissed a woman. There, are you satisfied now?”

Dimitri wondered what all the fuss had been about, but Sylvain seemed to be studying Felix thoughtfully for a moment before his eyes widened, and his face burst out into a grin.

“Ooh…then,” Sylvain started. Even though he kept his lips sealed, a poorly constrained laugh was clearly trying to escape him before he gave up on hiding it entirely. “Ohohohohohoh!” Sylvain cackled loudly, tipping back his head before turning it to fix his eyes back on Felix.

What was so amusing? Dimitri wondered to himself as he looked inquiringly between the two other men.

“Never a woman, huh?” Sylvain repeated back, musing to himself between laughter.

“Sylvain, stop! Shut up!” Felix attempted to command. His voice sharp and deadly serious. The man seemed to grip the bottle in his hand tightly. His face had turned a light shade of pink, and he glared daggers into Sylvain.

A memory now floated to the forefront of Dimitri’s mind— a memory of something he hadn’t thought of since the moment it had happened. Something Felix had done before Dimitri left to try and find Edelgard amidst that enemy base, before Rodrigue had died in his arms, before his thoughts had been all consumed by grief and regret.

He looked again at Felix, and something clicked into place.

Or it…almost clicked into place. The realization left him just as confused as he had been, and with even more questions.

Sylvain raised his hands in the air, conveying he would back down, but his face was still beaming with amusement as he chuckled to himself.

“Okay, okay,” he said between laughs. “Hey, I’ll go ahead and count that. So no more badgering from me,” he added in an attempt to sound helpful. This was met with only Silence from Felix.

Dimitri watched, still not sure what to make of this whole situation. “Well, I’m gonna head out there by myself,” concluded Sylvain stiffly. He stretched out his hand to lightly punch Felix’s shoulder while the man glared silently back at him. “Catch you guys later back at the base?” He asked.

“We’ll see you there. You have my thanks for showing me the city again,” Dimitri said as he awkwardly waved back in Sylvain’s direction.

The silence between Dimitri and Felix carried a healthy amount of tension, and the surrounding noise of the town did little to alleviate the sense of defensive barriers Felix must have up and around him.

“I suppose we should start heading back?” Dimitri offered tentatively.

“We should have headed back hours ago,” Felix grumbled resentfully as he turned to walk in the direction of the base.

They walked silently for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before Dimitri eventually broke the silence again.

“Felix, can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s just, I was wondering about…” Dimitri carried on anyway. “…the night we fought. Before I left you…what exactly happened before I left?”

Felix halted suddenly, his back still turned toward the King. Dimitri had the sudden distinct feeling that whatever emotions were flickering on Felix’s face were entirely private and weren’t for him to see.

“Aside from you nearly breaking my wrist?” he asked, between what sounded like gritted teeth. “Or telling me in detail how my brother died?”

“I-Yes,” Dimitri floundered awkwardly. “I must apologize for my words and your wrist. It’s not still bothering you, is it?” He asked. Felix didn’t answer, but he could see the back of Felix’s head turn slightly towards him, not enough to show him his face. “The wrist, that is.”

“No, it’s fine now.”

“That’s good,” Dimitri answered.

It was clear Felix didn’t want to talk about this matter further. His defenses were still up on full guard. They made their way back in silence, and as they parted ways, Felix didn’t say another word.

Would whatever this was cause some new rift between them? With Dedue being distant as of late, the King had found he rather appreciated Felix’s newly developed tendency of routinely checking in on him, even if half of the time it ended in some form of a lecture.

Perhaps he ought to try and sort through this new issue, even if he had no idea where to begin.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days of journeying since Dimitri had last gone into town with Felix and found Sylvain. He had meant to question Felix on… whatever it was that had happened back there. However, as of late, the man had returned to his old habit of avoiding Dimitri like the plague.

Felix had started ditching meetings again, though Seteth had informed him that Felix was at least trying to brief himself on what they covered afterward. He was all too used to rudeness and avoidance from Felix. Though, with the latter, it normally came with a voiced complaint. Dimitri had elected to leave the matter alone, at least for now. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he hadn’t understood Felix’s behavior.

Furthermore, with the ensuing battle looming over him, there were more pressing matters at hand.

Viscount Kleiman had recently traveled down to meet with them in their latest talk. Word had come down that Baron Dominic was extending his cooperation in taking back his territory into kingdom authority. Kleiman was able to vouch for the legitimacy of his extended cooperation and bring up prior correspondence.

Though the odds hadn’t been especially in their favor as of late, Dimitri was beginning to feel cautiously optimistic about their chances for this mission.

As Dimitri got up to exit the tent in which they had held their most recent strategy talk, he was approached by Seteth.

“Could I make a request of you, Your Majesty?” he asked.

“What can I do for you?”

“If you happen to run across your duke, would you do me the favor of summarizing our information for him?” Seteth said. “I’ve been briefing him the last few times, but unfortunately, he seems to be a hard man to find lately.”

“I…I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure where he is at present either,” Dimitri answered. He wasn’t exactly sure if he should acknowledge Felix’s avoidance of him, though it was likely noticeable to Seteth if he had been running notes to him previously.

Seteth sighed. “I’ve noticed he’s been taking quite a few hunting trips in the nearby woods of late, it’s possible he may not be here at all. But if you do see him again, it would be good for him to know what our plans are.”

“I will…certainly see what I can do,” answered Dimitri.

“You have my thanks,” said the older man tiredly. “It is important we keep communication tight as we grow closer to the battlefield,” he added before making to leave the tent.

𓆩♕𓆪

Dimitri went about most of his day without seeing Felix at all. In truth, he had almost forgotten about Seteth’s request. But, eventually, he did catch sight of him.

He saw Felix off in the distance, away from camp. He looked to have just gotten through with a hunting trip and was lugging a rather large sack with him, probably carrying game. As the king got closer, he caught Felix’s eye. Upon seeing him approaching, his face hardened, and his jaw seemed to clench tightly.

“What do you want, boar?” Felix grumbled resentfully as Dimitri got within speaking distance. He looked just about as on edge as he had been the other day, and in no mood to talk.

Dimitri thought that perhaps he should start this out casually, instead of rushing straight into delivering information.

“You seemed to have caught a lot,” he noted, as he fell in step beside Felix, unsure of how to begin. House Fraldarius and Blaiddyd used to go on hunting trips together in earlier times. In truth, his memories of time spent with Glenn or Rodrigue were much clearer in his mind when compared with Felix’s presence. But it could be familiar territory for them.

“Nothing that impressive really,” Felix muttered. “Just some rabbit and ducks,” There was a pause between them as Dimitri tried to think of something else to say. Felix’s expression soured further as he glared at the ground. “If you’ve got nothing of importance to say, stop following me. I’m busy.”

“Felix, wait,” Dimitri sighed, still walking a little ways behind him. “I do, in fact, need to summarize our last meeting for you.”

“I can have someone else brief me later today,” Felix said dismissively. “I don’t need you bothering me about it … as if you’re one to know anything about our strategies. Half the time, you rampage straight ahead into danger like some wild animal.”

Dimitri felt his face morph into a scowl, feeling a renewed sense of annoyance. Admittedly, he couldn’t combat that assertion easily. Yet, there wouldn’t even be a need to talk about this had the man just not skipped out in the first place. The king exhaled, catching up with Felix’s pace.

“If I may ask…Why have you been avoiding the… meetings lately?” he asked hesitantly, deciding not to center this directly on himself. Dimitri might not understand much about Felix’s behavior, but it wasn’t hard to guess which recent events had pushed him away. However, based on Felix’s previous reaction to his prodding, it was likely best to avoid bringing it up directly. “We’re nearing actual combat soon after all,” he added.

“What’s it to you?” Felix asked resentfully. “I’ll get the information I need one way or another.”

“I simply can’t help but feel this is rather…counterproductive,” Dimitri put forward. “You’re the Duke now, after all. There ought to be more direct communication between us when we’re able…”

“Well, I don’t care how the boar feels about it,” Felix scoffed, walking back towards camp, not bothering to look at Dimitri. His jaw was set firm, and his eyes remained straight ahead.

Dimitri paused thoughtfully. Though Felix was certainly acting like he had freshly ignited rage toward Dimitri… The man usually tended to confront him with every single one of his grievances. He was used to Felix berating him without so much as a hint of shyness—telling the king all about the ways he found Dimitri to be a deranged lunatic. At least when met head on with the accusations, Dimitri could acknowledge it, agree with it.

Something about this was different.

“Felix, please, you’re being ridiculous,” Dimitri pushed. There had to be something he could say to the man to get him to stop walking away.

“Oh yeah? And what do you plan to do about it, Boar?” Felix jeered, his voice deepening with anger. “Am I facing a direct order from His Beastliness?”

It was a jab, obviously. Felix had never given any consideration to Dimitri’s title. The thought of trying to invoke his status as a persuasion tactic on Felix was laughable. Felix never even once addressed him as ‘His Highness’ or ‘His Majesty’ — which didn’t bother Dimitri, but it was still notable. On good days, he was simply ‘Dimitri.’ On bad ones, he was a ‘boar,’ ‘royal idiocy,’ or some other insult.

“Of course not,” Dimitri sighed. It seemed beating around the bush was leading nowhere. “Felix, if I’ve done something else to upset you… or if this has to do with… that conversation with Sylvai—” But his voice was cut off by Felix dropping the sack and whirling around on him.

“You’re doing something to upset me right now by not leaving me be!” The man nearly yelled, glaring at Dimitri.

The king frowned. What is going on with him? he asked himself uselessly. He didn’t doubt Felix was upset and unwilling to talk, but upset at him for what? Dimitri still didn’t know what to fully make of that earlier conversation with Sylvain— or the memory it had brought with it. None of it made any sense, and he hardly understood why it should have triggered Felix’s rage at him.

“I apologize for… angering you,” Dimitri began. “But…I simply worry that unspoken grievances may affect our ability to fight together in the next battle. So if there’s anything you—”

“Oh, is that what this is about?” Felix interrupted, raising one eyebrow slightly. “Well, unlike you, I don’t let my emotions affect my decisions on the battlefield,” he answered haughtily as the king winced.

Dimitri couldn’t deny he had done just that on many occasions. However…

“… So this is about something to do with me?”

Suddenly, Felix’s eyes widened, and his face turned a slight shade of pink. He made a groan of frustration as he quickly turned back around.

“Ugh, whatever! I’m done here!” He spat, picking up his sack and retreating.

Dimitri exhaled to himself, watching Felix storm off. He probably shouldn’t push the matter again.

At least not with Felix directly.

A few hours later, as Dimitri prepared to practice his lance technique, he noticed with a start that Sylvain was on his own at the training grounds. He could normally count on Sylvain slacking off, even before big battles.

Sylvain raised a hand in acknowledgement, steering his horse over to Dimitri.

“Hey, Your Majesty,” Sylvain greeted him with an easy smile.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri answered. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to find you training alone. Normally, this only happens when someone drags you out for it,” he noted, remembering the various times he had been the one to do just that at the monastery.

“What can I say? I guess I just didn’t wanna see myself outdone in combat tomorrow.” Sylvain dismounted his horse and leaned back to stretch out his arms. “I may not be lucky enough to have my fancy title yet, but I can still show up when it matters.”

Lucky? That was a bit of an odd word choice, given the circumstances. But he was sure Sylvain didn’t mean to imply anything unsavory.

“Oh? Is this somehow motivated by what I mentioned about our titles the other day?”

“Maybe a bit,” Sylvain chuckled. “Hey, by the way, have you seen Felix around? I haven’t run into him since the other day.”

“Only briefly,” Dimitri answered, wondering if he ought to elaborate. “He can hardly speak to me either, ever since that whole debacle.”

“Aw man,” Sylvain started, looking mildly put out. “And I thought I couldn’t make him avoid me any more than he already does, but I haven’t even so much as laid eyes on him since that whole thing,” Sylvain sighed loudly. “I really didn’t mean to make him worse than he already was, it’s just,” he paused, his frustration interrupted by a brief chuckle. “But well, I mean, you have to admit it’s kind of hilarious.”

He was giving Dimitri some sort of knowing smile as if inviting Dimitri to laugh at the imagined shared joke between them.

Dimitri hesitated. It was likely Sylvain would be able to quickly sort through the king’s confusion. He seemed to have understood a great deal more about what Felix’s behavior meant.

But the idea of asking Sylvain for clarification felt awkward, to say the least. He may not understand much, but based on the man’s laughing yesterday, it was probably safe to assume Sylvain shouldn’t know any more than he already did. Sylvain seemed to occasionally take pleasure in the humiliation of his friends, in particular Felix. But during their school days, Dimitri could count himself among that list as well.

Though it wasn’t as if Sylvain was a bad person. He cared for his friends, surely.

“I…uhm,” Dimitri started, unsure of himself. “What exactly is hilarious?” He asked in a way he hoped sounded nonchalant but also genuine.

Sylvain’s face still wore that amused smirk as he moved a bit closer to Dimitri, eyes darting around to the soldiers nearby to see if anyone was within earshot. “Felix, apparently kissing some guy,” Sylvain said in a voice just above a whisper. “And practically admitting it to us too!” He said in between laughs. “I mean, I had a sense he might not ever grow out of his … whatever his hang-up is about dating women. I just never thought I’d ever hear of him actually doing something with a guy,” Sylvain continued, now beaming with the full sense of amusement he had shown back in town. “Like, who would it have even been?”

“I…” Dimitri started, trying to quell the sense of embarrassment rising in him. Sylvain didn’t seem as perplexed by the concept as he had been, purely amused. Dimitri was getting the sense that this wasn’t as unheard of as he might have imagined but instead, incredibly… taboo. “You’re asking me who he…?” Dimitri repeated, attempting to force his brain to keep up with the pace Sylvain was running at. He couldn’t tell him the answer to that question; this much was clear.

“Oh, I know you probably don’t know,” Sylvain said, dismissively waving his hand. “It wouldn’t be like him to talk about anything related to romance.”

Romance?

The word seemed to echo inside his head. And suddenly, a strange possibility began to cement itself in his thoughts.

“I…You’re saying that he…that Felix has romantic feelings for the man he…” He faded off, the thoughts coming to him as he spoke them aloud.

“Well, I mean, I don’t know how deep it goes,” Sylvain said, rubbing the back of his neck. The amusement had seemed to die out a bit upon Dimitri’s confusion. “Pretty hard to imagine Felix doing something like that on a whim, though.”

Dimitri had to admit he hadn’t known what he had expected to find out from talking to Sylvain. But there were too many things that were utterly baffling about this idea. Felix was a man, and a man who had had openly despised him for years now. Even if they had a history of friendship, the idea seemed to be utter nonsense… and yet.

“Hey, you doing okay over there?” he heard Sylvain’s voice say to him. “You look a bit lost in thought.”

“Oh,” Dimitri said, attempting to ground himself back into the conversation at hand. “Apologies, I just… hadn’t realized,” Dimitri said, unsure of how to gracefully avoid expanding upon the topic as though it didn’t directly pertain to him.

“Heh, yeah, I can see that,” Sylvain commented. “I hear this sort of thing is a bit more common in the Empire than it is here in the Kingdom,” he added, thankfully deciding to turn away from speculating about who it had been. “Still, I really do hope he bounces back. He was already avoiding me over that fight Ingrid had with him, and well…” Sylvain faded off thoughtfully, a slight grimace forming on his face. “I guess me teasing him back there isn’t exactly going to help with that situation… Man, it was already bad enough being stuck in between the drama of just two people.”

“Felix and Ingrid fought? As in, fought more than usual?” Dimitri asked, brought out of his thoughts by the news.

“Yeah,” Sylvain confirmed with an accompanying laugh devoid of any enjoyment. “I keep telling her that he’s just like that— constantly firing off verbal abuse and empty threats. But she’s taking this one super seriously, said he drew his sword on her just to keep her from touching something.”

Drew his sword on her? Dimitri had a hard time picturing it. Felix could be harsh, he knew that. And Ingrid had a tendency to speak of Glenn’s death in a way that had made Dimitri lose his temper on her as well. So, even if Ingrid’s accusations were true, it wasn’t as if someone like him could make judgments on that sort of behavior.

“That does sound… rather extreme,” Dimitri said, electing not to elaborate. “When did she say this happened?”

“Back when we had just gotten to Fraldarius,” Sylvain answered, sighing. “So, a while now, certainly more time than she usually takes to get over his out lashes. It’s been a real bummer. I’m already trying to juggle my women — I don’t need to be playing that same game with my friends as well,” he said with what seemed like genuine annoyance in his voice.

“Right…” Dimitri said, feeling thoroughly off-put. “Well, I should try and get back to preparations for the upcoming battle. It would be best if you readied yourself as well.”

“I know, I know,” Sylvain sighed, taking his horse by the reins. “Be seeing you around then, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri watched him go, now alone with his thoughts, of which there were many — too many to properly keep track of.

With everything Sylvain had told him of Ingrid and Felix’s fight, he wondered now what Ingrid had thought of Dimitri’s threats or excessive violence. While in the heights of his madness he had lashed out and betrayed the trust of everyone—including Ingrid. He hadn’t apologized to her directly the same way he had Dedue or Felix; in fact, the two of them hadn’t exactly talked one-on-one in some time. She had been present during several war meetings, which included his apologies. Ingrid had, at least outwardly, been all too quick to show him her unwavering support. He hardly deserved to be the subject of her obstinate patriotism, if it was indeed genuine…

He hadn’t known what to make of so many people’s responses to all of this, and because of that, an awkwardness hung over him at the idea of casually talking with the others.

Sylvain was a bit of an easier pick due to his avoidance of any heavy topics. In contrast to that, Felix’s confrontational tendencies were, occasionally, appreciated. With Felix, everything was out in the open — or at least, that’s the way it had been until recently.

And now, to Dimitri’s immense guilt, Dedue now seemed to have a heavily guarded wall up around himself. Gustave was rather unchanged by the events. Aside from those people and Ingrid, Dimitri hadn’t exactly counted himself as ever being especially friendly with the other Kingdom generals.

And then there had been the idea of Felix having romantic feelings for him. It had to be some joke Sylvain was pulling on him. But then… how would he have known what happened between them that night in the Empire?

Dimitri rubbed the side of his head in frustration and confusion. They were mere hours away from war, and everyone was preoccupied with drama between allies. It certainly didn’t spell well for their fight tomorrow at dawn.

Chapter Text

Imperial year 1180

The Officer’s Academy

It was a cold night at the monastery. Felix lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep didn’t always come to him when he wanted it to. He was still getting used to living in this unfamiliar place amidst a sea of other students, some of them new, some of them people he’d known for longer than he would have liked to. Seeing Sylvain and Ingrid again regularly was already proving to be just as taxing as it was familiar.

And that was before factoring in the boar’s involvement.

The boar’s presence here had been unexpected. From the way his old man had described the beast’s living situation, the boar’s uncle kept him under tight surveillance in the palace. Felix had felt a rising sense of apprehension ever since hearing that the monster was being let loose from his cage to attend classes with him.

He hadn’t so much as laid eyes on the boar since the beast had quelled that uprising years ago. Even to this day, the memory remained hauntingly vivid in his mind. The beast had worn a horrible smile while he took his time, torturously, laying waste to his victims— his face and hands had smeared with blood, and the sounds of his laughter mixed with the spilling of guts. The kills had been slow, and deliberately executed to inflict as much pain and suffering upon his victims as possible.

And… that beast had loved every minute of it.

The boar now taunted Felix in his attempt at a casual demeanor. And even worse— the longer Felix had been forced to stay around him, the more he found he was vulnerable to, momentarily, letting his guard down. He felt himself, at times, getting roped into the idea that he was speaking to his old friend and not whatever monster Dimitri had become.

On one recent occasion, they had spoken of the sword he had bought from a merchant. The boar’s eagerness to wield the weapon had conjured a memory of a younger Dimitri breaking a sword clean in half. The old man and Glenn had used to tell that old story on repeat ever since it had happened. The boar’s enormous lack of control over his own strength used to be an amusing memory.

…But it wasn’t so amusing anymore.

Felix rolled over, adjusting the pillow under his head as he tried to shake his restless thoughts. He lay there, waiting for rest to come to him. A few minutes went by, then a few more. He turned over in the bed again, and again… still feeling terribly awake.

Perhaps rest would come easier if I wasn’t roomed right next to that animal, he thought resentfully as he eyed the wall he knew the boar prince to likely be behind.

Deciding there was no further point in attempting to rest, Felix got up to take a walk, possibly to the training grounds.

As he walked, he found he appreciated the stillness of the monastery at night. Sparring partners would certainly be harder to come by in the dead of night, but daylight also brought a whole host of bothersome distractions and interruptions.

However, as Felix made his way down the tiled floor near the training ground’s entrance, he could hear someone else. It seemed to be the voice of that Mercenary who was brought in as a student to join the Black Eagles…or was it the Golden Deer? He didn’t remember. The woman sounded as though she was talking to someone else, yet Felix could only just make out the sound of one voice, not two. As he got closer, he began to hear the words more clearly.

“Hey, I appreciate your input and everything, but sometimes, during battle, it’s a bit of a hindrance more than a help. I-” The voice paused as if she was being interrupted, but all that followed was silence. Felix strained to make out the sound of any other voice. “No, listen. I know you’re smarter than me, but sometimes I just gotta focus.”

Felix turned the corner, expecting to see the mercenary as well as whatever soft-spoken sparring companion she had been conversing with. But all who stood there was the one singular person, animatedly waving her hand around as she spoke and pausing to listen to the silence of the room before continuing again.

Well, that was certainly… weird.

Felix wondered if the merc believed there to actually be someone else in the room with her.

“I know, I know, and I get that. But I -AHCK!” The mercenary yelped in surprise as she turned around to see Felix now properly stepping out from behind the corner.

“….Who are you talking to?” Felix asked, a little unsure of how to proceed as he glanced around their vicinity—still seeing no one but her.

He did want to use the training grounds, but he hadn’t anticipated navigating something like this when he set out to come here.

“Oh, no one!… I just uh…” The purple-haired woman faded off, wearing a tight smile. “Haha…Well, I was sorta talking to myself… I guess that must make me sound a little nuts to you,” she said, making a twirling motion by her head with her pointer finger.

Felix looked back at her skeptically silent. That explanation seemed a little far-fetched, given the argumentative nature of her words and the long pauses. Something was up with her, that much was clear.

“Hey, anyway, uhm… what are you doing here so late at night?” Asked the merc as she swung her hands absent-mindedly around her legs.

“Coming to train,” Felix replied. He had wanted to challenge the new recruit with mysterious powers and actual combat experience, even if she was just a woman. But to his disappointment, he had hardly seen her in the training grounds of late.

“Guess that’s fair. It’s just that this place is normally empty at night except for me.”

“Some might say exclusively coming here during a time with no sparring partners makes for poor practice,” Felix pointed out.

“Too true,” the merc admitted easily. “But as much as I appreciate someone to swing a sword against, I think my weird powers of unknown origins miiight be freaking some people out— especially those church folks.”

“Tch, a mercenary with your background should have no shortage of willing combatants to choose from…” Felix answered. “But perhaps seeing the value in that is too much to expect from classmates who haven’t had their first taste of real battle yet.”

“Oh? Can I take that to mean you’ve seen some action?” the woman asked now leaning against the long sword in her hand as she watched Felix curiously.

“You can.”

“Ohohoh! Well then, mister experienced knight, care to give me a sparring session?”

Felix felt his face contort into a scowl at the name she had assigned to him. And what was with the laughing? He hadn’t said anything funny.

“Oh uh… I mean we don’t have to if you’re not feeling up to it,” The woman said quickly as she straightened her back and brought her hands up in a sign of surrender. “I just figured since you came to the training grounds and all that-”

“What?” Felix scoffed. “Make no mistake. I am more than ‘up to it’,” Felix asserted.

“Oh. well… alright then!” She agreed amiably, twirling the sword in her hand. “Your name, it’s Phoenix, like the firey bird thing, right?” She asked.

“Felix,” he clarified.

“Right. Hey, I was pretty close! Just swapped out the ‘el’ sound for an ‘en’,” the merc said as she gestured towards him. “So, Felix, care to spar with me?” She asked, taking time to drag out her emphasis on the corrected letter.

Felix’s frown deepened. She’s certainly not taking this seriously, he thought to himself with annoyance.

Still, he couldn’t very well turn down a sparring partner of her qualifications.

“Yes. Let’s get on with it. Don’t hold anything back.”

“Ha! Alright then, this will be a nice change of pace from using the dummies,” she said, approaching him. She shook her spiked, disheveled hair out of her face and extended her right hand to materialize a second blade.

Felix unsheathed his own blade as he readied himself for this new opponent, who seemed to view this as some sort of game. Shouldn’t a seasoned merc take their craft more seriously? Maybe she wasn’t as worthy as an adversarys as he would have hoped.

But before he could finish sorting through his expectations of her, the merc was on him— apparently already having decided that their duel was commencing.

As they fought, he found that he was playing defense more often than offense. The woman used every part of her as a weapon. She didn’t fight with any of that self-restraint most other nobles practiced. And to Felix’s frustration, he was just barely able to stay afloat as they fought.

However, eventually he saw an opportunity. She had left herself open for no more than a second before he flew toward her. Filled with impatience and frustration, he hurled all his strength into his attack, only for his opponent to vanish into thin air in a haze of purple light.

Felix let out a muffled sound of surprise as he failed to keep himself from tripping under the inertia. He hit the ground with a hard, painful thud and let out a groan of annoyance.

“Hey, you said not to hold back,” came the merc’s voice from behind him, amused.

“You’re a spell user too now?” Felix asked, frustration seeping into his voice as he glared up at the girl who had clearly bested him.

“Not exactly. I can fight without the magic if you want, though,” the merc said, grinning. She offered out her right hand to Felix as her enchanted sword disappeared from her palm.

Felix was being humiliated on purpose by this person. He felt sure of it now.

“Spare me your pity,” Felix grumbled, ignoring the hand and standing up on his own to be at eye level with her. She was still smirking at him, gearing up to gloat, no doubt. Throwing a fit won’t do anything but give her ammunition, he told himself sternly. “Though, I guess I ought to admit…your technique is proving its merits, regardless of how unconventional they might be,” Felix relented with a sigh, attempting to accept the loss. He looked away, focusing on his blade as he put it back into the sheath at his side.

“Heh, can’t always win ‘em all the proper way. This was fun, though! I’m down to go again, as long as those church folks aren’t around to give me odd looks.”

“Fun?” Felix repeated. “You don’t take this seriously at all…and yet you beat me, easily,” Felix huffed, feeling dejected.

No, it doesn’t matter if she intends to treat this like some kind of game, he told himself. You will figure out how to make this person take you seriously and then best her.

“We should go again. But, know that I intend to surpass you,” Felix said, asserting himself.

“Oh yeah?” the woman asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. “I guess you must take this whole Knight thing pretty damn seriously.”

Felix bristled uncomfortably.

“Not at all,” he clarified. “I value the pursuit of strength, not chivalry and knighthood.”

“…Huh.” The merc seemed to thoughtfully look back toward Felix. “That’s a bit odd of you to say, don’t you think?”

Felix scowled down at the sword in his hand. What reason would a Mercenary even have to argue against his aversion to chivalry? Perhaps this one had already spent too much time around the likes of Ashe, Ingrid, or some other fool.

“There’s nothing odd about it,” Felix muttered, readying himself for the argument. “What’s it matter to you anyway? Have sellswords now adopted codes of chivalry and other such nonsense?”

“Oh… uh,” began the merc, seeming to be caught off guard. “I don’t actually know much about that sort of stuff. I just meant…” she trailed off, chuckling a bit for seemingly no reason. “Well, you seem pretty competitive with training. I guess I thought that must go hand-in-hand with being dedicated to all that knightly stuff. I mean, it’s not like you’re planning to be a mercenary, are you?”

Now it seemed it was Felix’s turn to be caught off guard. The thought had never occurred to him. He knew if he ended up inheriting his father’s title, he likely would fight among the knights, and that his pursuit of strength would make him good at this. But, it was hardly the reason for pursuit in the first place.

“Admittedly no,” Felix said, a little more to himself than the person standing across from him. “Still, a trivial matter such as ‘my reason’ hardly means anything. Results are all that matter.”

“…Really?” the girl asked, raising her eyebrows. “I don’t tend to see it like that.”

Felix felt his brow furrow in deepening annoyance for this woman.

“Well, what’s your reason for fighting?” Felix asked, feeling a sudden desire to pivot the conversation away from himself.

“My reason?” the girl repeated, leaning against that blade of hers as she talked. “For me, there really wasn’t a reason beyond needing some coin to keep myself fed. If I didn’t have to fight, I doubt I would have learned the skill. Who knows, maybe if I actually get a good payout from the church one day I can retire.”

“Hm,” Felix studied the floor, thinking over her words. “I suppose that’s a sensible enough answer…”

Money, food, shelter— Felix already had these things. He lacked the tenacity of a warrior who had learned to fight out of the necessity to stay alive. Sword fighting was the first thing he had learned, even before writing his own name. It was who he was. But he should have a reason for fighting, shouldn’t he? It might serve to strengthen him the same way it had this person.

However, for now, it was best to focus on training. They had stopped to talk for a mere few minutes and the woman had already begun to pry into insignificant matters that Felix didn’t need to think about.

“This has been enough idle chatter,” he decided aloud. “Skilled partners are hard to come by. We should return to fighting, perhaps my reason for strength will come to me as I swing a sword.”

The merc had agreed easily enough. The two of them stayed in the training grounds together for another hour or so. During their time together, Felix found victory was still, frustratingly out of reach. After each loss, he felt himself growing steadily more quick-tempered and tired.

Eventually, they had called their training session over with. Felix had informed her that he meant to seek her out again— next time for a victory. But, as Felix had turned to leave he heard the merc call after him again.

“Hey, wait a minute,” called the merc. Felix looked back to see she was still wearing that perpetual lop-sided smirk. “We just spent the last hour together and now you’re running off before even bothering to get my name? What gives?”

Felix frowned. Why was everyone so fixated on this sort of thing? If she wanted him to know her name she could have told it to him—with or without him asking. It wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t spoken up.

“I don’t see why it matters,” Felix replied, feeling defensive and annoyed. It’s not as if we need to exchange personal details to swing our blades at each other, he thought to himself. “I’m here to hone my skills, not waste time with introductions,” he shot back.

The merc raised her eyebrows slightly.

“Hmm…Well, well, well. Nice meeting you too,” she said. “It’s Shez by the way. I guess I’ll find you around school next time I need a sparring session then?” She asked as she paced her way toward the doors, looking back over her shoulder at him.

“Don’t expect an easy victory next time,” Felix answered.

“Easy? That was intense! I had to bust out my magic to land a single blow on you!” She taunted from behind him as he left. “I’ll look forward to it, though, see ya!”

And with that, she was gone.

Felix started his way back to the room that the academy had given to him.

Since then, he had seen the merc on a few other occasions. To his immense frustration, he had never managed to win his victory over her.

But as the year went on the merc had seemed more interested in socializing with the students of whichever house she had gone into.

And, before long, she, along with everyone else Felix had met from the other houses, had gone away as their nations transitioned into war with each other.

As the years went on, that question had occasionally lingered in his mind.

What was his reason for fighting?

When the Empire declared war on the church. His reason for fighting had been defensive. They were an enemy, a threat. The empire wanted more land or some such ambition that involved attacking the church. The details didn’t matter.

Felix fought to stay alive, to keep the soldiers around him safe. And that had been reason enough to push himself to his limits.

Chapter Text

Dimitri walked next to one of the Baron’s soldiers as they made their way towards the back of the castle. A rather dense fog had set in, making it hard to see his surrounding army.

Baron Dominic’s castle was under occupation by Imperials and traitors who they ought to eliminate in order to regain control.

The Baron had sent his soldiers to meet them here, under cover of the dense forest, and open up multiple of the back entrances—creating a flanked surprise offensive.

“Here we are, Your Majesty,” said one of the Baron’s soldiers as they approached a large drawbridge. The gate entered into the inner bailey, still outside and exposed to the sun, or what little sun there was today.

When the army eventually made its way properly into the inner walls of Dominic’s castle, they found themselves entrenched in a deep fog that seemed to grow thicker by the minute.

This was no good — under circumstances like these, it would be just as hard to spot his nearby allies as it would his incoming enemies.

“Your Majesty,” a voice near Dimitri spoke. The king turned to glance toward one of their mages, who had made his way closer to him. “This fog onset… I…I think it’s too sudden to have been natural,” the man stated in a hushed, weary voice. “It feels much more likely it’s the work of a mage.”

Dimitri felt himself tense suddenly with suspicion. The king was about to open his mouth to respond but was interrupted before he ever got the chance. An arrow came flying out from the mist, lodging itself into the man as he screamed in pain, falling to the ground.

And in an instant, enemy soldiers were upon them, coming from every direction in coordinated attacks. It was hard to distinguish their formations in the fog, but this much was clear — they knew the Kingdom’s army would be here.

As the fight went on, a great number of Kingdom soldiers around the king had fallen, badly wounded or dead. Dimitri had killed ten or so Imperials and was in the process of wrenching his lance free from the chest of a dead mage when he saw a flash of purple haze in the fog nearby. Two silhouetted figures appeared suddenly, possibly appearing through a warp spell.

The smaller of the two figures leaped forward, swinging a sword at him in a purple haze of light. Dimitri was just barely able to block the oncoming attack as the man’s sword cracked against Areadbhar with immense strength behind the blow— more strength than he would have imagined the relatively thin soldier capable of. Evidently, this man’s attack possessed some powerful magic, as the mere swing of his sword had swept up much of the fog around them.

As the king got a better look at his attacker, he had the strange feeling there was something familiar about this man. The soldier looked as though he were about to say something, but before he could, he was cut off by a distinctive voice that Dimitri knew for a fact he did recognize.

“Shez! You complete idiot!” Roared the second figure, pacing his way out from the mist. “Your spell swept up the fog, and now half his army can see where he is!” Edelgard’s vassal exclaimed venomously at the man currently holding a sword against Dimitri’s lance.

The king stared at the retainer, feeling his eye widen in surprise as a sudden lurking possibility seize his mind.

If the emperor’s vassal was here… could that mean that she was here as well?

“Oh no…” The man with the purple hair seemed to fidget frantically as he looked around at the clearing he had just created. “Just- just take him right now, quickly!”

Dimitri brought back his lance for a second attack, keeping his attention locked on the two in front of him. But before the king could move to attack either of the two men advancing him, he felt a sudden searing pain of static numbness throughout his whole body, causing him to drop his lance. He fell to his knees. He had been hit with an electrocution spell…but one that seemed to have come from behind him.

He thought he heard the baron’s soldier from earlier say something, but he couldn’t tell what. Dimitri blinked, trying to regain his senses. The king opened his eye to make out the shape of Edelgard’s vassal approaching him, kneeling down and grabbing hold of his arm with his long, bony fingers that clutched him tightly.

The next sensation he was aware of was unlike anything he had ever felt before, It was as if his entire body was being squeezed through a tube the size of a needle at a speed that could rival an arrow shot from a bow.

It felt like it should have killed him, folded him in on himself until he was a crumpled mess of flesh and bone. Yet, he could feel his intact body lying down against the grass. It seemed a different surface entirely from the one he had collapsed onto. Everything was black, and his head spun. The world itself seemed to shake around him, as though he wasn’t on solid ground but adrift at sea on turbulent waters. Slowly, the sensation began to fade as the ground steadied itself. He blinked, letting in light that he squinted against. The king’s hearing seemed to be slowly coming back to him as well, and he could make out the faint sound of voices around him.

“…He looks as though he’s quite near death already.”

“Warp magic can occasionally have this effect on those unaccustomed to using magic.”

“Hey, guys, I think he’s waking up,” a third voice said. Dimitri’s sight was now beginning to come into focus as he fixed his eye on the shapes in front of him. Soon enough, the red and yellow forms in front of him began to solidify as the king found himself staring up at a small group of soldiers, which included the leader of the Alliance and the emperor of Adrestia,

…Edelgard.

𓆩♕𓆪

Felix pulled his sword out from an imperial foot soldier who had made the mistake of charging him. The surrounding fight was little more than moving shadows and screams. Arrows swished past him, a few lodging themselves into his shield, Aegis.

Just moments ago, he had watched the fog momentarily disperse enough to reveal a clearing where he saw the boar, a sprint’s distance away from the rest of their army. Dimitri had been hit with an electrocution spell from a man who was supposed to be their ally. Felix started sprinting towards the boar, calling out to him desperately as he saw the man fall to his knees, dropping his weapon in the process.

Felix had been too late. A tall, shadowy figure had performed a warp spell on both himself and the boar— vanishing them both to away. And Felix had no idea how to find him.

This mission was supposed to be a surprise attack from the Kingdom— but evidently, someone had tipped them off. This was far too coordinated of a trap.

Felix helplessly scanned the surrounding chaos. Within the fog, he had lost track of his troops. And with the spell still in effect, he wouldn’t have much luck finding them, much less pinning down the location of someone warped away.

Dimitri could be anywhere. He could be gravely injured…or worse.

“DIMITRI!?” he yelled uselessly into the mist. “ANSWER ME, BOAR!” But all that answered Felix were the surrounding sounds of chaos. The severity of just how damning these circumstances were for everyone was beginning to solidify itself to him with rising panic. He yelled out the boar’s name, sprinting through the fog in a random direction.

Suddenly, he collided with a figure, knocking both of them to the floor. The soldier didn’t let Felix stay on top of him for long. He was pushed off the man by an abrupt, strong force as they both scrambled to their feet and pointed blades at each other.

All at once, he found himself staring down a familiar sword. Felix’s eyes came up to look at its wielder— a man with bright purple hair that fell over half his face. He had seen this same soldier near where Dimitri was taken just a few moments ago.

But… now that he had a proper look at the man, he could have sworn there was something familiar about not only the blade but the wielder as well.

“Phoenix?” The man said, seeming to recognize him. Felix stared at him. That blade in his hand, the color of that hair, the…name he had called him. There was only one person who had occasionally called him that in reference to how she had butchered it upon meeting him.

“Man… I totally forgot you were a Kingdom noble,” the person across from him said. “Damn. Real bummer we couldn’t have our rematch happen on more friendly terms,” the merc said, grimacing.

“… You?” Felix asked in confusion. He had forgotten the name of that mercenary student he used to spar with often. But…that person had been a woman…hadn’t she?

However, just then, a more important memory in regard to the mercenary came to the forefront of his mind with a sudden start.

“…You can teleport,” he murmured, the realization coming to him as he said it aloud. He gripped his sword tight in his hand, wielding it at her— him, whichever they were.

The mercenary had been there when the boar was taken. This had to mean the person was high enough rank to know more of their plan. A desperate hope was beginning to form in his mind as he looked at his opponent. “Where did they take the boar?” he demanded, taking a step closer toward the merc with his sword at the ready.

But the merc stared back at him blankly. His eyebrows came knit together as he squinted at Felix.

“Uhm… what’s that about… a pig?”

“The king! Dimitri!” Felix yelled, gesturing his sword out toward the merc. “Where did they take the king?!”

“Ooooooh.” A slight grimace came over the merc’s expression. “You…want me to warp you there?” The mercenary asked, taking a step back. “You gotta know I can’t exactly do you that favor.”

Felix’s grip on his sword tightened, and he felt his scowl deepen.

“Then I’ll just have to make you,” Felix growled before lunging at the other swordsman.

𓆩♕𓆪

“Coming to any of your senses over there, Dimitri?” came Claude’s voice, carrying a notable lack of seriousness to it.

Dimitri’s icy glare remained fixed on Edelgard as he pushed himself to his knees, hands bound behind his back.

“You…” he croaked, feeling his heart begin to thump quickly within his chest.

He had spent years consumed by his unadulterated hatred of her. Within most of his vengeful haze, he hadn’t so much as laid eyes on her, but now she was here.

He made a motion to try and stand up, fighting the pain in his body, screaming at him to not move. “Woah there. I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Claude warned. Dimitri flickered an eye in his direction. The other man held his bowstring back, with an arrow aimed straight at him. Dimitri could see Edelgard’s vassal now too, lurking in the back with a handful of other Imperial soldiers, including a vaguely familiar-looking young woman with bright red hair.

Dimitri blinked several times, looking around his vicinity, trying to sort out where exactly they were. They were outside, on top of a small cliff. A few paces behind Dimitri appeared to be an abrupt drop off—making any retreat near impossible.

The king stared down at Dominic’s castle, which he had just moments ago been inside of. His allies were down there. He had led them straight into Edelgard’s trap himself…

Slowly, the king’s gaze turned to find Edelgard once more.

The woman was armed with Aymr, her hero’s relic. She looked down at him silently, wearing a calculated expression.

“I suggest you get a grip on your head, Dimitri. We have matters to discuss,” Edelgard said sternly. “The faster you can process your current circumstances, the less blood might be spilled.”

He stared up at her as he felt his teeth clench together in fury at the blatant hypocrisy she touted as though it were nothing.

“You dare speak to me of the value of my soldier’s lives after conspiring to trap and kill them?” Dimitri growled menacingly through clenched teeth.

“Hey, this whole thing was my idea to start with,” Claude said as Dimitri’s gaze swiveled back towards him. The man lowered his bow and approached closer to stand near Edelgard. “I deserve some credit too,” he goaded, bringing his bow down as he gave Dimitri a wry smirk.

“The short of this all is that we’re giving you an opportunity to surrender,” Edelgard supplied, looking down at the king with a skeptical coldness to her brow.

“…Surrender?” Dimitri echoed, looking between the two of them.

“Yes,” Edelgard confirmed. “I suggest you hear it out.”

“Though certain parties beg to disagree, I’d very much like to think that the church and Kingdom aren’t one in the same,” said Claude.

“So…under what terms would you have me surrender the Kingdom to imperial rule?” Dimitri asked Edelgard, injecting venom into every syllable he uttered.

“Firstly,” she began, seemingly ignoring the ice in Dimitri’s tone. She turned her axe loosely in her hand as she thoughtfully paced the space in front of him. “We would have you surrender the Archbishop to us, and agree to remove all institutionalized laws and establishments relating to the central church— including succession by blood.” She paused, eyeing him carefully before speaking again. “And we would have you step down as a leader, to relocate somewhere outside the borders of Faerghus, never to return.”

So, now it isn’t merely about being the church’s ally, he thought to himself with growing resentment.

No, he couldn’t allow her to so confidently tout such unconscionable demands as if she already possessed authority over Faerghus.

“You,” he growled, keeping his eye fixed on Edelgard. “Why are you doing this? Is it not enough to enact sweeping reforms within your own territory?”

She furrowed her brow.

“You ought to know as well as I do that any reforms would be impossible to enact without a fight against the church,” she answered. “Rhea poses a threat to all the people of Fódlan. Neither the Kingdom, the Alliance, nor even Adrestia could truly shed themselves of the central church’s tyranny and the suffering Rhea causes until her power is eliminated. Nor could I turn a blind eye to the plight this system subjects everyone to, even if it may lie outside my own borders.”

The king’s scowl deepened.

“And yet, you have turned a blind eye to the suffering your rebellion causes right now,” he shot back as he leered up at her. Dimitri thought of Rodrigue and the many more who this war had claimed. To insinuate that they died fighting for something unnecessary to begin with was beyond insulting to their memories.

“No, I haven’t turned a blind eye to any of this,” she replied evenly. “The blood spilled in this war is but a drop in the ocean when compared to the suffering and bloodshed that our current hierarchy produces. And, right now, if you agree to these terms, we can take ourselves one step closer to ending all this violence.”

Dimitri glared up at her, feeling indignation well up inside of him. The woman spoke as if she were some paragon of altruism and the freedom of the common born. Yet she was as far removed as he from having a commoner’s experience.

“You may see it that way. Yet, someone such as yourself has no right to force your own ideals onto everyone…“ He asserted. The king thought again of those people he had seen in the village. He had seen multiple ordinary happy people living their own lives with no talk of organized uprisings in sight. She wasn’t speaking on their behalf— she was speaking for herself. “Do you not even believe in the power of the people to join together and rise up on their own? You have robbed them of their voices and taken these matters into your own hands, benefiting no one but yourself!”

Edelgard took an authoritative step closer to him, her frown deepening into a perplexed and frustrated scowl.

“Dimitri, this is nonsense. It is not up for debate that people have been suffering and dying needlessly under our current system of nobility. There have been countless victims of the church’s doctrine—victims I can count myself among. And I am not the only person who’s sought to push back against this. I know full well that you’ve quelled smaller uprisings in the past,” she asserted, seeming to have already lost her patience with him. “Challenging the central church is a necessary step in creating a better future… As I’ve said before, so long as Rhea is allowed to have any influence, she’ll use it to advance her own interests—keeping all of Fódlan’s power within the bloodlines of crests by any means necessary. I can’t let it go on like this.”

There was a pause of silence as Dimitri glared up at her, trying to grasp for the right words that would minimize her assessment.

He had been a part of quelling smaller rebellions, that was true. But those rebellions had been doomed to fail from the start. If he hadn’t participated in suppressing them, someone else from the Kingdom or church still would have done the gruesome deed…

Yet, right now, that line of logic felt like a limp counterargument.

But before the king could say anything more, Edelgard spoke again.

“…You once said to me that you believed the goddess to be apathetic to humanity,” she said. The king thought he saw something in her expression shift as the sternness in her voice wavered. “And yet, you go along with the central church’s wishes to codify their beliefs into laws… Why is that?”

Dimitri hesitated, shifting his weight against the uncomfortable binds that trapped him.

“I…understand your grievances with the church, truly I do,” Dimitri admitted, searching for the right words. “But you must understand, Faerghus is a stubborn land. If I were to force my own private beliefs onto the Kingdom, it could cause all manner of unforeseen chaos that I would bear responsibility for. Whether for better or worse, the church has been a pillar of the Kingdom since its very inception. I…I have no choice in the matter of whether or not to safeguard its protection.”

“…No choice?” Edelgard repeated. “I find it hard to believe someone with as much power as you has ‘no choice’ in anything.”

Admittedly, the king did have a great deal of power— yet using said power to disrupt the very system that granted his authority in the first place was nonsensical… Though he doubted someone like her was capable of realizing this. Edelgard was idealistic and brash, never once seeming to consider that the people she sought to depose were human just as she was. Yes, if that woman had her way, Fódlan would sit in the palm of her outstretched hand as she confidently and forcibly morphed it to fit her desires. Blood would gush and spill out as if she were simply crushing juice from fruit.

“C’mon Dimitri,” Claude started again as the king glanced his way to see the man was giving him a lopsided grimace. “I don’t know that I quite buy the idea that ‘your land’ is the one being obstinate here. Everyone has to deal with the consequences of their decisions. If you continue to let fear rule you, Fódlan can’t ever change… And it needs to change…”

Dimitri craned his neck to look up at Claude. The two of them hadn’t talked about matters relating to politics when they had been classmates, but the man had seemed reasonable. It was difficult for Dimitri to parse through exactly how much of this was something Claude genuinely wanted. Perhaps it was merely an act put on to appease Edelgard.

“If I may be so bold to interrupt,” came the slithering voice of Edelgard’s retainer from the shadows behind them. “You argue for little more than your own immediate death, Your Majesty.” There seemed to be something of a gleeful, sarcastic bite to those last words.

Slowly, Dimitri looked back towards Edelgard, who was staring him down with cold, indifferent resolve.

“He’s right,” she confirmed. “If you cannot agree to these terms, then I’m afraid there is little more to discuss.”

Dimitri looked down at his knees, resting his head from the pressure of holding it up this whole time.

Death was something that hadn’t properly frightened Dimitri in years, though he would hardly call it bravery.

But the idea that Edelgard should be allowed to finally take his life was something he knew he didn’t want. There were many people whom he would gladly give that experience to, but not her.

Yes, he ought to try and stall for time while he figured out how he could escape, or even look for an opening to strike.

“Then let me ask you this,” he began, wondering which line of reasoning to chase first.

He looked back up between Claude and Edelgard and found himself wondering how Claude’s agreement to her plans had gone. It seemed as though she was letting him keep a great deal of his power. “You speak of dethroning me instead of merely forming a treaty… Why is that?

“Your staunch protection of the church was certainly reason enough already,” replied Edelgard. “But I would hardly call it the only line of logic.” Her eyes were on her axe as she turned it over in her hands, wiping a small smudge of dirt off the double blade. Dimitri watched her, waiting for her to continue. “Your behavior as of late… hasn’t left me with the utmost confidence in your judgment. I know you are not wholly evil, and yet…” Edelgard faded off momentarily, seeming thoughtful. “I cannot help but see you as a prime example of precisely what is wrong with this system. Your madness dragged your own Kingdom down with you. Had it not been for the church’s teachings in honoring bloodlines above all else, they may have gotten to select a more adept leader.”

These words were something Dimitri found himself unprepared for.

“I…” he wavered, caught off guard by the direction this was heading. To his own discomfort, he had found himself sharing that very idea time and time again. Yet for him, this was…more of a lurking fear.

“Dimitri… It’s really not too late to change your mind,” came Claude’s voice. “You’ve been shackled to this unwanted authority your whole life. But in a world without the church, none of us would be locked into ruling positions— and you wouldn’t have to carry the weight of the crown any longer… Just let this go. It’ll be easier for all of us.”

Dimitri looked away, feeling discomfort from the tight positions he was held in by the chains behind his back. His wrists and neck ached with pain as he craned his head to scowl up at them.

“But you say these things as rulers wielding power given to you by your blood and crests as well!” He floundered, following the first argument supplied to him by his gut instinct. “Can you not see the blatant hypocrisy?! You have made usage of power that the system you seek to destroy granted you!”

Edelgard looked down at him, squinting.

“…Yes, you’re right, I am wielding power given to me by my crest,” she admitted easily. “I think I’m finally starting to understand how you think…” she commented, seemingly to herself. “I’m sorry, but I believe it’s time to end this,” she stated with cold indifference in her tone. She gripped her weapon firmly in her two hands, walking towards him as her allies watched from behind.

Dimitri felt his heart drumming within his chest and suddenly wondered how many beats it had left before his life was snuffed out.

The king shifted against his chains and felt the sensation of a dagger in his pants pocket…The same dagger he had gifted to Edelgard when they were children.

He looked back up at her and suddenly…

“Edelgard,” He heard himself say. She paused, evidently deciding to hear him out. “After you claim my life… You-you ought to take something of yours from me, a knife, one you dropped at the academy.”

Her expression was one of confusion for a moment as the executioner looked down at her would-be victim, weapon in hand.

“It is… the very same knife that I gifted you all those years ago.”

The effect was instantaneous. Her eyes widened with understanding as she looked down at him, finally recognizing her old friend.

“You…” She said in a small voice, only audible to the two of them. For a moment, he thought, hoped, that he saw her conviction waver. The axe in her hands lowered slightly, and her brows came up to form an expression that he hoped, prayed, might be teetering on doubt…

But it didn’t last.

“No.” There was a painful finality to her voice as she fixed him with a glare. “I’m sorry, Dimitri, but that girl you knew isn’t here. She’s as good as dead. I’m not going to let sentimentality get in the way of what must be done.”

And just like that, she was raising her arms again. Dimitri felt indignation spark inside him.

Had the girl from back then truly cared so little for him?

Edelgard had easily stuck to her decision— learning that the two of them used to be friends had apparently done little to sway that.

No. He could not allow her to be the one who got to end him. Not she who bore responsibility for Rodrigue’s death — not she who was the very reason his stepmother had murdered his father.

Anger seared through every muscle in his body. A fight was building in him— even if his hands were bound, even if there was no weapon at his disposal and no hope in sight. His rage was a white-hot flame that consumed his every thought.

Suddenly, he was charging her way with all the force of a bull, hands still tightly bound behind him.

He had forgotten that he was outnumbered and chained, whereas that woman was armed and surrounded by allies. All Dimitri knew was that he wanted to hurt her— to kill this woman, and he didn’t care what happened to him in return.

Edelgard took a few steps back, readying her weapon, looking to be caught off guard by the sudden, impulsive move.

But before Dimitri could do… whatever it was he was about to do, a red-haired mage burst out from the crowd of soldiers— yelling with her arms outstretched, readying a spell. Dimitri was hit with a sudden flash of light and a jolt of force that knocked him backward on his head as he rolled over from the inertia. Before he could make sense of what had happened, he realized that the ground below him abruptly came to an end as he rolled away from the blast that had hit him. And suddenly, he was falling.

The realization of what had happened came to him just moments before he hit the ground. The spell had knocked him back and sent him hurling straight over the cliff’s edge.

𓆩♕𓆪

Felix tore into the mercenary before him with a sense of vigor and urgency he had never once possessed when they had been sparring partners at Garreg Mach. He had to make this work—he had to get to the boar.

Disarming the merc would be impossible; there was that sword he had, for starters. It could be summoned at will within the palm of his hand. Back at the monastery, he had wanted to try the weapon out for himself and had been frustrated by how it disappeared upon leaving the merc’s grip.

Felix’s aim shouldn’t be to kill his opponent. He needed the person alive to be able to warp them both away. There must be some way to pin this person down so the man—woman—whatever they were— wasn’t able to escape.

To Felix’s frustration, the mercenary was still an incredibly skilled opponent. He moved with those two swords as though they were one weapon instead of two different pieces. Those blades flew through the air as a coordinated pincer attack, nearly succeeding in snatching his own weapon away from him.

“You’ve gotten better since leaving the monastery, that’s for sure,” the mercenary said with a nervous chuckle as Felix just barely dodged what could have been a lethal blow to his chest. “Guess the stakes are… little higher now.”

Felix made a swipe at him, ignoring the merc’s attempt at conversation, and focused all his energy on his opponent’s movements rather than words.

He and the merc had, thankfully, seemed to move away from many of the other soldiers. Felix could still hear the sounds of battle and see shapes moving in the fog around them, but it seemed they had a close enough distance away from the rest of the fight for him to focus entirely on this one soldier.

“Hey, listen,” The mercenary tried again. “Us fighting— it’s pointless. You can’t beat me and this whole thing,” he gestured at their surroundings. “It’s gonna be over real soon anyway.”

He appeared to be trying to talk the fight out of Felix, but his words had the opposite effect on him. Felix felt fear and anger surge within him as the possibilities of what that assertion could mean filled his head. Without a sudden emboldened rage, he charged his opponent, shield in front of him, knocking the mercenary off his feet. Felix tried to jump on his opponent, to restrain him, but he was hit with a gust of purple smog that pushed him back. When the haze cleared from his vision, Felix saw his opponent scramble to his feet, wearing an annoyed scowl.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the merc muttered angrily, not looking at Felix at all. Suddenly, Felix remembered something about the first night they had sparred. Felix had found the merc speaking to herself in an empty training room. Distractions when training were one thing, but on the battlefield, they could be deadly, bringing an otherwise strong opponent to their knees. “I said I get it!” The merc complained to the empty space at his side. “Now would you please-”

But the delusional merc didn’t get to finish his thought. Felix, seeing his opponent caught off guard, put all his strength into pushing the mercenary to the floor. The two of them were roughly the same size, so he could rely on brute force a little more than he could most other opponents.

Felix was on him in an instant, pushing down his opponent’s right arm with his knee as he held the end of his sword to the merc’s neck. He heard the merc swear and make an aggravated groan of frustration as Felix gripped his shoulder tightly with his free hand. Physical contact should allow him to follow his opponent, should he attempt to warp just himself away.

“You’re completely delusional!” Felix yelled. “But you’re going to warp us both to Dimitri. Right now!” He threatened. The merc struggled below him, seeming to not be willing to give in yet. “You don’t have to die here,” Felix warned, applying slight pressure with the end of his blade. He had to make this work.

The thrashing below Felix ceased as the merc, thankfully, appeared to accept his loss.

“… Guess you finally won your match,” he grunted, cursing under his breath. A moment later, Felix felt the instant acceleration and force of what must be the warp spell. Felix didn’t even have time to process that he was moving before he fell off his opponent and onto the dirt floor of an entirely new location. He looked up, the world seeming to swim around him before coming into focus.

The mercenary, however, was on his feet in no time, vanishing in another haze of purple light. Felix sat up, trying to quickly gauge where he was. He looked at the castle walls in front of him, turning around frantically, only to see a neighboring forest. He was outside the trap at the very least, but… nowhere near the boar or anyone else

But at that moment, he heard the sound of something breaking through tree leaves off in the distance, followed by a thud, as though something heavy had fallen. He turned his head in the direction of the sound to see a small cliff that dropped off into a thick layer of trees. And on top of the cliff, a few figures seemed to be huddled near the edge, looking down. Felix sprinted in the direction of the commotion without thinking.

𓆩♕𓆪

Dimitri felt physical pain the likes of which he had never felt before in his life. The fact that he was still somewhat conscious through the searing sensation was extraordinary. The impact of his body cracking against the ground had felt like a sledgehammer brought down upon him. The inside of his legs felt as if they were shattered like glass, and he could feel the damp, warm sensation of blood around him, his blood no doubt.

But just then, he thought he heard someone shouting his name. Soon after, he felt the sensation of movement around him as something or someone grabbed hold of his shoulders and shook him violently. Dimitri let out a groan of pain, protesting against the intensifying agonizing feelings all throughout his body.

He felt the person shaking him stop suddenly and let out a short breath. But the commotion didn’t stop for long. He felt himself being pulled on frantically, painfully, by the figure who seemed to be trying to lift him to his feet. Eventually, he was lifted up with what seemed excruciating effort on the part of the carrier.

His senses faded slowly. The next thing he could remember was waking to an intense ache. Dimitri blinked, feeling the sensation of movement and fur against his cheek. It was a mane, a horse’s mane. He was being carried, and as his eye opened, he could see the passing terrain moving around him. He had the distinct feeling that he had been out for more than just a moment. A faint impression of healing magic was coursing through him. He turned his head, expecting to see Mercedes behind him steering the animal, but was instead met with Flayn.

“H-how did you escape?” He muttered, dazed and confused.

“You’re in no shape to speak, Your Majesty,” she said, sounding tired and strained. “But you would do well to give your thanks to Annette and Felix regarding that matter when you are able.”

Dimitri exhaled. He was glad to see someone alive and well. He wondered with some anxiety just how many people were able to escape that mess. Yet, right now, those thoughts were too much to ponder at the moment. His body still ached with intense pain and the burden of consciousness. He closed his eye and allowed himself to fall back into nothingness.

Chapter Text

Part IV | A Losing Fight

Imperial Year 1183

Month of the Guardian Moon

Three Months Remain

When Dimitri opened his eye again, he saw the sun shining through a small open tent flap. He was still for a minute. But as he lay there between consciousness and rest, the memories of the previous battle started to slowly resurface in his mind, interrupting his brief moment of calm with worry and confusion. His body ached as the king pushed himself up to a sitting position with a sudden start.

“Are you trying to open your wounds? Sit back down, boar.”

Dimitri turned to see Felix watching him. The man was slouched over in a nearby chair, elbows on his knees as he sloped to one side, head tiredly resting against a gloved hand.

“Flayn said you might wake soon,” Felix stated dryly. “Tell me, do you feel as terrible as you look?”

Dimitri likely did. Healing magic took time to work with more severe wounds such as the ones he had doubtlessly incurred on himself. Injuries and the prospect of death— they were all commonplace for him, but this had been severe.

“…I certainly don’t feel ideal.” Dimitri looked around the tent. He saw several used bandages in a bin next to his cot that seemed to be soaked through with blood that had now turned a dark brown color after drying.

Rodrigue would be beside himself with worry if he could see me in this state, Dimitri found himself imagining somewhat wistfully.

“Well, you better get to feeling better soon. We’re far from being in the clear,” Felix said, bringing Dimitri’s head back to the conversation at hand.

“Where are we at present?” He asked. “The last thing I remember was retreating with Flayn…”

“We’re in Duval,” Felix answered. “Annette was able to guide some of the army’s forces out through a few secret entrances that weren’t blocked by the empire, and then we made our escape.”

“Some of our forces?”Dimitri repeated, feeling himself sink.

“…A lot of our soldiers were lost, and…” Felix paused. “Mercedes was taken prisoner. We also currently lack the whereabouts of Ashe.”

Dimitri stared ahead at the tent wall. Mercedes and Ashe— both such sincere, kind-hearted people. Neither of them deserved this. And it was all his fault.

He hadn’t suspected the Empire would be one step ahead. He was entirely blind-sighted by it.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking. But we can’t go back there. It doesn’t matter if it’s for revenge or an attempted rescue,” Felix spoke up, his voice stern. “You probably can’t even walk yet, much less fight. You’d only endanger more of our lives with another immediate assault. People say Mercedes at least has some family in the Empire, it could help her chances.” Felix paused, exhaling, and dipped his head. “It’s… likely too late for Ashe,” he admitted in a quieter voice.

“…That’s…likely true,” Dimitri agreed uneasily. “But, the blame still lies with me for allowing any this to happen,” he murmured.

There was a pause between them as Felix seemed to consider Dimitri’s assertion.

“What exactly happened out there? From your side of the story.”

It was a rather gentle way of asking how the king had managed to wind up yards away from their allies, stunned, warped away, and then found half-dead at the base of a cliff.

Dimitri wondered where to begin. His confrontation with Edelgard and Claude had confirmed her reasoning for starting this war. She desired to end the system of nobility. The king had thought and agonized much over the legitimacy of this goal ever since he had connected their conversation at the ball to her war on the church. He had ultimately come down against her ideas and still held firm to that belief. But his thought process had been mostly internal—not something he had talked through with many others. Sure, he had occasionally made a passing comment that might allude to his beliefs, but nothing Felix had seemed to engage with.

Now that the man was asking, Dimitri found himself wondering what Felix would have thought of everything said between the three of them— The prospect of surrender, the abdication of the church…and Dimitri stepping down as king.

The king thought again of Edelgard’s words.

‘Your madness dragged your own Kingdom down with you. Had it not been for the church’s teachings in honoring bloodlines above all else, they may have gotten to select a more adept leader.’

…Hadn’t Felix made countless similar claims of Dimitri’s instability being the bane of their whole army?

The man hadn’t trusted Dimitri’s leadership ability for years now. He even went out of his way to berate those who did— verbally attacking anyone who showed Dimitri ‘blind obedience’ as Felix put it.

But Felix hadn’t connected it back to any larger worldview the way Edelgard seemed to be doing.

…Surely it wasn’t the same thing.

Nevertheless, the king found himself apprehensively weighing the similarity in his mind as he turned to Felix, who awaited an answer from him.

“Well?” Felix asked expectantly.

“First, could you answer me something, Felix?” Dimitri asked, opting to see if he could gauge where the man already stood before divulging the details of his encounter with Edelgard.

“What is it?”

“What do you know of Edelgard’s reasons for starting this war?” he asked. If Felix already knew the answer to this, it would make matters simpler.

Felix looked a bit taken aback by the inquiry. He sat back in his chair, looking passively thoughtful.

“Some grievance with the church,” he answered, his eyes moving away from Dimitri to fiddle with a loose string on his gloves. “Not that many people seem to know or understand her reasons. The Empire probably just wants more land and people to tax, that sort of thing,” he added, presumably uninterested in thinking more deeply into the possible motivations. “Why do you ask?”

“I…” Dimitri faltered, a sense of discomfort hanging over him. It wasn’t as if he could come right out and explain. Perhaps he ought to prod from another angle. “Do you… think I deserve to be king?” He asked hesitantly.

Felix squinted, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. These inquiries must seem somewhat random from his perspective. But the man was evidently used to stranger behavior from the king, as he seemed to go along with it.

“I would think even his royal beastliness would be smart enough to know the answer to that by now,” Felix said, with little bite to his answer, cold though it was. “But it’s not as if my opinion has much sway in regard to that matter.”

Felix glanced up at Dimitri, seeing the king make what must have been a miserable expression.

“Look, there’s no use dwelling on it. For better or for worse, you are the king,” Felix said, shifting awkwardly in his chair and crossing his legs. “So, we might as well-” But the man’s line of thought was cut off by another sudden question from Dimitri.

“But…what would you do if you believed your opinion could change the level of influence I have?” Dimitri asked, a slight urgency seeping into his words.

Felix now looked thoroughly bewildered. Dimitri’s questions and the sudden gravity in the king’s voice must doubtlessly seem odd.

“Pfft, what are you even asking me?” Felix scoffed, sounding annoyed. “It doesn’t matter how unworthy I know you to be— there simply aren’t any living royal family members left aside from you. Not that I had a preference for the regent, but have you entirely forgotten that you publicly executed your uncle?”

“…No, of course not,” he muttered, looking at the floor and feeling at a loss for words.

Felix crossed his arms, exhaling into a momentary pause of silence.

“Where’s all this coming from, boar?” Felix asked. “I simply asked you what happened during our last fight. What’s this topic got to do with anything?”

Dimitri hesitated. How could he explain to Felix the nature of his question without…well, without explaining? He sorely wished Rodrigue was here as his advisor instead of Felix. The king wouldn’t have faced the same discomfort divulging these details to him.

Felix could have insightful perspectives from time to time, but he was constantly condescending and cold. He hadn’t cared for Dimitri since their childhood. Sure, the man had seemed somewhat attentive to him for the first few months after leaving Fraldarius territory, but it was just born out of mistrust for the king’s capability, and Felix had said as much.

Back during their time at the monastery, Sylvain used to jokingly assure Dimitri that Felix didn’t ever mean the harsh things he said. ‘Simply prickly’ he had called him. And that assessment might have been true concerning Felix’s relationship with Sylvain or other people, but Felix’s distrust and hatred of Dimitri could hardly be the same thing.

Or…was it?

Suddenly, Dimitri remembered the last conversation he had with Sylvain. He looked back at Felix and was suddenly struck with how tired the man seemed— and had seemed even before the king had begun hounding him with what must seem like nonsensical questions.

How long had he sat in that chair waiting for me to wake up? Dimitri wondered to himself. And now that he thought of it, that person who had found him at the base of the cliff had sounded an awful lot like Felix. No, it was Felix— he was sure of it now. His voice had sounded laced with genuine worry as he had called out to Dimitri.

At first, when Sylvain had, unknowingly, put forth the idea of Felix having some sort of deep affection for Dimitri, it had seemed utterly preposterous. But now he wondered if it didn’t possibly hold truth to it.

“Felix, can I ask… Do you potentially have some sort of…” Dimitri wavered, wondering how to best pry into this question. Sylvain had been the one to describe Felix’s feelings as ‘romantic’. Though the king still didn’t fully understand how that word would translate to this situation.

“Oh, what are you trying to get at?” Felix groaned, scowling at the floor and sounding exasperated. “You’ve been dancing around not saying something this whole conversation.”

The king fidgeted. “I um…Are you possibly…” Dimitri grasped for the appropriate way to phrase the ask. Admittedly, this was all a bit awkward to navigate.

“Ugh, am I what?" Felix growled. “Just spit it out already.”

“Do you have some form of romantic feelings for me?” He heard himself blurt out.

There was a pause of silence with a notable amount of stiffness as the other man stared back at him. Felix sat frozen in place, his eyes widening. His expression had shifted instantly from tired annoyance to… something very different.

“I …must apologize if I’m causing you discomfort,” Dimitri supplied, breaking the awkward silence. He watched Felix let out a long breath through his nose as his lips stayed firmly glued together. “It’s simply that,” Dimitri began, feeling the need to justify his words. “I asked Sylvain about that conversation from earlier and-”

“You… did what?” Felix asked, seeming to snap out of his silence with alarm.

“I didn’t tell him that it was me that you…” Dimitri tried to assure quickly before fading off, a bit embarrassed. He found it challenging to say out loud.

Felix stood from his seat suddenly with an aggravated groan. His jaw was clenched tightly, and his face had colored to a deep shade of pink that ran to the tips of his ears.

“Ugh! Can’t you figure this out on your own!?” He growled before making to leave the tent. But before he could get far from Dimitri’s cot, the king extended his arm quickly, grabbing Felix’s hand tightly and holding him in place. Felix stopped, his back still turned toward Dimitri.

“I just…I always thought…” Dimitri started. “For a long time now, I believed you to be merely putting up with me because you had no other option—that you despised me…” He recalled the many times Felix had berated him and expressed mistrust of him. They were sentiments Dimitri had felt— still felt— he had deserved. But a small part of him now wondered, possibly hoped, that they might not have been said in earnest. Within the king’s allies, Felix had been the sole voice of criticism and disdain.

If Felix of all people hadn’t actually believed Dimitri to be unfit to rule, then… no one within their army ever had.

“So, if that is not where your feelings are then…”

“Look, I just-” Felix appeared to be saying through gritted teeth. “… I don’t know,” he answered finally. “Is that good enough for you? Or do I need to give you something more concrete to keep you from getting the entire army’s input on this one?”

There was a moment of pause between them. Felix hadn’t turned back to face him, but he didn’t fight the other man’s grip on his hand.

“I… never would have guessed.” He supposed that if Felix was even wondering about such a possibility, it could certainly re-contextualize many of those prior insults.

“… Why are you asking me this?” Felix’s voice was much smaller than it had been just a moment ago. The man ever so slightly turned back to look his way, eyes hesitantly darting down to Dimitri’s hand, which held his own.

Dimitri quickly let go of Felix’s hand, wavering under the question. The king hadn’t thought through what he would say back to Felix after he had his answer, which might have been a mistake. He still didn’t especially like the idea of being fully transparent with his answer, nor did he think Felix would appreciate hearing it. “I don’t… fully understand your feelings,” Dimitri supplied truthfully. “However…I simply…” But Dimitri’s words faded off as he noticed Felix backing away, the distressed scowl now fully returned to the other man’s face.

He didn’t get another word in before Felix had silently darted off, leaving the tent.

Angry at him again, probably…Or perhaps embarrassed?

Dimitri rested back against the cushion behind him. He had doubtlessly caused Felix to endure somewhat of a headache just now.

Yet, it now seemed likely true that the man’s earlier criticisms of him may have been exaggerated or even thoughtless spur-of-the-moment insults. Yes, that made sense. Such behavior wouldn’t be the only odd or childish tendencies to ever come from Felix.

He felt his guilt ease up slightly with the revelation that, deep down, even Felix might have a positive opinion of him.

Chapter Text

“You are looking remarkably better, Dimitri!” Flayn exclaimed upon entering the King’s tent.

It had only been a night’s rest since he had been injured, but white magic was powerful, and he was feeling much better. Flayn had told him that the troops meant to continue their retreat towards Gideon territory as soon as the wounded were treated enough — him included. So, he was determined to see that goal through today.

“I thought we might do some light training to verify I didn’t leave any residual pain,” the small healer said, making her way closer to him.

“That sounds like a good enough idea,” Dimitri agreed. “Though, I should apologize for you having to do so much on my behalf,” he added guiltily. “I can’t imagine Seteth was pleased you had such a workload placed upon you.”

“My brother can be a tad overprotective,” Flayn said, handwaving his concern away. “However, not to toot my own horn, but I am the most adept healer at the army’s disposal. And, if I am to be a part of your team, then I should be able to exercise my abilities.”

“I suppose I can’t very well argue with that logic,” Dimitri replied, allowing her to assert herself.

As they attempted to test the durability of his recently healed body, Dimitri found he kept running into unexpected pains and limitations. Sharp, sudden jolts shot through his arms, legs, and back upon a slight wrong turn of his body or over-exertion from lifting small amounts of weight — all of which had to be corrected by Flayn’s touch.

“I must apologize again,” the king said, sitting against his cot. “My body seems to want to hold us back from getting on the road sooner rather than later.”

Flayn knelt beside him, focusing her energy on the healing spell in her hands as they glowed with a soft, soothing light. “Everyone gets hurt from time to time,” she replied. “I am sure you are doing everything in your power to end this senseless fighting.” She glanced at him with a quick reassuring smile.

Am I really? Dimitri thought to himself as white magic pulsated through his left arm.

“I should be doing more,” Dimitri mumbled. “Making smarter decisions, not letting my troops die senselessly in traps put together by the Empire.”

“I can’t begin to fathom what drives Edelgard to commit such acts of cruelty,” Flayn commented. “However…” she paused, brightening. “If it is ideas you’re looking for, I have recently made a fruitful discovery!”

“Oh?” Dimitri asked, interested. “By all means, I’m open to any suggestions.”

“I have recently heard tale of a song that once ended an entire war,” she announced proudly, waving her free hand in a large sweeping motion.

“A… song, you say?” Dimitri asked, feeling as though he was missing her full explanation.

“Yes!” Flayn exclaimed, beaming. “Oh, how I would love to regale it to you! It was used to quell tensions amidst the Empire, no less!”

Dimitri hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of dismissing her idea, but he had to admit that he was having a rather hard time seeing this from her perspective. However, if Flayn noticed his skeptical expression, it went unacknowledged.

“The brother of an Imperial Noble started a conflict regarding the succession of their territory. One thing led to another, and soon they were at the cusp of a war that threatened to split the entire Empire,” Flayn explained emphatically. Her hands clutched each other in front of her face, the healing spell entirely forgotten. She certainly looked deeply sincere about this idea of hers. “At the time, one woman was very worried about the state of affairs — a childhood friend of the two brothers on opposite sides of the conflict. And as she stood between the armies, she began to sing this song.”

And, to the king’s slight embarrassment, the young woman suddenly burst into song.

“I remember with fondness days long past with those I love. With warmth in my heart, I think of them and sing to the stars above. Hands once linked now carry swords -” but before she could go on, Dimitri’s voice brought her out from her performance.

“Flayn,” he interrupted uneasily. Slightly cruel though it may be, the king found he wanted to bring a halt to the display.

“Yes, Dimitri?” She asked, the confidence slipping from her expression as she, perhaps, began to sense he didn’t see the merits of her vision.

“I think … that you have a wonderful singing voice,” he began, trying to couch his dissent with a compliment. “And it’s truly heartening that sentiments such as these were once able to stay the hand of war,” he said. “But, I fear that these tensions today may be … more complicated, to put it lightly.”

“Whatever could this mean?” Flayn asked, clearly dismayed. “Is her heart truly so hard?”

The king thought back to the way Edelgard had stuck to her convictions even upon realizing who Dimitri had once been to her … or perhaps, who he hadn’t been to her.

Their past friendship had practically been meaningless to her. The king couldn’t deny the encounter had stung on a personal level. Seeing Flayn spouting sentiments of using ‘love’ to end this war seemed to make that wound hurt all the more intensely.

“I’m afraid it is,” he admitted. “I, um…” he faltered, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation away from this topic. Flayn’s displayed ignorance seemed to make him feel … uncomfortable, yet the king found he had no desire to explain any of Edelgard’s political motivations. “I should try using my lance to see how my body fares under the strain of actual combat.” He looked around the tent to see if Areadbhar had been placed among his things.

“Oh,” Flayn began somberly. “In regard to that …”

Dimitri then remembered, with sudden panic, how he had dropped it on their last battlefield. He hadn’t seen it since then … and if it wasn’t here, that meant … “I’m truly sorry,” Flayn said, her tone already confirming his fears. “It appears it was not recovered from our last battle.”

… That lance had been his father’s.

Areadbhar was a sacred relic that had been passed down in the Blaiddyd line, generation to generation, for hundreds of years.

And he had lost it.

A sudden intense sense of guilt seeped into him.

“Our army still possesses many hero’s relics,” Flayn said, attempting encouragement. “And I doubt the enemy will be able to make use of a weapon tied to the Blaiddyd crest.”

Dimitri felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest as his mind was assaulted by images of Edelgard holding Areadbhar.

You can’t allow her—that woman— to take hold of your father’s relic, a voice within his head told him as a familiar intense feeling welled up inside him. His teeth clenched tightly together, and his hands balled into fists.

“… Dimitri? Are you quite alright?”

The king turned his head slightly in Flayn’s direction, feeling his face contort into a scowl.

It was at that moment that a voice from outside the tent cut through the momentary silence.

“… Are you in here, boar?”

“Ah—uhm, come in!” Flayn answered as she rushed to the entrance and whipped back the tent flap, revealing Felix.

“Oh…” The man said in a small voice, looking down at the healer in front of him. “I can…come back later if you’re doing a healing session with him.”

“Nonsense!” She said, taking him by the arm and pulling him into the tent with the two of them. “But, my goodness, is the sun already halfway across the sky?” She asked, looking outside the open entrance with sudden worry. “I should have already gone to check up on our other wounded soldiers.” She turned back to Dimitri, looking regretful. “My apologies, but I must be going!”

And with that, she was off just as suddenly and abruptly as she had entered, yet Dimitri found he didn’t care. He looked away from the tent entrance, still feeling an intense surge of anger with no immediate direction to funnel it toward.

He heard Felix take a deep breath and thought he saw the man turn his gaze toward the tent wall.

“Look… our army just suffered a significant defeat. We have important matters at hand right now. And… and I don’t know what it is you think you were—”

“Areadbhar is lost,” Dimitri interrupted, muttering to himself in a low rumble.

There was a pause of silence.

“…Your Heroes’ Relic?”

“Hundreds of years, my family kept it safe,” Dimitri lamented, standing up to his full height. “And then, I foolishly abandon it in the middle of a battlefield. I’ve allowed that woman access to it!” He growled, gripping his head tightly. And even though his body still ached from its injuries, he felt a burning desire to throw himself back out there— to chase her down and…

“When I get hold of her, I’ll—”

“That’s enough,” Felix interrupted sternly. “Everything always has to be so insufferably… personal with you, doesn’t it? Get a damn hold of yourself already,” the other man said, hurling the demand up at him.

The king’s head turned slightly to face the smaller man. Dimitri’s singular eye glared out at him from a mess of blond hair. “How could it not be personal?” Dimitri echoed incredulously. “It was my father’s weapon!”

The other man let out an exasperated sigh between clenched teeth as he paced closer to the king.

“Again — we have more pressing things to worry about right now,” Felix asserted. “Winning back our lost territories — or Areadbhar — requires cooperation.”

“I…” Dimitri murmured, grasping at his thoughts. He didn’t deserve to just put this mistake out of his mind and move on.

Felix seemed to take another long breath, letting it out slowly.

“You have news from the nobles in Gideon territory that are preparing to take us in,” he said, bringing out a carefully folded letter from within his coat pockets. “And from the Margrave, regarding our investigation into some Alliance territories.”

The immediate shift to something present and concrete began to slowly ease Dimitri away from his stupor. He looked over at Felix, who was giving him a worn-out expression. The skin under his eyes seemed to have turned gray, and his mouth was set in a hard line.

There was a moment of silence between them as Dimitri’s eye fell to the papers in Felix’s hand.

“…My apologies, Felix,” he sighed as he reached for the notes, grasping them weakly. “I’ll try and look through these soon.” Dimitri’s gaze briefly skimmed over the letters before he let his hand fall limply to his side. His initial rage had subsided and left behind a damp feeling of resentment and disappointment in himself. “It’s just that… I’ve lost us a great deal of military prowess with that mistake, sentiments aside,” he said, giving Felix a regretful expression.

“There may be some truth to that,” Felix admitted. “But you’ve been too strong for your own good for years now, even without that thing. Using a regular lance for a while can’t be too much of a setback. Besides, I’ve always thought people placed too much importance on the relics and crest powers.”

Dimitri raised his eyebrow at this, a bit surprised, waiting for some form of elaboration on the claim.

“… Might I ask what you mean by that?” Dimitri asked once it became clear Felix didn’t think his claim needed further explaining.

“Well, it’s just all that crest and magic stuff. Sure, it’s useful sometimes, but it’s no replacement for actual strength,” the other man answered casually. “All that obsessive talk around them gets obnoxious.”

Dimitri looked at him, beginning to feel a bit uneasy about this line of thought coming from Felix. It wasn’t necessarily that he disagreed with it. In fact, he did agree. But, again, the principle of the sentiment was a little too closely aligned with…

“What… has you saying something like that?” The king asked.

“Tch. All of us ought to know relying on the relics or crest too much could dampen our base skill.”

“You mean to say you’re speaking strictly in terms of their value on the… battlefield?” Dimitri asked hesitantly. “Nothing else?”

“… What else would I be talking about right now?” Felix asked, seeming slightly annoyed and confused.

“Well, I suppose you would have to see it from that angle,” Dimitri commented thoughtfully, his guard softening. Yes, this made more sense now, especially coming from Felix. The man hardly talked of anything that wasn’t related to combat. “Your relic is purely defensive, after all, not something that would affect your attack power at all.”

“Yeah, because I don’t need it,” Felix retorted.

“Fair enough,” Dimitri admitted, a smirk growing on his face. He and Glenn had used to fight in jest. But Felix’s scorn had always seemed too genuine for that sort of banter. “Yet, I wonder if you might feel differently had your family heirloom been a powerful sword instead.”

Felix only scowled at this.

“Well, it’s not a sword, so there’s no point in speculating,” he answered dryly, frowning at the ground. “Are you feeling well enough to be useful? We have to start packing supplies if we’re to head out before nightfall.”

“I think I can manage that,” Dimitri agreed, grabbing his coat as he followed Felix out of the tent.

The air was colder outside, and it seemed a light snow was beginning to fall.

As the two made their way near the tents that apparently needed help being folded down, they were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“You’re Majesty!”

Dimitri thought he saw Felix flinch slightly before they turned to see Ingrid approaching. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and her breath came in frozen clouds. Her blond hair was tied behind her in a ponytail that seemed to be falling apart on her, no doubt from a full day of work.

“It is such a blessing to see you healed,” she said with a smile, aimed directly at the king and away from Felix.

“I’m relieved to see you healthy as well,” Dimitri answered.

“Hmph, if you’re going to chat instead of help, I’ll take my leave,” Felix muttered, turning to escape in the direction of the tents.

“No, there’s no need,” Dimitri floundered. “I’m coming as well. I said I would,” he assured Felix as he awkwardly looked between the two of them. It felt rude to leave Ingrid so suddenly. She clearly wanted to speak to him, and yet, he didn’t want to appear as if he was shrugging off help he had just offered. “Why don’t we all go? I’m sure they could use another set of arms,” he blurted out.

There was a moment of silence between the three of them as Felix glared at Dimitri, and Ingrid’s smile became tight.

“I’d love to help,” Ingrid agreed, stiffly.

“… Glad to hear it,” Dimitri said as the three of them began walking, Ingrid on his left and Felix walking ahead of both of them.

“It’s awfully considerate of you to help with this, considering you’re just now making a recovery,” she said warmly, looking his way with a small smile as she walked. “But I’m glad that you’re feeling good enough to do manual labor.”

Dimitri had wondered previously if Ingrid carried any resentment towards him… but judging by the way she was speaking to him now, that possibility seemed unlikely.

“Well, I couldn’t very well sit idly by while everyone else is forced to get us out of a mess I brought us into to begin with,” Dimitri answered. “And for that, I can never apologize enough, to everyone, including you … and especially Ashe and Mercedes, should they ever be able to hear it from me,” he added solemnly.

“No, Your Majesty,” Ingrid started, her voice laced with the utmost sympathy. “I sincerely hope the two of them are okay as well, but risking one’s life is simply part of being a knight. And I know Ashe would be proud to have upheld those ideals,” she continued as Dimitri felt himself wince physically. “Common born though he was, I know in his heart he adhered deeply to the ideal of… of…” Ingrid faded off, seeming to realize the potential discomfort her words may be causing within him.

Dimitri shoved his hands into his pockets and chanced a glance back her way, grimacing.

“I …know how you feel about such things, but I still can’t bring myself to see it the way you do,” the king admitted stiffly, itching for her to drop the subject. Ingrid, while seemingly always well-meaning, had a habit of sharing thoughts he didn’t quite know how to respond to.

He remembered their conversation in the dining hall well. He had lashed out at her, regretting the harshness of his words as soon as she was out the door. But still, he couldn’t stomach the idolized picture of Glenn’s horrific slaughter. The idea that she may follow him around speaking of every fallen soldier in this way was admittedly deeply uncomfortable.

Thinking of Ashe once again, Dimitri couldn’t deny that man had seemed drawn to ideals similar to the ones Ingrid carried. If he were here now, he would likely even agree with Ingrid — but the likelihood did little to quell the pit of guilt in his stomach. In fact, it seemed to make the unpleasant sensation all the more intense.

Dimitri looked back up at Felix, who walked in front of him. He was surprised the man hadn’t yet whirled around to berate Ingrid with his usual scorn of chivalry… Then again, the king had always assumed Felix’s opposition to the patriotic custom was simply born out of hatred for Dimitri.

So, if that wasn’t the case, then… something else had motivated him.

“I know you have trouble accepting that knights must die at the command of a king,” Ingrid spoke up, carefully. “I’ve said before that any king who doesn’t allow people to die on his behalf is too soft to rule… yet, after thinking on it, I’ve actually come to appreciate your soft-hearted ideals.”

“…You have?”

“Yes. Your compassion is precisely what makes you worth these sacrifices,” she said, smiling. “I know that during times of peace, this tendency will make you a great ruler — someone who can truly empathize with the people he guides.”

The king felt himself bite at his lip, wanting to accept the compliment but finding it…rather difficult.

Before Dimitri could respond to Ingrid, he heard Felix let out an aggravated scoff. The man had stopped in his tracks, raking a hand across the side of his head, back still turned towards them.

“…Do you have something to say?” Ingrid asked, and Dimitri could practically feel her guard coming up.

Felix turned to glare at both of them, in particular Ingrid. He certainly did look as though he wanted to speak up, but his mouth remained shut tight.

“Felix,” Ingrid began, her voice reserved.

“What?” Felix spat through clenched teeth, seeming to ready himself for a fight. Dimitri wished to be anywhere but here as he awkwardly stayed silent, looking between the two.

“I… I heard about what you did in the last battle,” she said. “Even though you may spit on the ideals of chivalry and knighthood, you risked your life bringing His Majesty back to our troops… I can’t imagine where our army would be without you there,” she said in a tone that sounded more rehearsed than it did genuinely grateful. Dimitri watched the aggression fade from Felix’s face as he stared at her, silently, not saying a word. “Your father… I’m sure he would have been proud of your service.”

Though the words weren’t addressed to him, the king felt himself sink under the assertion. And it seemed as though she had a similar effect on Felix. That last sentence obliterated any sense of fight and replaced it with something worse. The man’s jaw was set firmly, and his eyes looked sunken.

“Me saying that doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she clarified. “It’s simply an observation, and one I think you needed to hear.” She started walking forward again, passing him by as he stood there, motionless.

Dimitri walked a few paces in Felix’s direction, eyeing him uneasily.

Should I say something? What would there even be to say?

Felix had never been one to talk about his feelings, and it wasn’t as if Dimitri had his emotions fully sorted through either.

“Are you coming?” was all he ended up asking.

“…Yeah,” came Felix’s short response. His face hardened, and he turned around to walk in the same direction as Ingrid, not bothering to look at Dimitri.

Later on, as they worked on packing up supplies, the king noticed Ingrid and Felix never once spoke to each other as she avoided him at every turn. Ingrid and Dimitri were at least able to make small talk with each other. Although, Dimitri couldn’t help but feel as though he didn’t deserve her friendliness.

He found himself wondering just what kind of violence Felix had committed to earn her scorn that he wouldn’t also be guilty of.

Chapter Text

Dimitri lay in his cot as he looked up at the ceiling of his tent. The Kingdom troops had just finished a long day of traveling, but they still hadn’t yet reached the inner walls of Gideon territory. It was expected the traveling soldiers would arrive at their destination by midday tomorrow, if they had the lay of the land correctly.

Dimitri felt as though he might have pushed himself a bit harder than his body could take at present, but there was no use trying to prevent that. They were at war, after all, with the Empire nipping at their heels — and now likely the Alliance, too.

Suddenly, Dimitri remembered the papers Felix had given him. The letters likely brought news of negotiations with some select Alliance territories. The king had almost forgotten about them until just now, realizing with some frustration that he had lost the optimal time for reading over the news. The night was only just beginning, and it was nearly pitch black in his tent.

Grimacing, Dimitri reached for his coat and began to rummage through its pockets to find the papers. He squinted at the vague shape of the dark lines of ink he knew must be words. Dimitri’s singular eye certainly wasn’t making this task any easier. He found reading often gave him headaches after losing half his vision, even under the best of lighting.

The king groaned with frustration. He shouldn’t put this off any longer — he needed to know how the affairs with the Alliance were going.

Dimitri had previously agreed to have Count Galatea and the Margrave send messengers out to a few select territories that Faerghus and the church had more influence in. Burgundy, Siward, Albany, and Gloucester were among them. The king was itching to know what, if anything, they could tell him about Claude’s alliance with Edelgard.

What did the other Leicester territories think of this decision? Was this allyship truly something that the majority of round table lords had agreed was the best choice? Was Claude even a willing participant, or was his hand forced in some way by Edelgard?

It was possible the letters he held may contain answers to those very questions — but it was clear he wasn’t getting anywhere with attempting to read in the darkness. Admitting defeat, Dimitri opened the flap of his tent to see if he could make out anything discernible under the moonlight.

Dimitri’s teeth chattered against the cold bite of the night air as he walked outside. The letters in his hand blew against the light wind as he attempted to straighten them and peer closely at the words. The moonlight helped visibility significantly, but not enough.

As he strained his eye, he began to make out sentences here and there. It seemed he could only discern text where the Margrave’s words were thicker with ink freshly applied to his quill … but in most of the letters, the solid writing faded into thin lines that were nearly just dry scratches against the parchment. Dimitri desperately scanned the documents, looking for any signs of keywords that could potentially be tied to inner tensions or dissatisfaction with reforms. But to the king’s frustration, it was hard to make out specifics.

If he was just able to see, he might be able to confirm to himself that the Leicester leaders weren’t truly taking well to the idea of drastic changes.

Dimitri let the papers fall limply in his hand as he scanned his vicinity. Surely there were torches somewhere, weren’t there? He remembered assisting in packing some just earlier that day.

Dimitri rummaged through the supply bins, the cold night wind still nipping at his cloak. At last, he found the bundle of torches — but there were no flint stones or steel fire strikers to light them. He had expected the two to be packed together, but they weren’t. Dimitri sighed, looking at the useless stick in his hands.

Then, a bit of a reckless idea popped into his head.

Annette had tried to teach him magic back at the academy a few times. She used to tutor those struggling with the concepts, seeming to go out of her way to try and show it to those who wouldn’t have otherwise picked up the skill. There was once she even got a slap on the wrist for teaching white magic to an unauthorized common-born student.

Though Dimitri had a crest, he had been by far her most hopeless student. She had insisted that all skills came from practice, and there was no such thing as natural-born talent — or lack thereof — but he wasn’t so sure he believed her. Even still, after much effort, she had coaxed him into casting a fire spell — allegedly the most basic of spells, but a spell nonetheless.

He had, of course, lost control of the flame in his hand as it had quickly spread around him, only being saved by the quick thinking of his ever-patient teacher.

‘This type of magic requires the host to believe that the flames won’t hurt them,’ she explained after extinguishing his disaster of a spell. ‘The more you think you can’t control it, the more you won’t be able to use it.’

‘You mean to say it can smell fear? As though it were a living animal?’ He asked, the very idea unsettling him.

Annette’s smile had thinned, likely with exasperation. ‘Just… try not to worry too much about it,” she said, attempting encouragement.

Dimitri tucked the paper under his arm as he studied the torch in his hand. After making his decision, he retreated from their supply wagon — walking a wide distance away from anything of importance.

All he needed was a small spark, the torch would take care of the rest.

The king took a deep breath as he clutched the top of the torch. A few attempts to remember the proper incantation passed before he began to feel the heat rising in his palm. Equal parts excitement and fear seized in him suddenly upon realizing that he had cast the spell. He gripped the lower half of the torch in his free hand, drawing his right one away.

He noted with alarm that the flames weren’t just clinging to the torch, but his hand as well.

How had Annette said to stop the spell? He asked himself frantically as he tried to fight the gut instinct to shake his hand. He remembered Annette simply closing her palm to extinguish the flame. But as Dimitri quickly balled his hand into a tight fist, he realized with a start that the flame seemed to spark suddenly.

And all at once, it was roaring like a wild beast, crawling up his sleeve as if it were a living thing bent on consuming him.

Dimitri yelled in panic, dropping the lit torch. He attempted to bat away the flames that only seemed to crawl higher up his sleeve and onto his fur-lined coat. The heat was unbearable — he could feel it gnawing at his skin, even if it hadn’t yet reached through the fabrics he wore. It all happened so quickly that he could barely formulate a response.

But before the flames could rise any higher, he heard someone shouting his name.

Suddenly, Dimitri felt the sensation of his coat being ripped from his shoulders — accompanied by a cold splash of water flung onto his face and torso. He blinked slowly against the wetness as it found its way inside his eyelid, stinging on the contact.

“What the hell happened?!” A recognizable voice yelled at him. Dimitri blinked against the pain in his eye, revealing Felix glowering up at him. The man had one foot over Dimitri’s coat as it lay on the snowy ground, its flames now extinguished through merciless stomping. In his hand was a now-empty water flask.

“…Felix?” Dimitri asked, dazed — taken aback by his own disastrous spell and the cold water dripping off his face. “What are you doing out here?”

“Me?!” Felix asked furiously before taking a deep breath and letting out an exasperated sigh. The King was beginning to feel rather embarrassed about being found at all, even if it meant he had avoided being burnt any further.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I was training,” Felix grumbled. “And now, I suppose what I’m doing is using my drinking water to keep our king from setting himself on fire,” he added as he bent to pick up Dimitri’s coat, dusting the dirt and charred singes off it. “Seriously though, boar, what happened?”

“I…” Dimitri began, beginning to feel the cold sting of the freezing temperatures against the water soaked through his shirt. “I was attempting to read the letters you gave me…” Dimitri tried to explain, but as he spoke of the papers, he gasped — and realized with panic that the letters were still tucked away under his arm. He fumbled for the pages and stared down, eye wide, at the scorched and soaked mess in his hands.

He could feel Felix’s stare on him as the king looked down at what had previously been the Margrave’s message to him.

Felix brought a hand to his temple, and blinked. “Right… and then what happened?” He asked, seeming to brush past the destroyed letter in Dimitri’s hand, sparing him further humiliation.

“Oh, I must apologize for this,” Dimitri said, mortified. He would feel angry with himself for this outcome, even if he had been entirely alone. “I was simply trying to read these by the light of a torch, but when I couldn’t find any means to light my torch, I thought I might try and… well,” Dimitri faded off, embarrassed again by how utterly preventable this all was.

“You tried to use magic?” Felix asked, now sounding more surprised than anything else. “I didn’t even know you knew how to cast any.”

“Well, I certainly don’t know how to cast any spells properly,” Dimitri replied. “But… yes, Annette attempted to instruct me in the basics of the craft back before the war.” He sighed and grabbed at his arms, trying to shield himself from the cold. He could feel holes in the patches of his shirt that had been burnt through. “…I suppose I’m likely still her most unsuccessful student.”

“Probably true,” Felix agreed easily, though the harshness of his tone had seemed to flicker out. He looked back to Dimitri’s coat as he shook it one last time, trying to get all the grime out of it that he could. “This thing got messed up pretty bad. Do you even still want it?”

“I suppose I’ll take it,” Dimitri said, swinging what was left of the coat around himself. It smelled distinctly of charred fur.

“I have flint back in my tent,” Felix added. “You can have some… so when the need might come up again, you don’t-”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” Dimitri interrupted, embarrassed. “I’ll take them. I apologize for everything … I realize it was rather idiotic.”

As they walked back together and eventually stepped inside Felix’s tent, Dimitri was thankful for the walls slightly dulling the freezing cold of the outside.

“Why even try to learn magic in the first place?” He heard Felix’s voice ask from the ground as the other man rummaged through his belongings, looking for the flint.

“How do you mean?” Dimitri asked. “What wouldn’t make sense about wanting to learn a spell or two?”

“It’s simply that,” Felix began as he emptied out a sack onto the floor and began to parse through the various items. “Anyone who has your ridiculous brute strength shouldn’t have any need for magic or spells.”

“Occasionally, I find myself wishing I had been born with more of an aptitude for magic than brute strength,” Dimitri admitted, still a bit frustrated with himself. Felix turned to look at him with what must have been a quizzical expression. “My father also lacked any ability in the subject, so I suppose I must have inherited that trait … however, I must admit, I always found the craft rather mesmerizing. When I was a child, I privately wished to be a mage if I could, someday.”

“You? A mage?” He heard Felix ask, standing up and turning to properly look Dimitri’s way. The king’s eye was adjusting to the dark just enough to begin to see the other man’s face more clearly … if he didn’t know better, he might have thought it looked like a small smile was forming on Felix’s face.

“Yes, I know, it’s ridiculous,” Dimitri huffed, but before he had the opportunity to stew in his failings, he heard an unexpected sound come from Felix.

Dimitri realized with surprise that Felix was laughing.

And, though his face was now half obscured by a hand cupping his mouth, there was clearly an amused smile slowly growing on his lips.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Felix laugh— with or at him.

“The boy who used to break swords clean in two with his bare hands by pure accident,” Felix mused to himself between chuckles, “is telling me he only had aspirations to become a spellcaster?”

“Oh, please — it was hardly just with my bare hands,” Dimitri said, feeling a bit defensive and taken aback by the borderline playful nature of the other man’s tone. “I swear, that story only grew more ridiculous every time you told it.”

“That’s because a nine-year-old snapping steel in half is ridiculous,” Felix seemed to… tease.

Dimitri looked at him. The last time Felix brought up this old story was when they were back at the academy — and he had been decidedly less friendly with the prince then.

“… Well, I recall after that, you took another sword and attempted to bat it against the ground — trying to break it in a similar fashion,” Dimitri shot back in a hesitant jest, remembering how Felix had tried to copy every display of strength from him when they were children. “You were terribly dismayed when yours only crashed against the floor.”

“And you were in a panic trying to hide what had happened,” Felix retorted with a small grin on his face as he pointed a finger Dimitri’s way. “You thought the adults would be furious with you for breaking a weapon,” he continued, still clearly enjoying himself. “No one really was, of course. It was too much of an absurd accident to garner genuine discipline.”

There was a small pause of silence between them as Dimitri stared at Felix. The man’s chuckles had faded out and left behind an expression that could only be described as… soft. Dimitri felt somewhat like a fish out of water as he looked down at Felix, who still smiled in his direction with undeniable fondness in his eyes.

He realized the two of them were a bit close, and a slight sensation of discomfort came over him as he remembered those feelings Felix supposedly had for him.

“Have you… by chance located the flint you were searching for?” Dimitri asked wearily as he took an awkward step backward.

“Oh, I… no, not yet,” Felix replied after another moment of silence. The small smile and the color in his voice had seemed to flicker out upon seeing Dimitri inch away from him.

The king winced as he sensed that there were, perhaps, some wounded feelings on the other’s behalf. In recent years, he hadn’t thought Felix cared for other people’s opinions of him, let alone Dimitri’s. And yet… the idea that this was a false assumption made him think back to the way Felix had acted toward him in earlier years.

Felix had been rather affectionate with Dimitri when they were young children. He had seemed enamored with Dimitri’s strength, enthusiastically dragging the prince along every which way. He would whine incessantly when Dimitri tried to politely distance himself from the overly attached child to spend time with Glenn instead. It wasn’t that he had disliked Felix, but… he had ended up spending quite a lot of time around him as a child merely to appease the other boy.

At the time, Felix hadn’t yet grown into his distant prickliness.

Suddenly, the king remembered the way Felix had run away after Dimitri had let go of his hand. The king’s only answer to Felix’s forced confession had been that he ‘didn’t understand his feelings.’

Felix probably hadn’t wanted to hear that there was no reciprocation, Dimitri realized uneasily.

When he had first asked Felix about the matter, Dimitri had still been attempting to wrap his head around the… strangeness… of it all. But, thinking about it now, everything seemed rather obvious. The feelings Felix had for him probably could be directly translated to romantic ones, unheard of to him though it was.

It was likely inferable to Felix that Dimitri didn’t feel the same way, but the king hadn’t had the chance to state this in black and white terms.

He took another awkward step backward, feeling the need to apologize and give Felix a clearer answer that couldn’t leave room for any… lingering uncertainty.

“…Um, Felix,” he began wearily.

“What is it?” Felix asked, sighing out the question with his back to the king as he had returned to the task of rummaging through his things in search of the flint.

“I… fear I owe you an apology…”

“Again?” Felix replied, sounding tired but unsurprised. “What’s bothering you now?”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t— or that is that I don’t, uhm,” he took in a breath, floundering. “I should apologize for not returning your… feelings,” he said finally.

Dimitri could sense Felix go rigid under the words, his hands freezing in place and his shoulders hunching suddenly.

“Stop,” his reply came quick and sharp. “I’m not talking about this with you.” Each syllable seemed rigid with an intense finality. Felix’s guard was clearly now up on its full defenses as the man angrily returned to the task of sifting through his belongings.

A stiff, silent minute went by before Felix seemed to give up on his half-hearted attempt to find what he was looking for. Dimitri heard Felix make a groan of aggravation as he tossed a loose bag to the floor. “Ugh…just-just forget your stupid rocks and get out of here!” He snapped, back still turned toward the king.

Dimitri probably should have known he’d garner this response from Felix.

Felix had always been especially easy to upset, crying often and more frequently than anyone in those earlier years of childhood.

It seemed scorn might have only been a guarded replacement for the tears he used to so readily spill.

Admittedly, he had found Felix’s tendencies somewhat obnoxious when they were both young. And, the man still possessed some of the odd behaviors that had stuck out to Dimitri. Even when he occasionally dropped the constant rudeness and scorn, Felix almost never looked him in the eye when speaking, favored an overly blunt approach to conversations, and possessed an inability to talk at length about anything that wasn’t one of his few existing interests.

Dimitri had still considered Felix his friend, of course… but never to the degree that he had Glenn.

A renewed sense of guilt seemed to accompany these memories. Within recent months, Felix’s admonishment was probably a primary reason Dimitri hadn’t descended into utter savagery — or been killed.

“… I do care about you,” Dimitri offered. “It’s… just not-”

Felix whirled around to glare at him.

“Shut your damn mouth!” Felix interrupted. The words sounded as though he was trying to inject venom into his voice, but the demand came out as more of a… desperate plea. “I told you to get out of here! A-as if I even care about something as inconsequential as your feelings!”

Dimitri looked down at him, grimacing slightly at the awkwardness of it all.

“I… right. I apologize for bringing it up,” Dimitri said, electing to decline to comment further.

Felix let out a breath as he dipped his head.

There was a moment of silence before Felix broke it again.

“Just go,” he said, so quietly it almost wasn’t audible.

As Dimitri left Felix’s tent and began his walk back to his own, he tried to brush the uncomfortable conversation from his mind. Hopefully that matter was at least over and done with.

A short time later, the encounter was entirely absent from his mind as his concerns had returned elsewhere— returned to wondering what the content of those letters had been, or speculating on what Edelgard was planning next, and what Rodrigue or his father would have thought if they could see his many failures.

Chapter Text

Imperial year 1180

The Officer’s Academy

“I still can’t believe Dorothea hit on you. Dorothea! And you turned her away!” Sylvain commented as Felix handed his sparring partner back his training lance. The older man had been surprisingly easy to disarm, and Felix was beginning to wonder if Sylvain was truly putting any effort in. As per usual, he seemed more interested in chatting than he did training.

“She was getting in the way of my practice,” Felix replied dismissively, shooting a glare up at Sylvain. “Speaking of which, can you take this training seriously for once? You’re completely useless as a sparring partner if you keep just lazily waving around that lance, distracted by every passing thought in your head.”

Felix had made the mistake of mentioning the girl’s advances on him. It had only been a passive expression of frustration, but the man had prodded relentlessly. Sylvain seemed to find the whole ordeal just as surprising as he did amusing.

“I know, I know, but it’s just that…” Sylvain chuckled to himself, putting his hands behind his head and swaying slightly. “I have to admit, I would have loved to see her face during all that,” he said, a devious smirk growing on his lips. “What was it you said to her? To, uh, ‘stop squawking at you’?”

“Yes,” Felix answered bluntly. “Now, can we get back to-”

But before Felix could finish his request, his would-be training partner erupted into a fresh fit of laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” Felix demanded, suddenly feeling defensive. “She’s just some girl who wants to marry into nobility.”

“Oh, that we can agree on,” Sylvain replied, still chuckling. “I wouldn’t want anything serious from her either… it’s just, uh,” he paused, giving some sort of knowing smile that Felix couldn’t guess the meaning of. “How do I put this…”

Felix was beginning to feel the uncomfortable — and familiar — sensation of being unable to understand the humor in something.

But before Sylvain could further explain whatever he was getting at, they were interrupted by the sounds of a group entering the training hall.

“Is it really necessary that I be here for this?” asked a tired-sounding voice from around the corner. “They’re only going to be using dulled weapons, after all.”

“If it is what Hubert says must happen for me to challenge Edelgard, then yes!” another replied.

As the group rounded the corner, Felix could now see the Imperial princess accompanied by a few of the Black Eagle students — the healer, her retainer, that one with the orange hair, and Dorothea. Felix noted her presence with particular annoyance. But, at the moment, she thankfully didn’t appear to be here for him.

“Ohohoh,” Sylvain laughed with a smirk as he saw her. “Speak of the devil,” he whispered to Felix.

“Attention, everyone!” the orange-haired student rang, spreading his arms wide.

Felix looked around the training grounds, seeing no one aside from himself and Sylvain. The Imperial princess gave the boisterous student a weary look before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Ferdinand, there’s no need to-” she attempted to say before she was cut off.

“You are all about to witness me , Ferdinand Von Aegir, prove his superior ability in combat!” The student announced, beaming to the two onlookers as if they were a grand audience.

Dorothea covered a stifled laugh behind her hand as the man spoke, and the taller mage seemed to be impatiently tapping his foot as he scowled at the display in front of him.

The lack of enthusiasm didn’t appear to faze the man in the slightest, as he turned back to face his classmates, still smiling.

Felix felt a hand on his shoulder as he turned to see Sylvain snickering to himself.

“Oh goddess… this guy, ” Sylvain said in hushed enthusiasm. “I swear, there’s something weird about those imperial noble kids, but he’s something else.” Felix recognized the boisterous student now — it was impressive he had managed to forget his name, considering the man announced it to every room he entered.

Felix could sense that whatever Sylvain had to say about Ferdinand was likely negative, but he didn’t particularly care for gossip. He turned his attention back toward the training sword in his hands as the Black Eagles began to bicker amongst themselves about the terms of this supposed duel. “Enough distractions — let’s get back to training.”

“Hey, wait, you gotta hear this one,” Sylvain carried on, despite his protest. “During that whole supposed assassination attempt on Lady Rhea, that guy,” he gestured his thumb toward Ferdinand, “camped out at the stables during the whole fiasco. He went around classes boasting about how he ‘kept our enemy from the horses’,” he chuckled.

Felix only frowned back up at him silently, not seeing any humor in the man’s alleged idiocy. “Are you going to train with me any further or not?” he asked impatiently.

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Sylvain sighed. “Let’s just watch them for a little longer — we’ll get back to it soon, promise.”

“…Fine,” Felix relented, leaning against a wall as his gaze drifted toward the other students. He supposed it wasn’t useless to spectate a duel — perhaps if the winner displayed any real skill, he could challenge them. Felix would have assumed it to be Ferdinand, but he had heard the princess had grounded the boar during their loss in the mock battle.

Yet, the idea of such a small girl toppling the boar was unbelievable. The boar had to have intentionally given her that win, Felix was sure of it. However, this might be a good opportunity to see just what she was capable of.

“When I beat you, can we please finally lay this rivalry to rest?” asked the princess, picking up a training axe and turning to face her opponent as he bounced on his heels with excitement, lance already in hand. He looked ridiculous, not at all like a serious combatant.

“I am a man of my word,” Ferdinand assured. “However, you would do well not to underestimate a noble such as myself!”

“I’m sorry, aren’t you all big-shot nobles here?” asked Dorothea, the sole commoner among their small gathering, as she gave Ferdinand a pointed scowl. She sat on the stone steps to the training ground beside the healer, who appeared to be nodding off to sleep.

“Yes, status has little to do with this duel,” the princess replied to Dorothea before fixing Ferdinand with a stern gaze. “We should get on with this. I don’t have all day to entertain you.”

“On my mark,” came the dour voice of the princesses’ retainer as he stepped a few paces closer to the pair.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Sylvain whispered. “It’ll be hilarious no matter who loses.”

“Begin!” shouted the retainer.

Ferdinand ran towards his smaller opponent, his wooden lance pointed at her. Edelgard stood, feet firmly planted on the ground, until the other student was in her reach. In an almost casual manner, she reached out, grasping the pole of the incoming lance. She seemed to easily take control of its direction, steering the weapon off course.

She was on him before he could comprehend what had happened. Her axe was crashing into him like a club, knocking him off balance, and tripping the man onto his back as he groaned in surprise.

There was a sudden burst of laughter from the two mages, as well as Sylvain at Felix’s side. It was certainly quite a humiliating defeat.

However, the princess didn’t join in on the amusement. Felix watched her walk over to where her opponent had fallen and extend a hand to help him up. They seemed to exchange a few words before the loser eventually took the hand extended to him, allowing her to help him to his feet.

Felix noticed Sylvain pace toward the other students — the man appeared to be done with pretending to commit to his feeble attempt at training. Felix followed after him, annoyed. Their session had just started, and the man was already running off.

“Oh, Eddie, that was brilliant!” Dorothea exclaimed, running up to where the princess stood and grabbing at the girl’s shoulder in excitement.

“Very impressive, princess,” Sylvain said, sauntering up to the victor. It wasn’t hard to guess what his intentions here were.

“That is Lady Edelgard to you,” The man cloaked in all black corrected, eyeing Sylvain with suspicion. “But, yes — I doubt anyone expected less from the soon-to-be Emperor.”

Sylvain ignored the obvious threat, eyes focused on the two women across from him.

“Of course, of course,” Sylvain answered dismissively. “Still— I can’t say I know too many axe wielders who manage to not sacrifice beauty in the pursuit of strength,” Sylvain said, smirking. “You ought to be proud.”

Edelgard’s brow furrowed at the comment, her gaze only briefly flickering towards him.

“Well, in any case,” she began, turning her attention back toward the defeated student. “Ferdinand, I simply wish to say that-”

“Oh, please, you need not pity me further,” the loser lamented. “I cannot believe I was foolish enough to challenge such a plainly superior opponent,” he said, rubbing the spot on his back that had landed on the stone floor.

“Ferdinand…” the princess sighed. “You’re a talented warrior — someone who ought to know his worth. The difference in our skill isn’t as great as you make it out to be.”

“If only I could believe such a thing,” Ferdinand muttered dejectedly. “I had not the slightest idea what to expect— my actions were childish and brash.”

“Enough of this,” the princess stated, crossing her arms as the patience for his pity party seemed to fade. “I gave you the duel you wished to have with me. It is up to you to make peace with its conclusion. Furthermore…” she stated, turning her eyes back toward the rest of the group. “It is worth stating that there is no insult in losing to me,” she added pointedly towards the other students who had previously erupted into laughter.

“That, I can agree to. I daresay your skill is rather unmatched!” Ferdinand answered.

Felix scoffed at their words, earning him the attention of the small gathering. “One battle against an opponent who trips over himself is hardly proof this girl here is our school’s fiercest warrior,” Felix muttered to himself as he looked at no one in particular. Though he disliked the sensation of this many unfamiliar faces looking his way at once, he couldn’t help but comment.

From where he stood, that pitiful duel looked to be a stronger testament to Ferdinand’s incompetence than any real skill demonstrated by the princess. Lapping up empty reassurances to the contrary was frankly embarrassing.

Ferdinand seemed to wilt under his words. “I will admit it was not my finest display, however —”

“You would do well not to speak to the future ruler of Adrestia in such an impudent manner,” interrupted the looming figure that was the girl’s retainer. He took a threatening step towards Felix.

“Hmm,” Dorothea hummed. “Hey, Felix, I’ve got an idea. Perhaps you ought to challenge Eddie next. After all, you’d want to back up your claim that ‘this girl here’ isn’t as strong as Ferdie says she is, right?”

Felix scowled back at the woman. The thought of challenging the victor had crossed his mind, yet something about the idea of doing so in front of an audience at the request of Dorothea seemed to prompt his hesitation.

“Dorothea,” interjected the princess, seemingly caught off guard by the other’s proposal. “I don’t have the time to—”

“Oh, come now — I’m sure it won’t take you long. I’ve seen him fight; he’s not as skilled as his reputation might imply,” assured Dorothea, her eyes lingering on Felix as she did so. 

This caught his attention.

“What?” Felix asked, taking an assertive step closer toward the two women and readying his training sword. “You haven’t seen anything,” he said to Dorothea. “And you, ready your axe,” he told the shorter girl

“Oh, is there no end to these challenges?” the princess sighed, glancing between Felix and Ferdinand.

Dorothea tugged at her shoulder, whining. “C’mon, Eddie, please — for me?”

“…Fine. I suppose I can,” the princess relented, readying the weapon in her hand once again. Dorothea looked between Edelgard and Felix with an eager smile.

“Oooh,” Felix heard Sylvain start beside him. “A fight with the princess, huh?” He asked, looking down at the small woman. “Well, good luck with that, Felix,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Though by the look of her, you won’t need much.”

The taller mage eyed Felix suspiciously. “Linhardt, get up,” the man requested dryly to the healer, who had once again closed his eyes and lain back down on the stone steps. “Lady Edelgard is commencing another duel, you ought to be at the ready.”

“Another one?” The green-haired boy asked, sounding put out. He turned towards Felix and Edelgard, one eye slightly open to peer out at the new challenger. “Do we even know that guy?” He yawned before being physically coaxed to his feet by the retainer. The healer’s face soured as he tiredly squinted out at them. “Fine…but make it quick for me, won’t you, Edelgard?”

Edelgard gave the healer an exasperated look before turning her gaze back to Felix, ignoring the boy’s request.

It didn’t matter if she planned to get this over and done with quickly. Felix had no intention of letting her do so.

“Well, then. Are you ready?” She asked as the other students backed off to the combatants plenty of room.

“Yes, let’s get on with it,” Felix replied, bringing up his shield at the ready.

When the signal was given this time, it was the princess who made the first move. She swooped down on him abruptly, gripping her axe in two hands as she swung with the full force. Felix was able to jump back from the blow, her attack barely grazing the wooden shield in his hand. 

He took a swipe at her, aiming near her shoulder — but, to his frustration, she was much faster than he would have anticipated. 

“You’re the Fraldarius heir, are you not?” She asked Felix in between her parries. “I hear you’re in line to inherit a rather powerful position in Faerghus.” Her stance shifted. “Am I correct in remembering that the authority of the Duke of Fraldarius is second only to the king himself?”

The Fraldarius heir? It was unsurprising he would be called these things by foreign nobles, but it rubbed Felix wrong all the same. Why was she interrupting their duel to ask him a question as irrelevant as his title?

“He sure is,” Sylvain yelled out to Edelgard from the sidelines. “You know, I’m also the heir to a pretty powerful position in the Kingdom,” Felix heard the man call out, gesturing to himself. Felix scowled back at him — evidently, the man seemed hell bent on being a distraction through this sparring match as well. “I happen to be the future head of House Gautier, in fact.”

“Ah, yes, so the future Margrave says for the umpteenth time,” Dorothea commented, rolling her eyes.

“Ugh! Will everyone just SHUT UP?!” Felix groaned, glaring between Edelgard and the rest of the students on the sidelines. “I don’t care about whatever governing positions we may or may not hold someday — status and nobility are meaningless on a battlefield.”

“Hmm,” Edelgard lowered the axe in her hand, suddenly looking at Felix with a curious gaze that hadn’t previously been present. “Well, I can certainly agree that many of the meanings we assign to lineage ought to be disregarded.” 

Felix furrowed his brow, glaring at the lowered weapon in her hand. She was supposed to be focused on fighting him. A victory against her would be meaningless if she wasn’t even paying attention.

“In fact,” she continued, unperturbed by Felix’s scowl. “Some may go as far as to argue that any importance awarded to people merely due to their blood is an antiquated custom that should be done away with,” she stated, in some abrupt attempt to pivot the fight away into conversation.

“Edelgard!” Ferdinand exclaimed, approaching the two as if they weren't in the middle of combat. “You cannot possibly mean to imply such blasphemy.”

The healer, who had returned to lying on the nearby stone steps, snorted in barely concealed laughter. “Oh, there she goes again,” he commented lazily, gesturing in her direction. “When it comes to her— every little thing always has to get suddenly looped back around to being about politics.”

“Well,” Edelgard huffed defensively. “Such matters are important to discuss…” she stated to her healer before turning her gaze back toward Felix. “One could argue that those who inherit power inherit great burdens they may not be suited to wield, and those who inherit nothing must live at the mercy of any decisions made by those in charge. And if you proclaim lineage ought to be meaningless on the battlefield, then tell me — do you have further criticisms of the importance placed on blood?”

Felix stared at her. What is she even talking about? He asked himself uselessly. 

Suddenly, he felt his rage boil over. What did this have to do with anything ? Why wasn't she taking this duel seriously? 

“I’ve had ENOUGH of this incessant chatter!” Felix shot back. “I came here to hone my skills, not waste time with some … some ethical debate. And if you,” he wrenched his sword toward her accusingly, “can’t focus on fighting me, then you’re useless as an opponent — and you're useless on the battlefield!” Felix asserted as he watched her face contort into a disappointed frown. Silently, the princess readied the axe at her side. “So, just shut up and come at me with everything you—”

But before he could finish his demand, suddenly, there was a blunt force against the side of his shield — knocking the protective barrier from his hand. The shield bounced against the stone floor, landing several paces away from him.

Felix stared in surprise at the girl before him, who had somehow possessed enough strength to rip the combat gear from his hands.

He could hear laughter from their small audience — Sylvain’s laugh in particular.

Felix scrambled clumsily to swipe his training sword her way, but before he could land his blow, he felt an intense impact bash against his head …

… and everything went black.

The next sensation Felix felt was the cold floor of the training ground pressing against his cheek and the feeling of pain ringing through his skull. He thought he could hear voices and the faint, comforting glow of white magic at the side of his head.

“Are you… alright?” a voice asked him. Felix could feel a hand gently gripping his shoulder. “Excuse me, what was your friend’s name?” the voice asked, seeming to turn away from him.

“It’s Felix,” came Sylvain’s voice. “Heh, I’m sure he’ll be fine. White magic has fixed him up from worse.”

“Felix?” The other voice returned as he could feel a hand loosely tugging at his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes to see the defeated student from earlier looking down on him with what might have been a concerned expression. Felix still felt dazed and confused, looking blankly around at the group of people standing around him.

“She gave him a rather nasty bruise to his forehead,” murmured another voice beside him. “After I heal this one, I’m done. I’ve got better things to do.”

“I didn’t intend for any… excess harm,” Felix heard the princess say as she looked down on him with a grimace on her face. “You seemed rather insistent that I not hold back.”

Humiliation suddenly washed over Felix as he realized what must have happened. He leaned away from the white magic and the hand on his shoulder as if he could somehow physically distance himself from the utter embarrassment of it all. His head ached again at the sudden loss of contact with the healer — he groaned from the pain, gripping his head tightly.

“Hold still,” the green-haired boy complained, sounding annoyed. “That is, unless you’re attached to the idea of brain damage.”

Reluctantly, Felix stilled, allowing the boy to lay his hands back against his injured head. Even the healer was making fun of him.

“Good to see you’ve woken up okay, but I’m afraid Hubert and I have business elsewhere,” Edelgard said, turning her attention to the door. “Linhardt should take care of the rest.”

The boy at Felix’s side sighed as the two made their departure. He caught Dorothea giving him a satisfied smirk before following them, leaving Felix with the remaining two Empire nobles — and Sylvain.

As soon as the princess was out of earshot, slow claps began to echo through the training grounds. Felix looked up to see Sylvain sauntering up to him with a broad smirk growing on his face. He was giving slow, over-exaggerated swinging motions to his hands as they came together in mock applause.

Felix glared up at him, trying to ready his defenses for what he knew was coming.

“Wow,” Sylvain said. “That was something else.”

“Shut up!” Felix spat.

“Hey, next time you’re fighting any more princesses, you could always call for me to swoop in and save you,” he jeered with an impish grin on his lips.

“Stop it!” Felix groaned. “I know, I know… Just get the laughs out of your system and be done with it!”

Sylvain did, laughter pouring out of him as he tipped his head back, clutching his chest.

It wasn’t as if Felix hadn’t lost to women before. Leonie, Shez, and — to some extent — even that screaming girl with the purple hair had managed to get the better of him. Defeat never tasted good, but it couldn’t taste worse than at the hands of a woman. Still, he had tried to gracefully accept that these opponents were worthy of being taken seriously and work towards victory against them, no matter who they were. Respecting those who bested him was a principle he tried to adhere to.

But all those defeats, they had been private, away from onlookers — and specifically away from Sylvain.

Felix glowered up at Sylvain’s insufferable grin, the sense of embarrassment being amplified by the two onlookers.

“If I may interrupt,” came the voice of the other imperial noble who had lost to the princess. “Edelgard is an incredibly gifted adversary. I sought out a duel with her because, to me, she is the strongest person I know.”

Felix scoffed at the assertion. He would have thought the other teenager kneeling beside him was simply adding to the sarcastic teasing, but his own defeat at the princess’s hands implied this remark was genuine. 

This seemed to catch Sylvain’s attention, his eyebrows raising slightly.

“Really?” Sylvain said skeptically. “That girl? The absolute strongest person you know?”

“Well, I…” Ferdinand appeared to waver in some amount of embarrassment. “ I believe she has demonstrated that she is a worthy opponent to measure oneself against,” he attempted to assert, eyes darting momentarily back to Felix. “And, she is an opponent I intend to eventually surpass — nay, I will surpass,” he claimed as some form of confidence slowly drifted back into his voice.

“Heh, got a… real crowning achievement in mind there, haven’t you?” Sylvain replied.

“Indeed!” Ferdinand agreed, missing the jab entirely. “I thought I may have been ready at present, but it appears I still have much work to do. Which is why I, Ferdinand Von Aegir, won’t give up — I will claim victory against her someday!”

Felix closed his eyes, feeling a strangely renewed sense of embarrassment.

“Well, uh. Alriiight then,” was all Sylvain said, amusement still evident in his voice. “I’m gonna head out. Catch ya later, buddy.” Felix grimaced in lieu of a response.

“Your head should be fine now,” he heard the voice of the healer next to him say. “Or at least, I’m deciding it’s fine now. Doing this any longer is gonna exhaust me.”

“Must you always lack the energy to finish a job properly, Linhardt?” the other student asked, sounding exasperated.

“Yes. I’m tired. It’s not like I asked for this,” the healer answered.

“I’m fine now anyway; it doesn’t matter,” Felix sighed, batting the boy’s hand off his head. In truth, there was still some lingering pain, but it was nothing he wanted a fuss over.

“Finally,” the healer exhaled, standing up and making his way to the doors without another word.

The student that the princess had previously defeated was the last person here with Felix as they sat on the floor of the training ground together.  “I do not believe we have been properly introduced,” he began, extending a hand to Felix. “I am-”

“You’re Ferdinand, yes. I know,” Felix supplied, paying little mind to the strange student.

“Excellent to see my reputation precedes me,” Ferdinand replied, beaming in Felix’s direction at the news that a classmate had caught his name. Felix thought of Sylvain’s thorough ridicule and elected not to comment further on the absurd conclusion Ferdinand had reached.

After a pause, the other teenager lowered his hand, but didn’t appear put out at Felix ignoring his attempt at a handshake.

“Sylvain said your name was Felix, is it not? Heir to House Fraldarius?”

“It’s just Felix,” Felix said, wondering where this was going. He had expected Ferdinand to follow the healer out of the training grounds, not stick around. Felix had wanted to stay in the training grounds to recover his bearings, but apparently, he wouldn’t be finding a quiet moment so easily. “Did you need something from me?”

“Oh,” Ferdinand said. “Not particularly, I suppose. It is simply that…” He paused as Felix felt the other student’s eyes on him. “I understand defeat can be discouraging — yet, I can tell from the way you fought that you have honed your skills admirably.”

Felix turned to face him, annoyed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, feeling defensive. He had to be making fun of him; now, even the other loser was taking his shot at Felix. “Don’t make excuses for me,” he grumbled. “I didn’t land a single hit on her. It was pathetic.”

The other man seemed to wince slightly under the assertion. “I can… concede that there is always room for improvement. Yet, true nobles such as ourselves ought never to give in to despair upon defeat.”

“‘True nobles’?” Felix repeated dryly, rolling his eyes. “That’s got nothing to do with this. My pursuit of strength is born out of my own desires, not some title.”

“Nothing?” Ferdinand repeated, clearly offended. “You would do well to reconsider that claim. A noble’s duty is to serve the common folk, and as such, we ought never to act in our own self-interest,” the man proclaimed — suddenly jumping into an inexplicable lecture. “Take me for example,” the man placed a hand over his heart, gesturing to himself. “ I always bear in mind that I am a noble who must excel at all he does so that I may guide and protect the common born. If I were to lose sight of my purpose, I may be at risk of giving up on myself. After all, it is the goddess’s plan for us as men of noble birth to set a standard. And I, for one, intend to see that duty fulfilled.”

“…What are you jabbering on about?” Felix groaned, feeling a growing dislike for this man. “I never said anything about giving up. Getting stronger and rectifying my weaknesses is all that matters.”

To Felix’s confusion, the other man’s expression suddenly broke out into a triumphant smile.

“Ah, so we are in agreement on something after all!” Ferdinand exclaimed. “Very well, we shall both work tirelessly and strive to unlock our full potential!” the strange man went on, springing from his sitting position on the floor with all the enthusiasm of a wind-up toy jumping from a box. “Arise, Felix! Our path to greatness awaits us!”

Felix blinked. “…What?” he muttered, looking up at the other student. Is he making fun of me again? He asked himself, feeling tired and at a loss for how to handle this situation. Felix was beginning to feel his headache return as he rubbed his temple, grimacing.

“Oh, dear,” Ferdinand said, excitement momentarily leaving his voice. “I knew Linhardt likely left your wound untreated. Please, allow me to go fetch him and return.”

“Wait, you don’t need to…” But it was too late — the man had already rushed off. 

Felix sighed loudly, gingerly picking himself off the floor. Sylvain had been right about one thing — those Imperial students were… odd . Yes, that was the only word for it. He decided he ought to make a mental note to avoid them when he could. 

Felix quickly retreated to his room. The princess and Ferdinand would have to go find someone else to bother about their… ideological opinions… or whatever nonsense it was they had inflicted upon him. Felix had better things to do anyway. 

Chapter Text

The air was chill as their army made its way into the bailey of Gideon Castle. Felix maneuvered himself off the horse below him with some difficulty, feeling relief at being able to stand on his own two feet again.

Felix didn’t possess much skill or fondness for riding, but during swift retreats, it was a necessity. His legs ached from being stuck in the same position for too long, and his lack of sleep from the previous night hardly helped.

The animal made what sounded like disgruntled noises, staring at him with its beady, unknowing eyes. The thing was probably hungry and exhausted from the long trip here. Felix looked around for any sign of where the horse stables might be, eager to be rid of the beast.

He had never been all that comfortable with responsibility over animals, and tended to avoid situations that would require interaction. The sooner he could drop it at the stables, the sooner someone else would care for it. But, upon finding the horse stables, he felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach form.

Ingrid stood near the entryway, struggling with a dark horse that seemed determined to avoid the horse pen.

Felix hadn’t had a one-on-one conversation with Ingrid in some time — not since their conversation in his father’s room.

The last short exchange between them yesterday had been stirring uneasily in his mind.

But before Felix could decide if he would approach the stables, Ingrid caught his eye, and her expression shifted.

To Felix’s surprise, he found she was approaching him, hand reaching out to pet the horse at his side.

“…It appears we made our retreat here in good time,” she said, eyes momentarily flickering to him as she stroked the animal. “I was worried it would be dark before we were able to settle within the castle walls … or worse, that we might have Imperials on our coattails.”

Felix watched her hand brush the horse in silence, not sure what she wanted from him. She hadn’t attempted any conversation with him in over a month.

“Have you spoken with His Majesty in regard to where our army might be setting out towards next?” Ingrid asked, after it became clear Felix wasn’t going to respond to her previous comment.

“…Not yet,” answered Felix simply, thinking once again of the strategic correspondence letters that were now an illegible, burned and soaked mess.

Felix had hoped to speak with their idiot of a king about their upcoming plans. But, with those letters destroyed and the way things had ended the previous night, Felix had… decided he needed a momentary break from the man.

He found he didn’t wish to mention the boar’s blunder with the papers to anyone. That mistake was hardly the only thing from that night he’d rather not think about.

“I’d like to know where he thinks our soldiers should move. If possible, we should find him and ask, sooner rather than later,” Ingrid continued.

“We?” Felix repeated, caught off guard by the casual use of the word.

Ingrid nodded. “I spoke to His Majesty a fair bit while we packed up supplies together,” she said, looking in his direction. Her face looked reserved and heavy. “He told me you’d been helpful to him over the past month.”

Felix shifted awkwardly, waiting for her to elaborate.

“You haven’t gotten on well with His Majesty for years now, and yet it looks like you were able to set that aside for the sake of working alongside him,” she said as Felix bristled in silent discomfort. “So… if you can put aside personal disputes with him, perhaps…”

Ingrid took in a slight breath, looking somewhat strained herself. “Perhaps, you and I should do the same — for the sake of this army.”

Felix hesitated for a moment as he looked at her in surprise. This wasn’t forgiveness, or even an invitation to discuss the matter. That much was clear. She didn’t want to talk to him any more than she had previously.

This was for practicality, nothing more.

“You don’t have to respect me to get work done alongside me,” she added stiffly, evidently taking his silence to mean refusal.

Guilt clawed its way into his mind with forcefulness as he looked away from her.

“I…” Felix began, not knowing where he wanted to take his sentence.

Regardless of whatever genuine frustration he had carried in during their argument, he knew he regretted snapping at her the way he had. She hadn’t been in that room for wealth. The idea of Ingrid, of all people, pawning off his old man’s belongings was ridiculous.

He would have never hurt her — but the swing of his sword had been a senseless and unwarranted threat.

He vaguely remembered the last time he had apologized to someone unprompted. It had been Sylvain, back at the academy. Felix had snapped at the man, calling him inconsiderate and reckless. It was true, of course… but then the moment had passed, and he had felt that his words had been harsher than intended. After the day had gone by without Sylvain’s constant pestering, Felix had eventually decided it was better to have him hanging around than not.

Even so, Sylvain had brushed aside the genuineness of the apology. He seemed to imply that he never took Felix’s words too seriously anyway, claiming his ‘verbal abuse’ was part of an established routine that didn’t need changing. Felix’s sincere expression of regret had felt stupid and unnecessary.

He found he hadn’t apologized on any memorable occasions since.

Felix now turned his gaze back to Ingrid, who still waited for an answer from him.

“I… can agree to that,” he said finally, the sense of weight not leaving his body.

“Okay, then,” Ingrid said quietly. “Good.” Her voice grew firm as her jaw seemed to set.

Ingrid returned her gaze to the horse at his side, wordlessly steering it towards the gates. It followed her easily, making its way into the stable without much fuss.

Suddenly, the other horse Ingrid had been previously struggling with reared itself, neighing loudly before it attempted to gallop off away from the stables.

“Woah! No, no, no — not again!” Ingrid exclaimed, rushing over to the beast and seizing its reins.

Felix took a few steps closer to her, wondering if he ought to help.

“Ugh! This horse of Rodrigue’s was always so troublesome,” she grumbled, tugging at the animal as it neighed in sudden agitation.

“This one was his?” Felix asked before he could stop himself.

He heard an exasperated noise come from Ingrid, turning to see her giving a slightly sour look before the expression flickered out just as quickly as it appeared. She sighed, her face becoming tired.

“Yes, this one was his,” she said, pulling on the other horse beside her again. “What about it, Felix? Do you have an issue with me handling anything previously belonging to your father?” she huffed.

“…No,” Felix replied, feeling himself sink. “I just… didn’t know this was his.”

Ingrid yanked, once again, on the reins of the black horse as it pulled against her.

“Well, it’s good to know I have your permission,” she stated icily. “If it’s not too much trouble, can you help me push him into his kennel?”

“I suppose…” Felix agreed, his discomfort growing worse by the second.

After some forceful resistance from the animal, the two were eventually able to coax the reluctant horse into its proper place within the gated walls. The contained beast thrashed about in its cage, clearly agitated.

“…What’s wrong with it?” Felix asked.

“I have no idea,” Ingrid replied, watching the horse uselessly push against the walls of its stable. “I’ve tried to be kind to him in the past, but he’s always been combative for absolutely no reason.”

Felix watched the dark-maned horse continue to prod around the cage, as if hoping to find some form of escape for itself.

“Either way, he’s where he belongs now. He’ll settle down.” Ingrid turned her head back toward the castle. “I heard His Majesty went to talk with Viscount Gideon — we should find him,” Ingrid said before turning to walk off.

Felix took in a long breath, closing his eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the boar again, but it was hardly something he could avoid if he meant to carry out his role as the duke.

Grimacing, he followed after Ingrid, willing himself to have the strength to deal with this unavoidable task.

Some time later, the two of them found the boar in the northern hallway of the castle, conversing with the viscount. The small woman appeared to have their king looking rather like a cornered prey animal as he attempted to inch away from her closely following footsteps.

“Ah, there he is,” Ingrid said, sounding relieved as she and Felix approached.

“And, Your Majesty — you say you don’t know for certain how many Alliance or Imperial troops may be following your retreat?” the viscount asked with a frightened tremor.

“I apologize,” Felix heard the boar mutter in response. “Our army was ambushed under fog, you see, and…” Dimitri faded off upon seeing the other two making their way over to them.

“Ah, Duke Fraldarius, I presume,” the viscount greeted, giving Felix a modest bow.

As far as nobles went, she was considered of a lesser tier than many of those who hailed from the more northern territories, and one Felix had never personally interacted with. But the sigil of Fraldarius was visible on his clothing, making him easily identifiable. He often found himself forgetting that the position he held was second only to the boar himself.

Felix nodded stiffly in response to the viscount’s greeting — he had no idea how he would get used to the formal quality of everything expected of him if he were to ever truly govern his territory in peacetime.

“Felix, Ingrid,” the boar started, looking between them with a bit of a surprised expression.

“I was just speaking with His Majesty regarding your stay in our territory,” the viscount said, her gaze returning to the king as he shifted in discomfort. “We don’t have much to speak of in terms of military might in this area, so I simply…” She paused, her smile thin. “I simply have some concerns regarding the safety of my citizens.”

“And, I understand the nature of those concerns. Truly, I cannot apologize enough for bringing your citizens any unease,” the boar responded meekly.

“My territory now lies on Faerghus’s new border,” she replied. “I have to imagine there are plots to cut through my lands and reach the capital… and, seeing as your soldiers were just forced to retreat…”

“I’ve had similar thoughts about the possibility of being followed,” Ingrid said grimly. “But, Galatea sits on the edge of our eastern border, near the capital — it seems more likely my home would be targeted next.”

“We can’t say for sure how their army is divided, either,” Felix added. “To my knowledge, no one among our troops came into contact with the Emperor or the Alliance leader — those main forces could be anywhere.”

Felix noticed Dimitri’s crossed arms folded around himself tightly at these words. The boar seemed to consider saying something, opening his mouth and shutting it, before apparently electing to stay quiet.

“Your Majesty,” the viscount said, giving the boar a pointed look. “Have you considered the ideas I put forth in my correspondence?”

Dimitri, somehow, sank further into the wall he was backed up against.

“Well,” he began hastily. “I… you see,” he floundered, fading off into silence. It seemed that the boar was considering how best to skirt the issue.

“There was… an accident,” Felix sighed. “He didn’t get a chance to look at them.”

“An ‘accident’?” She asked, seeming confused at the vague description. “The correspondence didn’t fall into anyone else’s hands, did they?” She wrung her hands, clearly disturbed.

“No, no,” assured the boar quickly. “Nothing of the sort.”

She stared at him, waiting for an elaboration that did not come, before apparently accepting that her curiosity would go unsatisfied.

“I will try to follow up with you at a later date, Your Majesty,” she said stiffly. “Until then, our rooms within the castle are at your army’s disposal.”

“You have my sincerest thanks for that, and I apologize for everything,” Dimitri replied as she bowed before making her exit.

“She’s nervous about us being here,” Ingrid said as she watched the woman go.

“Well, there’s not much to be done about that. We’re at war. It comes with a risk,” Felix answered flatly. “If the Empire does invade soon, it seems to me it’d be better to have us than not.”

“It’s my fault — all of this is my fault. All the blame for it lies on me,” Felix heard the boar murmur, his head sinking into his hands. “I should have killed that woman when I had the chance… if only I had just killed her…” the boar muttered incoherently, perhaps addressing himself more so than Ingrid or Felix. “I swear, the next time I see her I’ll…”

Felix exhaled as he tried to muster up whatever was left of his patience for Dimitri, finding it a fruitless endeavor.

“Can you — for once in your damn life — get a hold of yourself?” Felix asked through gritted teeth. He turned his head up to scowl at the pitiful display before him that was their king. “We don’t have time to deal with your incompetence or your rage or your — your anything! Just shut up about feelings, and—”

“Felix,” he heard Ingrid interrupt sternly.

“What?” he shot back at her, glaring her way. He should have known that having her here would only cause more issues than it would solve.

She sighed, glaring right back at him.

“You need to cease these senseless insults. Is this how you’ve continued to treat His Majesty over the past month?” She questioned accusingly. Ingrid turned a sympathetic gaze back toward the boar. “Please, I must apologize on his behalf, Your Majesty. You needn’t tolerate such disrespect.”

Felix glared down at the floor, feeling his heart begin to thump rapidly in his chest with growing anger.

Why can’t she see what’s right in front of us? He asked himself furiously. The boar’s instability had been on public display for years now, and still she spoke of Dimitri as if he were some wounded saint.

Ever coming back into contact with his childhood friends at the academy, Felix had noticed Ingrid seemed to carry a deep sense of reverence for the boar, a reverence that hadn’t been present when they were younger.

Felix could feel his instincts telling him to hurl an insult back at her for her displayed idiocy, but before he could decide how to best combat her, the boar spoke up.

“…It’s alright, Ingrid,” Dimitri said cautiously.

“No, it is not alright,” Ingrid asserted as Felix’s gaze drifted back towards her. “He’s unpredictable when he’s angry.”

Felix felt cold suddenly as guilt gripped him again — but the anger didn’t leave him, not in the slightest. It instead seemed to well up inside, unable to escape.

He couldn’t stay around this. Not with her. For the benefit of their army, he had been trying to endure his conversations with the boar of late, no matter how taxing they were. Felix knew he shouldn’t run off now, but…

Felix looked away, but he could feel their eyes on him through the lingering pause that her words left.

“… Fine. I didn’t want to waste my time with you two anyway,” Felix muttered before turning to leave.

He could find Dimitri in the morning; there would be time to sort through the boar’s hang-ups and blunders later.

Chapter Text

Felix woke to the sensation of harsh, cold winds. He slowly rubbed his eyes, feeling groggy and frustrated with himself for having nodded off.

He had sat at the base of a tree, only meaning to rest and close his eyes for a moment — but apparently, a few seconds had lingered out into a few hours. The sun seemed to be close to setting in the distance, and the temperature was quickly dropping. He noted with annoyance that his neck hurt from the angle it had leaned on.

He stood up, slinging his gear over his shoulder and trying in vain to stretch the soreness out of his neck.

…I should probably try and get in touch with the boar about our plans, Felix thought to himself gloomily, not seeing any point to putting off the undesirable task.

He didn’t want to be around Dimitri for a few reasons — the events of last night being one of them.

But more importantly, their chances of winning this war were dwindling fast, and the idea of navigating that reality with the boar was unpredictable at best. If their army didn’t get its act together, the entire kingdom would be at the mercy of whatever ill fate the empire had in store for them.

Felix sighed and began making his way towards the castle’s entrance. His gaze was wandering over to the small lake beside the gates when something he saw made him pause.

Near the edge of the dock sat Seteth. The older man was hunched over, his hands clenched together and held close to his face. His eyes were shut tightly as he leaned towards the lake’s brim.

Felix didn’t know what the man was doing out here, but it was possible Seteth might have more current information on their marching plans.

Felix redirected his pace and began walking up to where the old man sat. Seteth didn’t turn, seeming immersed in… whatever he was doing. It wasn’t until Felix was a mere few feet behind him and saying the man’s name that Seteth finally seemed to be snapped from the trance he was in.

“… Felix?” Seteth asked, blinking up at him. “Pardon me. I… did not hear you approaching.”

“It’s fine,” Felix answered. “What were you doing out here?”

“Ah,” Seteth said. “I had come here to fish.” Felix noticed the rod placed by his side with the string limply hanging out into the water. “But, I seemed to have been drawn deeply into prayer, as I am apt to do when out on these trips of mine.”

Prayer? Felix supposed that might explain the trance.

“I thought prayers were supposed to happen within church walls,” Felix commented.

Felix didn’t pay much attention to the goddess or the teachings of the Seiros faith. The Kingdom had historic religious roots, but he hadn’t personally known many people who were especially invested in their faith until attending the Officer’s Academy. He didn’t have strong opinions on the institution one way or the other, only visiting the cathedral once to find Ashe after Lonato’s failed rebellion and subsequent death. Other students and teachers went there to pray, but he had never been one of them.

“Many would tell you that, yes,” Seteth said, a smile forming on his face. “But, I have always personally believed that the Goddess may answer prayers no matter where or who they come from. After all, so many people in Fódlan lack access to proper monasteries.”

“I guess so,” Felix answered, shrugging. “Have you spoken to anyone with regard to what our next move is?” He asked, changing the subject.

“We plan to hold a discussion on that tonight in the dining hall,” Seteth replied, his smile fading. “There is … no denying that we’ve found ourselves backed into a corner as of late,” he added as his gaze found the lake once more. “I’ve been attempting to keep Lady Rhea informed through the use of messengers… though, as of late, I have yet to hear back…” the man murmured, seeming distracted.

Felix glanced his way, not sure why he was being told this information.

“Guess I’ll see you at that meeting then,” Felix replied, not knowing what else to say.

“Oh — yes, certainly,” Seteth said, turning to face him. “You know,” the man started, giving Felix a meaningful look. “I never did get the opportunity to properly thank you for your assistance in regard to King Dimitri. I can tell what a tremendous help you have been.”

Felix folded his arms, feeling awkward under Seteth’s sincere appreciation. He looked away and fixed his gaze toward the ground, clearing his throat.

“Well… someone has to be here to seize the reins on that boar and point him in the right direction,” Felix said after a pause. “There’s no telling what sort of rampage he’d go on if left to his own devices for too long,” he added, thinking of how he needed to get in touch with the boar, sooner rather then later, and sort through whatever had happened during their last battle — ideally, before the group council started.

“… Indeed,” the older man agreed distantly before going quiet again.

Suddenly, Seteth rummaged through his pockets, bringing out a small notebook. “I should have included more in my last note to Rhea,” he said abruptly, staring at the parchment in his hands. “Do you by chance have a pen on your person?”

“Possibly,” Felix replied, bemused. He reached his right hand into his inner coat pocket to check and found — nothing.

His fingers traced the outline of a tear in the fabric, realizing with sudden dismay that the inner stitching was empty.

Glenn’s spur was supposed to be there. He knew for certain he had placed it here.

“Not finding anything, I suppose?” he heard Seteth ask as the man stood up.

“…No … no, I haven’t got one,” Felix replied distractedly. His mind became entirely unfocused on the person in front of him.

“I ought to head inside,” Seteth sighed. “We shall see you tonight then.” He briefly placed a hand on Felix’s shoulder before walking off.

Felix quickly made his way over to the tree where he had fallen asleep. His hands brushed through the grass, the dirt, the roots of the tree. He stared down at the tree trunk, his mind racing.

The spur was nowhere to be found.

It was possible he’d dropped it while riding. He’d never see the spur again if that was the case.

It’s just a piece of metal, he told himself forcefully. Just a piece of metal I have no practical use for.

His insistence did little to quell the overwhelming need to find it. Felix remembered the stables suddenly — how that restless black horse had given Ingrid and him difficulty as they practically wrestled the beast into its pin. It felt plausible that the spur could have fallen out then.

Felix let out a long exhale. He had to go check. If it wasn’t there, he would just have to make peace with having lost it.

No one else was at the stables when Felix arrived there. One of the horses poked its head out in curiosity and watched silently as he scoured the ground in search of the spur. Felix grit his teeth in frustration, finding nothing on the stable floor except sticks and leaves.

If he did happen to drop it nearby… with his luck, Ingrid would be the person to find it. If Ingrid does find it, just let her keep it, came a bitter voice inside his head. Glenn would have wanted her to be the one to keep it — not me.

Felix clenched his jaw tightly as he opened up the door to the stable pens. The unruly horse turned its head to look at him as he entered.

As Felix’s hands roamed the hay on the floor, his fingertips eventually brushed against something metallic and angular. He sighed with relief, quickly fishing the object out to see that it was, in fact, the spur. Felix gripped it tightly, feeling the grooves against his palm.

Felix let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. As his heartbeat slowed, he slipped the piece of metal into a different — and intact — pocket.

But the sensation of relief didn’t stay with him long. He heard a creak of the stable door from behind him and turned to see the unruly black horse pushing its way out through a hatch Felix had, apparently, left ajar. Felix jumped to his feet, but it was too late — the animal was out.

“Wait! No, no, stop!” He called out uselessly, lunging after the horse.

Felix tried to catch the reins of the animal — however, the beast escaped from his grasp and was now at a gallop, dashing away.

Felix chased after it as fast as he could, groaning in irritation and hoping to catch it before someone noticed it had been let out.

As he ran after it, frustrated and angry at himself. The beast stayed just a mere few feet from his grasp. It was galloping through the bailey now. A few other people had taken notice, but no one responded quickly enough to help with the beast’s capture. Felix realized with some worry that the horse was now galloping in a straight line towards the draw bridge… the open draw bridge.

Felix continued running after the horse as it galloped across the wooded exit. The reins to the animal remained just out of his reach as Felix made another unsuccessful swipe at grabbing them. The two were now outside the castle walls, entering a surrounding field.

This was humiliating — the whole situation felt like a series of mistakes he would have stumbled upon the boar making.

The beast had, for most of their chase, only felt a few inches out of his grasp — but now, that distance grew. The horse likely felt emboldened by the open space to run at full speed.

As Felix sprinted, the cold air began to feel thick and heavy in his lungs. The horse was now galloping towards the edge of the field, making its way into the neighboring forest. The terrain there might slow it down, he hoped.

The looming branches above him obscured the fading light of day. As they ran, it became difficult to keep sight of the horse’s black mane under a dark night. At this point, Felix found he was following the sound of hooves more than anything — but even that noise faded.

Felix stopped running. He slowed to a brisk walk, scanning his vicinity for any trace of the beast. He found nothing but the looming thicket of the forest surrounding him.

He had lost it.

He had let his attachment to a scrap of metal cost them an entire horse.

The wind howled, whipping through the leaves as a cold gust blew into his face. He brushed his loose strands of hair back furiously — it was late. He had to accept defeat, accept that he’d made a stupid, avoidable mistake that would hurt their battle preparations even further.

But, just as he was about to give up and turn back toward the castle, he saw it.

The horse was standing still in a clearing, swishing its tail, its ears perked up at attention — but not at him.

Felix began his approach, slowly this time, taking care not to break any twigs that might be in his path. The horse hadn’t seemed to spot him yet, instead looking intently to its left behind a thicket of trees.

Felix was beginning to take another step forward when a sound stopped him in his tracks.

“Did one of the horses slip out?” Felix heard a voice say. All at once, the black horse was illuminated in the light of a torch held by an approaching man with bright orange hair.

Felix quickly darted down, crouching behind a wide tree trunk. He slowly peered out at the man making his way towards the animal, dreading the implication of his presence. The newcomer was close enough to make out the vague details of his face.

Felix recognized him. He was an Imperial noble.

“It seems so,” another voice replied, the accompanying footsteps nearly silent.

Felix froze with alarm. He would know that ominous figure anywhere — the second man was the Emperor’s retainer!

The Empire’s forces had followed the Kingdom’s army — and now, they had caught up.

Felix wanted to leave, to run, to warn the others, but one wrong move could give up his position. For now, he only heard two men in front of him — however, there was no telling how many imperials lurked just out of sight.

“He seems rather spooked,” the Imperial noble noted. Felix could hear the disgruntled noises of the horse protesting against the man’s attempt to calm it.

“Likely a slip-up of that buffoonish mercenary,” the retainer scoffed. “This one looks rather like the animal he ended up claiming.”

“Oh, do you truly still not trust them?” The other man said, sounding slightly annoyed. “I rather think Shez is of a fine, noble character myself! Besides, I do not believe this is the same horse given to them.”

Perhaps the two men would head off back to camp soon, leaving him with an opportunity to run back to the castle. For now, Felix had to remain as silent as possible. He was so dreadfully close to the two that any sound could cause them to investigate his area.

“I have my reasons for suspecting him, Ferdinand. That is all you need to know about the matter,” the man replied.

“And what reasons may those be?”

“Nothing worth troubling you over,” The retainer said dismissively.

Felix heard the other man sigh.

“As is the case with so many rationales of yours, it would seem!”

But before either of them could continue, Felix heard the sound of more people approaching, now coming from the opposite direction.

Panic seared through him. He was going to be caught! His legs pushed back against the trunk, as though wanting to disappear into it. But then, to his surprise, his feet did move further than expected. He felt around the base of the trunk and discovered a hole there, possibly one large enough to squeeze under.

“Hubert, Ferdinand? Are you back there?” A woman called out, sounding as though she was making her way towards them.

As carefully and silently as he could, Felix bent down and pushed himself into the hollowed-out base of the trunk. Thankfully, a rather loud gust of wind rustling the trees was able to give him cover as he hid himself in the pit of the trunk.

“Our troops are just about to advance and take this kingdom stronghold!” The woman said as she marched past the trunk Felix had crammed himself into. “Why are you two not at Her Majesty’s side?”

Felix could now hear the sound of several soldiers moving about. Stifling his breath, he attempted to sink deeper into the hollow base of the tree. Sticks poked out at him at painful angles, and he felt a faint sensation that might have been the crawl of insects on his limbs.

There were even more imperials here now; at this rate, he had no idea when he would be able to escape or join in on the fighting.

Felix heard the two men from before walking past him, one of whom appeared to be attempting to lead the stubborn animal that had caused Felix all this trouble in the first place. “Please, the fault lies with me, Monica,” the man said. “Let us be off, then. My troops will follow shortly.”

“Hm. I seem to recall Duke Aegir boasting of his talent for handling animals just earlier today,” the retainer replied sourly. “Yet it would appear that this one isn’t too fond of you.”

“Oh, nonsense. I am sure I can calm him. I only need but a moment to—” The other man’s words were cut off by the sound of distressed neighing and then the sudden gallop of hooves. “Oh dear…” he sighed.

“Come along, Ferdinand. We don’t have the time to idly worry about one loose horse.”

“…I suppose you are right.”

The three Imperial generals finally headed off, still bickering amongst themselves.

Felix stayed hidden in the tree for what seemed like an eternity. Just moments after the general’s voices faded, the Empire’s army appeared to swarm in the thicket around him. Within minutes, the alarm bells of Gideon’s castle could be heard ringing in the distance.

Felix thought guiltily of the boar, Ingrid, and Sylvain … any of them could be fighting for their lives soon while he was still holed up in the forest.

He should try to find them. The chaos of battle would likely allow him to make his way out, find his allies, and get back where he belonged.

When Felix emerged, dead leaves and dirt sticking to his clothes and hair, he was accosted with the intense smell of smoke. Imperials surrounded him on all sides, their torches lighting up the night. Thankfully, none seemed to spot him — and if they did, they paid him little mind.

Felix quickly swept up his gear, readying himself before sprinting off after them. None of the Empire’s army should expect a lone kingdom soldier to be hanging back at the rear of their forces, he reasoned, so hopefully most would assume he was an ally.

As he approached the ranks of the enemy soldiers, Felix could already hear the clash beginning. He ran up the small hill to the castle, hoping to spot any sign of the boar or other commanding officers from Faerghus.

As he looked out at the chaos from his vantage point, he could see Kingdom troops. But the crimson flags far outnumbered them.

Hundreds — if not thousands — of the Empire’s forces were upon them. Small spots of fighting were breaking out near the front, but it was only a matter of time before the entire field was engulfed in bloodshed. Hurrying down from the hill, his sword drawn, Felix spotted a few nearby kingdom soldiers struggling against a larger group of imperials.

There wasn’t time to think any further — only act.

Felix raced at an Imperial that seemed to have the upper hand against the battered kingdom soldiers. Turning towards Felix, the man countered the attack, swinging a mace his way. The weapon cracked against Aegis as Felix grit his teeth, steadying himself to block the blow. He swung his sword wildly, successfully plunging it into the man’s abdomen. Quickly, Felix wrenched his sword out from the flesh, tuning out the accompanying screams of pain and grotesque squelching of gore.

He turned his gaze back to the kingdom’s foot soldiers as they desperately fought to hold their own against the wave of enemies. Felix gripped his now blood-soaked sword tightly as he ran forward, his eyes scanning for his next target.

However, just as he was about to attempt a rescue, an unearthly, thunderous sound from the sky drew the attention of the combatants.

The whole world below him appeared to shudder, and soldiers around him cried out in alarm at the sudden tremors. The trees surrounding them swayed under a blast of intense wind accompanied by the deafening sounds of monstrous wings beating towards them. A pounding impact shook the earth below Felix as two large white claws — both the size of boulders — descended violently onto the battlegrounds.

Before Felix could think, before he could even begin to comprehend what he was looking at, he found himself staring dumbly at the head of a white dragon. Without even a moment’s pause, its jaws ripped into the cluster of soldiers in front of Felix. Blood spewed out from between its teeth as the beast tore through two imperials, taking a kingdom soldier as well. The dragon’s head rose, closing its fangs once more around the three victims as blood rained down from above.

There were sounds of shrieking coming from all directions, screams ringing out from both the Kingdom and Imperial forces. Felix felt himself suddenly snap out of the haze of a paralyzing shock he hadn’t realized he’d been under.

Felix flung himself away, instinctively covering his head under his arms. He stumbled to the ground, narrowly escaping the claws that claimed more imperial and kingdom troops alike. The dragon pushed soldiers into the dirt, squashing them as if they were mere insects.

There was no use trying to fight Imperials while this monster tore men apart in seconds.

Felix sprinted off in the direction of Gideon’s castle, heart racing. The boar and the others were probably out here, still in danger. He had to find them.

“WICKED GIRL!” A booming voice cut through the air like a thunderclap. “WHERE ARE YOU!?”

Felix felt the rumbling of the monster’s movements before he saw it lunge ahead of him, crushing tundra and soldiers in a frenzy.

Suddenly, his vision went black.

Felix didn’t see what had hit him, only felt the dizzying impact of the massive falling debris in the wake of the dragon’s rampage. The sudden crash had nearly made him lose consciousness. Felix coughed violently, the air having left his lungs from the blow.

As his vision cleared, he realized with a start that the weight of a fallen tree had pinned him to the floor. Felix writhed, trying to push himself up but finding himself nearly pinned down under the weight. Fortunately, the ground below him dipped inward, giving him just enough space to make progress on escaping.

But before he could free himself, he heard a voice to his right that made him freeze in place.

“The Immaculate One… I didn’t anticipate this.”

“I’ve got a real bad feeling about all this,” another voice replied. “We shouldn’t stay here, not with that thing running loose.”

Felix could see them now. There was no mistaking it.

That was the leader of the Alliance … and the Emperor.

“I fear you are right,” the Emperor answered. “But to come all this way, only to be forced to flee… and with nothing to show for it.”

She was right there — the Adrestian Emperor. A mere few feet away from him.

Felix couldn’t say for certain how much of this war was solely driven by her rule, but if there was even a small possibility that her death could end the entire conflict…

Then he needed to take it.

Felix crawled out from under the fallen tree, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. They would probably spot him either way — he was out in the open now. He may be dead no matter what he chose to do.

Before he could think twice, he was lunging at her, sword drawn.

Moments before the blade could have made contact with her throat, Felix saw the emperor’s face turn towards him, purple eyes locking onto his own. She moved so quickly he almost couldn’t see it, only felt the impact of her axe as it knocked his sword off its course as if it were light as a feather in his hand.

Felix gripped his shield tightly as he made a second swipe at her, this time cutting into her arm. But before he could do substantial damage, a blinding pain brought him to his knees.

Felix dropped his sword as a stifled scream escaped him. His gaze traced the source of the pain — blood spilled from an arrow lodged in his right arm. The Alliance leader stared down at him coldly, a bow at his side.

The Emperor turned to pick up Felix’s dropped weapon. In one swift movement, she was pointing his own sword back at him.

All at once, he found himself completely disarmed, outnumbered, and wounded.

Felix gripped his shield tightly as sweat dripped from his palms. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, his right arm searing with pain against the damp sleeve soaked through with his own blood.

Felix heard the sound of a bowstring being drawn back as the Alliance leader nocked another arrow.

“Claude, wait,” the emperor commanded, raising a hand. “I believe that’s the Kingdom’s duke,” she said, not taking her eyes off Felix. “He could prove useful to us.”

Useful? He echoed the word to himself, confused and angry.

“…Oh, you’re right,” the Alliance leader murmured, lowering his bow. The two leaders seemed to exchange a glance. “…Hey, you’re looking a little defenseless there,” he said, slowly taking a step toward Felix. “If you’ll agree to it, why don’t we all -”

Felix didn’t know what trap this was, but he wouldn’t let himself go out so easily. He gripped the shaft of the arrow lodged into his arm with his left hand. With as much willpower as he could muster, he wrenched it free, feeling it tear through his skin. Warm blood gushed out from the wound as he gasped in pain.

Without a second thought, he lunged at the emperor, arrow at the ready.

He vaguely remembered the dull end of her axe coming into contact with his head as everything, once again, went black.

Chapter Text

Part V | A Missing Shield

Imperial Year 1183

Month of the Guardian Moon - Continued

Two And A Half Months Remain

It was daybreak when Ingrid and the other kingdom troops were finally able to scour the remains of the battlefield.

She still didn’t know what to make of the fight that had happened the previous night — the imperials had vanished nearly just as suddenly as they had invaded. Though, that was only after that… monster had swooped down and killed Imperial and Kingdom forces alike. The opposing army had retreated in the chaos, possibly with a dragon at their coattails.

…Now, all that was left to do was roam the battleground to search for familiar faces.

Ingrid momentarily set her gaze on the sky, gathering the necessary strength to keep herself calm and collected.

Eventually, she forced her sights back on what was in front of her, traversing through the maimed remains of soldiers. She held her breath at times, attempting to keep the putrid smell from getting to her head.

No matter what, she had to keep looking.

Missing soldiers might still be out here, clinging to life — trapped under fallen tundra or too wounded to get up.

And Felix could be among them.

She had noticed Felix was absent during their efforts to prepare for the battle, but had assumed she just hadn’t happened to run into him. However, after speaking to the soldiers he was supposed to be leading, it had become apparent he had gone missing before the attack was ever launched. Seteth had apparently been the last to see him. The man had told her with concern that Felix had expressed plans on attending their meeting that night, which was interrupted by the invasion.

Ingrid let out a slow breath through her nose, scanning the heaps of rubble and slain warriors for any sign of life.

Suddenly, she stilled, feeling her heart drop out of her chest.

Amidst the rubble, a little ways away, a familiar golden sheen caught her eye. She stepped closer to where the golden shape lay, kneeling to uncover the object buried beneath tree branches and dislodged rocks.

As she did, she felt her hand come up to grip the side of her face.

It was Aegis.

Felix’s shield.

She heard herself let out a shaky gasp, feeling cold with dread.

Delicately, she picked up the relic, staring at it. Dried blood clung to the shield’s carved crevices. She turned it over in her hands, attempting to prepare herself for what — or who she might find among the adjacent remains.

Her heart beat like a drum in her chest as she slowly willed herself to let her gaze wander around her vicinity.

The remains of dozens of fallen soldiers lay mutilated, appearing to have been killed in the wake of that monster.

And though her eyes scoured every detail she could find, the damage was simply too severe.

These people were completely unidentifiable.

There was no way to know for sure if he was here, but… if his shield was here, then…

She stood there for some time, frozen in horror and gripping Aegis tightly.

Eventually, she felt her mind slowly return to her. She took in a long breath, swallowing against her dry mouth.

I should show this to the others, Ingrid thought to herself, feeling heavy.

Eventually, she found King Dimitri conversing with a few other soldiers.

“Your Majesty,” Ingrid interrupted in a strained voice. She approached the group, hands gripping Aegis tightly. He looked up towards her, still a fair way away, but she could tell when his eye locked onto what she held in her hands. “I found his shield.”

𓆩♕𓆪

The first sensation Felix became aware of when waking was the feeling of a sharp, intense pain in his skull.

His aching head was slumped against some kind of iron-barred window. Felix could hear the sound of hooves trotting, accompanied by the creaking of wheels. He appeared to be in a carriage, though he had no memory of falling asleep in one.

He had the distinct sensation that he ought to be worried about… something, but the specifics of those anxieties felt just out of his mind’s reach.

Felix groggily opened his eyes. His mind was swimming, the light shining through the iron bars making his headache even more intense. He dug his nails into his temple, trying to steady himself. All he knew was that he needed to leave, to get back to… something.

His vision blurred as he clumsily stood, putting one foot in front of the other to reach what vaguely looked to be an exit door. With all his strength — which didn’t seem to be very much at the moment— he pushed against the door, but for some reason, he found it wouldn’t budge.

Confused, he reached out to push the door again, but stopped, looking at his outstretched arm. He realized his teal coat and white-sleeved jacket were missing, though he didn’t remember taking them off. That was odd; he hardly ever stepped outside without more layers on him.

He looked at his sleeve again, noticing something on his sleeve. The discoloration was hard to see on the dark fabric of his undershirt, but he could just make out what appeared to be a rather large bloodstain. He pulled back on the sleeve, revealing a deep scar which looked to have been healed over — possibly by magic.

What happened to me? He asked himself uselessly. Felix gripped the side of his head, grimacing in pain. The injury seemed to be the likely culprit responsible for his lack of context.

Suddenly, the movement of the carriage stopped, causing Felix to abruptly stumble to the floor. Without warning, the door to his right was flung open — revealing a tall, pale man with black hair.

“And so, he finally wakes,” the man stated.

Felix stared out dumbly at the man… that was the Emperor’s retainer.

Suddenly, memories from the previous battle began to slowly surface in his mind.

He felt the beginnings of a horrible realization taking hold of him.

“I’d come peacefully if I were you,” said the mage, eyeing Felix suspiciously. “While Lady Edelgard may desire a meeting with you alive, if you prove too troublesome, I have no qualms about ending your life here.”

Still on the ground, Felix scrambled backwards away from the man, feeling his mind going blank.

No…No! This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening!

He blinked rapidly, trying to wake himself. Perhaps he was still asleep under that tree in Gideon’s territory. He should be back there, only taking a momentary break from his allies before going back to sort through the list of ongoing questions he was accumulating about the boar’s plans.

“…Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” came Vestra’s warning voice.

Felix’s eyes snapped back onto the man, realizing with sudden alarm that he was approaching. On instinct, his right hand flew to the side of his waist and grasped at… nothing.

I don’t have my sword, Felix realized with dismay. I don’t have any way of defending myself.

“Get back! You-you stay away from me!” He snarled, stumbling to his feet and leaning against the back wall of the carriage in an attempt to lengthen the distance between them.

Vestra stopped, crossing his arms and scowling before calling out, “Guards!”

Suddenly, Felix felt the wall behind him give way — and open out the other side, causing him to tumble to the ground with a hard thud. He suppressed a groan, rolling onto his back to see multiple Imperial guards armed with spears.

Felix froze. Slowly, he looked back towards the carriage above him — where the mage was waiting.

“Now, if you would,” Vestra said, casually stepping through the carriage’s back doors and gesturing behind him. Felix could see that there were more guards crowding around by the minute — blocking any possible escape.

The mage kept a watchful eye on Felix as he sat up, the short fall doing nothing to help the searing pain in his skull. As he unsteadily got to his feet and looked about his surroundings, he realized with a sudden start that he was back at Garreg Mach. The Empire had laid claim to this place over a year ago, and Felix hadn’t seen the school since he had been a teenager.

… Now, Imperial soldiers littered every inch of the place.

“C’mon, this way,” one of the guards said, nudging him with the dull end of their spear.

Felix stiffened. He could feel his instincts telling him to resist… but even if he did manage to dart away from Vestra and his guards, he would have to contend with a hundred more imperials after that.

He felt sick with growing anxiety as he allowed himself to be escorted away.

Soon enough, Felix found himself entering a winding staircase, and eventually, to the base of a darkened stone hallway. They traversed through a line of dungeon cells, a place in the monastery Felix had never stepped foot in, nor even knew existed. There were no windows in sight, the only light coming from lit torches that lined the walls, giving the dark gray stones an orange glow.

They came to a stop in front of one cell door. Felix stared at the space enclosed behind iron bars, feeling himself pale with the sinking realization.

But, before he could think of any way to retaliate, Vestra’s guards shoved him into the enclosed space — and shut the cage door behind him with a loud rattle.

Felix’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he turned back to face the mage, who now stood on the opposite side of a barred door, sifting through a ring of keys.

“… What’s going to happen to me?” He heard himself ask.

Vestra gave him a quick glance as he seemed to find the key he was looking for, wordlessly turning it against the lock of the cell door with an accompanying click.

“I heard a few details about your capture,” the man said. “Seems you had no intention of coming quietly… yet, in spite of that unruly behavior, Lady Edelgard has deemed you a potential asset,” Vestra continued in an icy tone. “So, if an untimely demise is not to your liking, you would do well to demonstrate your utility with all haste when we next meet again…”

And with that, the man and his guards left — leaving Felix alone.

Felix uselessly pushed against the barred door in front of him, unsurprisingly locked tight.

He felt a cold sweat on his back as he stepped away from the door, trying to comprehend what he was meant to do or how he would get out. Suddenly, he heard a metal clang as his ankle kicked at something. He looked down to see a bowl with some sort of soup in it, as well as a cup of water. They were set near a flimsy mattress with several sheets thrown haphazardly on top.

He was meant to stay here.

He was a prisoner of the Empire.

Felix picked up the bowl, the full gravity of his situation finally dawning on him.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash as the dish was flung from his hand against the cell walls, contents spilling everywhere. He sank to his knees, gripping his head and tearing at his hair. A stifled sob escaped his mouth as he lowered his head to the stone floor.

How could I let this happen!? He asked himself desperately.

“Oh, would you shut up over there?” He heard a voice ask from somewhere. But he didn’t care who he bothered, didn’t care who heard him. “I may not be entitled to much down here, but I like to think I can at least be entitled to proper rest now and then.”

He tried to blink away the moisture blurring his vision as he wildly scanned the enclosed space around him, still hardly able to think with any clarity due to the dull ache in his skull. There was nowhere he could escape. He couldn’t leave… he didn’t even know for sure who was alive or dead back home.

Any of them could be dead, and anyone alive back home likely thinks I’m dead, he realized with alarm.

And he might as well be — surely he would be of no help to the empire, and once they realized that, they would have him killed.

He felt himself sink completely to the cell floor, closing his eyes and gripping his legs tightly to his chest as his breathing hitched involuntarily.

He stayed like that for some time, not knowing what to do or think.

Until slowly, one single truth permeated his thoughts, subduing the intense sense of panic.

Dimitri had to be alive.

Otherwise, Adrestia would have already claimed victory against the Kingdom, and they wouldn’t need to ask for any cooperation from Felix.

He felt his breath slow as he tried to will himself into thinking rationally. Blubbering all over himself would do little good.

That retainer said they would take him out for questioning or some such procedure. There had to be some way he could start looking for methods of escape once he was out of here. He knew this place decently well. He could get out. He had to be able to get out.

He couldn’t allow himself to stay here.

Chapter Text

It felt as if a few hours might have gone by before Felix saw the Imperial guards again. In the meantime, he had sat on the cold stone floor frantically attempting to formulate some semblance of an escape plan.

He had to do something when the guards came back to get him. Make some sort of progress.

But trying to think up any useful ideas with the splitting pain in his head was proving to be a difficult task. And, before he had come to any productive conclusions, his thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of a distant door and the subsequent noise of footsteps approaching.

Felix hauled himself to his feet, grimacing as he felt the searing pain in his head screaming at him to remain still. He attempted to ignore the horrible sensation as he craned his neck to look down the hall. Squinting, he spotted the tall figure of the retainer, once again with a few soldiers at his side. This time, he was also accompanied by a red-haired woman whom Felix vaguely recognized.

“Monica, please do keep in mind,” Felix heard Vestra’s voice echo through the hall, “that any spells used to retrain prisoners ought to be cast with the goal of keeping a captive, rather than letting one free.”

“Oh, I know that!” She shot back, clearly annoyed. “I just — well, he seemed to be attempting to hurt Her Majesty!”

“While I’m sure she appreciates your sense of devotion, there wasn’t a finger he could have lifted against Lady Edelgard in that state,” Vestra replied coldly, shooting her an unsympathetic look. “The imbecile would have been rendered dead by her hand if it hadn’t been for your meddling. There was simply no need to—”

“I said it won’t happen again!” She interjected sharply. “Come now, we shouldn’t lollygag and risk keeping Her Majesty waiting,” she insisted, speeding up her pace down the hallway as the men behind her followed.

Soon enough, the group of imperials had marched up in front of the cell door. Vestra reached into his pockets, bringing out the keys as he undid the lock.

Felix cautiously inched backwards into his cell, feeling a renewed sense of anxiety surge in his chest. His eyes darted between the guards, fearing there were likely too many of them for him to take on completely unarmed.

“…Coming willingly this time? Or is someone asking to be dragged out by force?” The retainer asked dryly.

Felix silently glared up at the group, trying to calculate his next move before hesitantly exiting the cell. As he stepped through the open door, he felt the retainer grab at his left wrist. Felix quickly jerked his hand away, taking a hasty step away from the man — only for Vestra’s guards to ready their weapons, a lance now pointed dangerously close to his back. The red-haired mage was quick to summon a spell in her hands, her eyes widening in alarm at the sudden movement.

“You would do best to think twice about starting a fight…” the emperor’s vassal warned coldly.

Felix clenched his jaw and slowly lowered his arm back down, resentfully allowing the mage to take hold of him.

“A wise decision,” Vestra commented as Felix heard the metallic click of cuffs binding his wrists together behind his back.

Upon leaving the dungeons, Felix found himself bombarded with an intense surge of pain in his head caused by the sudden exposure to daylight. He squinted against the brightness, feeling his vision blur and contort. As his sight steadily came into focus, he began to slowly take in more of his surroundings.

The Kingdom’s forces had suspected this place might have been repurposed as a military base, and it seemed that this suspicion had been correct. The monastery had been drastically transformed to suit the Empire’s needs, and Imperial troops could be seen milling around in every corner.

Eventually, Felix found himself being led into an empty lecture hall that had been refurbished to more closely resemble a war council chamber. The large, imposing flag of the double-headed eagle hung above a wide wooden table, illuminated by sunlight that spilled in from a nearby window.

Felix was promptly seated at the table. His eyes darted back behind him, seeing the retainer conversing quietly with the other mage — though from where he was, he couldn’t hear much of the conversation.

Felix took in a deep, shaky breath, scanning his surroundings.

There didn’t appear to be any doors aside from the one behind him — currently guarded by multiple Imperial soldiers. But there was a window nearby, which didn’t appear to be bolted down. Felix craned his neck, trying to get a view of what lay outside.

If he had a proper grasp on the school’s layout, this room should be toward the edge of the castle’s walls — potentially meaning that the window might overlook the edge of the monastery. It would be a steep drop off, but if he could get these chains off, it might — just might — function as a way for him to escape.

As silently as he could, Felix attempted to inch closer to the window — but before he could get a proper look outside, something else caught his eye.

Nearby, mounted to the wall amidst various armory pieces, lay a weapon he recognized. Its faint yellow glow and red crest stone marked it as a hero’s relic — and it wasn’t just any hero’s relic.

That was Areadbhar.

Dimitri’s lance.

The Empire had retrieved it after all, and were now in possession of the Kingdom’s most powerful relic.

The sudden sight of the lance had caught him off guard, distracting him from his escape plans. Before Felix could get a proper glance outside over the window, the doors behind him opened, instantly silencing the hushed whispering between the two mages.

He heard steady footsteps approaching behind him — and soon enough, Felix found himself once again looking up into the face of the Adrestian emperor.

She was adorned in a gown which somehow made her appear much taller than the small princess he had known back at the academy. A broad-shouldered cape was draped over her, decorated with long feathers the color of blood. Her hair was tied up in those strange horns, framing a golden crown.

Suddenly, Felix found that he was deeply afraid.

He hardly took note of the other man who had entered just behind the emperor. His heart beat like a drum in his chest as he watched the woman who would likely command his death sit down across from him, giving him a measured look.

Felix tensed instantly, feeling a cold sweat form on his back. On instinct, he pulled against the cuffs, keeping his hands uselessly tied behind his back.

“You know,” the emperor began, eyeing him. “You may find yourself unburdened by the constraints… if you can agree to show us cooperation.”

Felix took in another shaky breath, cautiously meeting her stern gaze. He didn’t know for sure how they might plan to make use of him. But he did know one thing — whatever time they spent on him would leave the Empire entirely unrewarded.

“Cooperation?” He echoed.

“The Duke of Fraldarius is currently the second most powerful position in the entire Kingdom,” another voice spoke up from his right. Felix turned to see that the Alliance leader had been the man trailing behind during the emperor’s unsettling entrance. The man was leaning against a side wall, watching the exchange with interest. “You might not be the king himself, but you pull a fair amount of weight with that title.”

“Are we correct in understanding this governing position has recently been inherited by you?” asked the emperor as Felix’s attention snapped back towards her.

He glared up at her, feeling a knot form in his stomach

“… You ought to know the answer to that already,” Felix replied resentfully. “It was your soldiers who claimed the life of my father.”

“Yes, I was… informed of that,” she replied evenly. “A small attack was mounted against an Imperial fortress within my existing territory — leaving a number of my own soldiers dead, alongside the remains of someone later identified as the kingdom’s duke.”

Felix’s gaze found the floor. He felt a heavy ache in his chest take hold of him, morphing into the sensation of a scar — not even slightly healed — being painfully cut into.

Of course, he already knew his father was dead. He had known it for months. Other soldiers had relayed that he had suffered a stab wound to his chest, and was then left among enemy troops.

But… to actually hear of his remains being in the possession of the Empire… was another matter.

“Now, then…” the emperor continued, “I would assume you might have … some guesses as to what we plan to ask of you.”

Felix stayed silent for a moment, feeling an overwhelming numbness fill his chest.

“I suppose we won’t beat around the bush,” the emperor said, seeming unperturbed as she broke the lingering silence. “You hold territory nestled between Fhirdiad and the sea off the coast of the Alliance. We’d like to negotiate its surrender to Adrestia, to cut a path forward into the Kingdom capital. If you agree to cooperate, I can guarantee that your land-holding privileges are not revoked. Granted, you must agree that any potential children of yours will not inherit leadership positions based on blood.”

Felix shifted in his seat, his gaze momentarily flickering up to meet hers. A small pause filled the room, and he could feel all eyes on him as they waited for an answer.

…Of course, he wasn’t actually giving the offer any consideration. That was out of the question.

But, he wondered how long they would attempt to break him — before deciding he was more useful to them dead.

The boar, while in the heights of his delusions, used to torture Imperial captives for hours, Felix recalled with rising dread. Now, I’m at their mercy.

Anything could happen to me once I refuse.

“I had Hubert assist in drawing up the terms of Fraldarius’s surrender,” the emperor continued again. “If you would prefer time to look over the proposal in detail, I will give you that opportunity.” She extended a red-gloved hand, pushing a long sheet of parchment his way. “The Empire is more than willing to bend its ear to any stipulations you might suggest we put in place before we request your signature.”

Felix blinked, his eyes finding the document lying in front of him.

His jaw clenched tightly. He couldn’t stay silent for much longer. They expected an answer of him. And though he may not have any proper means of defending himself — he would not go out pleading for mercy he knew wouldn’t be afforded to him.

“Tch,” Felix snarled. “What nonsense.”

“…Nonsense?” she repeated flatly.

“You already tried to take Fraldarius,” Felix asserted, attempting his best to purge all signs of anxiety from his voice. “And you couldn’t. You lost. Why should I willingly hand it over to you to secure a governing position I already have?”

Yes, that was right, Felix thought to himself with conviction. This wasn’t the time to let the imperials know they could frighten him. He had to seize any faults in their logic and show them he wouldn’t be so easily controlled.

“A small fleet of purely Alliance troops proved difficult for the Kingdom’s main forces,” The emperor asserted. “The truth is, we greatly outnumber you. If we were to cut through Galatea to your territory, unencumbered by the need to fit our troops onto boats, Adrestia would claim an overwhelming victory.”

Felix eyed her suspiciously.

“And yet you come to me all the same, requesting I willfully hand it over,” Felix pointed out defensively. “Why bother with me if you can take it by force as easily as you say you can?”

Admittedly, Felix knew it was likely true that the Empire and Alliance’s combined forces vastly outnumbered the Kingdom. The Kingdom’s dwindling chances of victory had haunted every conversation surrounding their battle formations. No one seemed to know or understand what ill fate awaited them all once Adrestia sank its teeth into their territory. And so, in the face of the Empire’s relentless assault, there was little more to do except continue to fight back.

“Oh, we needn’t trouble ourselves in requesting a peaceful surrender if you prove as stubborn as your king,” came a snake-like voice behind Felix. He turned to see the dark shadow of the retainer pacing the end of the table. “The way I see it — You’re being afforded a rather amenable offer. Fraldarius’s knights would be spared, you would be granted immediate freedom. And your hold on your governing position would remain intact.”

Felix’s scowl deepened.

“Hmph. My title isn’t some bargaining chip,” he spat resentfully. “I couldn’t care less about that stuffy nonsense.”

Felix had never looked forward to the idea of governing during peacetime. It wasn’t as if he liked war, but the responsibilities of a commanding officer were much easier for him to navigate than those of a ruling Duke. The idea of running Fraldarius’s government along with, one day, raising heirs of his own was something he would have to fulfill when the time came — but that hardly meant he was interested in the prospect.

The idea that they would offer his unwanted responsibilities back to him as a persuasive tactic was laughable.

“Well, then,” the emperor responded, sounding strangely surprised. “If you find yourself unwilling to bargain for your claim to power, perhaps you might consider this fact; one way or another, we will cut a path forward to seize and dismantle the church,” she asserted, her gaze piercing. “The only question remaining is, how much blood must be spilled before this is accomplished?”

“Yeah, avoiding unnecessary casualties is a goal I would hope both sides share,” the Alliance leader commented, approaching the table.

Felix stared at the two leaders. Their faces seemed serious, as though they sincerely wished to frame this as concern for lost lives rather than another grab for power and land.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe you care about the casualties of a war you started?” Felix asked in disbelief.

So many had died in the wake of the Empire’s warmongering, his father included. And for what? More subjects to tax? Some petty issue with the church?

The Emperor gave him a heavy look at this. She appeared as if she had something to say in response to this, but was cut off by a light nudge at her shoulder.

“You know, Edelgard,” the Alliance leader commented. “News of inevitable defeat is hardly something anyone would want to believe coming from the mouth of the enemy,” he continued, his eyes flicking back to Felix momentarily. “Some more substantial proof might be in order… to make him see sense.”

The emperor’s gaze remained on Felix as she seemed to consider this idea. “Very well,” she finally agreed. She stood from her seat, striding past the table and toward the double doors.

Felix felt his pulse quicken suddenly. He sat frozen in place, his mind racing.

What did they mean by this? What were they planning?

His mind returned to the memories of Imperial captives beaten within an inch of their lives. Felix now was as helpless as any of those tortured Imperials had been when faced with the boar’s merciless rage.

“If you would,” The emperor said, looking over her shoulder. It appeared she expected Felix to follow them out of the room.

Hesitantly, Felix stood up. He eyed the guards once more, feeling keenly aware of the iron chains against the cold sweat on his wrist. Swallowing against his dry mouth, he struggled against the overwhelming sense of fear threatening to make itself visible on his face.

“Your patience is admirable, Lady Edelgard,” Vestra commented, keeping a watchful eye on Felix’s movements. “Though I feel it may, as of late, woefully unappreciated by stubborn Faerghus nobles.”

Feeling powerless to escape, Felix allowed them to lead him out onto the grass in the courtyard. Numbly, he recalled crossing through this same field on his way to the training grounds. He had countless memories of walking through the halls of the monastery with Ingrid, Sylvain, and even Dimitri sometimes.

Now, he was brought through these halls as an unwilling captive, hostile enemies at his front and back. He walked in a dreadful silence as the group led him toward the back stairs.

“Hey,” a voice at his side suddenly spoke up. Felix jolted to the right, noticing with a start that the Alliance leader was walking next to him, giving him a curious glance. “I don’t think the two of us ever properly got introduced back during the academy,” the man continued, shooting him a sardonic grin. “I suppose an arrow to the arm and an interrogation don’t make for the… brightest of introductions,” he added, jumping into some kind of inexplicable chatter.

Felix shot him a short, quizzical glare. The man seemed to be taunting him, but he wouldn’t give any of his captors the reward of seeing him cower.

“… Could I ask you something?” The man asked.

Felix’s scowl deepened, and he turned his attention back towards the guards in front of him. They seemed to be approaching the passage to the cathedral.

“I’m certainly in no position to tell you what you can’t say to me,” Felix responded bitterly.

“Heh, fair point,” the man replied, amusement clear in his voice. “It’s just what you said before about ‘not caring one way or another about your title’,” the Alliance leader went on. “I just wouldn’t have imagined that sentiment to come from a Kingdom Duke, given the circumstances and everything.”

Felix didn’t know what he was getting at, and it was hardly what he wanted to think about at present — all he could hope to do was to survey his environment for anything that might prove useful in an escape.

“You don’t happen to be one of those devout types, do you?” the Alliance leader asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not bent on protecting the church out of piety or anything like that?”

Felix, confused by the question, chanced a quick glance the other man’s way.

“No,” he answered coldly, wholly uninterested in whatever game the other man was playing.

He felt the Alliance leader’s gaze linger on him, but he remained mercifully silent as they made their way to a vantage point that overlooked the castle grounds. The bridge to the cathedral stretched out in front of them — and that’s when Felix saw them.

Felix had always known they were outnumbered, even before the Alliance sided with the Empire. Even so, he had never properly laid eyes on the full combined force of the two armies.

In the dark of the previous night and the fog that had encompassed Dominic’s castle, he had no way of seeing just how truly overwhelming their numbers were. Garreg Mach by itself was too small to house the myriad of soldiers before him, and the encampment stretched out for what must have been over a mile. The vast open hills were littered with tents, soldiers, mounts, and artillery.

“You must have already had suspicions that what remains of Faerghus’s military can’t hope to protect the church for much longer,” he heard a voice say from beside him, but Felix barely registered the comment. He simply stared out at the incalculable numbers before him as he could feel his body begin to go numb.

Felix thought he might have heard voices around him, perhaps directed at him, but he didn’t understand them, couldn’t understand them. His mind had simply gone blank. He couldn’t even hear his own thoughts as he stared down the sheer size of their enemy’s military, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He could feel his right hand itching to grab at the side of his leg where a sword usually lay strapped, but there was nothing there.

He had nothing, could do nothing.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt the sensation of a hand on his shoulder snap him from his trance. Felix jerked away from the touch as the Alliance leader looked towards him, an odd expression on his face.

“I don’t think we’re getting much further with him, not right now anyway,” the Alliance leader said, addressing the imperial nobles behind him. “Let’s give him a break for now.”

“Very well,” the emperor responded mildly. “Hubert, I trust you can take him back down?”

“Certainly,” answered her retainer. With that, Felix was left with Vestra and some accompanying soldiers as the rest of the Imperials scattered back into the halls of the monastery.

“An obstinate display,” Vestra stated icily, approaching Felix again. “You are accomplishing nothing with your reluctance in seeing reason.”

Felix tensed, taking a few hasty steps away from the man. He jolted as he felt a guard grab at his shoulder, restraining him and halting any attempt at retreat.

That mage had warned him that he’d be killed if he refused to cooperate — now, Felix had done just that. He felt violently aware of the fact that he had the full attention of Vestra and his guards. He saw no way of defending himself — no way of escaping.

The mage began approaching him once more, and Felix felt a rising sense of dread form in his chest. Vestra appeared as though he were about to say something, but was interrupted by a sudden voice.

“Ah, Hubert, there you are!” called out an approaching man. “I have been looking all over the monastery for you!”

The mage stopped in his tracks, momentarily closing his eyes and exhaling.

“I am preoccupied at present, Ferdinand,” he stated, turning to scowl at the approaching Imperial noble. “Whatever it is you require of me can wait until I’m back from the cellar.”

“Oh! You are headed to… the dungeons?” The other man repeated, his gaze warily darting between Felix and the mage.

“Yes,” Vestra answered flatly. “The stupidity of Faerghus’s nobility truly seems to know no bounds, and someone has just earned himself a return trip,” he said, shooting Felix a pointed glare.

“I… hmm. Hubert, if you do not mind, I would be more than willing to escort him back down to the cellar for you.”

“Oh?” Vestra asked, his attention now entirely on the redhead. “And to what do I owe this proposed favor?”

“I am… simply offering to take care of him for you.”

“Really? For me?” Vestra scoffed. “So, it has nothing to do with our other guest staying in the neighboring cell?”

‘Take care of him.’ Those words echoed in Felix’s mind with rising alarm.

They had determined he was useless to them alive — and now meant to kill him.

He frantically looked between the two Imperial nobles as they bickered amongst themselves. It was possible that they were distracted enough for him to make a break for it.

Before he could think twice, he sprang into action.

With a sudden, intense bolt of energy, Felix ripped his arm free of the guard holding him in place, then flung himself in the direction of the exit staircase. Felix had no idea what he’d do if he managed to escape the small group of imperials, but right now, there wasn’t a thought in his head beyond the burning need to run as far away from his would-be killers as he could.

Felix made it all of five feet away before he felt a pair of arms wrench him backwards.

“Ah! Come now! You must understand that an effortless escape will not be granted to you when I am present,” he heard the redhead say as he struggled to keep Felix still. Felix fought with all his strength to break free of the man’s grasp, but soon felt another person take hold of his arms, further restraining him.

“Imbecile,” grumbled another voice. “Cease this foolishness now.”

Felix whirled around to see that Vestra and that other noble had a hold on him. They were saying… something. But in his panic, Felix could barely hear them, his mind racing with dwindling ideas of an escape plan. He yanked once again against the two men, but felt his blood run cold as he saw that even more guards had noticed the commotion and were beginning to approach.

“No! No! Let go of me!” Felix hissed venomously as he struggled against them, unsuccessfully attempting to pull himself free. He felt his pulse quicken with each rising second as complete and utter terror engulfed him. “You won’t take my life so easily!”

I’m going to die here, Felix thought, feeling himself pale with rising dread. I’m too weak to escape, and too weak to defend myself.

“Take your life?” The redhead holding him in place echoed. “I beg your pardon, but who said anything about… Hubert!” He suddenly exclaimed. “Did you cause him to think he was facing execution?” He asked Vestra, who seemed to only smirk in response to the accusation. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! What is even the purpose of such a needlessly cruel fright?”

Felix stilled. He stared up at his two captors, feeling a hesitant slow in his heart rate.

“I… you’re not going to…” Felix faded off, his mind still racing with uncertainty.

“Of course not!” the redhead said, allowing one hand to fall from Felix’s shoulder. “The Empire does not execute defenseless prisoners on a whim!” he added, giving a pointed look towards Vestra.

“And I’m sure that sentiment is of especially great comfort to you as of now,” Vestra replied, still smirking at the other man. “Though, there are all manner of happy accidents that may befall the noble creature who still clings to his life, empty though it may be.”

“…Enough, Hubert.” The redhead sighed, looking tired. “Now, if you would,” he added, giving the mage a pointed look and extending a hand.

Vestra wordlessly reached into his robes, bringing out a ring of keys. “Have it your way — for now,” the mage said coldly as he turned back towards the cathedral — leaving Felix with his guards and the other Imperial noble.

“Well then! Let us not stand idly by. We shall be off!” The redhead smiled, crossing his arms and turning his chin up before adding, “And you would do well not to attempt a second escape. For while you are under my watchful eye, you will find such brazen actions to be a fruitless endeavor!”

Felix shot a weak glare back up at the man. As the group began their return to the dungeons, he took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself. In truth, he felt a bit faint — and entirely unequipped to even think about how he might slip away from the Imperials.

Felix was led in silence for a few moments. The panic over his immediate survival had somewhat subsided, but that hardly alleviated the gravity of his current situation. Guards were still at his front and back, and soon he’d be locked away again with no idea of when he’d be let out.

“I believe we might have met once back during our academy days,” he heard the Imperial man’s voice say cheerily from behind him.

A pause lingered between them as Felix said nothing. He vaguely remembered that day — both he and the man behind him had lost their duels to the then-princess.

It was of little importance now.

“Your name was Felix, was it not?” He continued, unabated.

“It is,” Felix answered disinterestedly.

“Ah, so I remembered correctly!” The man exclaimed, his voice oddly triumphant. “Tell me — did Linhardt properly remedy your injuries this time around?”

“What’s it to you?” Felix asked coldly, biting down on the intense pain that still lingered from the emperor’s blow to his skull.

“It is merely that I — Ferdinand Von Aegir — am now a rather accomplished healer,” he answered. Felix noted with deep annoyance that his tone was inexplicably friendly. “After all, a noble such as myself ought to excel in all aspects. So, if you find your wounds insufficiently treated, you need only ask for assistance!”

Felix kept his silence at this. His head did still ache, but it now pulsed with even more pain from the irritation forming inside him.

“…What game are you playing at?” Felix growled resentfully, suspiciously eyeing the man out of the corner of his eye.

“Game?” He repeated back, seemingly unperturbed.

“The emperor’s vassal threatened to kill me last time I was down here,” Felix stated bluntly as he stepped down the cellar’s winding staircase. “Now you feign concern of all things?”

“Oh, you truly need not pay much heed to Hubert — I can tell you with certainty that he does not have the authority to make such a drastic decision,” he went on as Felix felt indignation well up inside of him. “Now, as I was saying — if you perhaps find yourself in need of more efficient healing, you need only —”

“Just shut up,” Felix snarled, halting his march as he turned to glare behind him at the man who somehow expected Felix to lap up his empty reassurances. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“…I beg your pardon?” Aegir asked, stopping as well to look down at Felix, bewildered.

“Stop pretending to give a damn about me,” Felix hissed indignantly. “I don’t know what tricks you’re playing at, but I’m not some idiot. And I won’t so easily forget who it is that’s keeping me locked up here against my will.”

The man behind him stayed silent for a moment, his expression falling.

“… I did not mean to impose undue stress,” the man said finally. “Though, I suppose suspicion is…. understandable.”

After that outburst, Felix was led back in a welcome silence, eventually finding himself shut behind the doors of a cell. Aegir undid the restraints on his wrists from behind barred doors — once again removing any real possibility of an escape.

Felix exhaled, grimacing in pain as he finally brought his hands to his face and massaged his aching temple.

He thought he heard Aegir walk past his cell and on to a neighboring one, beginning a conversation with the occupant. But Felix didn’t care to eavesdrop.

Felix sank to his knees, sliding down against the wall of the cell. He buried his face in his arms, feeling tears threatening to form in his eyes. He blinked them back furiously.

Instead of helping to prepare his troops for what was coming, he was here — trapped among enemies, unsure if he would ever see his home or the people there ever again.

The Kingdom’s army had no way of withstanding the Empire’s forces.

He briefly tried to fight the lump forming in his throat, before giving up. Felix could feel his tears staining the fabric on his sleeve as he buried his face further into his arms. A growing sense of futility took hold of him as he realized suddenly that, even if he were to escape …

It still may all be for nothing.

Chapter Text

Felix’s shield felt heavy in Ingrid’s arms as she clung to the relic, carrying it with her as she paced down the castle halls.

She had just briefly spoken to King Dimitri, who had begun blaming himself, as he was prone to do when hearing news of this kind.

‘We don’t yet know for sure what’s happened to him,’ she had said, attempting to believe her own words. While it had been a true statement, the king knew just as well as she did that Felix was likely among the dead.

So many lost to war were never properly recovered from where they fell — Glenn’s death had also been such a case.

That was just the reality of battlefields.

Even so, she was ill-prepared to give words of encouragement so soon. Upon finding herself alone, she realized that bringing the news to another person had begun to cement the reality in her head. Her mind seemed to go blank, and Ingrid hardly remembered retreating away to a secluded room, only realizing she had done so when she found herself seated at the edge of a bed. She stared ahead of her at the stone wall, feeling numb and sick.

It wasn’t long before she was snapped away from her haze by the sound of knocking. The person on the other side didn’t wait for her to respond before swinging the door open. Sylvain made his way in, his eyes dropping to the shield in Ingrid’s hands as he did. He wore a heavy expression as he slowly approached the bedside.

“So… he really was out there,” Sylvain murmured slowly, letting out a short breath. He was still for a moment before his expression hardened. “What the hell was he even doing before they invaded?” He questioned, glaring down at the shield in her hands. “I mean — no one sees him aside from Seteth, and then he just goes missing, only for his shield to turn up on the battlefield?” Sylvain continued, his hand resting on his forehead.

“…I don’t know. How should I know any more than you?” Ingrid answered. She felt her voice waver in something caught between frustration and a sob. She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes.

A small pause lingered between them as she felt his gaze on her.

“… Do you think he’s dead?” Sylvain asked hesitantly.

Ingrid opened her eyes, feeling a resigned sense of defeat overcome her.

“…It seems likely,” she heard herself admit quietly.

Sylvain stayed silent, his jaw set firmly as he looked down at her.

Ingrid may have welcomed a consoling presence right now… but she wasn’t so naive as to expect that from Sylvain. The man was never one for emotional conversations. She knew that well and good by now. He was who he was, and she had always made do with that.

Her gaze returned to Aegis, somewhat expecting Sylvain to silently take his leave.

After her engagement to Glenn, Ingrid had spent much of her childhood at the Fraldarius castle — growing up alongside Felix and Glenn as if she were already a part of their family. All of her biological brothers were already nearly grown men by the time she was born. So while the circumstances that had brought her to the Fraldarius’s were complicated, she had come to love them as something of a second family.

Yet, after Glenn’s death, Felix had lost himself — becoming quick to lash out senselessly.

… Now it seemed like forever since she and Felix had gotten along.

For years, her relationship with Felix hadn’t quite felt like what a real friendship ought to be. Yet, he had always been around as far back as she could remember. His family had been her family… and now this shield might be all she had left of that.

Ingrid blinked, feeling a numb coldness fill her chest. Slowly, she extended her hand to Aegis, gently tracing the intricate engravings. But suddenly she paused, as a painful memory stilled her hand.

‘If you want to inherit the wealth of your dead husband-to-be, you’re going to have to wait around for me to die as well.’

Felix’s words echoed in her mind, and the weight of the shield in her hands seemed to increase as she stared down at Aegis, feeling sick.

…I shouldn’t have this.

There was a sudden burning need to relinquish her possession of the relic. Her gaze found Sylvain’s, and she stood up from the bed, shield in hand.

“I…You-you should take this,” she said abruptly, extending the relic his way.

“What? Me?” He asked, giving her an incredulous look. “I uh, I don’t know about that,” he added awkwardly, bringing his hands up as if to stop her from shoving it onto him.

“Why not?” She pressed, extending Aegis out between them. “I doubt he’d want me to have it, and he actually seemed to like you on occasion,” she added, trying to fight the bitterness from slipping into her voice.

Sylvain looked down at her, seeming thoroughly uncomfortable. His gaze lowered slowly to the shield in her outstretched hands before snapping back to her face.

“Look, I’m just… not one for keepsakes, really,” he said stiffly. “I doubt I’d want this thing hanging over me.”

She lowered Aegis back down to her side, accepting that he didn’t seem to be wavering.

“I’d say give it to His Majesty, but… Well, you know how he gets,” Sylvain sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

Ingrid glared up at him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?” She shot back.

She knew what he was referring to, but she didn’t want to hear it.

Grief hit His Majesty hard, at times, that was all.

“Nothing… it’s just that,” Sylvain started before looking to think better on continuing that line of thought. “It’s…nothing.” He exhaled, his eyes finding the floor as he grimaced. “Look, all this glum talk, it- it can’t be good for us. Why don’t we go get something to eat and try to, I don’t know… Not think about all this for now?”

“I’m not in the mood, Sylvain.” Ingrid sat back down. Sylvain looked like he was about to protest before she cut him off again. “Seriously, I’m not. You can even take another girl for all I care. I know you sometimes do.”

“What? Me? Take another woman out?” He repeated, looking suddenly nervous. “ I— where did you hear? I mean—” he floundered awkwardly. When his eyes met her stern gaze, his ramblings faded off.

“I’ll uh… I’ll see you later then?” He asked tentatively, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded silently, feeling him lean down, perhaps moving to embrace her. But then looked to think better of it and stood back up — turning to wordlessly leave.

Ingrid was alone now.

With a heavy ache in her chest, Ingrid placed the shield against the bed. She let out a shaky breath, still feeling as though she shouldn’t be the one to carry it.

Maybe she should give it to His Majesty.

After all…

Whatever was left of the Shield of Faerghus ought to be protecting the king.

Chapter Text

It was late at night when Ferdinand attempted to carry out an impulsive plan. He had lie awake, his racing thoughts refusing to settle down, before his restlessness finally guided him into action.

Slowly and quietly, he inched his legs over the edge of the bed as he ran a hand through the sheets, trying to locate his shirt. Eventually, he brushed against the familiar texture of his cashmere undershirt, gingerly tugging it out from underneath the blankets and buttoning it up over his chest.

He delicately placed one foot down on the wooden floor, mentally willing it not to creak. After silently pushing himself up from the bed, he stood and crept over to the coat rack beside the bedroom door.

In the darkness, Ferdinand fumbled through the various articles of clothing hanging on the rack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally grasped a thick linen fabric that he knew belonged to a long, black cloak. Ferdinand ran a hand through the pockets, feeling his finger trace the cold metallic outline he was looking for.

His grip curled around what he knew to be a ring of keys — just as he heard the bed creak from behind him.

The bedside curtains were yanked aside, suddenly illuminating the room with moonlight. Ferdinand froze, hand still inside the pocket of a coat which did not belong to him.

“… Ferdinand,” came a dry voice.

Grimacing, the duke turned to see Hubert, who had doubtlessly just been ripped from his sleep. “Would Duke Aegir care to explain what exactly he is pick-pocketing from my coat at this hour of the night?” Hubert asked languidly, his voice suggesting he already knew the answer.

Ferdinand winced, clutching the keys that would hopefully still be used to access the castle’s dungeons.

“Ah! Well, you see…” The duke began uneasily. He hastily removed his hands from Hubert’s coat pockets, tucking the keys behind his back with an incriminating metallic jingle.

Ferdinand bit his lip and shut his eyes — feeling utterly and terribly caught.

“My my,” Hubert began sardonically. Ferdinand cracked an eye open to see the man sneering down at him. Hubert stood up from their bed and paced leisurely toward him, his arms crossed and expression caught between amusement and reproach. “It appears as if someone couldn’t come up with an excuse as to why he might be needing my keys this time around.”

“Hubert, I-” Ferdinand hesitated, unsure of what he was going to say. His gaze found the floor as a deep shame washed over him. “I must apologize for turning to such underhanded methods,” he finally said. “It is wholly unbecoming of a noble to act as I have.”

In truth, he knew Hubert would have likely given him the keys to visit the cellar, had he asked. However, it was just as likely that the request would have been fulfilled only after a tired argument Ferdinand would rather not return to.

“Hmph. As if I would care to condemn such behavior,” Hubert replied dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Ferdinand remained silent for a moment, hoping that Hubert might allow him to take his leave without more comments on the subject.

But, it appeared he would not be as lucky as he was last time.

“…Ferdinand,” Hubert started, his countenance growing serious, “We have an insurrectionist behind bars. A man whose complete and utter betrayal of the Hresvelg family warrants a swift execution…” He trailed off meaningfully as Ferdinand clenched his jaw, meeting Hubert’s gaze with resolve. “And yet, it would appear that your primary concern regarding this matter seems only to be securing this man’s comfort.”

Ferdinand bristled, looking away in frustration. Hubert had made similar claims as of late — questioning Ferdinand’s reasoning for reading up on the history of prosecuting nobles, and berating him for his frequent visits to the dungeon.

“I am hardly concerned with his comfort,” Ferdinand scoffed, fidgeting guiltily with the keys in his hand. “You, of all people, ought to know that I am steadfast in my pursuit to see him prosecuted to the full extent our laws can provide… I could not forgive myself if I settled for any less.”

“Such endeavors are best left in the hands of Her Majesty,” Hubert commented. “I’m sure she would appreciate hearing you express these sentiments,” he said, turning a skeptical eye on Ferdinand. “Yet, if matters truly came to the worst — what would you do, I wonder?”

“You believe I am being dishonest with you?” Ferdinand questioned, a slight bit of indignation seeping into his voice.

“Not quite,” Hubert clarified. “It may be more accurate to say I believe you to be dishonest with yourself,” he continued sternly. “You visit the dungeons quite frequently — filling that cell with his preferred meals, books he desires you to fetch for him, and other such niceties that the repulsive creature need not have. Such behavior doesn’t match well with your expressed desire of seeing him punished… to the full extent.”

Ferdinand grimaced, his eyes once again finding the floor.

“… If you do not trust me with access to the keys, then it is within your jurisdiction to prevent me from —”

“Oh, make no mistake — I know he won’t escape by your hand,” Hubert interrupted, taking a step closer. Ferdinand’s gaze hesitantly flickered up to meet Hubert’s, who was a mere foot away from him now. “But all the same, I believe these visits may have a way of… affecting your discernment in decision-making.”

Ferdinand tensed. “No… no, I know full well who it is that is down that cellar, and he is not the man I once looked up to. The person who served as a pillar of the Empire died long ago. I will support whatever decision our courts have for him once the time has come,” Ferdinand replied, summoning a voice full of conviction he wished he truly had. He looked at the keys in his palm. “But until then, I…”

Ferdinand sighed — Hubert was hardly one for emotional conversations such as these, as evidenced by his glassy stare. Perhaps it was best to ask the more straightforward question.

“Should I consider myself prohibited from going to him?”

Hubert seemed to evaluate him for a moment before quietly answering. “No… do what you will,” he relented, taking a step back and sitting back down on their bed.

Ferdinand gave him a brief appreciative nod before turning his back. He slipped into his shoes and picked up his bag, pulling his overcoat off the rack.

He glanced back towards Hubert, briefly meeting the man’s disapproving gaze. Just as the duke turned to reach for the door handle, he heard the man’s voice behind him.

“You only serve to humiliate yourself by catering to your father in this manner. I would have thought you were intelligent enough to realize this.”

Ferdinand paused, taking in a deep breath. He gave no reply before turning the handle and making his way out of Hubert’s room.

Ferdinand stepped outside to see that a light, cold rain had begun to fall. He braced himself, holding his bag over his head as he proceeded to venture out into the unfavorable weather. In light of the circumstances, he elected to take the first indoor path he could find. The inner halls of the castle were quiet and still, only interrupted by his own footsteps, the quiet patter of rain, and a distant rumble of thunder.

Ferdinand was just about to pass the entrance to the library when he paused, realizing he ought to grab the next book of a series pertaining to the prosecution of nobles while he was here. Hubert had expressed mistrust at his reasons for seeking out this information, yet of course, there was no cause for real concern. Such endeavors were simply a way to ensure his father did not escape proper punishment.

But all the same… an accompanying feeling of guilt seemed to latch itself onto him as he pushed open the large double doors and made his way inside. The room was silent when he entered, carrying a familiar wood and almond scent of old parchment. Ferdinand quickly made his way toward the far left corner of the room, where he ought to find the desired book.

Ferdinand squinted in the dim lighting, running his hands across various titles and slowly deciphering the words inscribed on the leather-bound book spines. He crouched, muttering the titles aloud to himself under his breath as he attempted to locate the book. After a few minutes of unsuccessful searching, he was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps and an orange glow of a light illuminating the bookshelves around him.

Ferdinand turned to see Edelgard standing behind him, lantern in hand. Her long white hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail that fell over one shoulder. She was dressed down, wearing a plain red hooded coat and a lengthy winter skirt. Her violet eyes held a worn tiredness to them, but he supposed that was hardly surprising given the hour of the night.

“Ferdinand,” she said, taking a few steps closer. “You’re out rather late,” she noted curiously. “What brings you here at this hour?”

“Ah!” Ferdinand said, hastily standing and crossing his arms. “Edelgard! … I fear I did not spot you when I entered,” he said stiffly, lamenting that he may have skipped the trip here altogether if he knew another unpleasant conversation may lay in store. He was not normally one to turn his nose up at unexpected company, yet his present situation was hardly what he would call ideal circumstances. “Never mind my presence! I shall be out of your hair soon enough once I find what I came here for,” Ferdinand said hurriedly, gesturing at the shelf behind him.

“Well, if you’re to succeed in that endeavor, you might benefit from shedding some light on the subject,” Edelgard replied, extending the lantern his way.

There was a momentary silence in the library, only punctuated with the light patter of rain against the castle walls. The duke looked down at Edelgard’s extended help, suddenly feeling an unwelcome twist of discomfort in his chest.

“I… Thank you,” he replied, hesitantly accepting the lantern from her outstretched hand.

Ferdinand turned back around, lantern in hand, as he perused the book titles. He noted with some… unease … that Edelgard seemed to be lingering behind him, watching his movements. He moodily wondered if she, too, might have a comment of some kind once she spotted what it was he would pull out from the shelf.

Ferdinand tended to avoid the topic of his father with Hubert and Edelgard. After the way those conversations had gone over as of late … he had decided the matter was best left untouched. But it seemed that choice was not always afforded to him.

Finally, Ferdinand located the needed book, quickly shoving it into his bag — but not before the title was, apparently, read by Edelgard.

“Ah, is that what brought you to our libraries so late into the night?” She questioned. “Hubert tells me you can hardly be caught these days without your nose buried deep into a research book,” she stated, “particularly those pertaining to criminal charges of members of the nobility.”

Ferdinand turned round to face her, his smile tight.

“Yes, well…” Ferdinand began unsteadily. “I am ever seeking to learn more, if nothing else! A noble ought to be well educated in all aspects, after all.”

“Hmm,” Edelgard hummed, looking up at him thoughtfully. “Indeed, you are. Though I, for one, do not believe your title to be the cause of your diligence,” she said evenly.

Ferdinand bit his lip, grimacing. Of course, she would not fall for such an obvious attempt to avoid the topic, he thought to himself gloomily. Yes, it was no secret to her that this was about his father.

“That trait of yours comes from you,” Edelgard continued. “Not your herita—”

“Very well. Say no more,” Ferdinand interjected, raising his hands in surrender. “You have me caught, Edelgard — but it is not what you believe it to be.”

“…Oh?” Edelgard questioned, her brows raising.

“Yes, I am looking into learning about how my father may be tried in our courts. And I am not ashamed to say it — that is because I only seek to learn how to best ensure that the scoundrel does not escape due punishment,” Ferdinand said, keeping a steady eye on Edelgard’s gaze. “He will be tried — fair and square, according to the laws we have in place, with nothing short of the utmost attention to detail.”

“Oh… well, then,” Edelgard began, seeming taken aback. “It’s good to hear you express such dedication. Hubert seems to have been concerned over that matter of late — tells me you bring a fair bit of gifts down there for him,” she stated. “He seems rather perturbed by the notion, himself.”

Ferdinand tensed, feeling a deep defensive itch come over him. Though she had framed it as relaying Hubert’s frustration, she had to share in that, did she not? Why else bring up such a subject?

In fairness, it was one matter to have Hubert berate him on Edelgard’s behalf, but it would have been another to face the prospect of Edelgard doing this herself. Many people would have been well within their rights to desire a violent revenge against Ludwig Von Aegir … and he had recently learned that Edelgard was one of them.

His father had been complicit in unspeakable horrors committed against the Hresvelg family. He suspected Hubert and Edelgard had not divulged the full story to him, but he now knew enough to understand that his father had a hand to play in the tragic deaths of Edelgard’s siblings.

Ferdinand looked back down into Edelgard’s eyes, a sense of guilt once again overcoming him.

What would she say if she believed me to still feel compassion for him? The question felt enigmatic and deeply uncomfortable as it entered his mind, filling his head with sudden speculations. Would she believe him too naive to confront the harm his father caused? Would she deem him lacking in his ability to hold wrongdoers accountable? Surely she must believe these sentiments on some level…

All at once, Ferdinand felt his defensive instinct burn with a sudden intensity — and before he could think twice, he had opened his mouth.

“Oh, please. You need not start this topic with me,” Ferdinand began, wearing a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Hubert has already given me an earful, and I need not hear another. I have said it once, and it appears I shall need to say it again — I will support any measures our courts deem to be necessary. And… whatever it is you believe me to be doing with this,” he gestured dramatically to the book in his hands, “is not evidence to the contrary!”

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard interrupted, her expression falling.

“You will hear no complaints from me regarding my father’s treatment — none,” Ferdinand carried on, feeling the need to defend himself grow with each word he spoke. “And furthermore, I-”

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard interrupted again — this time much more firmly. “… What is going on with you?”

Ferdinand stopped, suddenly realizing with shame that his voice had been harsher than intended. He studied Edelgard’s perplexed expression and all at once felt rather foolish.

“I… oh, I should apologize,” Ferdinand said meekly, bringing a hand to his forehead and exhaling. “I seem to have lost control over my emotions… in truth, I have found myself frustrated by Hubert as of late.” He paused, giving Edelgard an apologetic look. “Yet, you were the one who had to bear the brunt of my harsh words just now… and for that, I am sorry.”

Edelgard studied him, seeming thoughtful. “Well, whatever ‘earful’ you received from Hubert won’t go repeated by me. I, for one, harbor no feelings of resentment toward you for wishing to keep your father in decent spirits,” she stated evenly. “And I never have.”

Ferdinand blinked, looking down at her in sudden surprise.

“I … You do not?”

“No…” she answered, frowning. “Why should I?”

Ferdinand hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Edelgard had never been one to initiate a vulnerable conversation with him, nor could she seem to recognize Ferdinand’s own attempts at doing so.

But, still, the question lingered in the back of his mind, needing to be asked.

“It is simply that…” Ferdinand began cautiously, “one could understand why your… history with my father would warrant an issue with my… with my…” My concern over him, he thought but didn’t say.

Edelgard was silent for a moment, her expression more guarded that it had been moments prior.

“Of course, I would not fault you for desiring revenge upon those responsible for such gruesome deeds…” Ferdinand added tentatively.

Edelgard crossed her arms as her disquieted gaze found the floor.

“… Revenge?” Edelgard repeated quietly, seeming to mull the word over in her mind. “No, I must admit such a desire never crossed my mind. You needn’t worry about such a thing.”

Ferdinand looked down at her, surprised.

“…Never crossed your mind?” Ferdinand repeated skeptically.

“Yes… never,” Edelgard repeated, seeming somewhat impatient. “If we simply must speak of this matter, I can assure you that I harbor no such feelings.”

“But,” Ferdinand stammered, utterly perplexed. “Surely, someone who has suffered the losses you have would harbor some desire for personal vindication.”

Edelgard’s brow furrowed. “And why is that?” She asked, a mild indignation entering her tone. “Truth be told, I don’t see the logic in revenge,” she continued. “Violence has its place when necessary. But it ought to have a material purpose, should it not? Some tangible justification beyond the self-gratification of the hand which wields the sword.”

“I suppose there is sense in that claim…” Ferdinand said softly, after a pause. “Yet … is dispensing retribution upon the wicked not a pillar of justice? I have always considered it a duty of nobility to see evildoers punished accordingly. My father — noble though he may be — is, indeed, well deserving of any vengeance brought down upon him…”

Edelgard leaned to one side, seeming loosely off balance.

“Perhaps we share different ideas of what constitutes justice,” Edelgard commented. “The world is not so easily divided into evildoers to be vanquished and heroes to be honored. Yet, regardless of which category you believe your father falls into, those who have died at his hands are long since gone. All that’s left for us to do is ensure that such tragedies cannot come to pass a second time — a goal I have already seen through in regard to your father.”

Ferdinand watched her, taken aback by the unexpected sentiment.

“Your father was once a very powerful noble. So long as you can accept that the man must be kept from reclaiming status by any means necessary, I genuinely see no reason why you should feel shame in wanting to exchange words with him.”

Ferdinand took in a breath, suddenly feeling rather foolish. “Thank you for your words,” he said, genuinely. “I should … apologize for bringing the matter up.”

“It’s alright,” she said, exhaling. “You are more than welcome to… speak your mind in my presence. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” Ferdinand said, truthfully.

He briefly considered elaborating before closing his mouth once more, electing not to share more of his own complicated feelings on the subject.

This was a sensitive topic for both Edelgard and himself … perhaps it would be more prudent to let the matter go.

“Well then,” Ferdinand started up again, changing the subject, “might I inquire as to what has you out here at such a late hour?”

“Ah,” Edelgard said, turning around to pace toward a table, on which lay scattered with various books and parchment sheets. “I came here for some tactical research, among other work. It seems somewhere along the way I lost track of the hour,” she said, picking up one of the books. “Our plans remain up in the air until we can get a clearer answer from the Kingdom’s duke and, as such, I ought to be ready to navigate multiple paths moving forward.”

“Hubert did mention the man seemed as though he would likely … not be cooperative,” Ferdinand commented, remembering the brief hostile encounter he had with their captive from the kingdom.

“I fear Hubert may be right,” Edelgard said, dipping a quill and adding lines to a long piece of parchment that had been left on the desk.

Her attention drifted back toward Ferdinand with interest. “You say you’re heading to the cellar? Perhaps you can make this delivery to Duke Fraldarius for me,” she said, extending the parchment.

“Certainly,” Ferdinand agreed, reaching for the extended scroll and giving it a quick glance.

“I had thought securing a way for him to keep his title would bode favorably for us,” Edelgard sighed, “but after the man proclaimed his status to be utterly meaningless to him, it leaves me wondering if this endeavor is worth the time.”

“Utterly meaningless?” Ferdinand repeated, his brow furrowing in sudden perplexity.

“Yes, it certainly disrupts our plans,” Edelgard said, seemingly brushing past the awful affront she had just relayed. “For now, I’ve revised the treaty of surrender to include a sizable payment of gold made to him. I’m hoping this approach might make him more amenable tomorrow,” she said, crossing her arms thoughtfully as she eyed the paper now in Ferdinand’s possession.

The duke’s attention returned to the parchment in his hands with a newfound interest.

“Hmm,” Ferdinand clicked his tongue as his eyes scanned the document. “I should hope not! To think that someone carrying as significant a title as he would think so little of the responsibility granted to him by the goddess…”

Edelgard sighed. “Ferdinand…” she began, her tone warning. But Ferdinand paid no heed.

“Edelgard,” he started again, a sudden desire gripping him. “You ought to let me attend your meeting with him tomorrow!” He exclaimed, momentarily laying an enthusiastic hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps I may make him see reason concerning your first proposal. He is the late duke’s legitimate heir, is he not? That position ought to go to him once this war is over,” the duke insisted.

Edelgard brought a hand to her temple, suddenly looking tired. “Do what you will… though if you do join us, I must insist that you cease invoking the ‘sacred duty of nobles’ as a persuasion tactic. I have told you this before, on multiple occasions, that such notions will soon be of little importance.”

Ferdinand’s face fell, all his conviction suddenly extinguished as though she had doused him with cold water.

He and Edelgard had engaged in more than a few arguments concerning the future of nobility. They were conversations that… seemed to make little dent in her resolve, leaving Ferdinand ever perplexed and frustrated.

“But, Edelgard, I-”

“It’s late, Ferdinand,” she said, cutting him off with a wave of her hand. “Perhaps the two of us might carry this conversation on in the morning?”

Ferdinand closed his mouth, dipping his head.

“Very well then,” Ferdinand conceded, holding his tongue. “But know that you ought to take heed,” he said, smiling and raising a pointed finger into the air, “for I shall be steadfast in my determination! I — Ferdinand Von Aegir — know with certainty that I will show you the merits of the noble path!”

“Yes, yes, I’m very aware of your desires on that matter,” she answered distractedly, turning her attention to the pile of books sprawled out on the desk. “As I’ve said before,” she stated, picking up a few hefty volumes and placing them back into her bag. “You won’t alter my convictions. But, you are always free to … share your perspective with me.”

Edelgard finished packing up her books and other papers, promptly taking her leave.

Ferdinand, once again, scanned the document in his hand, lightly scoffing under his breath. Surely, all of the kingdom’s army must know they were vastly outnumbered with no chance of victory. What frivolous desires was the kingdom duke holding out to barter for if not his governing birthright?

Ferdinand found himself irrationally hoping that the Duke of Fraldarius might likewise turn his nose up at the promise of material gain. He knew any progress with their captive ought to be appreciated regardless of what the man desired to barter for, but… would not the best outcome be to convince the man of the importance of his status?

Ferdinand furrowed his brow, turning over an idea in his mind with some trepidation.

The Imperial duke glanced back out toward the library window, seeing Edelgard below him, hurriedly traverse through the rain, hood over her head.

True, Edelgard had just given Ferdinand a direct order to not attempt any persuasion tactics based on the importance of nobility, but…

Perhaps it was the years of Hubert’s influence on him.

Whatever the reason may be, Ferdinand found himself rather tempted to disregard her order.

Chapter Text

“Are you…paying attention?”

Felix looked up, once again meeting the emperor’s stern gaze.

He felt sick and lightheaded. It was hard to hear his own thoughts, let alone listen to whatever nonsense the imperials were now spouting.

The previous night had been a long, miserable blur.

Feeling morose and hopeless, he hadn’t mustered up the will to stomach whatever unappetizing meal his captors were attempting to shovel his way. As such, he had simply lain on his cot, drifting in and out of a painful consciousness — up until Vestra and his guards had shown up once again to bring him out for questioning.

Presently, the emperor and her allies had been attempting to discuss the possibility of Fraldarius’s surrender, though the specifics of whatever they were proposing hardly mattered.

“Would you perhaps care for a glass of Almyran Pine Needle tea?” Another voice chimed in. Felix’s gaze flickered over to see the obnoxious redheaded noble sitting in a seat near the emperor, opposite the alliance leader. “I, for one, find there is little better that assists me in concentration when I require it,” the man continued, leaning over the table to reach for a teapot.

Felix scoffed under his breath. “I can’t. My hands are bound behind my back,” he stated icily, rattling the cuffs for emphasis.

“Finally waking up over there?” The Alliance leader asked. Felix wordlessly shot the man a resentful glare from behind dark, and somewhat disheveled, strands of blue hair.

The redheaded noble frowned, cautiously eyeing the rest of his allies seated at the table. “Surely, while we are all present, our guest may be allowed the movement of just one of his hands?”

“Ferdinand,” Vestra said in a warning tone. Felix glanced up to see that the tall figure of the retainer appeared to be circling the table — rather like a vulture assessing its next meal. “Need I remind our Duke Aegir that this is an interrogation and not one of his tea parties?”

“I would prefer we stick to the term negotiation,” asserted the emperor, giving her retainer a pointed look. “And I suppose I don’t object to giving him enough range of motion to simply hold a teacup.”

Felix glared at the stone floor in sudden rage. This — their behavior — it was all an insult.

“Tch. Whatever,” Felix grumbled. “It’s not like I’d want your dumb tea anyway.”

Felix heard the sound of a ceramic ‘clink’ as the redhead slowly and awkwardly set down the teapot.

“In any case,” the emperor began, drumming a gloved hand across a piece of parchment lying on the table between them. “If you can trouble yourself to cooperate now, I can assure you that your allegiance to the Empire won’t go unrewarded.”

Felix hesitated, taking in a labored breath.

He still feared for his life, and for the lives of the people back home — but groveling for mercy he knew wouldn’t be granted to him was hardly an enticing option.

“You offered my land-holding rights back to me,” Felix summarized flatly. “I already told you, I don’t care about that nonsense, so you can just forget it.”

There was a following sound of a chair creaking as Aegir seemed to fidget restlessly in his seat.

“…Yes, I recall you informing me of that,” the emperor replied as she rested her cheek against her right hand. She reached for a pen with her left hand and began lightly tracing the air above the sheet of terms laid out between them. “Ferdinand tells me he left this updated proposal in your cell last night,” she said, tapping the nib of her pen against the paper. “I ordered the guards to bring it when they were sent to retrieve you. Did you happen to cast an eye over the terms?”

Felix’s gaze fell to the paper between them. He must have found at least a few minutes of genuine sleep, for he had no memory of anything being brought to him aside from food and water, the likes of which he hadn’t touched much of.

“No…” Felix answered dryly.

“Well then,” the emperor tutted. “I suppose I will simply inform you of what the latest offer was. Given you claim indifference to your title, I put forth a proposal of a sizable payment in gold made to you in exchange for your cooperation. Afterwards, you would be free to abandon all governing responsibilities and do as you please.”

Felix silently glared back at her. Of course, he couldn’t be complicit in Adrestia’s conquest for something as inconsequential as gold.

“I take it you don’t care for a boost in finances,” the Alliance leader commented, leaning back in his seat and giving Felix a curious glance.

“Well, as I’ve said before,” the woman across from him continued, slight agitation slipping into her voice, “the Empire is open to hearing what demands you might exchange for your allegiance.”

“And what could you possibly offer me that you aren’t already determined to rip away by force?” Felix growled resentfully.

He thought once again of Ingrid, Sylvain, the boar, and the rest of his allies back home who might as well be sitting ducks. He felt so uselessly trapped here, unable to do anything to keep them safe.

Felix took in a steadying breath as he met the emperor’s stern gaze with as much resolve as he could muster. He did feel a bit more awake than he had upon entering, but he felt no better for it. His stomach ached with the pain of hunger, and his head throbbed; his wrists hurt. At present, Felix could think of several things he wanted, but none of these frivolous wants merited a complete betrayal of everyone back home.

“Someone ought to watch his tongue,” hissed the retainer, glowering down at him. “You would do well to bear in mind that your life is currently at Lady Edelgard’s mercy,” he stated, pacing a meaningful few feet closer toward Felix.

Felix recoiled, feeling violently aware of the iron chains keeping his hands uselessly bound behind his back.

He was defenseless — a helpless prey animal caught in the snare of its soon-to-be murderers as it thrashed about uselessly for its life.

“Hubert,” the emperor sighed. “I am perfectly capable of handling this situation. You need not interject on my behalf.”

“Apologies, Lady Edelgard… Though if I may speak plainly,” Vestra said passively, turning his attention back toward the emperor. “It seems unlikely that anything sensible will come from this imbecile’s mouth. I would humbly suggest we move on to more productive means of advancing our path toward the capital.”

The emperor held her retainer’s gaze for a few seconds before her calculating eyes fell back on Felix

Felix froze, watching her slowly mull him over.

This could be when she decides I’m more useful to her dead, Felix thought to himself as he felt his heart begin to thud rapidly in his chest.

“Perhaps,” she said, not taking her eyes off Felix. “Though there is one more point made yesterday that I would like to touch on.” The emperor paused. “You asked me if I sincerely expected you to believe that I care for the people of Faerghus…” She said, holding his gaze. “I do value their lives. And I would not be waging war on the Church of Seiros if I did not.”

Felix stared back at her, his brow furrowed.

“I intend to create a world in which the church’s doctrine is of little significance,” she attempted to clarify. “This war — it is not in the name of the Empire, as much as it is in the name of those needlessly shackled and suffering under the Central Church.”

Felix held her stern gaze with resolve. He didn’t understand what she expected him to say about her so-called ‘reasons’ for such bloodshed. Yet, his response likely mattered little. Aegir had tried to assure him execution was unlikely, but that hardly seemed like a reasonable hope to cling to. His time was likely running short, no matter how he responded to her — and he wouldn’t go out groveling for pity.

“Don’t feign concern,” he muttered. “I’m not so naive as to fall for it.”

The emperor gave him a slightly disappointed look before standing up from her seat and taking a few steps to the door behind them all.

“A shame you must see it this way,” she stated tiredly. The emperor came to a slow stop, looking down at him, now standing a mere foot from Felix’s chair. “I’m afraid Hubert is correct. If you are refusing cooperation, we haven’t the time to spare on you.”

Felix felt himself pale. A numbness spread throughout his whole body as his mind went blank.

She could order his death with a single word.

And he could do nothing to stop her.

He felt deeply aware of his life at this moment — deeply aware every intake of breath, every small sensation and feeling that might be snuffed out by the woman above him, who seemed to slowly and passively weigh his life.

“So, if, in the near future, you find yourself more willing to negotiate with us, you need only call for a guard,” she said casually, giving him a quick nod before briskly heading off.

Felix let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He closed his eyes, feeling the pounding of his heart throughout his entire body. He listened to the sound of her footsteps behind him, followed by the creak of the large wooden doors.

She had left the room. Now, only the three men and a few guards remained.

Felix opened his eyes to see Vestra looking down at him, his expression sour. Attempting to purge his lingering remnants of fear, Felix clenched his fists together tightly, realizing his hands had been trembling.

“Well then,” the retainer began, pacing toward the table and crossing his arms. “It seems you’ve made your choice clear. Perhaps some time in the dungeons will coax some semblance of reason out of you…”

“Hold a moment, Hubert,” the redhead interjected, raising a hand.

“Ferdinand…” Vestra started, turning his attention down toward Aegir’s seat. “If you intend to ask me for access to the keys again, mere hours after visiting your father’s cell, then I-”

“Oh, no, no,” Aegir said, scooting his chair a few inches closer to the table and sitting up straight, his eyes fixed on Felix. “There is something of importance I wish to ask you.”

Felix met Aegir’s gaze, feeling decidedly… not in the mood to hear more from this man.

“During your previous negotiations,” Aegir began, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a scroll. “Were these not the initial terms under which Fraldarius’s peaceful surrender was proffered unto you?” He asked, placing the parchment down on top of the other proposal.

Felix clenched his jaw and took in a deep, steadying breath, finally feeling his racing heart slow.

He gave the terms a cursory glance, deciding that there were too many words to read just so that this man could continue to pester him further

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Felix answered noncommittally.

The Alliance leader reached out a gloved hand, scooting the document closer to his seat before answering for Felix. “Yeah, that’s what she gave him… Though he didn’t exactly sound all that interested in keeping his title.’

Aegir seemed to study Felix for a moment, his brow furrowed.

“… Is it indeed true that you claim no desire to hold your title?”

Felix scoffed. “Yes,” he answered easily. “What’s it to you anyway?”

“I must admit I did… not expect to hear such a sentiment expressed by such a high-ranking duke,” the redhead stated cautiously.

“Ugh, why does everyone keep saying that?” Felix muttered under his breath, glaring between the imperial duke and the Alliance leader. The latter of the two seemed to be leaning back in his chair, watching the interaction with some interest. “You people can’t dangle some stuffy title over my head and expect me to obediently carry out the emperor’s bidding in exchange for a job. You’re wasting your time if you think otherwise.”

“Stuffy title?” Aegir repeated, his eyes widening.

“Hmph. Perhaps you ought to listen, Ferdinand,” Vestra stated, laying a pale hand on the back of Aegir’s chair. “You are wasting your time. One way or another, Adrestia will claim her victory. In the grand scheme, it matters very little if one Kingdom duke offers fealty. And,” Vestra continued, glancing toward Felix, “in the unlikely scenario that he does see reason, his motivation would remain immaterial to our goals.”

“But, he is the legitimate heir of that territory. He ought not to shirk that responsibility so carelessly!” Aegir pressed, gesturing wildly toward Felix. Vestra only wordlessly scoffed under his breath, seeming caught between amusement and impatience for the other imperial noble.

“Do you not see?” the redhead asked, turning his gaze on Felix once more. “The test of time has shown that those born to the nobility are the best suited to guide the common folk under our jurisdiction. You have inherited a grand purpose by virtue of your birth that should not be thoughtlessly disregarded! Surely a noble such as yourself ought to understand this truth on some level?”

Felix rolled his eyes, recalling the various lectures on responsibility his father had attempted to bestow upon him…

Yet, this man likely didn’t care about anything beyond attempting to coax Felix into taking the Empire’s bait.

“As if the circumstances of my birth can tell you the first thing about me,” he muttered resentfully. “Just drop the lecture already. You know nothing about me. I won’t fall for some empty attempt to massage my ego,” Felix spat.

Aegir’s gaze became stern. “I assure you I mean every word of what I say,” he replied, clear agitation seeping into his voice.

“Then you’re an even bigger idiot than you look,” Felix shot back, unmoved.

Perhaps it was due to the years of enduring chastisement for Felix’s lack of ‘proper etiquette’ towards his royal beastliness. Whatever the reason was, he found he hated how many other nobles seemed to see nothing but status and titles.

“Your every word is laden with such perplexing notions…” Aegir muttered under his breath. “Very well, I see there will be no convincing you at present … Yet, you ought to consider my words,” he said, sliding the contract back towards Felix. “I shall pray that if you do decide to cooperate… You will sign your name to an agreement that entails keeping Fraldarius under your jurisdiction.”

Felix glared up at the imperial duke as he stood from his seat, the man still shaking his head as if still bewildered by the conversation, and took his leave.

Felix exhaled as the doors closed behind Aegir, feeling some small relief at having one less captor here to pester him.

The feeling was brief. The Alliance leader, leaning forward now that the most talkative person in the room had left, was giving Felix a sideways look as his head rested casually against his hand.

The Leicester noble reached for Aegir’s teapot, pouring himself a cup. “Hey… can I ask you another — somewhat unrelated — question?”

“Oh, what do you people want now?” Felix asked mournfully, glaring back at the man. The Alliance leader sat back in his chair, kicking his boots onto the table as he brought the cup to his lips.

“How…” the Alliance leader began slowly, looking to mull Felix over. “How old are you, exactly?”

Felix blinked, caught off guard by the personal nature of the question.

“…How old am I?” Felix repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just that, I was under the impression that we were around the same age,” the Alliance leader said. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“What?” Felix asked, bewildered, “Why?”

“I mean, you never know,” the man drawled. “Sometimes successions place some pretty young kids in charge of territories,” the man said, taking a sip of his tea. “I guess I thought the possibility might explain the… well…” He faded off, gesturing vaguely in Felix’s direction.

Felix stared at him. “…You think I’m some kind of child?” he asked, befuddled.

“Well?” The man asked, raising his eyebrows. “Are you?”

“No… I’m twenty.”

To Felix’s knowledge, he didn’t look especially young for his age. Sure, he was slightly shorter than the average man, but the one currently speaking to him was roughly the same height.

“Hmm,” the Alliance leader hummed, eyeing Felix curiously. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” The man shifted in his seat. “If you don’t mind me asking … what’s your angle here?”

“My angle?” Felix repeated, flatly.

“Yeah,” the other man said placidly, setting his drink on the table. “You don’t care for the church, or your status, and now it seems you don’t care much for the nobility either. So, what exactly has you so determined to stick your neck out for the Kingdom?”

Felix eyed him suspiciously, trying to scrounge up some kind of retort that would put the man’s questions at bay.

“As far as I’ve heard, the Kingdom’s got a pretty pervasive culture around chivalry,” the Alliance leader continued. “Is that what has you so nailed down? You holding out for the chance to fight honorably till the bitter end?”

Felix looked away, feeling a familiar sensation of resentment take hold of him.

“…Don’t talk to me about that nonsense,” Felix growled. “…There’s no real honor in waiting around for the chance to jump in front of a blade,” he added quietly.

A small pause followed this assertion. Before the other man could respond, the retainer cut him off.

“That’s enough time wasted for today,” Vestra began icily. “I believe it’s time you were escorted back.” Felix took in a resigned sigh, not seeing a way around doing what the man asked.

A few minutes later, Felix was being led back to the dungeons by Vestra and his guards.

“I have less patience for the insolence of those under my mercy than Lady Edelgard,” the retainer said, his voice low enough to scrape up from the floor. “And unlike the others here, I am not unwilling to chalk up any ill fate that may befall you to some… unfortunate accident resulting from another foolish escape attempt. So… perhaps, for your own good, you ought to take the time to reconsider Lady Edelgard’s offer. It seems you’ll have plenty of time to think the prospect over.”

Felix stayed silent. He wouldn’t give the retainer the reward of knowing he could frighten him.

Eventually, he was, once again, locked away and left in his cell. His food from the previous night still lay on the floor next to the cell door. He ignored it, making his way back towards the cot.

He wondered if Sylvain and Ingrid were safe. The boar at least had to be, but the other two… anything could have happened to them — killed by Imperials, or crushed under the weight of that monstrous dragon.

Ingrid and Sylvain could be dead right now, he thought to himself with an accompanying sinking feeling in his chest.

Felix slumped against the flimsy mattress, burying his face in his hands.

The last conversation he had with Ingrid drifted to the forefront of his mind as his heart sank further still. He let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling his eyes sting. He blinked against the sensation, turning over in the sheets.

If she wasn’t dead already, her chances were slim. The empire would gain nothing from sparing her life like they had his.

And, if Felix knew anything about Ingrid … she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice herself.

His body felt heavy, and his head ached. He didn’t know what to do. He was beginning to fear he might actually be stuck here indefinitely… until the war was over and done with.

I should have apologized to her when I had the chance.

𓆩♕𓆪

The air was bitingly cold as Ingrid walked briskly through Gideon’s castle, her right hand holding Aegis against her side.

She was currently navigating her way to the main hall, a previously grand open space that had been transformed into an infirmary in the wake of the massive damage the Empire and … that monster… had incurred upon them. The whole castle was bustling about, hurriedly attempting to recuperate and organize themselves.

Outside, a brewing snowstorm had begun to thrash any poor soul who found themselves out in the surrounding fields. To avoid the oncoming chaos, the kingdom soldiers and castle residents had all retreated inside, leaving the corridors cramped and stifling.

But despite the many faces she had seen huddled in every corner, Ingrid hadn’t run into their king since last night.

Ingrid sighed in agitation, grimacing as she noticed her breath fog up the air before her. The wall-mounted torches were clearly doing little to warm the wide stone halls. Ingrid pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders with her free hand — Aegis was ice cold against her forearm, nearly making her shiver.

Ingrid gave one last quick glance behind her to ensure she hadn’t missed the king in the crowd, then continued on.

She needed to ask him what their next moves were… and to give him the Fraldarius shield.

Ingrid rounded a corner into the makeshift infirmary. She stood on the tips of her feet, scanning the many faces for any sign of His Majesty. Annette had mentioned she saw him heading this way previously. But, at present, he seemed to be nowhere among the mass of wounded soldiers and healers.

Ingrid stepped forward, her gaze drifting across the room for any sign of him, when her search was interrupted by the sound of a nearby argument.

“But, surely you cannot mean that!” A high-pitched voice exclaimed. “These injuries… they could not have come from the white dragon.”

“Yes, they did,” replied an insistent voice.

Ingrid turned towards the squabble, seeing Flayn kneeling beside a young soldier sitting on a makeshift cot. His right arm propped up in a patchwork sling, a gash to his arm and chest beginning to form a nasty scar. Ingrid realized she vaguely recognized him — the young man had been one of the archbishop’s servants back at Garreg Mach, and had recently been dispatched to their army as an archer.

“But, Cyril, that…that cannot be right,” she heard Flayn insist emphatically.

Before Ingrid could turn to carry on looking for His Majesty, she suddenly found herself catching Flayn’s eye.

“Oh, Ingrid!” the healer exclaimed, frantically beckoning her to come closer. “You simply must tell me this is a terrible, horrid mistake!”

“Tell you what is a mistake?” Ingrid asked, hesitantly making her way to stand beside Flayn as she worked.

“The white dragon,” Flayn began. “She…it did not hurt our own soldiers, surely?” Flayn asked, gesturing toward the wounded archer. “What he tells me mustn’t be true… It cannot be so..”

Ingrid looked down at the small woman, confused as to why this should be her primary area of concern in a castle full of wounded soldiers.

“My brother will not tell me anything!” The healer went on. “He has been in a tremendous state of panic, the likes of which I have never seen!”

“Well, I’m telling you, the dragon did hurt me,” the archer insisted through gritted teeth, scowling in Flayn’s direction. “Why is it that you can’t believe me?”

“I-I apologize,” Flayn said to the archer. “I do not mean to cast doubt upon your account of the battle, and yet I…” Flayn’s gaze found Ingrid’s again, her eyes pleading. “Please… tell me this is not true…!”

“… I’m sorry, Flayn,” Ingrid admitted slowly, feeling a jolt of discomfort at the memory of the mangled corpses she’d seen left in the beast’s wake. “Many died in the Imperial invasion, but the dragon did wound and even kill many troops from both sides.”

Flayn stared up at her, the small woman’s expression suddenly hollow. She wordlessly opened her mouth, then closed it, before her eyes slowly drifted back towards the wounds at the young soldier’s side.

“There. You believe me now that this lady says so?” the young soldier groaned impatiently.

“But…I…I do not understand,” Flayn breathed out in a low whisper that was nearly too quiet to hear amid the surrounding noise. The dim light of her healing spell faded meekly as she studied the floor, seeming lost in a sudden shock.

“Flayn,” Ingrid began, concerned. “I must ask, what has you-”

“Ugh,” the young soldier scoffed, rudely interrupting her. He shot a glare down at where Flayn’s healing spell had just been a moment ago. “I guess I should just find a different healer. Seems all you wanted to do was argue with me.”

“My-my sincerest apologies, Cyril!” She stuttered out apologies once again, hastily rising to her feet. “I simply… I-I don’t mean to leave you, and yet, I feel I must find my brother at once…”

The archer’s frown deepened.

“But you’re a healer, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be able to help me get back on my feet — so I can keep working.”

But his protests were in vain, for the small woman had already taken off, yelling over her shoulder, “I shall return just as quick as I can!”

The archer exhaled loudly, gripping his side. “Some help she was,” he sighed, rubbing his arm and grimacing.

Ingrid crossed her arms, giving the archer a reproachful look.

“You ought to show more patience,” she commented. “All the healers have been working tirelessly to tend to everyone’s needs.”

The archer’s expression darkened suddenly as he glared up at her.

“I work tirelessly!” He shot back, gripping his arm. “I need to be able to get back on my feet to keep working,” he huffed as he looked down at his wounds. “But with the state my arms in, I-I can’t do much of anything!”

Ingrid’s brow furrowed, not understanding where the sudden outburst was coming from.

“… You’ll be healed soon enough,” she put forth tentatively, taken aback by the young soldier’s attitude.

“I can’t just sit around,” he insisted. “I-I can’t get hurt this bad again…”

“I’m sure your duties can wait a few hours, and injuries in battle are nothing to be ashamed of…” Ingrid had several scars of her own and wore them like badges. “Some might call them evidence of weakness, but I prefer to see them as evidence of a knight’s dedication.”

“I don’t care about that,” he shot back bitterly. “If I’m not strong enough to work, then no one’s gonna think I’m worth keeping around,” he said, suddenly sinking into himself. “You’re not a healer, are you?” He asked, turning his gaze on her.

“Uhm,” she started uneasily. “No, I’m afraid I’m not…” she admitted.

The archer’s face became downcast as he muttered, “Then what are you doing in here in the infirmary? You don’t look injured to me.”

Ingrid remembered with a start her initial reason for coming to the main hall. “I was… looking for His Majesty…I don’t suppose you happened to see him?” she asked awkwardly.

“…Him?” the archer asked, raising his head to look back up at Ingrid. “… Yeah, that guy came through here and sort of…” The archer faded off, his brow furrowing. “He sort of came through here and just… stared at us all for a while without saying much of anything. Then he seemed to leave real quick once this other lady came in here — I think she was this place’s count… but I’m not too sure.”

Ingrid frowned, feeling a growing sense of concern. “Well? Did you happen to see which direction he went?” She asked.

“I saw him go through that door there,” the archer said, gesturing with his uninjured hand towards tall double doors that led outside.

“He went out there?” Ingrid asked, suddenly alarmed. “Into the snowstorm? You’re sure of this?”

“…Yeah, I guess he did,” he replied languidly, lying back down on his cot with a sigh.

Ingrid rushed over to the large double doors, straining to pull them open. The strength of the outside winds nearly prevented her from forcing the door open, and she only narrowly succeeded in squeezing herself through the gap.

As the doors slammed shut behind her, Ingrid was instantly assaulted by the harsh, billowing snow. Blond hair whipped wildly as she grit her teeth against the sudden blast of icy winds.

Ingrid squinted against the blinding white. The horizon was but a haze in the violent downpour of snow… her heart sunk as she wildly scanned for any sign of King Dimitri.

Suddenly, she caught sight of a distant blue glimmer.

Apprehensive, Ingrid took a few steps out into the storm, peering out at the shape. Wind howled in her ear, and she clutched her coat tightly around herself once more for some semblance of warmth.

Ingrid realized with a sudden jolt of alarm that the distant spot of blue was King Dimitri’s cape, flying uncontrollably out from behind its owner — who currently seemed to be trudging through the knee-high snow up toward one of the watch towers.

“Your Majesty!” Ingrid called out frantically, venturing further into the deep snow. She grit her teeth against the biting chill as her legs plunged into the storm. “Your Majesty!” She called out again, attempting to make her voice heard through the overpowering howling of the wind.

“KING DIMITRI!” She shouted one last time, now a mere twelve yards or so away from him. The king turned with a start, seeming to have finally heard her.

“… Ingrid?” He questioned, his voice only just audible through the screeching winds. She marched closer to him, clenching her jaw under the icy assault of the incoming storm.

“…What are you doing out here?” The king asked, his brow furrowing.

“… I could ask the same question of you,” she said, squinting up at him through the barrage of snow. “Could we speak… somewhere less chaotic, Your Majesty?” She asked, gesturing towards the nearby watchtower door.

“I…” The king started, looking hesitant. There was a brief moment of pause, only filled by the billowing winds. “Of course,” he agreed quietly.

Once they were both inside the shelter of the watch tower’s walls, Ingrid hastily pressed her back against the door, shutting out the chaos behind her. She exhaled, dipping her head in momentary relief. “I must admit, when I went looking for you, I… didn’t expect to be told you had gone out into the blizzard,” she commented, giving the king inquisitive look.

The king gave her an apologetic grimace. “My apologies for being the cause of leading you out into such harsh weather,” he said guiltily, leaning against the tower’s inner wall, his arms crossed and his shoulders tense. The skin under his eye was a pronounced gray, his blonde hair somewhat disheveled.

Based on recent events, it seemed plausible that he may be attempting to avoid Count Gideon’s incessant questions about the attack, Ingrid supposed. After everything they’d had to contend with, it was hard to blame him for not desiring such a conversation with the woman.

“It’s alright, Your Majesty,” replied Ingrid reassuringly, dusting the remnants of snow from her coat as she tiredly took a seat on the watchtower’s inner stairs.

“I simply wanted to ask what our next move might be,” Ingrid added. Her home territory had been on her mind lately, as it now lay on the border of enemy grounds. “And I…” she faded off, looking back down at the shield in her hands. “I… thought you should have this,” she said quietly.

His eye shifted to Aegis as his expression sank further. A heavy moment of silence passed before the King eventually replied. “It may be that Felix was the last of his family to die fighting for the Kingdom… for me and my decisions.” King Dimitri’s voice was low and distant as he spoke. “Him, along with so many others…”

Ingrid watched him speak, feeling the beginnings of apprehension prod at her.

“I’m not worthy of such sacrifices,” King Dimitri said in almost a whisper, his gaze remaining locked on the shield in her hands. “I never have been.”

“No, no. Don’t say that, Your Majesty,” Ingrid said quickly, standing up. “You mustn’t… I mean to say that…” she stammered, unsure of what she intended to tell him.

In truth, Ingrid felt entirely unprepared to act as a reassuring figure. Everything had only just happened, and Ingrid was hardly able to grapple with her own complicated emotions.

“I should apologize,” His Majesty said with an air of meekness. “I do not mean to invite disagreements between us…and yet…” He shifted uneasily. “I know by giving the church shelter, I have also given the Empire the perfect excuse for invasion. Surely if I were misguided in that choice, the fault for all this slaughter would rest on my shoulders…” King Dimitri said forlornly.

Ingrid clenched her jaw, willing herself to be up to the task of talking through this difficult subject with him. King Dimitri’s needs take priority, she told herself with resolve.

“When you gave sanction to the church, you were only acting as you saw fit,” Ingrid said firmly. “And as your subjects, we would have supported any decision you made,” she said truthfully. “Yet…I believe you have done right in your choice to remain loyal to the church. As you said before, the Serios faith has been a pillar of our Kingdom since its very inception.”

“And yet, it was I who chose to shelter the church — though it is anyone but myself who seems to pay the price for that decision,” His Majesty insisted bitterly, bringing a gloved hand to cup the side of his face.

Ingrid looked up at him, and took in a deep steadying breath. She knew that His Majesty could sometimes be… resistant to the idea that soldiers’ lives must be used for the greater good.

Such disagreements had caused arguments between them in the past. Regardless of her own emotions, Ingrid knew she ought to tread carefully.

“I realize you have… a hard time accepting the burden that your role as king entails…” Ingrid said, attempting to move delicately along the outskirts of what she knew to be a sensitive topic. “…And I can’t pretend to understand how heavily that responsibility must weigh upon you…”

The king paced the length of the watch tower grounds, exhaling and closing his eye.

“It’s my fault he’s dead…” King Dimitri murmured distantly. “The fault for his death lies with me, just as it did when Glenn and Rodrigue met their senseless end.”

Ingrid stiffened, feeling her guard intensify. All at once, she wished selfishly that she might disappear from his presence.

Senseless, that word echoed in her mind as Ingrid felt the beginnings of indignation well up inside her. She should have anticipated a conversation like this lie in wait for her upon finding the King.

“Your Majesty, don’t say such a thing,” Ingrid said weakly.

“I should apologize,” King Dimitri muttered. “I can’t imagine you sought me out wishing for me to spill my anguish to you, and yet… Glenn and Rodrigue both meant so much to me… And Felix, he…” King Dimitri faded off, his gaze finding the floor.

Ingrid looked up into his eye, longing to be able to protest, to express how highly she regarded Glenn and Rodrigue’s heroic sacrifices.

But she remembered all too well how that sentiment had angered the then-Prince.

King Dimitri didn’t share in her pride for Glenn’s heroism, and he likely never would. But even though King Dimitri may disagree with her over the merits of sacrifice, Ingrid knew she spoke on behalf of treasured ideals that Glenn and Rodrigue had shared with her.

Yet, before Ingrid could begin to parse through how to best approach this subject with the king, a sudden realization seized her, sinking its way into her with a cold ache.

A memory flashed in her mind. Ingrid numbly recalled the way Felix had lashed out over her attempts to honor his father’s sacrifice. He had always been quick to express anger at chivalry, believing Glenn to have been deceived by such values.

… It wasn’t hard to guess that Felix wouldn’t have desired for his death to be spoken of in a similar manner.

Ingrid looked back down at his shield, suddenly feeling sick.

“Every… every soldier knows the danger of war, and regardless of the risk, everyone here all chose to fight for you of their own volition,” she said distantly, perhaps addressing herself more than the King.

Yes, this is true of everyone — including Felix, she told herself with resolve. No matter where his motivation came from, it had kept him here where he belonged, fighting with them.

She thought once again of Glenn. His death was the first experience she had ever had with loss. Ingrid had spent months unable to care for herself, months morosely bed-bound, months not knowing when she’d be able to carry on.

Hope had only come in the form of one singular belief.

…King Dimitri had to be worth this sacrifice.

“I know he didn’t die in vain,” she murmured. Ingrid bit her cheek, trying to steady herself under the growing sense of weight that only seemed to intensify with each word she spoke. “Felix may have claimed to spit on the values of chivalry, yet he still willingly gave his life for this kingdom. Rodrigue spoke highly of Glenn’s dedication. Had either of Rodrigue or Glenn had the chance to mourn Felix, I’m sure they would have expressed the utmost pride.”

A pause of silence lingered between her and the king, only punctuated by the howl of wind raging outside the doors.

Ingrid met His Majesty’s gaze again, and what she saw suddenly made her feel an instant regret for having verbalized the thought.

“Don’t speak to me about their supposed ‘pride’,” His Majesty said coldly. “You do nothing but selfishly put words in the mouth of those who cannot speak for themselves.” All at once, he was moving toward the door, a hand extended to the hatch.

“Wait,” Ingrid said, feeling a sudden remorse. “I’m sorry, I…” She said, pacing after him. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know how you feel about such matters and yet …”

“I don’t need to hear about it,” he said, warningly.

Ingrid stilled as a sinking feeling spread through her.

“I… Yes, of course. My apologies, Your Majesty,” she said feebly, dipping her head and giving a modest apologetic bow.

She probably ought not to say anything else, and yet…

“Your Majesty, you should keep this — not me,” Ingrid said, the words spilling out from her suddenly as she extended Aegis — needing to relinquish her hold on it.

The king turned around, eyeing the shield. His expression sank, and some of the harsh rigidity faded. “I… suppose I can,” he agreed quietly, taking the relic into his hands.

And then, without another word, he was off, leaving her alone.

Ingrid breathed in heavily.

A trembling hand came up to grip her face. She sank to the floor, feeling a whole host of unpleasant emotions engulf her. Ingrid closed her eyes, feeling tears roll down her cheeks.

Perhaps, she ought not to bother His Majesty for now.

She had always been the sort to seek the bright side of hardship. But as of late, it was hard to continue believing that grief had any power to mend her fractured bonds.

Chapter Text

Four days.

To Felix’s memory, that had been the longest he’d ever gone without a sword in his hand.

Now, that number was five.

Felix had no idea what to do with himself while he was confined. Feeling as though his present circumstances offered little opportunity for escape, he had found himself morosely sleeping through much of his time.

And he may have been about to drift back into unconsciousness, had it not been for the distant creaking of the dungeon’s door.

The faint sound of a conversation followed, and Felix recognized one of the voices to be Vestra. He groggily lifted his head, listening to the following clang of the metal door swinging shut.

Exhaling, he slumped back down against the cot and turned over in his sheets. That obnoxious redhead was probably coming down here again. To Felix’s deep annoyance, the man had developed a habit of stopping by Felix’s cell on his way back from… whatever it was the man did down here. Aegir had left the contract in Felix’s cell, incessantly pestering him about signing the emperor’s initial offer of surrender.

“Is it just me, or does Hubert still seem… suspicious of us?” Came the sound of a voice from down the hall.

“Oh, goodness no! I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything by it,” another replied. “He just has his own way of expressing his concerns. That’s all!”

Felix stilled. He knew who those voices belonged to.

Felix shot up, darting toward the edge of the cramped room. He craned his neck, and pressing his face against the bars — his eyes staring widely down the hallway.

Before Felix could even begin to properly comprehend what was happening, he was gaping out in undisguised astonishment … at two other missing members of the Kingdom army.

“Oh, Felix, it’s such a blessing to see you safe!” Mercedes exclaimed, hurrying towards the edge of the cell door and confidently laying a hand on his shoulder.

Felix blinked, staring dumbly down at her hand.

“Have they left you with any wounds? Ferdinand mentioned the possibility. Don’t you worry! I can make sure you’re all taken care of,” she assured— and before Felix could question anything, her palms glowed, sending healing magic coursing through him. The ache in his head vanished suddenly, accompanied by the sensation of a thick blanket of fog around his mind dissipating. He blinked a few more times, trying to mentally keep up with his current reality.

“I…” He began dizzily. “You two are … alive,” he breathed out the words, looking between Mercedes and Ashe. The latter of the two hung back a few paces, his arms crossed stiffly and his jaw set.

The pair was accompanied by a set of Imperial guards and a certain Alliance noble who Felix could see lingering behind the group, just barely in sight in the dim torchlight.

“I’m terribly sorry for the worry we might have caused,” Mercedes said, clasping her hands together. “Ashe and I were both overpowered in the fight at Annie’s home territory — but my brother found me on the battlefield, and we were fortunate enough that the Empire let us surrender peacefully.”

Felix vaguely remembered something about Mercedes having family in the Empire’s army. He had even reminded Dimitri of that fact, in an attempt to draw up some hope for her continued survival — though he had hardly put real stock into that idea.

And Ashe… Felix had thought his death to be a definitive fact. The man had no status, no family, nothing of great value to offer the Empire — and yet, here they both were.

“Hi…” Ashe said weakly. “It’s uhm… It’s good to see you again, Felix.”

As relieving as it was to see them both alive and unharmed, Felix noted with a quick turn of apprehension that there were no binding chains around their wrists.

Felix’s gaze lingered on Ashe, feeling a prod of suspicion stir in him. The archer seemed rigid with discomfort, his hands fidgeting restlessly.

“Why are…” he began slowly. “Why aren’t either of you confined to a prison cell?”

Mercedes’s expression fell, and Ashe bit his lip, his gaze fixated on the floor.

“Felix,” Mercedes began. “I know this must be hard to understand, but —”

“You… You’re working with them?!” Felix interjected, his eyes widening in sudden disbelief.

Ashe’s expression contorted, as if the accusation had struck him across the face. “Yes,” he admitted. “I…it wasn’t an easy decision to make…” He stuttered uneasily.

Felix stared blankly out at them from behind iron bars. He clenched his fists together, feeling his pulse quickening in anger.

It wasn’t as though he blamed either of them for surrendering. Though some Faerghus nobles may beg to differ, almost any course of action was more advisable than a shallow grave.

But … if the two of them had offered to help the Empire … that was something else entirely.

“After praying about it, and talking with the others about what they’re trying to accomplish… I believe this is the right thing to do,” Mercedes said, her soft-spoken voice italicized with inexplicable sincerity.

“What are you even talking about?” Felix demanded, feeling indignation well up inside him.

“I believe in the will of the goddess with my whole heart,” she continued. “Yet… I fear she would not have wanted the Central Church to become what it has.”

Felix glared at her, hardly able to hear her words over the growing sense of rag that pounded in his ears.

“And,” Mercedes seemed not to notice Felix’s darkening expression, raising her index finger thoughtfully. “Despite what Edelgard may say, I can’t help but feel a holy presence here. Besides, the Empire is gaining ground quickly — if Adrestia were misguided in their goals, wouldn’t the goddess have stopped them by now?”

“…What?” He scoffed. “You tell me you believe all this senseless bloodshed to be justified just because you think ‘the goddess’ ordained it!?” he asked, his voice rising, and his fists curling tightly around the confining bars.

“Oh no, I…” Seeming startled, Mercedes stumbled backwards and raised a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Tch. How ridiculous,” Felix muttered. “The goddess’s will,” he parroted, rolling his eyes. “Do you ever think for yourself?” He asked. “And you…” He snarled, turning his attention from Mercedes to Ashe. “What’s your angle here?”

“I-I didn’t decide to help them just because they have Faerghus outnumbered,” Ashe piped up nervously. “Or at least, I hope that I… didn’t allow that factor to influence my choice.”

“Then what is it?” Felix asked, now turning his ice onto the other man. “All that incessant talk about Knighthood and chivalry, and yet you turn traitor?”

Ever since Glenn’s death, Felix had always felt a deep disdain for chivalric stories — such nonsense only begets the glorification of death.

But, now that Ashe was a traitor, the hypocrisy of his admiration for dutiful knights felt like an easy argument for Felix to throw at him.

“I-I don’t trust the church,” Ashe stuttered, attempting with little success to bring more conviction into his voice. “Not after they killed my adoptive family.”

Felix groaned with frustration as he skewered Ashe with a sharp glare.

“Your adoptive father pulled civilians into his rebellion,” Felix reminded him coldly. He remembered the way Ashe had been in turmoil about his father’s actions and following death.

Felix hadn’t understood the intricacies of Lonato’s motivation, nor did he understand them now. But it was evident he had made some form of rash decision that endangered his citizens and had left his son in a state of turmoil.

Felix had been concerned for Ashe then, even going to check on him in the cathedral after their class had returned from the mission of quelling his father’s rebellion. Ashe had been understandably grief-stricken, and told Felix he regretted not understanding what could have possibly motivated his father’s actions, but Ashe had never expressed sympathy with Lonato’s cause.

“You went along with the church’s decision to have him executed then; what changed?” He asked impatiently.

“I didn’t understand why he did what he did,” Ashe answered meekly. “But…I think I might be putting the pieces together finally. A-and I think he might have had good reasons to oppose the church after hearing of what they did to Christophe.”

Felix stared between them. They seemed genuine, as if they actually believed the excuses they spouted, as if it might even change his own mind.

“You… both of you,” he growled. “You claim you betrayed us for some kind of superior ‘ideological’ understanding, but that’s not it,” he asserted with conviction. “You’re here because this is where your family is,” he said, glaring out at Mercedes. “And you’,” he shifted his stern gaze toward Ashe, “You’re just here because you think it’s where your late father would have wanted you. That’s all there is to your choices.”

“Oh no,” Ashe murmured, gripping the side of his head. “I- It’s not just that I…” he mumbled. “I… I just don’t know what to think.”

Felix noted, with some small amount of bitter satisfaction, that his assertion had unnerved the other man.

Felix was right, and somewhere — deep down — Ashe knew it too.

“It’s alright, Ashe,” Mercedes said warmly as she placed a comforting hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “You’ve put a lot of thought into why you’re here,” she said. Her gaze found Felix again as she continued, “I’m glad I could find my brother here, and yet I know the love I have for him isn’t what guides my actions. But…I’m very sorry to have upset you, Felix. It wasn’t my intention.”

Felix glared at her. He was about to open his mouth to fire off a retort before he was interrupted by a man he had entirely forgotten was present.

“Could I ask, is that…maybe what guides your actions?” The Alliance leader asked as he stepped forward.

“What?” Felix asked, taken aback by the sudden question.

“Well, it’s just that you seem pretty confident about what you think drives these two,” he began as he fixed Felix with a curious gaze. “…Aaaand with what you told me earlier, it looks like you don’t really believe in what the kingdom’s fighting to preserve…” he continued, drawing out his words meaningfully.

A moment of pause lingered between them before the man broke it again.

“You do realize you can barter with us for someone’s safety, don’t you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he leaned to one side. “Or multiple someone’s, even,” he clarified. “You’ve got people back home, right? Family? Friends? Maybe a girlfriend?

“I don’t have…” Felix stammered, suddenly feeling defensive. “What are you even saying?” he asked, groaning in frustration.

“I’m saying,” the alliance leader continued with weening patience. “If your only concern is for some people back home, we could guarantee their safety in exchange for some proper cooperation.”

Felix stared at the man, his mind, seemingly against his own will, conjured the faces of Ingrid, Sylvain, and…and…

“Oh yes, of course,” He heard Mercedes say. “The empire has assured me they’ll give Annie an opportunity to surrender.”

“And the same goes for Dedue at my request,” Ashe added.

“So…?” The Alliance leader drawled. “Any loved ones back home come to mind?”

Love. It was that word, and its previous implication, that was signaling his defenses.

“No,” he heard himself reply quickly. “I don’t ‘love’ anyone,” he stated, spitting the word out as if it had bit his tongue. “Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Well…if you do happen to think of any names you’d want to give us,” The Alliance leader said after a beat of silence. “… Be sure to let us know. Maybe take the day to think it over? Just in case anyone pops into your head,” he added. Felix averted his gaze.

“We should get going soon,” Mercedes said to Ashe. “I hear we were needed for some preparations.”

“Yeah… I-I suppose we should,” Ashe replied.

“Felix?” Mercedes’ gaze found his once more. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I truly am glad to see you alive, and I’m sorry we’ve upset you,” she said, her voice carrying that same perpetual earnestness. “No matter what side anyone is on, we’re all doing what we think is for the best, as I know you are too.”

Felix silently turned his back on them, breathing in heavily as he listened to the sounds of footsteps traversing back down the hallway.

Felix sank back to the floor, burying his face in his hands. He thought about the Alliance leader’s offer — about bartering for the safety of people back home.

Of course, it was no secret to himself that he cared about them — Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dimitri. Tumultuous relationships with any of them hardly meant he wouldn’t be bothered by seeing them hurt or killed. It simply wasn’t the sort of thing that needed to be spoken out loud.

Felix closed his eyes, exhaling into his hands.

Even if he did make the request, he knew a certain someone’s name would stick out as being a particularly high demand.

No… no, I can’t consider it, Felix told himself sternly.

He couldn’t put any trust in the people who had started this bloodshed. For all Felix knew, the Alliance leaders’ offer could be an empty promise — a trap. Felix simply had to escape from here, to talk with his allies, to warn them. Surely, he’d find a way out soon.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1172

Month of the Great Tree Moon

Southern Blaiddyd Territory

An unpleasant chill was the first sensation Felix became aware of as he groggily opened his eyes. He shivered, clinging to his blankets for what little warmth they could provide. Felix glanced toward the corner of the room, where a previously kindled fireplace had been keeping him and the other boys warm.

However, now the hearth was extinguished, leaving the bedroom dark and cold. He could hear the faint sound of raindrops splashing against what must now be the dampened firewood.

Felix blinked, squinting against the night. He could hardly see anything aside from the vague shape of the surrounding room — two other beds, and a darkened doorway.

It was possible he could get up to find the supplies to rekindle the hearth on his own, but…

Felix nervously looked outside his window, peering at the angular shapes of the nearby forest rustling in the wind. He knew the shapes to be trees, but the darkness always had a way of prompting his imagination to picture other, more sinister possibilities.

Sitting up, he wrapped the sheets tighter around himself, his teeth chattering. Tentatively weighing his options, Felix glanced in the direction he knew the other two boys were sleeping.

They were currently staying at a secondary Blaiddyd’s estate, a small lodge deep in the woods that was commonly used for hunting trips. Felix was finally able to attend the yearly venture with the royal family. After months and months of insisting that he was old enough — and strong enough — to accompany them, his father had eventually relented.

‘I don’t doubt you lack the strength to keep up. But if I’m to bring you along, you must promise me you won’t cause any… any unnecessary disturbances,’ his father had urged. ‘You cannot be a bother to anyone, least of all to the royal family.’

Felix had agreed hastily, the elation and pride of being allowed on a hunting trip filling his mind with endless possibilities.

When the day had finally come, Felix had boundless enthusiasm for the traveling, hunting, and sparring sessions with Dimitri and Glenn.

But now, nightfall had come. And Felix was the only one awake in this cold, dark, and unfamiliar house.

Felix’s gaze shifted between Dimitri’s bed and Glenn’s. His older brother was eleven, and had gone on more of these trips. He’d likely tease his little brother and call Felix a crybaby for wanting help.