Work Text:
Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near
Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed
Somehow you would be here
It’s been weeks since Fernand's family manor burned down and took his entire life with it. Weeks, and the pain is still fresh. Visiting the land is still difficult. There’s always a split second when he rides up one of the hills and expects to see his home in the distance. Then he sees the rubble and it hits him all over again.
People have asked if he intends to rebuild the manor, as if he can simply replace the history of the old and move on like nothing had happened. No, the rubble will stay. A reminder of who’d been lost. A reminder of what the commoners will do if they’re not kept in line.
The rest of his land—it still feels wrong to think of it as solely his land, rather than his father’s or his family’s—is another question. His lands are as dry and infertile as everyone else’s, especially now that no one is properly tending to them. Fernand is likely the only regular visitor, and even then his visits are infrequent, given everything else that’s going on in Zofia.
But these visits are an opportunity to get away.
Back with the Deliverance, if he so much as goes quiet for a moment, everyone starts giving him those pitying looks. Look at poor Fernand, they think. Isn’t it so sad that all his family is dead? Sometimes they even pretend to understand how he’s feeling.
Worse, they ask him if he’s okay, if he needs anything—not because they truly care, but because those things are what they feel obligated to say. And what idiotic things they are! Would anyone be okay? What else can he want but his family returned to him? Then they have the nerve to be offended when he inevitably snaps.
Fernand flicks his head in irritation, clearing those thoughts. He guides his horse to the rubble as always. Lingers. Remembers the smoke on the air that night, remembers only being able to have a final moment with Louisa. Then he rides off to the left, where there are smaller hills and some trees and remnants of grass. His family’s graves are this way, but he’s not ready to stand with them just yet.
When he reaches the biggest tree on the land, he steps down from his horse. He lets go of the reins to let it graze what little is left. At this rate of drought, his horse won’t be able to eat on these trips for much longer. That’s assuming the Deliverance hasn’t been squashed by then.
He studies the tree. It feels out of place in the desolation, but he can’t say that he wishes it were gone too. There are too many memories tucked between its roots and branches. Swinging a stick at it when he was a boy, climbing it with Clive when they were both a little older…
Sitting with his younger brother and sister when he visited…
The Deliverance is a heroic name, he’ll give Clive and Mathilda that. It sounds like the sort of group that Kaius and Lottie would’ve been thrilled to hear about.
Fernand sweeps his gaze over his family’s land. The grass isn’t quite as green as it had been when he was a child, but it’s still a pleasant enough view. The light breeze stirs his hair. It’s quiet out here, under the tree. He adores his younger siblings, but it always takes him time to adjust to the chaos of the house after weeks spent in the more orderly fashion of the Knights.
“Fernand! Fernand!”
He sighs, though there’s no real disappointment in it. As if summoned by his thoughts, Kaius and Lottie are running towards him. He supposes he should be surprised it’s taken them this long to track him down. By the time they make it up the small hill, they’re out of breath—but not out of energy. Lottie throws her arms around him from behind, and Kaius shakes Fernand’s arm like he’s trying to pull it off.
“Tell us a story!” Lottie pleads.
“I told you a story yesterday,” he points out.
Kaius plops down onto the grass in front of Fernand. “We want another one. You’re away for a lot of days, so you have a lot of stories.”
Well, he’s not wrong. And considering Kaius has settled himself in and Lottie is hugging him, what sort of brother would he be if he refused? He runs his mind through his most recent missions, filtering out the ones that wouldn’t be suitable for children’s ears before selecting a classic plot: knights taking on thieves.
As he starts the story, Lottie loosens her grip a little so she can better listen. But he still knows she’s there, even before she gasps at the appropriate points. Kaius is just as engrossed. Fernand knows that look in his little brother’s eyes; he’s sure it’s the same one his father and Louisa saw as he grew up. Perhaps one day Kaius will have stories of his own heroic endeavors. Maybe Lottie too, if she follows Clair’s path, though to this point his little sister has shown more interest in music and singing than anything else.
For now, though, Fernand is more than content to be his family’s supplier of stories, as long as his siblings continue to be a captivated audience.
All at once he’s back in the present. Fernand blinks several times against the tears threatening in his eyes. There’s no one here to see them, but habit has him keeping them back. He should let them fall, try to clear himself of his grief for the time being so he can return showing no signs of it, but he fears once he gives in, he’ll never be able to pull himself out.
And yet there’s a knife twisting into his heart, making it hard to breathe. Their faces full of interest and love—how had they looked the night they died? Had they been scared? Had they been asleep, or had it happened so fast they never knew until it was over? He knows it’s a mistake to let his mind drift along this familiar territory, yet drift it does, knocked loose by the memory of better days.
Lottie had been so light. Both of them had. But sitting here now, Fernand can almost feel her on his back. Clinging to him, just as glad to be holding him as she is to hear whatever story he’s telling.
Fernand sits on the now-crispy grass, just as he had that day, and closes his eyes. For a moment, he imagines that all is still well.
Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never would
Dreaming of you won't help me to do
All that you dreamed I could