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The first time Dimitri notices something is different about Felix, he lets it go.
It’s a small thing, really. Felix has been spending more time with Dorothea recently, which is a friendship that Dimitri finds both charming and somewhat baffling. She’d helped Felix with his dancing back during both the academy and the war—how to hone his influence, the best way to arrange the fabric and accessories so they didn’t get in the way of fighting...anything that wasn't swordplay, really. How to feel less embarrassed about the whole thing, Dimitri suspects, though he’d never ask. Felix had gone from self-conscious to wholly confident, and Dimitri has never wanted to challenge that.
It's nice that they've kept up the friendship during peacetime. Perhaps it's strange for Felix to spend so much time with her, and especially to stay overnight, but Dimitri feels no need to question it. Felix still spends most nights sharing Dimitri’s bed, and it isn’t as though Felix has been any less affectionate, in his own way. He trusts Felix, and that's the end of it.
(Of course it isn’t really the end. As ever, Dimitri is destined to prove himself a fool.)
“I'll tear it.”
Felix stares at the dress Dorothea is holding up. It's a nice enough color, but there's ribbons. Lace. Delicate bits just begging to get caught on things, and that can't be part of this. At least not right away.
Dorothea laughs and waggles the fabric. “Don't be silly. It's not nearly as hard to put on as it looks.”
“No, I mean that if you put me in that thing, I'm going to tear off all the hanging parts.” Felix hasn't even been considering how challenging it might be to put a dress on. Maybe this is a bad idea.
Dorothea pouts, but she still puts the ribbony cage back in her wardrobe. “Lin, do you mind if Felix borrows one of your dresses?”
“Feel free.” Linhardt glances up from a book for the first time since Felix arrived. “Unless it's for something fancy. Or outdoors.”
Dorothea pokes her head out of the wardrobe with an exasperated expression. “Lin, I would never pick any of your clothes for a fancy occasion. Besides, I don't think we're onto outdoor excursions just yet.”
Felix pointedly does not imagine wearing a dress anywhere other than this room. It's just—this is all too new. There's no point getting caught up in future problems.
“You wear dresses?” Felix asks, more to think about something else than because Linhardt's habits seem interesting.
Linhardt shrugs. “They're comfortable. And sometimes Dorothea has fun with it.”
“Only sometimes!” Dorothea chirps. “Trying to get you to cooperate with a makeover is worse than getting stuck with an understudy at the last minute.”
Linhardt nods absently, already back to reading. As though wearing dresses isn't anything worthwhile. As though none of what's happening right now is a big deal. As though Felix isn't even noteworthy.
It's the first moment Felix feels properly relaxed since Dorothea opened the door.
“How about this one?” Dorothea pulls out another dress, this time without as many add-ons. It's a dark green with purple embroidery at the cuffs. Simple, but still pretty.
“Oh.” Felix can't stop staring at it. “That looks, uh. Better.”
“Sounds like we've got a winner.” Dorothea reaches out a hand. Felix pulls on every remaining reserve of bravery, and takes it.
The next time Dimitri notices Felix acting oddly soon becomes the third time, and then the fifth. The seventh. Eventually, Dimitri stops counting.
Whatever this is, whatever Felix is hiding, Dimitri is truly not overly concerned about the details. He is curious, but he is also grateful. The mantle of power and duty weighs heavy on his shoulders, but the knowledge that Felix can have secrets, can spend his free time with Dorothea Arnault instead of solely and constantly training his skill with the sword—these are the things which make that burden worth carrying.
There is regret alongside it. Regret that this is not the world they grew up in. Regret that whatever has Felix jumpy one moment and clinging tightly the next is something he is only engaging with now. Life has not been kind to any of them. Dimitri tries not to take all of that onto himself any longer. It is a work in progress. All of his friends help to keep him honest in this, and Felix most of all.
Life may not have been patient with Felix, but Dimitri can be. He has been learning. In some ways, putting it into practice feels like the slow process of healing a wound.
The dresses are getting easier. Dorothea’s figured out the style that suits Felix best, which is—fine. It’s normal and fine and Felix only feels regular things about it.
They’ve moved onto accessories, now that Felix is comfortable moving around in clothing that flows rather than clings. Though some parts of the gowns do cling, especially around the shoulders and certain areas of the chest, and that’s—sometimes it’s not good. Sometimes it’s outright bad.
Dorothea’s helpful. Felix isn’t sure if she knows how to help because she’s known other people like this or if it’s something to do with knowing how to wear a costume and become someone else. That’s as far as Felix can think about what ‘this’ is before the cliff’s edge starts to crumble and loose rocks tumble into the chasm below.
Whatever. It’s fine. Felix doesn’t dwell on it, so there’s no reason at all for opening the clasp on a brooch to result in it slipping from shaky hands and cutting just deep enough to make Felix’s thumb bleed.
Felix is aware, in a distant, secondhand sort of way, that there are fathers who tell their sons that men should not cry. For all the strain in their relationship, that was not a lesson Rodrigue ever tried to impart on Felix. The reasons Felix abandoned the emotional displays of childhood never had anything to do with masculinity.
And yet, something about sitting at Dorothea’s dressing table and feeling nothing at all like a man has tears slipping down Felix’s face more easily than they have in well over a decade. Maybe it’s the nerves. Maybe it’s the honesty. Maybe it’s one of the thousand factors that Felix still doesn’t fully grasp.
Whatever it is, it’s getting increasingly difficult to hide.
The last time goes like this:
Dimitri returns to his rooms, which he already thinks of as their shared rooms, but which will not technically be so until he finally gets the courage to ask for Felix’s hand. Or until Felix puts them both out of their misery and asks himself.
That is not the point. It’s something Dimitri has been thinking about more and more as he has felt Felix’s recent absence, but it’s not what he’s focusing on when he sees Felix standing in the middle of the sitting room.
Specifically, when he sees Felix’s face. More specifically, Felix’s mouth. Most specifically, the smudge of color just at the edge of Felix’s lower lip.
“Felix,” Dimitri says, with a vague sense of bewilderment. “Is there lipstick on your face?”
Felix goes pale and reaches up a hand to wipe at his mouth. It doesn’t succeed in removing the smudge. “I’m not cheating on you.”
“I know.” Dimitri says, because he does, and despite his recent worries, he’s never once doubted Felix’s fidelity. “Is that a roundabout way of saying yes?”
“I—” Felix’s hand drops. He…the hand is shaking. Felix is shaking. Felix, who does not show fear against a horde of enemies. Felix, who is brave and bold to love Dimitri despite every hardship they’ve faced.
Felix, whose core has always been so tender and emotional. How could Dimitri ever forget that?
“Is this related to the time you’ve been spending with Dorothea?” Dimitri makes an effort to sound merely curious, rather than carefully neutral. He does not wish to make Felix feel defensive.
Felix’s shoulders curl up. “Um. Yes.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything more.” Dimitri steps closer, relieved when Felix does not flinch away. “Your private matters are your own business.”
Felix’s eyes close, and Dimitri recognizes the look of a deep breath in for strength. “I like dresses.” Eyes which are normally so sharp open wide again, and there is both anxiety and fierceness in them now. “Wearing them, I mean. And maybe more. We were experimenting with makeup today, and I told her I wanted to try taking it off on my own. Clearly I have more to learn.”
That last is said with a more familiar annoyance, and Dimitri smiles helplessly. “It is only a small smudge. I doubt most people study your face as closely as I do.”
“They’d still notice. It’s lipstick on the Duke’s face. Of course they’d see.” Furrowed brows. The anxiety overcomes the ferocity. “I’m not ready for that yet.”
Yet.
Dimitri realizes, sharply and suddenly, that this is not mere curiosity. It is not a bedroom game. It is not indulging a friend’s exuberance.
This is something very real. This is a change in the person Dimitri has known for nearly the entirety of both their lives.
Dimitri wants so badly to get this right.
“Of course. Whatever pace you prefer.” This he does say with care, because he cannot do otherwise. He sees those eyes widen with recognition of what’s been revealed. There is a brief flash of fear, and Dimitri only now truly understands the shift in emotional clarity.
Dimitri is not so foolish as to believe women are broadly more emotional or delicate than men. He knows far better than that.
And yet, the femininity he’s seeing here seems to come alongside a certain tenderness. New softness fits along edges which are normally so sharp as to cut without intent. It is, perhaps, a better view of the rose hidden behind the thorns.
The possibility of error, and the pain it might inflict, threatens to petrify him. But Dimitri has not weathered the horrors of his past only to lose himself to fear now. “What should I call you?”
“Felix.” Familiar steel, recognizable even draped in silk. “I’m still Felix. I see no reason why I should call myself anything else.”
Dimitri is often fond of Felix’s stubbornness, and it is a comfort to hear it now. “Of course. And otherwise? Should I…that is, would you prefer to be referred to as a woman?”
Here, Felix looks away. The hesitance has returned. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.”
Where there might normally be defensiveness, now Felix shows Dimitri an honest anxiety. He does not know what exactly about all of this makes Felix’s emotions come easier. He is only relieved that Felix no longer feels a need to hide.
“I understand.” Dimitri allows his voice to be openly gentle in a way that typically makes Felix bristle. He is fortunate in his gamble, for Felix’s shoulders relax, and those lovely eyes meet Dimitri’s once again. “Felix, of course I understand. If ever you wish for me to change how I address you, in public or in private, you need only say so. I will not question you.”
Neither of them acknowledge why Dimitri understands so easily. It is not the same, but Dimitri knows very well what it is to be uncertain of the skin stretching over bone, to not know the right name for the thing emerging into the light of day. It is difficult. It is painful. Dimitri imagines (hopes, fervent and desperate) that the pain is not so visceral for Felix. Still, Dimitri intends to be here for every step of the way and to ease Felix’s burden whenever possible.
“I know you won’t. I always knew you wouldn’t.” Felix’s arms cross, each hand clutching the opposite bicep. There is a fragility to the pose that Dimitri has rarely seen on Felix. He hopes it is not too terrible of him to find it beautiful. “I don’t know why it was so hard to tell you about this. Obviously you aren’t rejecting me. It’s you.”
Surely it ought to be impossible for Dimitri to fall even further in love with Felix. And yet, here they are. “I don’t begrudge you taking your time and space. I did realize that something was going on, but I trusted you to tell me when you were ready. And now you have.”
“Only because I was backed into a corner.” Felix scoffs, but there’s dampness in it. Goddess, are those tears on Felix’s cheeks? If there is a way for Dimitri to resist bringing up his palms to cup Felix’s face and swipe away the tears with his thumbs, then Dimitri prays never to learn it. “You—look, I know I’m being pathetic.”
“Never,” Dimitri whispers, awestruck. “You could never be that. You are so brave, my love. You have no idea…oh Felix, I swear I have never loved you so much as I do at this moment. I never could’ve guessed it was possible to love you more, and yet you keep showing me that it is.”
The tears come stronger now, but Felix’s lovely mouth curves upward, lipstick smudge and all. “I love you too.”
Dimitri had anticipated being called insufferable or dramatic or at the very least a fool. To hear this instead is almost more than he can bear. He leans in and slots his lips over Felix’s, drawn like fate, like destiny, like choice. Choice, over and over again.
Felix’s arms come around Dimitri’s neck, lying gently over his shoulders. Dimitri wonders how lipstick will change the texture of their kisses. He imagines color staining his mouth, proof of Felix’s affection. He groans, and Felix gasps so sweetly that it takes Dimitri’s breath away.
It is the last time Dimitri wonders what is different about Felix.
It is the first time Dimitri begins to know the shape of his future wife.
Revisiting Early United Fódlan
Volume 6: Queer Histories
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, first and last king of United Fódlan, made waves in nearly every area of his life. His ascension to the throne was tumultuous to say the least, and his slow yet insistent push for commoners to hold equivalent political power to the established council of lords resulted in a dozen officially accounted assassination attempts (and likely many more that were dealt with outside of the formal legal system).
[For a more complete history of Dimitri Blaiddyd’s time on the throne, see Revisiting Early United Fódlan Volume 3: The Savior King and its ancillary materials.]
One of the few areas in which he seemed to follow the more traditional expectations of the era was his eventual marriage. Over the years, some scholars have pointed to contemporary letters which seemed to indicate that King Dimitri had intentions to take a male consort. While not unheard of, it was uncommon, and many have speculated that his choice to take a wife was due to an interest in appeasing the traditionalists who opposed nearly every major change in his rule.
The usual assumption historians have agreed upon is that King Dimitri’s possible male lover was his close advisor, Felix Hugo Fraldarius. There is clear evidence that they were close since childhood, and anyone with even a minor interest in Duke Felix knows of the infamous passage, written approximately a decade after their deaths:
“...when Dimitri finally passed, it is said that Felix's grief was more potent even than the queen's.”
Recent linguistic breakthroughs (particularly from Jaekel, et al.) have given thousands of documents from early United Fódlan’s history new context. For many, it was the new details of political implications that caught immediate attention. However, historians with a focus on queer and feminist histories took the opportunity to reexamine Dimitri’s queen. Given how often King Dimitri wrote of his friends and loved ones in his diaries (usually with incredible, affectionate detail), it has always seemed strange that he only referred to his wife as ‘the queen’.
At last, we can understand why. It was not a lack of affection which caused Dimitri to refer to his wife by her title, and he wrote of her far more frequently than previously assumed. In fact, he wrote of her more than anyone else (though Dedue Molinaro, first ambassador to Duscur, is a very close second).
Though no one in that era would have used the term “transgender” (and in fact, we have thus far not discovered any contemporary language used for gender non-conforming individuals), it is now clear that around age twenty-five, Felix Fraldarius was no longer referred to as a man. This also puts to rest the question of an estranged sister—the reason feminine terms were sometimes used in missives which seemed intended for Felix alone is because Duke Felix (and soon after the public transition, Queen Felix) was a woman.
It is unlikely that we will ever know the details of Felix’s thoughts on her gender. She never kept a journal, and King Dimitri was always careful never to put intimate or confidential information into his personal diary.
There is, however, one piece of writing we can point to as evidence of Felix’s feelings on the matter. We do not know when it was written, only that Dimitri seems to have treasured it. The note was carefully preserved in one of his diaries, and at the time of this volume’s publication, is on display at the Farghean History Museum (located in what was once the Royal Palace of Fhirdiad).
Despite all we will never know about the private lives of King Dimitri and Queen Felix, it is this author’s opinion that their marriage must have been a happy one. Nameless no longer, Dimitri’s wife once wrote him the following:
You make me feel like a queen.