Work Text:
He found Byleth in the back of the dark cathedral far too often. Since their return to the monastery, Felix saw her guilt in subtle moments that the others seemingly did not. He knew they ignored it, they focused on the future, each of them struggling to bear the weight of their own guilt and trauma. Byleth's guilt was most obvious to him each evening as she left the dining hall, it was in the set of her brow as she stepped through the threshold and into each night. Some evenings it was so apparent to him, that he was simply unable to rest knowing she was in turmoil. Following her was the only thing he knew to do without invading her personal boundaries. A few of these times she had retired to her room, once or twice she was with the monastery cats, and twice he’d found her sitting beside the grave of Jeralt. Each time he followed her, he could not shake the feeling that she was allowing her guilt to consume her mind, regardless of how unstoppable and cunning she continued to be in battle. It had been more than a few moons now, and he knew that was she struggling with any of this, the great Ashen Demon would not burden her precious students with any of it.
The night’s air was crisp and chill despite The Great Tree Moon now ruling the skies. It was reminiscent of the days when the war first began five years ago. How the entire atmosphere in the monastery had shifted upon the news of war that was approaching its doorstep. She had given her direction to each of them, what they were to do to ensure the safety of each other and the remaining students, then she leaped fearlessly into combat. The chill of that day was still so clear in his mind, and when they had all made it to safety, he knew the Blue Lion class would never be given the chance to mourn the loss of their Professor. That was the way of battle, of war, it left no time for emotion.
That was something Felix knew all too well. He had mourned the loss of Glenn silently, in his own way, for years. He had watched his childhood best friend succumb to the madness that lurked beneath his royal façade. Both of which he struggled with, though he did his best to hide that from anyone other than the training dummies. Felix had seen Byleth fall from the cliff that day. She had not screamed as she toppled over, but he had seen her eyes, that expression burnt into his memory. Despite battling the shock that came from someone of her unmatched skill falling in battle, he had to do what was expected of him. Returning home, defending his lands and swinging his blade, well, it came naturally to him. There was no room for emotion on the battlefield; it was only a distraction and could get you killed. He fought relentlessly for the Kingdom, trying to conceal any emotion he felt. Then Dimitri was captured, and he felt nothing but the failure to protect the throne his family was sworn to defend. He was determined to break through and free the Crown Prince, despite the Boar being just that.
Understanding her guilt was far easier than he would ever admit. The day the news of Dimitri’s execution reached Fraldarius territory, he saw his father break again; just like he had when the news of Glenn, of Lambert, of the tragedy, had arrived. This time, Felix was old enough to understand the magnitude of this death. He trained until his hands bled that night, falling asleep full of anger, guilt, regret and so much more. He was supposed to protect that stupid boy, and he had failed, again. It was only when he returned to the Monastery, thanks to Sylvain’s coaxing, that his emotions had ever knocked his blade loose from his hand. To see Dimitri alive, with Byleth fighting beside him; he was consumed in a sense of relief.
He considered her, leaning against the pillars swathed in shadows, and he wanted to explain that it wasn’t helping. That no matter how long she stared, no matter how many times she left him food, Dimitri was lost. Maybe not forever, but for now, their Tempest King was nothing but a feral Boar Prince. He was no good with his words though, they were sharp and sure, and Sylvain had been relentless in telling him that they were the opposite of gentle. It made no sense to him, why words were always so necessary. People were always full of empty promises. They spoke of grand gestures and more often than not, their actions were only destructive. Words themselves never told the whole story. People constantly sought out proof of one’s words, testing each other. An individual’s interpretations of spoken words could be dangerous and inaccurate. Action, that’s what proved intention. Words could follow after, but actions, those expressed a person’s true character.
This was only the third time he’d followed her here to the cathedral, but he had watched her cross the bridge alone on so many nights that he knew she had been here all night far more often than that. Her actions spoke for her in clarity that words may never portray correctly. It annoyed him to see another plate of cold food behind their fallen Prince, knowing that she put it there every night. He heard the rustling of her cloak as she shifted and then the slow, soft, clacking of her heels heading toward the doors. He found it odd, as she typically stayed until sunrise before returning to her room. He waited until she had slipped out the doors to follow.
Dammit, Boar. You have no idea how much she cares, how much we all do.
His eyes lingered on his friend, annoyance bubbling under the surface, then he let the door slip closed.
Eat your food and wake up, would you?
Felix didn’t see her walking the bridge, which he assumed meant she was most likely staring out over the cemetery. He knew what that felt like, to silently grieve in the presence of no one other than the moon. He’d wait on the opposite landing, and linger there until she was across the bridge before retiring for the night. The sudden unsheathing of a blade made him immediately aware that he was wrong, that his plan would be of no use. He spun on his back right foot, hand already on the hilt of his sword, and came face to blade with Byleth.
“Spar with me.”
Byleth steadied her blade, its tip centimeters away from the bridge of Felix’s nose. Her breath sent small wisps of moisture into the cold night air as she spoke. She was done speaking and she wanted to be done worrying. She wanted to stop feeling sick with guilt. She wanted Sothis and Jeralt back and she wanted to see the hope in Dimitri’s cerulean eyes again. She wanted time back, but once again, it eluded her grasp.
How many times has he followed me here?
She took a step back and lowered her blade. Was she going to have to repeat herself? Felix Hugo Fraldarius always demanded her attention to spar endlessly in the academy; why was he hesitating now? His dark blue hair looked black in the shadows and moonlight, but his amber eyes burned like fire. His gaze held hers for just a split second before whipping away behind her. He drew his blade slowly and leveled it in front of him in acceptance of her challenge. She could almost hear Sothis’ voice mocking the two as she had in so many spars before.
‘My, how out of character. The young shield is always so quick to react in a duel.’ Sothis would say, peering down at Felix as she would float above them. He lunged at Byleth suddenly, ‘Ah, yes, like that.’
The air shifted as she felt his crest activate. She never quite understood what triggered the Crest of Fraldarius, and – another tinge of guilt slammed her. She might have understood if she had not disappeared, if she had not failed; if she just would have listened to Rhea. Her blade met his in a weak parry and his eyes narrowed at her. She refused to meet his eyes, knowing her effort was feeble. He lowered his blade and stepped back; she could practically feel his disappointment as she dropped her gaze to the floor.
“Spar with me.”
He said it in the same sure and direct way he always had. Byleth finally lifted her eyes to meet his and simply nodded, steadying her blade once again. Sothis’ voice haunting her ears once more.
‘Oh, well, well. Someone’s not happy about your poor swordsmanship,’ Sothis would giggle.
Byleth wanted to roll her eyes at Sothis, but the weight of reality slammed into her. Sothis wasn’t there like before, she was just a dream now. Byleth shook her head slightly, she knew she had to focus. She was the one to challenge him after all. Byleth shifted her weight and bent her knees, took a moment to steady herself, then propelled herself forward.
Felix didn’t move, but instead dug himself into his stance and let their blades crash in front of them. The metal clash echoed throughout the empty space, bouncing off the stone around them. He pushed his arms forward with ease, driving her back causing her to nearly stumble. She gritted her teeth she was better than this. Felix flicked his arm to his right with strength and intent, sidestepping away from her and towards the stone stairs before them. She took the hilt of her sword with both hands, coming at him with an overhead strike. He easily jumped down the remaining three steps and out of her reach, her blade slicing through nothing but air. He was baiting her into the open night.
Where was her head? It wasn’t clear, it hadn’t been the weeks since she woke, only with battle came clarity. While she was busy in her mind, she saw the silver of a dagger narrowly fly past her head and bury its blade into the wood of the door behind her.
“Spar,” Felix said it slowly and lifted an eyebrow, “with me.”
A rush of frustration boiled up inside of her as she narrowed her gaze on the man before her. She took a few steps and jumped the stairs, landing with a soft thud before him. He nodded approvingly as she stood. There was no hesitation in her next attack, a quick thrust of her sword aimed at his hip. They quickly fell into their swordplay, just like they would all those years ago. They had always been almost perfectly and evenly matched, but Felix had grown much in the years that had passed. She was not so sure that would be the case now. She had to anticipate his swings with a different calculation than before. All of his movements radiated a new strength and certainty, something he had not always possessed as her eager student.
Downward right, up the center, parry. Left across, up-hand parry, right side-step, underhand strike. Their swords clashed repeatedly, the impact of blades ringing out into the night but swallowed by the vastness around them. A small flurry of quick attacks from Felix forced her to turn and give up the even spacing of the walkway. In just two more steps, her lower back bumped against one of the merlons of the bridge. She felt her footing begin to slip and pushed with all her might against the sword that blocked his attack across her chest. She was never one to yield unless she was unequivocally outmatched.
As her bracing leg began to shake, she moved from steading herself against the merlon with one hand, to place both hands on the hilt of her sword. The shift in weight caused her leg to buckle; gravity was eager to tumble her off the side of the great bridge. Her emotions betrayed her well-trained battle face, she could feel her eyelids stretch in shock and in panic.
NO! Not again.
A quick strong grip on her bicep from Felix’s thickly gloved hand pulled her forward quickly, causing her to stumble into his chest. She looked up at the swordsman’s face, his eyes alight with worry, his sharp features furrowed and shadowed, strands of hair stuck to his temple from his light sweat. She took a deep breath and let her forehead fall onto his shoulder. She was not typically one for any kind of physical contact or attention from anyone other than the Monastery’s pets, but her shock and exhaustion got the best of her. His posture went from strong and steady, to tensed and rigid under her head. Byleth noted his reaction and took just a moment, regained her posture, and sidestepped out of his grip.
“I yield,” she said sheathing her sword and giving a slight bow.
Felix had let his hand linger on her arm as she stepped away. He had always been surprised by the muscle hidden under her cloak that covered her small frame. Byleth hadn’t seemed to age a day since they had all seen her last. How was it possible for her not to change an ounce? He stood inches over her now and he would be lying if he told himself he had not hoped it may give him a slight advantage. A mercenary of her caliber had not lost her skill and had adapted quickly, of course, nothing less should have been expected. She had only lost control of her mind, that steel hold she had had on her emotions before. He sheathed his sword and nodded. Stepping towards her, he recalled something during their match, and he had the strange urge to share with her. Gently and quite awkwardly, Felix placed his hand on top of hers still resting on her sword’s hilt.
“Glenn once told me something he said was the best advice he’d ever been given while becoming a knight. A Swords Master here at the Academy said, ‘Sword and mind must be united. Technique by itself is insufficient, and spirit alone is not enough.’”
Byleth let out a heavy sigh, the mist that rose between them was more significant now since their battle, another obvious sign of their matched skills aside from the slight sweat on either of their brows. A silent tear fell from her left eye and began to trickle down her face. By an instinct he didn’t know he had, he removed his glove and wiped it away softly. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. Her eyes were so green now, they had been since the day she cut herself from the sky. He remembered the deep blue teal of both her hair and eyes on the day she arrived in Garreg Mach. He had never seen anything like it, she was full of even more mystery then. Though he would never admit it, it mesmerized him. From her happenstance encounter with the knights, to her appearance, and her unmatched prowess, Felix had always found himself intrigued with the woman before him.
Even now, with hair so close to Flayn’s, her eyes still held a secret all of their own. It was almost as though she did not just see the world around them but through time itself. Through their dozens of times sparring, he had come to discover that those very eyes were her biggest strength on the battlefield. It was nearly impossible to anticipate her actions because of them. While most would make the mistake of reacting when spotting a weakness in their opponent, she did not; her eyes remained neutral so that she may be predictable. It took him many hours of observing her during lectures, training, and even while on assignments, but he did eventually uncover that strength. The subtlest change in her gaze, a faint muscle movement, were all the slight things that would express the smallest hint of emotion. He understood now why Jeralt would respond seemingly out of thin air. Though those movements in her face were very faint, they had simply understood each other without words.
Felix and Byleth were much alike in that way. Felix had always communicated best with others on the training ground and through quiet observation. Not only was Byleth the best training partner he’d had since losing Glenn, but she made him want to be excel. Not just to meet her at her current level, but to outmatch her. To protect those he was sworn to protect, to protect her.
“But I – I failed everyone,” her voice was soft, and she stuttered, “My mind isn’t in tune with anything. I don’t know how to reach Dimitri, and the people of Faerghus need him. I don’t know any of my students,” she scrunched her face and shook her head, “No. I don’t know any of my comrades, new strengths. I failed them by dy – falling from a cliff at the beginning of a war when they needed me most. I couldn’t save my own father before, and now? Now, Seteth acts as if I’m the next Archbishop. On top of all of that,” her head hung down, “I feel like a part of me is missing.”
Felix would have groaned and told anyone else to ‘suck it up and figure it out because you can only move forward,’ or, ‘I don’t have time for your self-pity.’ With Byleth, he had no desire to say that. The only problem still remaining was, he didn’t know what to say at all. He gently wiped away another tear from her face before replacing his glove. Actions were all he knew. He took her hand gently, trying his best not to be awkward – he was a great swordsman for crying out loud, he’d wielded many blades. How could he be so seemingly incompetent when he attempted to hold her hand? She took it gingerly at first but wrapped her small fingers around his glove.
He couldn’t help but think of how powerful her hands were. How those small fingers had led them through so much, could command The Sword of The Creator, and also feed the monastery’s animals. She let him lead her in silence back toward the cathedral, up the steps, and past the great doors. He smirked at his dagger still buried into the wood. He wondered, would that have made the Boar turn around?
They walked around the Cathedral, the Goddess Tower now in full sight. The last time he’d been to the Goddess Tower was a little more than five years ago when he’d seen his Professor leave the ball early. He had followed her then, too.
Why did I follow her exit that night? Ah, to get away from that insufferable event, especially Sylvain, that’s right.
He’d now found himself on the same stroll, but they were not merely student and professor this time around. Was she still his Professor? Everyone still referred to her as such, as it was familiar, but he had the feeling she struggled with that. She wanted to see their skill as their own, to acknowledge them for the warriors and individuals that they had become. He pushed doors open gently, surprised that since returning Seteth hadn’t repaired its lock. Though the moon was high in the sky, there was still not much light coming through the windows and he had no intention of risking a physical injury for something as foolish as tripping. He easily found a long-discarded torch but was not as lucky to locate anything that would allow him to light it.
Byleth’s hand gently rested on his forearm, causing him to pause. She softly whispered to herself and moved her fingers over the torch with a gentle wave. It flickered to light with a soft orange flame. He smirked at her, her eyes softer now, not as strained. His thoughts were stuck somewhere between not knowing if she pitied him for never showing an interest in Reason lessons, for situations exactly like these; and how impressed he was with the extent of her infinity for the magic that accompanied her raw talent for physical combat. He led her up the steps, the sound of their ascent bouncing throughout the spiral staircase. When they reached the top of the once forbidden Goddess Tower, he set the torch in its place on the wall and opened the dusty doors that led to the balcony. He turned his gaze upon Byleth behind him to find her staring into the dim light leaking through the holes within the ceiling, more tears welling in her eyes.
“Byleth?”
“She’s gone,” she spoke so softly he wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. He had no idea who the ‘she’ could be that Byleth was referring to. She shook her head before bringing her hands to stroke her own hair, “It’s all my fault.”
Felix extended his arm toward her; an offer of his hand was all he felt his should present in a moment like this. Their dynamic had altered throughout this night, and he wasn’t going to guide her anywhere she was not willing to go. Too many times had known that feeling himself, he would not burden her with it. She took a moment before even acknowledging his hand. When her eyes lifted to meet his, he felt a rising heat in his neck and ears.
You better not be blushing like a fool.
She placed her hand gently into his; Felix wrapped his fingers around her small wrist, steering her out the doors. The moon reflected onto the land below, an ethereal scene before them. Had he been better with his words, he could comfort her. He could ask her what she meant by ‘She’s gone.’ If he wasn’t such a fool, maybe he could even speak smoothly in the way Sylvain did, flowering even the darkest of topics. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of him and leaned forward onto the cool stone wall. He saw Byleth’s hair sway in the gentle breeze out of his peripheral as she joined him, her small fingers resting on the stone beside him. A few minutes passed in silence as he thought carefully; not just about his words, but how to speak to her in a way that was soft and full of conviction simultaneously.
“You have to stop blaming yourself,” he spoke quickly, perhaps too quickly as her face swiveled to watch him speak. He silently cursed himself and purposely slowed his speech, “You can’t blame yourself for the fractured sanity of the Bo – Prince. That began to crack long before you walked into our lives. You can’t blame yourself for Jeralt’s death either, that was just a cruel plan, a tragedy.” He could feel her gaze on him, she watched him with eyes so attentive. He looked out into the night, taking a deep breath before continuing, “It doesn’t help, trust me. I would never admit this to anyone, but the day we received news of Dimitri’s execution, I – “
Felix looked away toward the Cathedral where the fallen Prince brooded inside. The warm pressure on his bicep sent a small tingling sensation up to his neck, but Byleth said nothing. He turned back toward the view in front of them.
“I spent years blaming myself. What a fool I was to be the next ‘Shield of Faerghus’ and not only let the Prince I was sworn to protect, my – my friend, get captured - but killed.” He practically spat the word fool, his disgust with himself in that moment bubbling back up to the surface. To compose himself, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, “None of the worrying will do you any good, alright? No amount of regret brings back the dead and no amount of guilt helps the living.” He turned to face her, daring to look her in the eyes for more than a split second, as he usually did. “We all thought we lost you that day. I didn’t even want to come back to this place knowing that you were both gone. Now? To see you both alive, was unbelievable. Dimitri may be lost in his distrust and demons, but you don’t have to drown with him.”
Byleth’s mouth dropped slightly like she had something to say before she closed it again. Felix ran a gloved hand down his face, tugging gently at his chin, Goddess he was terrible at this.
“I don’t speak gently, I know and for that I’m sorry, but dammit,” he closed the space between them, “I cannot watch you fall into the same fate. To be physically here before me, and nowhere near the person I know you to be.” He could feel his face hot now and hoped his cheeks didn’t change color the ways Annette’s did when he caught her singing or the way Sylvain’s did when Ingrid would sometimes return his flirtations. Her eyes were wide as if she couldn’t follow what he was saying. He only knew one phrase that would explain for certain what he was trying to convey, “I would rather my blade go dull and unused than to see you with a fate such as that.”
Byleth couldn’t quite comprehend the words coming from Felix’s mouth. He’d only spoken with her openly a hand full of times in their days at the Academy, but they had been brief moments. To hear these words from him now was unimaginable. Felix Fraldarius feared nothing more than his blade going unused, his skills and talents along with it.
He would rather his blade go dull than see me like this?
‘My, what a fool you’re being! He cares for you! Don’t just stare at him! Say something!’
The voice of Sothis was so clear that Byleth had to quell the urge to look around to see if she were truly there. She did so because as much as she longed for her friend to return to her, she did not want to look away from Felix’s gaze to find only empty air. She smiled softly, something she had not done genuinely in so long. Slowly she brought her hand to the side of his face, it was smooth and the soft pink across his nose only made him all the more attractive in the moon’s glow. Had he always been so handsome?
“And if I were to not allow your blade to go dull, what then?”
His eyebrows raised in shock and his blush darkened. She could tell he fought the urge to look away from her, but something kept him in his place. He moved so fluidly, so quickly, that she had not had a moment to react. His hands cupped her cheeks, the leather of his gloves warm against her skin, and his lips firmly pressed against hers. It was not rough, not gentle, but the kind of solidness she would expect from him. He moved with intent. He was simply as sure and straightforward as he had always been. Her eyes were wide, but their mouths softened together after a few moments, and then he was away from her, just as briskly as he’d come.
“Then I would have no choice but to believe the Goddess to be real after all,” Felix smirked before his hands left her face, his eyes averting hers before he returned to his place at the wall.
‘OF COURSE, I AM REAL. How dare the little swordsman not believe in me until now? PAH!’
Byleth’s eyes filled with tears, though she could not see her, she could finally hear Sothis again. This was not her mind playing a trick on her, she could feel her again. Byleth was overwhelmed – what had awoken her missing Goddess? What were these feelings that warmed her from the deepest pit of her stomach? Byleth knew Felix was trying to calm himself and most likely, attempting to hide his blush from her. She may have been gone for five years, but he had always been easily annoyed when he let himself be flustered, and it was obvious that was still the case tonight.
She reached for Felix’s arm, her fingers bunching up the thickness of his quilted sleeve. She tugged gently urging him to turn towards her, the sudden longing for the sturdiness of his embrace deluged her. Though she was not nearly as quick as he, she lifted onto her toes and brought her lips to his. He stiffened in response initially, and in the next moment placed his hands on her hips with a slight squeeze. Their mouths were melding and moving in harmony, in urgency, in relief, and in the raw emotion. Saying the things they always found too difficult to express out loud.
‘My, my. I think I should give you two a moment.’
Byleth smiled against his lips, Sothis was truly present once more. Though this life was full of guilt and regret, full of things she wanted to change and correct, she now had something new to discover; or rather someone to truly discover. Someone who would lead her forward and fight beside her. Felix’s hands traveled up her spine and back down gently before running down to her thighs. His grip tightened as he lifted her up off the ground, a small sigh escaping his lips. He pulled his mouth away from hers, his lips swollen from the sudden expression of affection that neither of them had quite anticipated. He slowly spun her around, his eyes locked to hers. He set her back onto the group with a slight click of her heels. His smile was magnificent, she wasn’t sure she had ever seen one from him before. If she had, it had not been like this. He brushed a strand of hair from her eyelashes and kissed her forehead gently before speaking, his amber eyes as bright as his smile.
“I yield.”