Chapter Text
Fraldarius territory is not where Felix wants to be. Not in the least. There’s constant fighting on the frontlines against the Adrestian empire. There’s revolt in the capital, with Cornelia at its head- and instead he is here. In his ancestral home. Not fighting.
Rodrigue- Felix will not give him the honor of his title in his mind- is at the capital. Dimitri’s trial is
soon. The boar has been accused of murdering his Uncle. If the Regent had anything to do with Edelgard, with his brother’s death, then Felix can believe it. He can still see Dimitri’s face as he rushed Edelgard. He can still hear his cruel laughter, the vicious delight.
He hates it. He hates that Rodrigue has left him with organizing what’s left of their armies as he rushes in to save the prince.
Things get worse.
Felix receives word of the trial. The boar- no, in death, he is Dimitri - has been executed. He is angry at his very bones, a rage that has his hands shaking and training till his palms crack. Rodrigue returns with Gilbert. Annette’s father and his own, and all their conversations discuss the prince.
They hadn’t seen his body. There was a chance that he’d made an escape. They’d heard rumors of a Duscur fugitive killed for attacking the prison. They’d heard rumors that it had been a successful break-in before he was killed.
Rodrigue and Gilbert discuss the best and prepare for the worst.
Fitting, he thinks. The leash Dimitri had thrown on Dedue choked him in the end. Felix throws himself into training and he tries not to think of his last weeks at the monastery, where he did much the same. Dedue and Dimitri alongside him.
Things get worse.
Cornelia allies directly with the empire. The Faerghus Dukedom, she calls the kingdom now. The land to the west is turbulent. She has control of some nobility, but the peasantry are neglected. Reports of Bandits and farmers turned vigilant grow. Suffering is everywhere.
Felix is still here. He is trapped, a fighter with a cause and no means. He thinks the only way things can get worse is if he is never sent out to fight. Organize the troops, and so he does. He trains them until they cannot move. But it is a physical need to test his blade against his enemies. When the song of blood fills his head, he doesn’t need to think. To feel.
He doesn’t need to wonder if there was another path. If in a different time, something might have changed.
There is no use in those thoughts.
Rodrigue calls him to his office soon. Finally, Felix thinks. He’s been waiting for this. “It’s taken time, but everything has been arranged now. Felix-” Rodrigue softens, and there is an apology written into the lines of his face. He wonders what could be enough to make his father weak. Perhaps it was an understanding, for how cruel it was to request him to stay here? When he could be fighting? Rodrigue cares not for Felix’s feelings or thoughts, and he continues, “I have organized an alliance with Sreng. If you recall Warlord Gautier- we negotiated for Sreng to lend aid and soldiers. It’s a more formal version of the one we signed with them in the past. With this, we will only have the West to worry about. Any ally against Cornelia is useful.”
“A great victory,” Felix scoffs, bitterness on his tongue. Was that why his father was apologetic? Keeping him from fighting to be a diplomat? But it seemed everything was already set. “At what cost to us? More of the Fraldarius territory? Will you be taking some of Blaiddyd in return?”
“After a fortnight, you and the Warlord’s son are to be married.”
“What. No. I refuse.” Rage overwhelms his vision, so hot and burning he cannot speak. It is chased by a little bit of helplessness. The feeling seeps into his heart. This is not a problem he can solve with a sword. It is not something that can be resolved with more training.
“Felix, there is little choice in this matter. My hands are tied. To suffer repeated attacks from the North and the West- and the East? We would be torn. Suffering would be immense.”
“Why not another?” Felix asks, because right now, there is nothing else. His hand clenches around the sword at his waist.
Rodrigue’s face softens again, and Felix wants to spit. “Our original treaty was between Lambert, Sagan, and myself…. Sreng is a vicious nation. Sagan Gautier’s strength and brutality is all that hold the nation together. They - he - respect strength.”
And so, by taking Felix, they are showing their dominance over Rodrigue. Lambert has already shown his weakness in death. Felix wishes he didn’t understand.
He wants to say that he is leaving- he can run away, join the fight by himself, a rogue mercenary- but the words taste of ashes in his mouth. His father is desperately holding onto a kingdom tearing apart. Dimitri, even fallen, is more important. Felix is always the second son.
“I would be more use in battle,” he says, but it is not an argument. He knows one swordsman - no matter how good he may be- cannot turn the tides of war. Even their professor- no. There is no use in the past. “Will I still be able to fight?”
“That will be a decision between you and heir Gautier. But knowing Sreng- war is more than a necessity to them. It is a way of life.”
“Hmmph. You said it would be a fortnight until the wedding? When shall I meet the groom to be?”
“The wedding party from Sreng will arrive three days before the wedding.”
“Fine,” he finds himself saying, “But before that, let me help with the war effort. I want to fight.” Especially with the unknown of the future- he wanted some concrete worth he could make.
“With this, you will be.”
Felix scowls, and leaves the room. But he saw his father’s expression. He’ll find him something before the Sreng emissaries arrive.
It is exactly a week and a day when Felix returns. There had been an Imperial raid on the border- most of his time had been spent journeying. But it had felt good to do more than write letters and organize Fraldarius men. He was most useful alone, a one man army with his blade.
Felix recognizes the obvious signs of trampled grass around his family’s home when he arrives. It is fairly fresh, and it must have belonged to some number of horses- this, he assumes, must be the wedding party. His husband.
He goes to return his own steed to the stables, the beast in need of rest from his own journey. What he finds is the place overcrowded, and with two strangers besides. They are like nothing he’d ever seen.
There hadn’t been any raids from Sreng since the last treaty his father had signed. Felix had no chance before this to see what one of its people might look like- he fits his imagination with the image in front of him.
One man, broad of shoulder and with a shock of flame red hair, stands tall, guiding the horses with a practiced hand. Felix’s first thought is that he is gaudy. His second is that he is handsome. The clothes he is wearing are brightly colored, a clash of reds and greens and golds. They are undone in the top, and his wide sleeves are pushed back. Felix can see the lines of red ink spiraling around his forearms, disappearing up his biceps.
The woman is wearing something much more plain, suitable for a war, Felix thinks. It is also more recognizable, a cavalry woman’s outfit. Her hair is short and braided, and it reminds him a little bit of Ingrid.
He wants to know more. Besides, he was already late- Rodrigue would no doubt be disappointed. A little more would not hurt.
He carefully steps closer. If his horse does not give him away, he will buy her the finest sugar. So far, they have not noticed him, and Felix catches their conversation.
“-can’t believe we’re actually here. I’d have thought your father would want you married to one of the clans. Haven’t the Frostfoots been giving you trouble?”
“Ah, you see Adira, why would he settle for a territory when he could have a kingdom. You know he’s greedy. Now I’ll be tied to one of the downsiders. You know I’ll be fielding off jabs about that for months! Whatever will I do? ”
“It might stop Veer from crawling into your bed,” the woman replies.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Veer wants to get her line into the blood so bad she’d do anything. Hells- I bet she’d even go after my little wife-to-be. Maybe both at the same time? I think I could be into that, actually.”
The woman slaps his shoulder, but that doesn’t help with the revulsion Felix is feeling. He has a guess to who this man is now.
“Dog-brain. Doesn’t your father want you to abide by the Fodlan rules of propriety- you cannot have this marriage ruined with your lusts.”
“My dearest, why would you ever think so low of me- And you know we’re not even going to be inked.” The man makes a motion to his arms, “Our vows will be made in paint, if you believe it. Fraldarius doesn’t have a clan symbol, my father says. So there’s no point in having it written into me. You know he’s…” the man falls silent. “Well. I hope this Felix is going to be good to bed.”
Because everything is a disaster, Felix’s horse chooses this moment to whinny impatiently stomping her hoof. The man turns and his weapon is drawn in the same moment, Felix’s sword meeting the iron head of a lance.
“Oh, looks like we’ve got ourselves a little mouse-”
“Sylvain, aren’t you supposed to be polite?”
There’s a name to his face now. Sylvain. If Felix had to guess, his last name would be Gautier. He withdraws his lance, leaning on it with such arrogance. Felix doesn’t put away his blade, though he does tilt the tip down.
“Good reflexes, by the way,” Sylvain offers with a grin. “If you’re a stablehand, then I’d say they’re excellent. But with your sword- a returning soldier, perhaps? We’re here to report to-” he tilts his head, “Duke Rodrigue? If I have that right.”
Felix already hates him. And, if he’s correct, he’ll be marrying this man. At least, he thinks, Sylvain is good with the lance. He could feel the man’s strength when their weapons connected. He won’t be devoid of a sparring partner, maybe.
Sylvain hopes he will be good to bed- Felix has a gauge of this man’s character, and he does not like what he sees. Optimism is not for him, Felix decides. “I can take you to Duke Rodrigue. I was going to see him myself.”
He isn’t washed, he’s freshly off a horse, and he still has his riding outfit on. Rodrigue is having him married to this. He can deal with a little bit of muck. It isn’t as if Sylvain is dressed formally either- His stupid top reveals much of his chest.
The group of them enter into the great hall. Sylvain and the woman, Adira, walk behind Felix. He’s not sure if he likes them behind him, but there’s not much he can do. He can feel their gazes on his back. Rodrigue, sitting at the head of the hall, stands to greet them. There are a few others already in the hall- Felix would assume other warriors of Sreng. None of them have a hair color to match Sylvain, he notes.
“Felix, my son. I see you are already welcoming the Heir Gautier. We are happy to receive you in this hall. Let me extend my hearth and hall to you all for this stay.”
Felix stands to the side, now at the front of the hall. He can see Sylvain’s face better. Gage his future husband’s reaction. Sylvain’s looking at him, he can see, though he avoids eye contact. He can still feel it well enough- Sylvain stares at him like he is trying to take him apart.
“I’m delighted to be here as well,” Sylvain begins, and his tone is very different than the rough measure of it Felix had heard before. There’s little trace of accent now, and his demeanor oozes with an assured charm. “To be the one to bring Sreng and Faerghus together… It is truly an honor. Uniting our lines is the truest gesture of respect between our two nations. I stand in my father’s stead for these negotiations, and I speak with his authority. Where Sreng and Faerghus unite, the Empire will fall.”
“We look forward to working with you. Heir Gautier, after you and your people are settled in, you and I shall speak once again about the battalions and what aid Sreng can lend. But for now- Felix. Show Heir Gautier to his rooms. I think it might be best for you two to get to know each other. For the rest of your men, I will have servants to guide them.”
“Of course. I’m honored to meet my betrothed.” Sylvain dips his head in the first respectful gesture Felix has seen. That doesn’t make too much of an impact, though. Felix is busy thinking of his father’s words. This, he decides, is his punishment for arriving after the Sreng delegation did.
Felix turns and exits. He does not care if Sylvain is following him.
He is, though. And when they are out of earshot of the hall, Sylvain speaks up, voice returning to the low rhythm it had in the horse stalls. “So, stableboy. Are you planning to lead me? Or perhaps, you’ll give me the privilege of getting lost. I think there should be a few interesting things to explore here. You most of all- but we’ll have the chance for that soon enough.”
The noise of his teeth grinding distracts him from a response. For a moment. Felix wheels around, hands on his hips, “Sylvain, is it? I did happen to overhear your name while returning my horse. I understand I’ll be ‘tying you down.’ I don’t think I’ll need to explore much in return- you don’t have any depth, do you?”
“Ou-ch. Little kitten’s got claws, doesn’t he? Be careful, though. You might end up getting your teeth into more than you can handle.” Sylvain steps closer, and he’s got that same odd expression Felix had seen when he was mentioning his father. “This alliance is something you all need much more than us- Sreng has no place in your religious conflicts. We follow one god, and that is the one of blood and war. My family has united the many warring tribes under our banner- I don’t think Faerghus can take another strong attack from yet another side.”
Sylvain’s close enough that he can touch him now. He does, poking Felix sharply in the side. ”So, Felix, is it?” Felix cannot stand him. “We’ll be married. Don’t protest too much, now. You’re a handsome man, and strong too, if the way you blocked my lance was any sign. I can really admire that. I’d love to see you fight sometime.”
“We will spar together,” Felix announces. He does not think on Sylvain’s earlier words. Rodrigue’s motivations and manipulations are something he is part of, now. He is the one who has to live with it. Instead, Felix thinks of the potential of a good sparring partner. He might be able to stand the arrangement slightly more. Unbidden, Sylvain’s words about him in bed come back to him- and once again, his gut clenches.
“Of course,” Sylvain says easily, smiling. There is a warmth in his eyes now, but if anything that sends Felix’s guard higher. “I’d like to see what sort of things you can do.” He sounds like is honestly excited for that, and Felix isn’t sure what to think. Was this man not complaining about being married only an hour ago?
“I will fight against the Adrestian Empire,” Felix says stiffly, “It is best that you don’t get in the way of that. A sparring match should show you exactly what that means.”
“Alright, alright,” Sylvain agrees, stopping as Felix does, the door to the rooms arranged for the Gautier Heir before him. “But kitten, let’s make a deal. If I win, you’ll be answering some questions. Like I said, I’d love to get to know you better.”
Sylvain leers at him. Felix resists the urge to smack the expression off of his face. “And if I win- After our marriage, I will take my own path against the Empire.”
The redhead has the gall to laugh at him, and Felix can catch a glimpse of some odd expression before it’s gone, covered by Sylvain’s casual grin. “Sure, sure,” he says, “You really don’t- You know what? Never mind. I’ll take the bet. Tomorrow evening, then. There’s still some ‘wedding planning’ I’ve got to work out with your father.”
“Tomorrow evening. These are your rooms. Someone will get you for dinner.” There’s probably more he should say, but if Rodrigue had wanted to impress Sylvain with hospitality, he would have chosen someone else.
Felix turns and leaves without a second glance.