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Felix has never loved his father.
When asked, it’s easy for him to come up with a long, detailed list of all of Rodrigue’s flaws. His softness, the way he clings tightly to his memories of the past, his insistence on neglecting the living in favor of glorifying the dead. Glenn’s death lights the fire in them that destroys their relationship with each other, and Rodrigue’s insistence that his son’s decision to die in battle as a knight was the only right choice is the kindling that keeps it burning for more than a decade. Felix and Rodrigue have never been able to see eye to eye, but the longer their unresolved disagreements had stewed, the angrier Felix had become, and the more his bitterness had grown.
How could he say such terrible things, he would agonize to himself, as though he hadn’t just lost his heir, his son ? How could he convince himself for so long that he would rather Glenn throw his life away than come back safe, then turn around and praise Dimitri for being strong enough to survive? And how could he possibly scrounge up the nerve to speak on his dead son’s behalf, to say that this outcome is what he’d wanted and that it would be wise to follow in his footsteps? Felix knows better than most that a dead man has no sway on the fates of the living.
On the day Dimitri is declared dead, Felix finally snaps. He says to his father what he has never dared to say before, things that would make Ingrid go red-faced with anger at his disrespect and malice, had she been there to listen in. The hurt in his father’s eyes is to be expected.
The twinge of regret and sadness he feels when Rodrigue wordlessly turns away from him is not.
---
Felix has never loved his father - at least, not for several years.
If he pauses to think, really think, he can remember a time when he'd been undeniably excited to see Rodrigue return home, eager to hear one of many stories of his father’s adventures. He can remember a time when he’d been proud to tell anyone who would listen about how his father and brother were celebrated knights of Faerghus in protection of the royal family. At one point, he’d even wanted to follow in their footsteps. Now, when he remembers his bright-eyed naivety, all he feels is disgust. He’d realized that the knighthood his brother had so revered had also led him to throw away his life in vain. He’d known that Glenn could have done so much more if he’d decided to live rather than die, but at such a young age, he’d been the only one to think so. Ingrid, Dimitri, even his own father, all reiterate again and again that Glenn’s sacrifice had been noble and honorable, even into their adulthood. Felix can only seem to think of it as a waste of potential. It frustrates him to impossible ends that no one can seem to see from his point of view, and in retaliation, he labels them all fools and pushes them out of his life as coldly as he can.
The day that Felix first voices his opinion of Glenn’s sacrifice in front of Rodrigue is the day he realizes that he truly hates his father. It’s the first serious argument they’ve ever had, as well as the first that neither of them are willing to budge on. There is no resolution, just an endless cycle of stewing and seething, attempting to make amends only to loop right back around to ignoring each other, pushing them back to the starting line over and over until eventually Felix gives up trying to fix what’s broken. Rodrigue refuses to cut ties, however, and each flimsy attempt to reconnect with him just leaves Felix more and more agitated. Hating him becomes so easy that he forgets he’d ever had any love for his father in the first place.
Still, the inkling is there, once in a while, when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic for his childhood years. There’s an occasional spark of regret in Felix that tells him that, maybe this time, they can finally come to an agreement, but the spark is almost immediately snuffed. Felix has no interest in family anymore, aside from the political ties that demand he take over his father’s position when the time comes, but the thought feels so far in the future that he doesn’t think too deeply about its implications. He throws himself into his studies, building his strength, refining his craft, and pushes thoughts of his estranged father out of his mind for good.
---
Felix has never loved his father, or so he's always thought.
But watching Rodrigue’s cobbled-together casket being solemnly lowered into a too-shallow grave, Felix finds himself feeling far too emotional for a man who doesn't love his father. He wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to run away and lock himself in his room until this whole nightmare has passed, but he doesn't do anything. He's rooted in place, unmoving, his face smoothed into a carefully-mastered poker face. He grips the hilt of Rodrigue’s sword, recovered from his fallen corpse, and sets the tip of its sheath against the ground so the long blade stands straight and proud, and he does not let a single breath of inner turmoil escape from behind his impenetrable wall. It's agonizing.
Sylvain drapes an arm over Felix’s shoulders, his expression not quite as carefully mastered as Felix’s. He frowns deeply, and his eyes are sad, a rare sight from a man who was usually so sickeningly optimistic and uncouth. If it were any other day, Felix would never have tolerated such an unwanted semblance of comfort, but he allows it, just this once. To humor Sylvain, he tells himself, making excuses to avoid the fact that he deeply appreciates the comfort.
At his other side, Ingrid takes his hand and gives it a small squeeze. The gesture is intimately familiar; it's been ages since she's dared to reach out to him like this, but fifteen or so years ago it was no uncommon sight to see a little blond girl running around, dragging a bright-eyed little boy behind her by the hand. Felix makes no effort to return the gesture, but he also makes no effort to break the contact between them, and Ingrid continues to hold his hand tightly in hers as the rushed ceremony carries on. He wonders if the gesture is meant for him, or to satisfy her own need for company. He decides it’s likely a bit of both.
Dimitri stands on the other side of the grave, right up against its edge. He looks terrible, dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep and bloodstained from the battle they still haven't had a chance to rest from. Fleetingly, Felix wonders if he looks just as beastly as the king he'd come to so despise. He wonders if, maybe, there is a beast inside them all, not just the Boar, that bares it's ugly fangs in the face of tragedy. The thought nearly brings a spiteful smile to his face, but he bites it back before it can surface and reveal his true feelings to the world.
Occasionally, Dimitri lifts his head and meets Felix’s gaze from across Rodrigue’s grave. His eyes are clearer than Felix has seen them since before the war began. The thought makes him inexplicably angry. Why should his father’s life be exchanged to bring Dimitri back from the brink? Bitterly, he wonders if he would feel this way if it has been Dimitri stuffed into the casket instead. The thought makes him feel so sick that he hastily banishes it from his mind.
“Hey.” Sylvain’s quiet, gentle voice pulls him out of his thoughts before he can spiral down more stomach-turning trains of thought. “You feeling okay?”
Felix can't bring himself to get angry at Sylvain’s pitying remarks, but he does have the energy to at least be annoyed, flashing his childhood friend a tired glare. “I'm fine,” he insists, abruptly shrugging Sylvain’s arm off of his shoulders and straightening his posture. He pulls his hand from Ingrid’s grip, and she lets him go, watching his gloved hand return to the hilt of his father’s sword. “I'm just tired, and I'm sick of this fanfare.”
Sylvain doesn’t press him further. As soon as the whole ordeal is done with, Felix goes back to his room and locks his door.
---
Felix has always loved his father.
He realizes it now, days after his body is buried and the army has to march on and leave him behind. The years he'd spent hiding, dreading the times he and Rodrigue would meet, arguing with him, insulting him, were born of his frustrations. Anger at his circumstances, at Glenn’s death, at the concept of knighthood his father and brother strove for, at himself for being unable to mend his relationships after he'd played a role in destroying them. He realizes how incredibly fortunate he is that his friends have chosen not to abandon him despite how terribly he's treated them for years. By all accounts, his behavior should have driven them away years ago. He promises himself that he’ll be more thankful to them from now on, if nothing else.
Felix’s relationship with his father has never been the smooth, loving relationship he sees in other families, but despite all of the tension and turmoil between them, Rodrigue is still and always will be his father.
It’s a little late, but Felix thinks he might finally start to follow some of his advice.