#[ STEEL-EDGED ; Felix Fraldarius ]

[fateandfragments-fanfiction]

Recently read you FE 3 Houses short on Felix and a Y/N reader. Holy fuck. Please keep on writing that scenario. It's so ridiculously good. 100000/10.

You got it! Continuing naturally from the direction Part 1 was heading towards. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2 - F!Reader x Felix Hugo Fraldarius

(Fire Emblem Three Houses - Time Skip)

Find Part 1 Here

During a chaotic battle, Felix rescues an injured Reader.

TW: Some violence and mention of blood

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The battlefield roared with chaos—steel clashing against steel, the sharp crack of arrows, and the cries of the wounded rising against the ominous sky. [Name] gritted her teeth as she parried a blow from a heavily armored enemy, her muscles burning from the effort. Her squad had been separated in the confusion, and she was painfully aware of how thin her ranks had grown. Somewhere in the swirling melee, Felix was fighting too, his fierce swordsmanship carving a path through the enemy.

But she couldn’t afford to think about him now—not when another strike was already coming her way.

[Name] ducked, the blade narrowly missing her head, and retaliated with a precise thrust that found its mark. Her opponent staggered, crumpling to the ground, but the victory was short-lived. A shadow loomed behind her, and she barely had time to twist out of the way as a heavy mace came crashing down. It struck her shoulder instead of her head, pain exploding through her body as she stumbled and fell to one knee.

Her vision blurred, the edges darkening, but she forced herself to stay upright. She wasn’t done—not yet. With trembling hands, she tried to lift her sword, but the weight of it felt impossible. The enemy soldier stood over her, his weapon raised for the killing blow.

And then he was gone, a blur of motion taking his place. The soldier’s weapon clattered uselessly to the ground, his body falling a second later, and Felix was there, his blade slick with blood and his eyes blazing with fury.

“[Name]!” His voice was sharp, urgent, as he dropped to one knee beside her, his hand gripping her uninjured shoulder. “Are you—damn it, you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, though her body betrayed her as she swayed unsteadily. “Just… just give me a second.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped, though there was no anger in his voice, only fear. “You’re not fine. You’re lucky that didn’t kill you.”

[Name] tried to argue, to insist that she could still fight, but her words faltered as she saw the raw panic in his expression. Felix never panicked. He was always the calm one, the steady presence she could rely on no matter how dire the situation. Seeing him like this—desperate, frantic—was more alarming than the pain radiating through her body.

“I told you not to throw yourself into the thick of it,” he muttered, his tone a mix of frustration and relief. “But no, you had to go and try to save everyone. Again.”

She managed a weak smile, her vision clearing just enough to see the faint tremor in his hands as he examined her injury. “Guess I can’t help myself.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. “You can’t do this, [Name]. You can’t keep putting yourself in danger like this. Not when…” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Not when I can’t protect you.”

Her heart ached at his words, and she reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek in a gesture meant to reassure him. “You did protect me. You always do.”

He shook his head, the faintest hint of a bitter smile crossing his lips. “Not always. But I’ll be damned if I let this be the time I fail you.”

Felix’s arm slid under her knees, lifting her with a gentleness that belied his usual sharp edges. She gasped, the movement jarring her injury, but he held her steady, his grip firm and unyielding.

“We’re pulling back,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“Felix—” she began, but he cut her off with a glare that could have stopped a charging wyvern.

“Don’t argue with me,” he growled. “Not now.”

For once, she didn’t. The exhaustion and pain were catching up to her, and she found herself leaning against him, her head resting against his shoulder as he carried her away from the battlefield. The clash of battle faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of his footsteps and the sound of his breathing, each exhale laced with a determination that made her heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

He glanced down at her, his expression softening despite the tension that still lined his face. “Don’t be. Just… don’t scare me like that again.”

[Name] closed her eyes, the warmth of his presence enveloping her even as the cold bite of her injury reminded her of how close she’d come to losing everything. Felix had saved her—not just from the enemy, but from herself, from the relentless drive to protect everyone at her own expense.

As they reached the safety of their camp, she felt his grip on her tighten, as if he were afraid to let go.

-----

The dim light of the camp’s medical tent flickered as the wind shifted outside, making the canvas walls ripple. [Name] winced as the healer pressed a damp cloth to her shoulder, the sting of the salve biting through the haze of exhaustion. Felix stood a few paces away, his arms crossed, but his posture betrayed him. His foot tapped restlessly, his gaze darting between [Name] and the healer with barely restrained tension.

“You don’t have to hover,” [Name] said, her voice soft but teasing. She was exhausted, the fight draining her more than she cared to admit, but she wasn’t about to let Felix spiral into one of his brooding silences.

“I’m not hovering,” he shot back, his tone defensive but quiet. “I’m making sure they don’t screw this up.”

The healer, an older woman with a patient demeanor, gave a low chuckle without looking up. “I’ve treated worse, and I’ll treat worse again. She’ll be fine, young man. If you’d sit still for a minute, you’d see that.”

Felix scowled but didn’t move. Instead, his eyes stayed locked on [Name], his expression unreadable. [Name] met his gaze, offering a small, reassuring smile. “See? I’ll live.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he let out a sharp breath and dropped onto the stool beside her, his hand gripping the edge of the cot as if anchoring himself. “You don’t get to say that like it was a guarantee,” he muttered. “That mace could’ve killed you.”

“But it didn’t,” she said, her tone firm. “Because you were there.”

Felix’s eyes flickered with something—relief, guilt, frustration—but he said nothing. The healer finished wrapping her shoulder in clean bandages, giving a satisfied nod before standing. “Keep the arm rested for at least a day or two,” she instructed. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

[Name] nodded her thanks, watching the healer leave the tent before turning back to Felix. He hadn’t moved, his gaze fixed on the bandage like it was mocking him.

“Felix,” she began, her voice gentler now, “you saved me. That’s what matters.”

He shook his head, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I shouldn’t have had to. You shouldn’t have been out there like that, alone. If I’d been paying attention—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, reaching out to place her good hand over his. The gesture stilled him, his eyes lifting to meet hers. “You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t cause. This is war. We’re all doing the best we can.”

Felix didn’t reply, but his hand turned beneath hers, his fingers curling around hers in a hesitant but firm grip. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, the weight of his worry and his care spilling into the silence between them.

“I hate this,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice rough. “Knowing I can’t always keep you safe. That you’re out there, putting yourself in danger.”

She smiled faintly, squeezing his hand. “That’s what we both signed up for. And you don’t have to keep me safe all the time. You just have to be there when it counts.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile but not far from one. “I’ll always be there,” he said quietly, the words carrying a gravity that made her chest tighten.

For a moment, the war faded. The sounds of the camp—soldiers’ voices, the crackling of fires, the faint clang of weapons being sharpened—melted into the background. All that existed was the warmth of Felix’s hand in hers and the unspoken promise that bound them.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” she said lightly, though her voice carried an edge of sincerity. “Whether you like it or not.”

His gaze softened, and this time, the faintest smile broke through his usual sternness. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

~Fin~

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Woohoo first request! Thanks again anon, I was happy to come back to this story so soon. Which reminds me, I still have Three Hopes to finish up sooooo yeah, prepare for the FE binge that's coming up yall!

[inkblccded-moved]

; Muse Added - Felix

     ( tag dump! )

[crestbound]

do you need your shoes shined, queen?

With a spear, he has a natural advantage. A swordsman always wants to be close; they don’t need to strike hard as long as they strike fast, taking advantages where they find them. It’s rarely about whittling an opponent down as much as it is slipping in close enough to press steel into their flesh, one mistake, one pivot, one body left behind.

It’s harder against a spear because it becomes more a game of the mind than of the body. The length of the weapon keeps a swordsman at bay—and right now, that’s exactly where Sylvain wants her. It doesn’t matter how graceful the arc of her blade is, or how quickly she parries, or how smoothly she transitions from swing to pivot to lunge to block; as long as Sylvain keeps her far beyond an arm’s length, he’s well on his way to earning a victory.

...Or at least, he should.

Sylvain’s no stranger to sparring against swordsmen. Everyone attending the Officer’s Academy is recommended to learn the basics, and growing up with Felix had ensured that he learn the intricate ins and outs of what it’s like to face someone so dedicated to the blade that he is found more often with a sword in hand than aught else. But Felix fights the way Faerghans do, adapted to fit his own preferences; it’s a bit of traditional Fraldarius techniques and Glenn’s flair and his own sharp edge.

Petra, though—Petra fights like nothing and no one that he’s ever seen before. It’s the way Brigid must train their fighters. Spending too long marveling at how different it is and how gracefully she executes each move has knocked him on his rear twice already; now, for their third match, he’s a little better prepared.

...Still awed, though.

“You know,” he laughs, breathless with effort as he parries another swing, “Normally, I’m the one sweeping beautiful girls off their feet. If I’d known sooner that it’d hurt—” a pivot, a thrust, narrowly missing her by a hair, “—to have the same done to me...” literally, “I would’ve been a bit better about it!”

@petrykos

[agent-cupcake]

12 for yandere list for Felix would be so good. If you don't mind I mean...

12. “Just tell me their name and I’ll make this all better.”

Usually, your words flowed without filter when you returned home. Living with Felix was to take on the responsibility of filling a decent amount of dead air, and you hardly ever lacked material to regale him with over dinner. Not to mention your carefully cultivated talent of drawing him into a conversation, something you prided yourself on. 

But tonight, there were too many things that needed to be said for you to speak. You knew that your silence was damning. You knew that it said more than you ever could, given a harsh voice by the uncomfortable contrast. You knew these things and loathed and loved it in equal measure because, while it was too much to hope that Felix would never find out, you desperately wanted a few more of these awkward, blessedly silent minutes before he did.

But he wasn’t nearly that stupid and you were a terrible liar.

“What's the matter with you tonight?” Felix asked, his voice holding an edge of impatient exasperation, as if he’d been waiting a while to speak up. There was a sweet kind of concern, too, even if he did well to hide it. “Usually I can’t get you to stop talking. Not that I mind that. It’s better than sitting here watching you frown at your food.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” you said, taking another stab at your dinner without much enthusiasm. “I guess I’m just... Worn out.”

“Really,” Felix said, deadpan with his displeasure. It made you wince, peeking up at his expression from beneath your lashes. As you’d expect, his mouth was drawn in a frown, one eyebrow arched to compliment the implied question. You couldn’t help but feel that there was something else in that expression. One of the reasons for your anxiety, for your dread of him asking such a simple question. What had happened earlier that day weighed heavily on your mind. Not because of what had been said or how you felt about it, but because of the result you anticipated. 

It wasn’t like you were afraid of Felix, but the feeling was close enough to make your stomach twist in unhappiness, like it was a betrayal to him. You wanted so badly to write it off. Felix was just overprotective. That was understandable, after all he’d been through. 

But sometimes it was frightening. He was frightening. It was as if your pain had an odd effect on the world, an unspoken law of retribution.

Sometimes your skin bristled with goosebumps as you averted your eyes to avoid meeting Felix’s directly because the intensity of his gaze was enough to flay skin from bone, to make your limbs feel cold.

Sometimes he held you just a little too tightly, hiding in the dark to tell you things just a touch off beat, stumbling around the subject of love that still occasionally gave him pause with words establishing his unquestionable claim on you anew.

You weren’t afraid of Felix, but there was something dark simmering below the surface of the man you loved. An open wound that had never seen treatment. That was why, even though you knew he’d learn about it regardless, you shook your head. “It’s silly. I’m fine, really.”

“Oh, clearly,” Felix quipped. He sighed a moment later, shaking his head. “Tell me or don’t but I’d rather you didn’t lie about it.”

You felt your shoulders wilt a bit. There was no malice in his voice. Even if you worried about what laid beneath, Felix was just being kind. You knew full well that he worried. It made you feel guilty. 

“You know how it is. How nobles are, I mean,” you said, thinking of a way to phrase it all in a way that would make it seem petty. Insignificant. “They can be pretty awful sometimes. But it’s fine, I can handle it. I don’t even know why I’m so upset, I already knew how they felt.”

“Did someone say something to you?” Felix asked. His tone had shifted, going from frustrated to sharp. You met his eyes. They were intense, now, lurching that worried pit of anxiety upwards with a deeply unsettling tug. 

“Yes, but it’s not a huge deal,” you said, once again averting your eyes, trying to downplay it.

“Obviously it is,” Felix responded sharply. Then, as if in apology for his harsh reaction, he added, “I won’t be able to help you unless you tell me.”

Help. That was one way to put it. As the head of House Fraldarius, Felix had a great deal of sway. But it wasn’t just that. People forget who Felix was. The war was over, Felix wasn’t the harsh blade of the kingdom who took out enemies as a demon on the field. On the days where he let you hold his calloused hand as you walked the streets of the newly flourishing Fhirdiad and when he sat through endless tedious councils with the newly forged government, he was the kindest version of himself. So people forgot. 

Fools. 

The man who had approached you was from Alliance territory and had a greasy smile and hot breath. He laughed at your disgusted reaction to his proposition, even laughing when you twisted his arm for trying to touch you. A scrappy, irreverent sort of man. The worst that the nobility had to offer. And right then, you had felt sorry for him.  

“Since we married, I, of course, am a lot higher rank than before,” you began to explain, knowing it was a losing battle to keep silent. Felix would find out anyway, he always did. “So the nobles defer to me, but they all know I was born a commoner. Some of them don’t like that, I guess. They see me as a social climber, that I married you for the title. So some of them think I would do anything to get ahead. So they... Make offers, I guess. Thinking that I’ll... You know...” You shrugged, trying to skirt around the words themselves to make it sound less threatening. When you looked up, whatever attempt you’d been about to make to further downplay the interaction caught in your throat.

Once, you had fallen into the river at the precipice of spring, when the beds were filled to the brim and the water gushed fast with melting mountain snow. You were lucky to get out, as rivers like were more like than not to freeze your body blue as they dragged you into the dark. As it was, you’d come away shaken to your core and shivering for days, panicked whenever you remembered the water in your lungs or the terror of the fall. Something of that childhood horror was pulled to the surface by the expression Felix wore.

“I see,” he said. “So you were approached with an offer to help you “get ahead” in exchange for a sexual favor. That’s what you were afraid to tell me.” His tone was like tempered steel, the questions made into statements by his even voice. Felix’s eyes weren’t pointedly mad at you, although the irritation was clear. He never leveled the truly frightening emotions at you. 

“I wasn’t afraid,” you said. A lie. You had been afraid. Afraid of this. Your realization, the reason why you had felt sorry for that foolish nobleman, the reason anxiety sunk like an anchor of pure dread into the pit of your stomach. “Felix, like I said, it’s fine. I twisted his arm when he tried to touch me-”

“He tried to touch you?”

"But he didn’t,” you quickly amended, your voice very nearly pleading now. “I’m sure he got the message, so it’s fine. Right?”

“Sure,” Felix said, his face a mask of stoicism and voice unyielding. Anger burned in his eyes, a fiery complement to the stony expression he’d adopted. “Just tell me his name and I’ll make this all better.”

[cavalierious-whim]

Kicking, Screaming (FE3H)

Sylvix | Canon-Compliant | Pre-Timeskip | Teen | Complete Sometimes it feels like you have nothing left in the world and you'll only go down kicking and screaming. ----

A/N: CW--  They beat each other up, but it's not really graphic. Read here on AO3 for better quality! ----

The first time that they meet is on the training field.

Sylvain’s fingers are wrapped tightly around a lance, a real one because Gautier boys don’t play with wooden ones. There’s no lesson to be learned if there’s no harm to be had, so Sylvain’s held cold steel and iron in his hands since he learned to walk, and he’s only recently started coming back from sessions only bruised not bloody.

Miklan is bloodthirsty that day, weapon arcing high over his head as he lunges and parries and lunges again. Sylvain meets his movements with his own, polearms glancing off each other. Miklan’s spear tip catches the meat of his bicep and Sylvain winces instead of yelps, because Father is there that day watching carefully.

And with him are guests. Father looks annoyed, mouth pulled into a frown as Miklan laughs, lifting his shirt to wipe at his sweaty brow. Sylvain fingers the cut carefully. It’s not deep, but it’s a bleeder, crimson leaking down the flesh of his arm to his wrist. It drips onto the ground.

Sylvain ignores it, shaking out his hand and holding the lance up once more. “Again,” he says to Miklan, who’s already taking a stance. His brother is loose on his feet before Sylvain can even think, but he manages to catch the direct blow.

Later on, when the spar is over, Sylvain’s whisked away to his father’s side and meets Glenn Fraldarius and his little brother Felix.

“They are staying for the season,” says the Margrave, “and you will train with Glenn.”

Sylvain thinks that it’s because Miklan is too hard with his hits and his father is tired of cleaning up the mess that’s Sylvain when the sparring is over. He’s wrong. The first time that he and Glenn spar, Glenn hits hard and relentlessly.

But Sylvain’s also right because while Glenn gives him all he’s got, it’s never too much. Sylvain leaves their sessions not broken and battered but learned and energized.

Felix is a crybaby who hates to fight, so he watches from the sidelines the entire season. The next year, Glenn and Felix come back again for the summer months, and Felix demands to train too. Sylvain finds him cute, the way that he runs around with a little wooden sword, tripping over his feet. Glenn finds it endearing, admiring the drive from a boy that’s nearly ten.

When Felix takes the field one day against Sylvain, he’s short and small but determined. He’s already got dirt smudged across his face and he grips his sword too tightly and at the wrong angle, but there’s a determination there that Sylvain kind of envies.

He likes his spars with the Fraldarius boys, but the older the gets the less that he wants to fight, and the more he hates the bloodthirsty glint in his father’s eye.

Still. Felix is Felix, his best friend, his confidante. Sylvain owes it to him to at least sling him around the field. So Sylvain does and when Felix loses, he cries and cries and cries, guttural sobs as he hides his face in Glenn’s chest. Glenn shoots Sylvain an apologetic look when Felix calls him a rather nasty name, proclaiming that he never wants to see him again.

It lasts about a day before Felix is on the field again. Sylvain still wins.

These are the best years of Sylvain’s life, he thinks, looking back. The three of them training and laughing and learning. Sitting out under the warm sun and eating the pastries that Cook’s made for them. Late nights of playing Guards and Robbers as long as they can before the Governess sticks her head out into the hallway to crankily yell at them to head to bed.

They’d pile onto the same mattress, Glenn would open up a book and he’d read to them until they both fell asleep.

Shit goes to hell when Glenn dies. The world turns angry and bitter, Sylvain’s father turns angrier, more bitter, and with renewed purpose to marry him off, and Sylvain is caught between accepting his future and hightailing it the fuck away at first notice.

But there’s one thing that keeps him here, waiting. Sylvain’s too selfish to leave him behind.

#

This isn’t the Felix that he knows. Felix is short and quiet until he starts crying, often and at everything, and loud and never-ending. Sylvain’s not looking at Felix, though, he feels like he’s looking at a short, angry version of Glenn with badly kempt hair.

“Let’s go,” says Felix, all business, a sour tone dripping from his mouth tightly. He grips a real sword, not a training one, and for once in his damn life, he looks like he knows what he’s doing.

Sylvain’s wary because he’s learned over the years that you should never fight with a cornered cat. “Felix,” he starts, but Felix lets out a derisive snort.

“I haven’t come here to play,” says Felix, “I’ve come here to spar, like every year before this. And this time, I’ll win.”

Sylvain says nothing as he snaps into a stance, the training field of Gautier Manor long and wide between them. He and Felix have always been close, but right now it feels like they’re a furlong away.

They fly at each other, Felix’s sword landing a glancing blow across Sylvain’s lance. It’s intentional though, steel sliding along the pole before Felix pulls back and turns, his blade slicing inwards for a cut against Sylvain’s side.

Sylvain pulls back, angry. “Hey!” It’d been too close for comfort, too close to drawing blood. It’d reminded him of Miklan and the old days before he’d left without a word. Sylvain doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like this angry version of his best friend.

“Again,” says Felix.

And again they go. And again, and again, and again. Sylvain should have the upper hand due to weapons advantage, but Felix is smaller, lighter, and faster. Sylvain can’t land a blow to save his life, as Felix dances circles around him across the dusty ground. Felix has the decency to slap the flat edge of his sword across his side, dealing a large bruise instead of a nasty cut, but all it does is enrage Sylvain.

He’s never been angry at Felix before, but he is now and he hates, hates this foreign feeling that wells up within him.

“Again,” says Felix. He stands twenty paces away, no longer looking like a boy, but not looking like a man either. He looks tired and sore, circles cut deep under his eyes because he hasn’t slept in a year. Not since Glenn died. He’s only been angry, so, so very bitter and angry.

“Enough,” says Sylvain, wiping at the sweat on his brow. He knows when to call quits.

“Again,” says Felix, “We’re not done.”

“We are done,” snaps Sylvain, anger rising in him.

“We aren’t done until we’re done,” says Felix. “This fight isn’t over with.”

“Felix--”

Felix throws his sword down and tackles Sylvain to the ground with the type of maneuver that Miklan would pull-- down and dirty and not very honorable. Sylvain grunts as Felix throws his weight into him. He pushes back, throwing Felix to the side and rolling them over. Felix flails wildly, trying to hit anything that he can within reach.

He manages to catch Sylvain’s jaw hard with his fist. Sylvain pulls back onto his knees and looks down at Felix, cradling his split lip and spitting out the blood that wells up.

Felix stares back up at him defiantly and says, “Again.”

It’s fair when Sylvain hits back, he thinks. It’s fair to hit a person who’s hit you, even if it’s a friend, even if it’s a family member, even if it’s someone that you love deeply. Miklan taught him that lesson early on in life, Sylvain’s just never thought he’d ever duke it out with Felix on the other end.

Felix fights back like a rabid cat, claws out and hackles raised, yowling in anger as he launches himself at Sylvain once more. They tussle on the ground, rolling over and over, raking and scratching, kicking and screaming.

This time, Sylvain hooks his fist across Felix’s nose and there’s a distinct crunch under his hand. Felix doesn’t even blink. He lays there on the ground, nose crooked and bleeding, staring at Sylvain resolutely before croaking out another, “Again.”

Sylvain leans over Felix, knuckles bruised and lip swollen and bleeding, and he finally sees exactly what’s going on. He sees what Felix has been working through, he sees how alone he feels and he sees that he’s entirely at a loss. And Felix must recognize the pity that falls across Sylvain’s face because Felix pushes at his chest.

“Again!” shouts Felix, but this time it’s more like an angry sob, heart wrenching and painful. “Sylvain, again.”

Sylvain pulls him close instead, pressing Felix into his chest, fingers stroking through his hair as he murmurs soft words to him. Felix shakes in his grasp, but there are no tears because Felix has cried so much that there isn’t anything left. All he is is a pitiful, angry little shell who only feels things when he’s being pummeled into a pulp.

And that’s something that Sylvain understands truly, deeply, and with every fiber of his being.

Felix clings to him, fingers pulling at his shirt and Sylvain lets him, telling him that it’s going to be okay, even if neither of them believes it because Glenn is gone and war is on the rise. They both know what’s bound to happen.

Later, after the manor healer sets Felix’s nose, they’re out on the balcony of Sylvain’s room, where they used to watch the stars with Glenn.

“He left me,” says Felix.

“Yeah,” says Sylvain. “But you aren’t alone.”

Felix is quiet for a long moment, and then says, “I’m heading off to squire.”

Sylvain turns to Felix. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” says Felix, and it’s the first honest thing he’s said to Sylvain since he stepped through their front doors this summer season. “But it’s what Glenn wanted.”

“You aren’t Glenn,” says Sylvain.

Felix sighs, a soft little thing. “Of course not, but tell that to my old man.”

Sylvain bites his lip as he thinks, head falling back to stare at the dark sky. Felix does the same, and they both lean dangerously against the railing, reckless with their present-day because they already have no future.

“I promise that I’ll die with you,” says Sylvain finally.

“That’s a dumb promise,” says Felix with a snort.

“You wouldn’t be alone, though.” Sylvain pauses. “I wouldn’t be alone either. We can fight together and we can die together. Sounds better than marriage. It’d definitely mean more.”

Felix laughs at that, low and bitter. But then he nudges at Sylvain, a small quirk to his lips. Sylvain reaches out and brandishes a pinky, and Felix scoffs. “A pinky promise? Sylvain, we aren’t children anymore.”

“Pinky promises are a sacred thing,” says Sylvain with absolute seriousness.

Felix stares at his hand and then hooks his own around it. “It’s a promise then. We die together, or we don’t die at all.”

It’s a nice thought, Sylvain thinks. Too bad he doesn’t plan on keeping it, because he’s not going to let Felix die at all. Unlike him, Felix still has something to live for even if he doesn’t think so. Sylvain smiles at him, sickly sweet even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it’s the first time that Sylvain directs fakeness towards another person in such a way. Felix doesn’t see it because he’s not paying attention.

“Yeah,” says Sylvain. “It’s a promise.”

[indigowallbreaker]

ok i hesitated big time on this one because it's like UNHEARD OF levels of rare but...felix/edelgard and kiss prompt #59? i'm just so fascinated by their potential. thank you for being so cool!! you're awesome and i hope you're having a wonderful day/night.

(you were very brave, anon. i do hope you enjoy! big shout out to this post for helping me figure how Felix is during CR, as I have never recruited him for it. also just a great read in general tbh. Big Crimson Flower Spoilers ahead!!)

59: Kissing So Desperately That Their Whole Body Curves Into The Other Person’s 

They would march for Fhirdiad the next morning. Edelgard had sent Hubert with a message not long ago, and now sat waiting, half empty wine glass in hand. When a solid knock sounded from the study door, she did not look around as she called, “Come in.” 

Felix Fraldarius came in and shut the door behind him. Or, as Edelgard privately thought of him, the Wild Card. His decision to transfer to the Black Eagles had been seemingly at random. When he joined them before the battle to take Garreg Mach five years ago, he had shocked Edelgard entirely. Even though he was counted among her Black Eagle Strike Force, Edelgard herself had never placed faith in him. Always fearing he would turn at any second. 

He had not. And now here he was, answering her summons so late at night.

“Yes?” Felix prompted when she turned to him. Edelgard held back a smile. All the Eagles were candid with her but Felix treated her just like any member of the army. Barely any honorific unless in mixed company. It was nice, however much it boarded on disrespect. 

“We march to kill Dimitri tomorrow,” she said. No use beating around the bush. 

Felix did not flinch. “I know.”

She watched another moment but he didn’t so much as fidget. “I did not speak with you after Arianrhod. Where we killed your father.”

“Were you supposed to talk to me?”

“I like to think we are all friends here,” Edelgard went on as she stood up. “Killing family is never easy. It didn’t occur to me until later that I should have made a point to speak with you.”

“What’s to speak about? Arianrhod is ours. Next is the capital. This is almost over.”

There was so much passion in Felix’s movements on the battlefield. And yet now, his voice was flat. Almost like the Professor’s had been early on; all emotion dead. Edelgard sipped her wine and stated bluntly, “Felix, I only want people I trust with me tomorrow. Tell me why I should trust you.”

That made him bristle. “You’ve trusted me this long, haven’t you?” His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you?” He repeated, as if suddenly able to read her.

Edelgard moved closer. Felix still wore his swords on his belt, as if ready to march this very second. “You joined my cause with almost no obvious motivation. You’ve killed you own father, and some of you friends. Who’s to say you won’t lose your nerve once I slice Dimitri through?” 

The imagery would have made Edelgard herself wince had she not been steeling herself for the eventuality for years now. Perhaps Felix had been going through the same training, as he also did not react. “Those are all reasons why I won’t do anything stupid tomorrow,” he said in a tone close to a growl. “What would be the point of all this bloodshed if I just turned coat at the last second? Even if I thought the boar could win against us, why would he welcome back someone like me?” He let out a dark chuckle, crossing his arms. “Whether you trust me or not, I’m at your side.”

Edelgard set the wine down on her desk. His eyes followed it. “I didn’t take you for a drinker.”

“I’m not. But I thought tonight it might take the edge off.” She stepped closer. “Dimitri is my brother by marriage.” That, finally, caused Felix’s eyes to widen. “So you see, Felix, I will have to kill a family member in the coming days as well. I should have spoken with you after Arianrhod-- both to ask how you were, and to ask how you did it.”

Felix gulped. Then his expression set into its usual scowl. His hand rested casually on one sword as she stepped ever closer. There was a sizable pause. “He used to be like a brother to me. Before the western rebellion ” Felix’s admission came softly. It did not match his face. 

Edelgard took the final step closer, causing Felix to step back. When his back hit the wall, Edelgard rested one palm against it near his shoulder. He wasn’t caged necessarily. But the message was clear. 

“I need to know you can kill family one last time,” Edelgard said, looking up into honeyed eyes that were growing wide again. “Show me you will stand at my side.” She finally let loose her smirk. And kissed him.

The effect was immediate. Felix’s hand flew off his sword and grabbed the back of her head, pressing her closer. The hand Edelgard had laid on the wall moved to Felix’s waist, which rose to meet hers. She pressed impossibly closer; distantly she registered the dull thunk of his head meeting the wall with force but that didn’t seem as important as his tongue twisting in her mouth. There was the passion usually found on the battlefield.  

He seemed to curl around her, bending to keep their mouths pressed together even as his hands caressed her hair and cheek and chin and neck. Desperation seemed to fuel his every movement. Edelgard got lost in the feel of him, in the taste, in the way they seemed able to get across the strange emotions surrounding tomorrow. 

The kiss ended with Edelgard pulling her head away. Though he was panting, Felix still moved to follow, but stopped a hair’s breadth from her. His eyes opened ever so slightly. Cheeks flush, chest heaving against her own... Edelgard’s smirk became a grin. “Get some rest, Felix,” she said as she stepped out of his embrace completely. “We have a kingdom to topple tomorrow.”

Felix watched as she picked up her glass and sat back down. Then he straightened, nodded, and left. 

(Give me all the kiss prompts, i want them all)

[fe-husband-heaven]

AHHHHHHHHH HELL YEA 3H BOYS. I’m so in love with Felix, honestly he makes me emotional 🥺. Okay so,,, how about a drabble of him and his fem s/o in which he’s jealous of Sylvain flirting with her all the time and Felix shows her she’s his? 👀 can be pre-timeskip or post-timeskip, whichever you prefer! Thank you in advance!

Hnnnn I love Felix so much too, what a sword dork mwuah!

__________________________________________________________________________________

"What does that fool think he's doing?"

Ingrid turned away from her lunch to look at what had the prickly swordsman hissing, laying her eyes on the resident town flirt, she immediately felt a headache arising-

"Now, doesn't a nice hot meal in town with me sound great?"

A laugh from you rang out, you couldn't help it. Leaning against the dining hall wall with your arms crossed, you huffed up at Sylvain, who was currently hovering over you with an arm extended to cage you in one spot while he made a show in the seething Felix's field of vision.

"You're rather brazen today, huh Gautier? Are you sure its a good idea to be prodding the bear?"

Sylvain winked before leaning down to purr in your ear,

"It's what I'm best at."

Sylvain was having way too much fun. Felix never e v e r caught feelings and now, he's head over heels for his sparring partner turned friend turned lover? Oh this was too good not to have fun with.

You pressed a hand to Sylvain's chest to push him back lightly, you weren't going to become collateral damage for one of his pranks.

"Yeah, well, that bear knows how to wield a sword so you might want to-"

You were cut off by the loud sound of Sylvain's arm being slapped down, with enough force that Sylvain nearly fell face first into the wall behind you before he managed to stabilize himself and hold his arm in pain.

"Ow?! A little much don't you think Felix?!"

You stood amused at a clearly annoyed Felix who had made his appearance, seemingly having had enough of the display. Sylvain really shouldn't play with fire.

"Get your lance."

"Huh?"

"I said. Get your lance. If you like to run your legs as much as you run your mouth, you might just survive my blade. "

"Ahaha...Now now Felix, don't you think beating your friends into the ground is a mean and excessive thing to do?"

With his hands up in defeat, Sylvain began getting nervous. He'd teased Felix countless times before, pranks on his easily irritable friend were a normality in their friendship and while, as children Felix would chase him with a stick afterwards, a grown Felix with a sword would likely not end with a little bruising as it did when they were younger.

Sylvain thought he'd known his friend quite well but it seems he might have underestimated Felix's feelings for you..just a little. Felix had always been a little territorial of things he considered his, namely his sword, but the icy look he was currently receiving let Sylvain know that you were beyond off limits, prank or not.

"Right, Ingrid?"

Hoping for an ally, Sylvain turned to the blonde chivalrous woman who had walked up following Felix's abrupt rise from his seat in the Dining Hall,

"Actually, Sylvain, I might just join him in it."

Ingrid's stern tone was not lost on him so he turned to look at you, and for a second Sylvain thought he heard something akin to a growl come from Felix.

There was an unspoken "Help" in his eyes, and you shook your head at his antics before reaching out to grab Felix's hand.

"Now now Felix, it's in the nature of our local Gautier to go skirt chasing as he pleases, you know that. So don't go wasting your sword skills on him, yeah? Let's just go~"

You tugged gently at his hand and when he turned to you with a glare, you just smiled at him, your grin growing bigger when you saw him soften.

"Fine.", he relented, side eyeing Sylvain who shot him a grin.

You were a little surprised to see it was so easy but happy nonetheless.

"We'll see you two later, c'mon, let's go Felix."

Felix allowed himself to be dragged away but not before looking back at Sylvain with a glower and mouthing a "Watch your back, half-wit." accompanied by pointing at his own eyes and jabbing them in Sylvain's direction.

As you two exited the dining hall, you thought you heard another smack, probably Ingrid slapping Sylvain upside the head-

________________

Plopping yourself on his bed, you let yourself smile at Felix's behavior in the dining hall. Rolling over to face the ceiling of his room, you glanced over to see him watching you expectantly with his hands on his hips, foot tapping the floor impatiently. He liked the sight of you on his bed more than he should.

You took a moment to think of what to say, as per usual, he didn't like to initiate a conversation that wasn't started off with "Hey, dog."

After a couple more seconds of silence, you settled on needling him a little. With a small smirk peeking on the edge of your lips, you broke the silence,

"I didn't know you were so..possessive~"

He scoffed at you and crossed his arms,

"Don't be ridiculous. It has nothing to do with you...I just don't like seeing the mutt slobbering over anyone, it's annoying when I'm trying to eat. That's all."

You giggled at his explanation. It's so like him to try to deny he was feeling jealous, but you weren't going to push him to admit it.

"Is that so?"

Staring at the ceiling, your mind wandered. Felix was the bane of all things romance. He never entertained the attention of anyone else because he considered them interruptions. For someone like him to come to like you..well, you must have being doing something right.

You were sure of his feelings for you, he doesn't play around and he doesn't waste more time with others than he needs...but how sure is he of your feelings..?

"Hey, Felix..?"

"What."

"You know that Sylvain was just teasing you..right?"

He scoffed,

"Of course I do. I've known that mutt for years, it's no surprise to me. Don't worry, it's not going to make it hurt any less for him later."

You smiled at that, he put on that front but his friendship with Sylvain was as strong as steel. It also reminded you of before the two of you were involved. He was always pretending that you were nothing more or less than a training partner.

Always keeping you at arm's and sword distance, but immediately getting cross when you took so much as a risk. You remember the long lecture he gave you when you got a scratch from an enemy lance.

Your opponents weren't the only ones Felix had a problem with, apparently, pathogens were also on his reasons-to-berate-you list. You had only been sick for a couple days but he made it a point to be there everyday and nag that,

"If you can't handle a couple of germs, how are you supposed survive battle? I can't believe you got yourself sick, if you die from something as small as this, I'll kill you."

Looking back, he was a lot more obvious than he probably hoped he was, it didn't help that anytime another man got you alone, Felix would magically appear needing to hone his swordsmanship with a worthy adversary.

"-what are you daydreaming about now?"

"Ah nothing, I just...Felix..you know I only want you, right?"

Half expecting him to be a little flustered, you were a little surprised when he folded his arms and didn't miss a beat,

"Obviously. I refuse to put up with anyone half assed. If I thought you weren't going to become Y/N Fraldarius, I wouldn't have bothered."

Not being mentally prepared nor expecting something like that from him, you blinked owlishly, lips parting in surprise.

It seemed to be a slip of the tongue if Felix's eyes widening were an indication. Immediately, he sputtered out some sort of attempt to backtrack. Clearly, mortified to have said something so sappy.

"Wait! No-I don't mean-ugh..."

He gave up and pinched the bridge of his nose, he never spoke with a filter but if there was ever a time for it to show up, it was then. His cheeks felt like they were burning and he hated it, he'd rather take on an army than deal with having said that in your presence.

You bit your lip as Felix hid his red face in his hand, the tips of his ears were tinged the same color his face was. Trying to hold back from laughing failed miserably as giggle after giggle escaped past your lips.

Felix watched you incredulously, before furrowing his brows and clambering onto you, caging you between his arms. Momentarily halting your laughter but your face started to strain with the smile you had on.

"What do you think is so funny?"

You grinned up at him, he was embarrassed, and when he's embarrassed, he goes on the attack.

"Nothing! Nothing! It just made me happy, I think I love you a little too much, I couldn't hold it in~"

Felix sometimes hated how honest you were. It was never like his honesty, blunt, brutal, crass. You were just open, sincere, and candid. He was never prepared for any of it.

He sighed and shook his head,

"..Why'd you have to go and say that?"

Slowly, he leaned down, lips dangerously close to your neck.

"Is something wrong with it?"

A hand trailed gently under your shirt, you shuddered,

"Yeah...now we can't return to the dining hall."

____________

"Are those-"

"No."

"But they look like-"

"No."

"..are you su-"

"Sylvain."

"Alright! Alright! I get it, I'll drop it."

"Thank you."

"...ButTheyLookLikeHickeys-"

"Sylvain! Ugh, you know this is all your fault you know!"

Near snapping your spoon in half, dinner time hadn't started without a few stares from your comrades,

"MY fault? How is this MY fault? Just reign in your little mosquito boyfriend! No one's seen you since lunch! It's dinner time already, you were gone for so long that..."

He trailed off,

"..you guys were gone for so long...oh my god, you guys were...!!"

You slapped a hand over his mouth and considered strangling him for a moment-

"Shhhh! Could you be any louder?? And yes, it's your fault! If you hadn't gone and made a show of your philandering then my neck wouldn't look like I was rolling around in poison ivy!"

You jabbed a finger into his chest,

"Felix never forgets grudges, I should have known! He knew that laundry day isn't till next week and that I don't have any high collared clothes left. These little things, are a declaration to you doofus! He's marking his territory!"

Sylvain stared at you for a moment before howling in laughter,

"Oh this is too good, I knew I was in for a bruising later but I didn't think he'd be leaving a couple marks on you too..!"

For a moment, you thought about lying to Seteth and saying Sylvain had been pestering Flayn (he hadn't) but you were too busy beating yourself up for not realizing.

You should have known! He was licking and sucking on your neck more than usual, and you had noticed, but you were too busy being distracted by what his fingers were doing-

Ahhhhhhh, this is some next level mastermind stuff, and! And! By the time you realized, he had already scampered off to the training grounds.

You couldn't exactly yell at him over it in front of the tournament head.

Huffing, you sighed in defeat, he'd won this round but the next White Heron Cup was coming up soon and you knew the perfect suggestion for who should enter.

Which only left the other monkey sitting next to you,

"Sylvain...I'm going to tell Gilbert you were hitting on his daughter-"

He stopped laughing,

"You wouldn't..."

"Watch me."

[iced-coffee-and-imagines]

If requests are still open, would you be able to write a Felix imagine? Soft Felix with a musician SO? Thank you ❤️

Hi, Anon! Soft Felix is a gem; you can absolutely have him

((Also I’m a total sap for musician!s/o’s because I too play instruments))

~Latte ♡ ♫

Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Musician!Reader - Play for Me

The Harpstring moon had just crested the walls of Garreg Mach as Felix walked through the monastery, the air pleasant with the coming of spring

He sighed, pausing his return to his dorm; the breeze carried another sound this night

He smiled to himself; he knew who it was–not many of their allies could play an instrument, let alone as well as you

His feet moved automatically, carrying him to the source of the music

He stayed in the shadows, leaning against the wall as he crossed his arms over his chest, earlier smile returning

Your movements were so graceful, fingers moving to catch the notes as they scrolled through your mind; you had no sheet music, only memory to guide you

Felix waited until the song was over before speaking, striding from his hiding place with a look of contentment, “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play”

You startled, whirling around to face your intruder; your expression softened when your eyes found only your lover’s form

He continued to approach, an easy, relaxed saunter, so different from his usual clipped pace

You spoke as he halted next to you, “I’m surprised you’re still up”

He huffed, amused, “I had just finished training when I heard you on the walk back to my room.” He lifted a hand to cradle your jaw, fingers calloused from years of swordsmanship, “You don’t play much anymore, do you?”

Your face falling told him all that he needed to know, your gaze shifting to the floor. He pressed, “Why?”

You sighed, bringing one of your hands to wrap around his wrist, leaning into his touch, “There’s just no time for it”

The distance in your voice stung; this was your passion, he knew that much; Why would you throw it away?

He removed his hand from your cheek and tapped your shoulder, a silent request

You shifted, giving Felix space to sit next to you; you looked at the young man expectantly, never knowing whether he would speak his mind or just sit and mull in silence

He sat close, his thigh and hip brushing against yours; he placed a hand on your leg closest to him

You rested your hand over his and laced your fingers together, leaning against his shoulder, perfectly content to stay right there the rest of the night

His cheek came to lay against your head, amber gaze falling to your joined hands

His rough voice broke the stillness; he was pensive, quiet, “You and I both know that there’s plenty of downtime to practice. What’s the real reason?”

You sighed, knowing your love would not relent until you told him the truth; bleakly, you whispered, “It feels wrong, somehow, to be happy while our old friends die at our feet”

He remained silent; raising his head, he slid his hand from under yours, moving to wrap the arm around your shoulders instead, pulling you closer to his lithe frame

His tenor startled you, “Perhaps. But a corpse doesn’t care whether you enjoy yourself or not.” His copper eyes steeled, “I’m tired of the living basing their actions around the thoughts of the dead. It changes nothing”

He sighed heavily, idly rubbing your arm; he continued, “You’re talented, more so than others realize. The practice and effort you’ve put into your music shouldn’t go to waste because of some gods-forsaken war”

You gaped at him, stunned; rarely did the swordsman confide in anyone, even you, let alone praise them; most often his caring nature was buried under double-edged comments

Regaining your composure, you wrapped your arms around his waist and nestled your head into his neck, “Thank you, Felix”

He hummed, “I just don’t like to see talent wasted”

“Even still,” you leaned up and kissed his cheek, the reaction well worth it, “I appreciate it”

Face flushing scarlet, he stumbled for words before huffing, “Whatever.” Tapping your shoulder with his index finger, he changed topic, “Play for me, will you? We still have over half the night”

“It’s still late”

“We don’t march for three days; we’ll catch up on sleep”

You did not need to look at him to hear the smile creep into his voice. You chuckled, mind already browsing through what songs you knew, “Of course, Felix”

[three-houses-text-files]

dimitri/felix

c-a support + paired ending

c

Dimitri: Hello, Felix. I see you're here to train as well. Felix: Go away. Just looking at your face makes me wanna retch. D: Heh. With that mouth of yours, you grow more like your brother every day. F: Shut up. And stop walking around on your hind legs. You're not fooling me. D: I cannot fathom why you seem to hate me so. F: Because I know what you really are—a beast, craving blood. D: A beast craving blood, am I? D: I assume you're speaking of the events two years ago. Last time we met outside the academy? F: I am. F: The way you suppressed that rebellion... It was ruthless slaughter and you loved every second. F: I remember the way you killed your victims. How you watched them suffer. F: And your face...that expression. All the world's evil packed into it. F: That was our first battle. I remember it vividly. D: … F: Oh, something wrong? Go ahead and deny it, you wild boar. D: I deny nothing, Felix. F: Well then. F: I suppose the Dimitri I once knew died during that slaughter in Duscur, along with my brother. F: Perhaps you're right. D: Hmph. D: Hurry up and get out of my sight. I don't make a habit of talking to beasts.

——————————————————————————————

b

F: You don't look busy. Join me for some training, boar prince. D: And here I thought you had no desire to speak with me. F: We don't need to speak to clash swords, do we? D: I suppose not. Is that one new? D: Wait! Where did you get such a blade? F: Hmph! I suppose you would recognize its value. F: I came upon a merchant selling weapons and found this among the rest of the steel. D: That pattern around the edge... There's no doubt. It was forged by Zoltan, the master swordsmith! F: I'm not giving it to you. D: Huh? Oh, I'm just happy to have laid eyes on it. I don't suppose you'd allow me the chance to hold it? F: Do you take me for a fool? I'm not letting a brute like you swing it around. D: As though I would be careless with something so valuable. F: I recall when you were nine years old, you swung a sword so hard you snapped it clean in two. D: Come now, that was so long ago! I'm hardly the fool I was then. F: Heh. So you say, yet House Fraldarius still told that story for years. F: ... D: What’s wrong, Felix? F: How pointless. F: No use talking about someone who's long dead. F: Looking at your face is making me angry. I'm going to find a different training partner. F: Farewell, Your Beastliness. D: What is going on with him...

——————————————————————————————

a

F: I have a question for you. Answer quickly before my hand slips and I cut you in half. D: Always so ominous. Well? What is it, Felix? F: Sometimes you have an animal's face, contorted with anger and bloodlust. At other times, a man's, with a friendly smile. F: Which is your true face? D: Do not waste your breath on questions with such obvious answers. They are both the real me. D: My father, my friends, Glenn... They all meant a great deal to me. D: And they were all brutally slaughtered. I alone survived. D: If I do not shoulder the anguish and regret they must have felt, who will? F: Hah. So, that's how you justify your atrocities. D: What do you mean? F: "I will fulfill my duty to the late king." My old man used to say that over and over, like a mantra. F: How nauseating. No one seems to understand. F: The dead won't acknowledge your loyalty. They don't care. F: What a load of bunk it is, pretending to serve a corpse. You're serving your own ego. D: You are wrong. F: No, I'm not. The dead are dead, the living are living. F: You have to respect that boundary. If you keep stringing gravestones around your neck, you'll snap. D: Even still... I cannot forget them, nor can I let them go. F: Then keep those thoughts to yourself. F: If you're too weak to do that, abandon your throne. Become a grave keeper. Felix... F: I'm not immune to emotion, you know. Far from it. F: I haven't gone a day without questioning why my father and brother had to die, while I survived. F: I'll bear this pain until the day I die, but I refuse to wallow in it. F: I have more important things to do than blubber for my whole life. D: … D: Heh. You know, Felix, you really are growing more and more like your brother. D: Always so sarcastic, and constantly looking for a fight. But deep inside, more than anyone, you— F: What are you getting at? D: Oh… It's nothing. But allow me to thank you. Your perspective has opened my eyes. F: Hmph. Not my intention. F: I couldn't stand the pathetic look on your face. That's all. D: I see. If you say so, then we will leave it at that.

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

After his coronation, Dimitri assumed the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and spent his life ruling justly over Fódlan. At his side every step of the way was his right-hand adviser, Duke Felix Fraldarius. Their lifelong bond grew so strong over time that, when Dimitri finally passed, it is said that Felix's grief was more potent even than the queen's. The stories of their lives were passed down to future generations as chivalric tales that rivaled those of Loog, the King of Lions, and his sworn friend,\nKyphon.

[wolfhednn]

when iron bleeds, felix & sylvain

starter for @gallantgautier

          felix hasn’t dreamed in years. though he doesn’t recall when, exactly, they’d stopped. they used to be frequent and vivid: memories of his childhood, of those around him. some had been less palatable, often featuring his father, his brother, and a recurring location — a labyrinthine fortress not unlike the one whose doorstep he stood in now, though he’s never been here in his life. not recently, though. recently, his sleep has been deep and dreamless. he doesn’t remember how long it’s been like that.

          shaking the gore of the last enemy off his blade with a flick of the wrist, he looks up to scan for his next opponent. the liquid scarlet, deep in hue, reminds him of something recent, but the thick of battle is hardly the time to be reminiscing.

          ❝ archers sighted at the rear of the enemy formation! ❞ a lieutenant shouts above the din, weaving through the chaos of slaughter as he makes his way to edelgard, a brilliant shock of crimson several paces away, surrounded already in a small pile of corpses and casting a tall shadow of black who was never far behind. out of the corner of his eye, sunlight flashes off steel, and he turns to see a horseman galloping at him, hoof beats deafening on stone, lance raised. the attack is easy to dodge, and he swings around with an inhale, preparing to square off against his enemy, confident despite their mounted advantage.

          but in an instant, the horseman’s face contorts in shock, and he drops the lance to claw uselessly at an arrow protruding from his neck. he slumps sideways off the saddle and the horse panics, rearing with a shrill neigh and barreling past across the lowered fortress drawbridge. felix doesn’t bother to see who’d claimed his target, but he does register the now-dead horseman’s colors. silvery grey armor draped in dark, almost faded blue, the emblazoned insignia of the falcon knight discernible even stained in blood and dust.

          the fraldarius coat of arms, stained in blood and dust. it seemed fitting.

          so the front gate — at the very entrance — is where he’d chosen to place his men, then. aiming to end the battle here before it even began, stop the incursion before it pierced into the silver maiden’s heart. as though someone had injected electricity into his veins, felix feels the battle come suddenly alive, brimming with noise and color. he hears his heart in his ears as he forges ahead, the streets of the impenetrable city feeling huge and wide and limitless.

          he’s answered within seconds by the sound of shouting that breaks above the clamor of war. further ahead and to the left, a crowd of imperial soldiers is in disarray, diving out of danger, others blown backwards by the force of some blast that sends rock and shrapnel flying. there’s a frenzy as petra, conspicuous in dark colored dye, hurries to rally the battalion of scattered archers and answer the attack— 

          screams of alarm and pain are muted in the blinding pillar of light that swallows all sound, and felix veers off to the right to avoid the debris launched skywards by the sudden blast, muscle memory and adrenaline carrying him over newly disintegrated corpses and rubble even as his vision readjusts and his ears ring, very bones rattling from the force of the follow-up shock waves.

          he doesn’t need to see to find, his mind registering the enemy long before his eyes do. with the brilliant light of the aura spell as his cover, he launches himself forward with a battle cry he doesn’t hear.

          steel clashing steel flints sparks that dance inches from his face.

          they separate, the decorated steed steadying itself under a skilled hand. the bay roan destrier: his most prized. felix rights himself, knows he has to strike quickly; the more time he gives him, the more the scale tips out of his favor. focusing his attention on the horse, he summons the threads of lightning to his fingertips.

          two loud cracks of thunder in succession.

          the destrier swerves as they graze it, once— twice—

          its eyes are wide and panicked. he knows he’s succeeded. it rears up. now. ❝ hrragh! ❞ everything he has thrown into the keen edge of his sword while the creature is startled. off balance, his enemy can’t counterattack, and the horse’s shrill scream rings in his ears. even a master horseman struggles to stay in a bucking saddle while fending off an attack, and it’s with satisfaction that he watches his opponent forfeit his mount, landing with only a slight stagger before he regains his balance, lance braced in a defensive posture.

          now the advantage is his, on foot. now his enemy is forced to look him in the eye. even if he’s carrying a sword alongside that now-unwieldy lance, felix knows he’s the superior swordsman. all that remains is getting past the faith magic, looking for gaps, an opportunity. he’s been preparing for this.

          all that remains is closing the distance.

          ❝ so, my foolish son... ❞ the deep voice of years past quivers with bitter disappointment, with quiet fury. hearing it fills felix’s throat with bile. ❝ you took it upon yourself to leave your family behind. ❞ the lance shifts higher up in his grip. so he doesn’t have another weapon after all. a fool to the very end. he doesn’t owe him an answer; he doesn’t, not anymore. not for a long time. but he hears his own words anyway, hears them being bitten out.

                        ❝ i’m not coming back. i won’t serve the boar. ❞                            he hates how, even now, his father still finds a way to                            tell him he’s a child.

          some buried instinct urges him to look at the faces of the choices he’s made. the monster in the mirror. the beating eye of blutgang. this one is every inch as unflinching as his own, dusted from battle, the stress of a half-decade of war carving new lines. it’s him; it’s that same face — twisted with a look of rage and disdain, and something else. a desperate anguish. he feels a haze crawl up through his chest, and he clings to the red in it.

                    ❝ it’s a father’s duty to settle his child’s failures.                              felix... you must die here and now! ❞

          that roar is all the challenge he needs. his mouth tears open in a roaring answer of his own as he charges. and he feels it— the tide— surging, his arm, his blade— the crest of fraldarius baring its own fangs.

          he closes the distance.

                                             ( felix hasn’t dreamed in years. but last night,                                                he’d dreamed of the sword in his hand, and                                                the liquid scarlet, deep in hue, as it bled. )