Chapter Text
“Are you seriously going to just stand here all night, Felix?”
The newly delegated Duke Fraldarius stiffens, narrowed eyes sliding to fall upon a familiar figure approaching his side. Their arm, long and lanky, flops over his shoulders, and Felix’s scowl only deepens.
“Get off, Sylvain.”
The redhead laughs, lifting his limb to hold his hands up in a pleading gesture. “Alright, alright, Your Grace. You could at least pretend you’re having fun, you know.”
Felix remains silent, standing ungainly with one hand resting on the sword at his hip while the other balances a mug of ale he hasn’t bothered to touch. The castle’s ballroom is packed from one end to the other in yet another effort for the King of Fódlan to connect with each and every foreign, and domestic, emissary. Dances and food and alcohol entice even those from Morfis and Albinea to discuss treaties and trade agreements that were once untouchable.
He can’t deny that it works, but it irks the swordsman to no end that there is a piece of tradition to these events that hasn’t been thrown on its head.
“Are you going to dance this time? I mean, you did win the White Heron Cup-”
Felix growls, free hand rising to punch his friend in the stomach before he’s stopped by another familiar voice joining the fray.
“He’s right, Felix. You were… oddly good at it, weren’t you?”
Ingrid pushes through the crowd to stand before them both, heels clicking on the marble floor and dress swinging with the movement. The color of it matches the cufflinks upon Sylvain’s wrists and Felix suddenly feels odd, standing there in the same polished armor he wears to battle. Out of everyone, he hadn’t expected her to adhere to the unavowed dress code.
His aunt had given him a strange look when he had left the estate, though deigned not to say anything for an effort that was knowingly fruitless.
“It’s not as though I signed up for that willingly.”
Sylvain raises his brow. “Like I ever heard you say ‘no’ to the Professor before.”
Felix’s eyes shift to the pairs now forming on the parquet, a strange feeling settling over him as a violin begins to pluck its strings, as Dorothea begins to hum along with it.
Why would he ever have a reason to tell Byleth no? She never asked anything… half-witted of him. Even the Heron cup-
‘It will help you with your footwork.’
He didn’t even question it.
“You think the Professor will stop by?”
“She’s in Remire, helping with reconstruction.”
His tone is cold, distant, enough for Ingrid to give him a look that can only be described as concern, perhaps shock. He had received a letter from her just a few days ago, a thank you for the charitable funds he had given, and a promise she would stop by as her mercenary band came to take jobs in the Kingdom for the rest of the warm season.
Most of their exchanges were like that now, typical conversations they would normally have on the training grounds now weighed down by political updates rather than more personal ones.
Sylvain’s hand jokingly smacks his shoulder, nearly causing Felix to drop his drink.
“Well, at least we know you’re still her favorite.”
The Duke opens his mouth to retort, but Ingrid abruptly changes the subject. “How are your aunt and uncle, Felix?”
“Annoying, like they usually are.”
“About the… usual?”
He nods, a sneer on his lips now as he recalls the conversation he had just this morning.
‘This role is hard Felix, you need… a partner. Someone to help you.’
‘I’m not trapping someone into this.’
His aunt had stared at him, eye color matching his and expression opposite to the smile his mother held in their family portrait. She looked at him with something akin to pity, voice soft, and he hated it. ‘It’s not a trap, Felix, not if they are willing. It’s a union and… it is the courting season. I suggest you at least try it.’
The music was swelling fully now, pulling guests to the dancefloor like a call to battle and knocking Felix from his thoughts. Ingrid gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before she and Sylvain are too swept away, the redhead wiggling his eyebrows as they disappear. “Loosen up, won’t you?”
He remains silent, only nodding every once in a while at passing, familiar faces. Petra, who stays close to her performing wife, Dedue, whose serious expression melts when Mercedes takes his hand, and Dimitri and Claude, who revolve around one another like they perceive each to be their own iteration of the sun.
There is a litany of others, but they are lost in the sea.
The Shield of Faerghus stays in that corner for the rest of the night, deflecting anyone who bothers to offer their hand with a scowl.
“I heard that you turned away that nice Guillebeaux girl from the Eastern Church.”
Felix’s aunt stares at him from over her tea cup, eyes sharp like she is zoning in on her next archery target. “In fact, I heard you turned down everyone who approached you.”
“How would you even know that?”
“If you’re in a room with that many people, I’m bound to know someone, Duke Fraldarius.”
He glares, expression now mimicking her own. It’s only his uncle clearing his throat that makes them both break, though the hesitation to do so is as clear as day.
“We will be leaving at the end of the season to return to our own home. This estate and the land in which it resides will now fall under your control.” The older man shifts uncomfortably in his seat across the drawing room, not at that fact, Felix thinks, rather the twin stares he is now receiving.
“I agree with Elyne’s suggestion of forming a…partnership of sorts so that you do not have to bear this weight yourself.”
Felix bristles. “I don’t need help.”
“That’s what your mother said, too, when your father first met her - wandering across his territory bleeding out from her little scuffle with bandits.”
Elyne tilts her head, a smug smile on her lips. “And look what happened when she finally relented.”
Before he can even argue, a knock on the door cuts the impending argument short. The stableman appears, lingering in the threshold with a furrow in his brow and an unsettled expression on his now paling face. “Your Grace there’s… there’s a woman lingering in the training grounds at the main residence. She wears a hood, a Rapier at her side-!”
Felix quickly stands, his chair loudly scraping against the floor from the movement. A smirk settles on his lips as he shoves his way out the door, the thrill of a formidable fight burning in his blood.
Finally.
He nearly sprints across the grounds, strides long and purposeful, arriving at the open gate to his destination in a matter of minutes. He steps in, attention settling on the cloaked figure at the end of the space, who is leisurely adjusting the gauntlet on their wrist. The Duke doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to - the sound of him unsheathing his sword has them doing the same.
The pair are running at each other in mere seconds.
The force of the connecting blow has them both digging their heels into the ground, sparks flying into the air, and his visitor’s hood falling to reveal a familiar face.
Byleth’s eyes, bright and green, connect with his own, and Felix can’t suppress the smile forming on his lips. For a moment, they don’t move. For a moment, he drinks her presence in - freckles from exposure to the sun in the South splash across her nose and a new scar, small yet noticeable to him, is drawn across her cheek.
They break away and it is a dance of swords, as their reunions always are, for quite some time.
Byleth is the first to break the silence after a particularly brazen attempt to corner him. She does a small withdrawal, blade rotating in her hand as she speaks, barely winded.
“How are you?”
He initially ignores the question, sprinting towards her with a double-round strike that she blocks with enough force for sparks to flash once again. The mercenary raises a brow, knowing eyes connecting with his own and he relents, though does not withdraw from the fight.
Felix rants, uncharacteristically so. About his aunt and uncle, the gala the Boar had thrown the other night, and all the further pestering and unwanted introductions that had come with it.
Marriage. Union. Courting Season.
If it weren’t for Byleth’s ability to read him, to change her steps with his own, he would surely be on his back by now, his sword long knocked from his grip.
She hits with an almost lazy upswing, which he manages to block after finally falling silent, and steps back.
Her eyes roam his figure, up and down as if deep in thought, and he barely suppresses spatting out a ‘What?’ before she speaks, expression indifferent.
“We could get married.”
Felix chokes, warmth rushing to his cheeks.
Byleth only continues to look at him, knuckles coming up to rest on her cheek, as if what she is saying is like a simple observation of the weather. “Pretend. So you aren’t bothered anymore.”
She’s speaking as if he had just approached her with a question about what weapon to use, while Felix struggles to keep any composure he had to begin with. He can only manage to scoff, turning his face to the sun to try and hide the annoying fluttering of his heart.
“Don’t be stupid. What’s even in it for you?”
His attempt at chiding her is halfhearted, nowhere near the level of when she would place herself in front of danger on the battlefield for him. It’s only after a few beats of silence does Felix bother to look her way again.
The former professor’s eyebrows are pinched together, near offense in her expression, as if it should be obvious. “Helping a friend.”
He opens his mouth, chokes on his words, and immediately shuts it. He feels… ridiculous.
The idea doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should. This, with her, should bother him and it doesn’t and that’s the problem-
“Felix?”
Her voice swoops in like a harsh wind, knocking him back to the present, and Felix relents, just as he did when she asked him to dance all those years ago.
“...Fine. Until the end of the season. Just wear a ring or something, do whatever you want for all I care.”
Byleth nods as if satisfied, a small tilt to her lips that Felix has come to know as a smile. He huffs, still trying to suppress the heat crawling up his neck, and returns to a fighting stance, sword in hand.
“Now show me what you learned while you were away.”