Chapter Text
A bloodied child stands outside Fraldarius Castle, the grounds empty save for the last remaining souls screaming for dear life. Begging the Goddess for salvation, for peace. For an end to the pain.
A child, covered in blood, eyes wide in horror as he watches his home devolve into a smoldering mess of ash and ruin. Motionless. Breathless. And yet the last living Fraldarius, standing before his inheritance, naught but rubble.
The echoes of the recent horrors sit fresh in his mind, as they will for many years to follow. The storming of soldiers’ feet, his father’s own men. Screaming:
“Traitor!”
The sickening crunch of bones, his father’s blood-curdling cries, echoing throughout the halls, rousing the child from his sleep. His brother’s hushed orders to run for safety. To run for cover. To hide in a cabinet as his brother guards the door with a wooden lance. Nothing but a trembling mess of a child, watching from the cabinet as the room shakes, as the door is smashed into, over and over, until the wood buckles and breaks. Splinters raining upon his brother, ready to take on armored men with live steel. Armed with nothing but a training lance.
A child should not know the warm feel of blood as it splatters across his face. Should not be familiar with the tangy smell of iron as it quickly turns rancid in the air. Should not witness the life leaving the body of another.
And yet he does. Intimately, as he sits in the cabinet, watching from a small crack in the door, unable to breathe. A fortunate horror.
The soldiers never check.
“There’s another whelp. Younger, smaller.”
“Don’t bother, just torch the place. He’ll suffocate in the flames.”
A man spits on the ground, his teeth gritting. “Damn traitors. To think they’d be capable of such an atrocity against the King.”
The door slams.
A child remembers himself, remembers his own body, his own breath, his own heartbeat. His own life. He bolts for the window, knowing the quickest way down the thick ivy that clings to the castle walls, and jumps from the stone the moment it grows hot against his palm.
A bloodied child stands outside Fraldarius castle, watching as his past, his present, his future burn up before him.
⊱┄❀┄⊰
How he makes it to Fhirdiad is a mystery. The days and nights merge into one as he walks, through the flurry of a blizzard in his mind, the soles of his shoes slipping off in the snow. Toes cold and frost bitten, but at least his cloak remains. He clings to it, seeking whatever warmth he can. He doesn’t even stop to eat, to sleep. Just walks.
The King, they had mentioned the King back at the castle. Traitor, they had said. But how? How could his father be a traitor? Beloved friend and confidant to the most powerful man in the Kingdom. Love, that’s what bonded the Duke to his King; Love and Duty. So how could those men call him a traitor? How could they kill him so viciously?
Nothing makes sense.
Eventually, he steps onto the icy streets of Fhirdiad, bare foot. His shoes don’t survive the journey. He barely does.
He collapses upon the cold cobblestone, chill piercing his cheek against the smooth surface of the street. A fine place to die, he thinks. Let the King find him here. Answer for the death of his family. Deal the killing blow himself.
Coward, he thinks, using the last of his strength to grit his teeth. To growl.
A bloodied child, freezing in a heap of snow on the cold city streets. Evening’s blanket taking hold, enveloping him in an endless shiver.
Violet eyes blink at him. Once, twice. Three times before he sees a smile. Is he dreaming? Is he dead? Is this the Goddess herself?
“Not a good idea,” the eyes say; they seem to be attached to another child. Another dirty boy. He smiles. Reaches out his hand. “You look like shit.”
He gasps. Words his brother would say behind closed doors. Words that would earn his brother a slap to the face from their father. Perhaps a lashing in the King’s presence.
His brother. Last seen lying gutted and lifeless on the floor. He didn’t even say goodbye. If he dared to spare the moment, he would have been enveloped in the flames. Dead, alongside his brother and father.
Violet eyes, scraggly hair, and a warm smile behind an extended hand. “Come on, I know a better place to pass out for the night.”
The child grips the violet boy’s hand, warm to the touch, and he hums. The tears follow soon, but the violet boy laughs, pulls the child into his arms and holds on tight.
“What’s your name, kid?”
He sobs into the boy’s shoulder, his body shaking. Hungry and cold. Afraid and alone. So bitterly alone.
“Felix,” he chokes out. But that’s all. Nothing more.
The name Fraldarius has burned along with the rest of him. Nothing but a memory to bury for eternity.
“I’m…I’m Felix.”
Violet eyes smile and the boy leads Felix towards his sanctuary.
⊱┄❀┄⊰
Felix wraps himself up in a moth-eaten blanket beside the fire, shoveling spoonfuls of slop down his throat, something he’d otherwise turn his nose up to in his old life. Now he eagerly slurps it down, stomach quivering with each bite. How long did it take for him to get into Fhirdiad? How many days did he forgo food just to make it here?
The violet boy laughs at his side, watching intently as Felix empties his bowl and grabs for another. The violet boy does the same with a mischievous smirk on his face before the back of his hand is met with the painful smack of a wooden spoon.
“Ah, Mama! What gives?!”
“One bowl, Yuri, nothing more!”
“But he…!”
“Shhh,” Mama scolds behind a bony finger. “No complaining. You saw the state of him! He needs to build up his strength, the poor thing.”
Mama, she calls herself. Yuri calls her that too. They don’t look related, everything about her is bigger and darker than him; her hair short and curly, her eyes wide and brown, her skin tanned and wrinkled. Felix finds it odd; he’s never seen anyone so far north with such dark skin.
She cried when Yuri brought Felix in. She was frazzled, shocked. There were girls, Felix thinks, he can hardly remember, even if it was just a few moments ago. His mind is a blank, stomach curling into itself from hunger and thirst. From exhaustion.
But she’s kind, doesn’t hesitate to give Felix dry clothes and warm socks, to tuck him inside an old blanket. His old clothes are marked with the Crest of Fraldarius, but that’s not him anymore. That Felix is dead, a boy he left bloodied and burnt in the castle ruins. Hopefully Mama doesn’t recognize the symbols, doesn’t turn him in to the King for being the last remaining member of a supposedly traitorous family.
She took the cloak into a small room to the side of the fireplace; that was the last Felix ever saw of it. Curled in her arms.
He still has some soot and blood on his face, but Mama insists he eat before he bathes.
“Where did you come from?” Yuri asks, snapping a stale piece of bread in half as it cracks against his teeth. His nose scrunches up, but he continues to crunch, gaze locked on Felix. There’s a turn to his smirk, more mischief, but he was kind enough to bring Felix here. Should Felix indulge him? Share such precious information with a boy who smirks in such an untrustworthy way?
“Stop with that, Yuri! He nearly died out there. Wherever he’s from, it seems little Felix would like to leave it where it is: in the past.”
Felix says nothing, merely stares at the empty bowl of slop before him. The past. His past. He swallows down a sob, thankful for the heat of the fire to dry his tears.
The heat of the fire, like the fire that nearly took his life.
His lip quivers and he huddles deeper into the blanket. Perhaps he should have given a different name altogether, but he could hardly think after walking the miles upon miles to Fhirdiad. He at least had enough sense not to say “Fraldarius.”
“Hey, kid, you alright?”
Felix startles out of his trance, flinching at Yuri’s voice. He turns, spotting how Yuri’s brow creases in concern, Mama standing behind him with her eyes wide. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits there in the uncomfortable silence that fills the space between them. Until Mama breaks it, patting a thick hand over Yuri’s shoulder.
“Yuri, why don’t you take him up into the attic. Get him settled for bed, alright?”
“But shouldn’t he take a bath? He’s still covered in…”
“Sleep first. Besides, the girls are going to need the baths tonight. It’ll be much better for him to get washed up in the morning.”
Yuri groans and with an eye roll he walks up to Felix’s side, wraps an arm around his shoulder and hoists him from the floor. “Come on, let’s get you into bed. Something more comfortable than the streets.”
Felix feels as if he doesn’t move on his own, as if his feet move by Yuri’s guidance alone. He looks around throughout his walk, up the rickety ladder that rests beside the fireplace. Once up in the attic, the first thing he notices is the low slope of the ceiling and the smell of smoke. It causes a shiver to run up his spine. The short hairs on his arm rise, sticking to the coarse, thin fabric he now wears. Yuri rummages around the space, making all sorts of noise before he rolls out a mat by the stone part of the wall; that must be part of the chimney.
“I’ll set you up right here,” he says, patting the dust out of a slender pillow before he drops it to the ground. “It’s not much, but it’s warmer than out there.”
Felix stands in a daze. The sudden introduction of food to his belly, the warmth filling his body, the smell of smoke; it all shocks his system in an instant as he falls to his knees on the floor and starts to cry.
He sobs, loudly, feeling the warm trickle of tears steam down his face. Yuri almost panics, runs over to wrap his arms around Felix, holding him tight.
“Shh, you’ve gotta keep quiet. The girls’ clients aren’t gonna like hearing a kid scream above their heads.” His voice is hushed, but the words come out quickly, like a warning.
Girls? Clients? None of it makes sense. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. But he nods, tries to quiet his sobs, biting his lip until he almost breaks the skin. He shivers violently in Yuri’s hold until he’s exhausted from the act, until his eyelids slip closed and he falls limp in Yuri’s arms.
It’s a few moments before Yuri speaks, but he’s whispering, a slight quiver to his tone. “Did he die? The man who hurt you like that?”
Felix looks up, trying to decipher Yuri’s question. He stares long enough until Yuri barks out another question.
“You look hurt. And you’ve got blood on your face.”
Blood. The smell of blood, of death. It still sits in his nose, he can’t seem to shake. After a few moments, Felix groans, soft and high-pitched, and gives a half-hearted nod. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s not sure. But that way Yuri gives a relieved laugh makes him shiver.
“Good,” he says, louder this time. “Any jerk who does something like that to a kid is better off dead.”
He helps Felix over to his new bed. Nothing like what he’s been used to. Nothing truly warm enough to fight off the nightly chill of a Faerghus winter.
But that boy is dead, he reminds himself. Burnt to a crisp. Nothing but ash on the cold, snowy ground.
He flops onto the mat, catches the slightest scent of mold on the fabric, and turns away from the stone wall. The smell of smoke is less intense when he faces away and hopefully he’ll sleep soundly.
“No but really, where did you come from?”
Yuri’s bright eyes nearly invade his vision. He’s up close, his own sleeping mat nearly touching the edge of Felix’s.
Felix almost recoils in fear, but his energy is sapped. Instead he whines, curls up under the blanket until his nose is buried.
“Nowhere,” he mumbles.
The answer isn’t enough for Yuri, who keeps pestering him until Felix’s eyelids grow too heavy to keep open and he finally catches his first bout of real sleep in days.
⊱┄❀┄⊰
Felix’s dreams that night are filled with horrors; his father’s final wails echo in his ears, Glenn’s lifeless eyes are forever imprinted in his mind. He tosses and turns, wakes up to large violet eyes and this time he does cry out in fear. He falls back, against the stone fireplace, still warm from last night’s flame.
The smell is still embedded in his nose. He doesn’t think it will ever go away.
“You okay?”
Yuri’s voice is soft, wavering. His outstretched hand is shaking as it tries to make contact with Felix. “You were mumbling in your sleep all night.”
Felix doesn’t answer, simply curls deeper into the blanket, stares at a spot on the floorboards and nods.
“You sure?”
He doesn’t know how to talk to this boy, doesn’t know how to sleep in rags, in moldy sheets with a pillow thinner than his hand.
Finally, Yuri offers a smile and stands up. “Must’ve been a real scary dream, but it’s okay. I know the perfect way to forget about it.”
He grabs Felix’s wrist, pulls him up to his feet as the blanket flutters to the ground. Yuri leads Felix towards the ladder and lifts him onto his back and shuffles down the ladder into the modest kitchen from last night. As Yuri drops to the floor, Felix’s eyes widen. The room is filled with girls, all draped in silk-like robes, their eyes dark and tired, but their faces are young and painted with makeup. They all stare at him; some smirk, some look to Mama who is ladling white, lumpy gruel into bowls.
“Morning, Yuri,” she calls out. “Best get to work. Then you can have your breakfast.”
“And Felix?”
Mama stops and the girls start to chatter among themselves. She walks over, placing the slop covered spoon on the table and blocking Felix from the girls’ view. “Why did you bring him down here?” Her voice is hushed but quick, as if Yuri did something bad.
But he responds with confidence, not at all bothered by Mama’s tone. “Didn’t want him to be alone! Figured he could help me with the chores.”
With a heavy sigh, Mama shakes her head and picks up her spoon, waddling back to the pot over the fire. “Then get to it, boy!”
Yuri giggles and drags Felix out of the room and down a long hallway; he didn’t expect the home to extend so deeply past the main room.
“Where…where did all those girls come from?”
Felix looks back down the hallway and can spot one of the girls peering down the hall before she turns to another.
“They work here,” Yuri says, matter-of-factly, taking Felix to the end of the hall. “You’re gonna help me with the laundry, got it?”
Felix looks down the hall, spots all the doors that line the wall. What is this place? What work could those girls possibly do?
“Laundry?”
Yuri nods and opens one of the many doors. It’s a small room, fitted with a wide bed mat and plenty of sheets and pillows. A small table sits against a wall and two teacups sit abandoned, dregs of tea sitting at the bottoms of both.
“Help me grab the sheets and we’ll take them out back, okay?”
Felix merely stares as Yuri trots into the room and grabs an armful of the sheets that immediately dwarves him. Felix turns up his nose as he steps deeper into the room, deciding to pick up a light sheet that fell to the ground from Yuri’s arms.
“What’s that smell?”
Yuri lets out a bark of a laugh as he leads Felix out of the room. “Don’t worry about it, but you might want to get used to it. All the rooms are going to smell like that.”
“Why?”
Yuri stops in the hall, slowly turns on his heel and stares Felix down. “Don’t ask too many questions. This is a whorehouse, okay? So it’s gonna smell weird, there’s gonna be gross guys coming in, and the girls are gonna make all sorts of strange noises at night. Just listen to Mama, follow my lead, and get up into the attic as soon as it’s dark out, okay?”
Felix nods, but the word whorehouse hangs in his mind. He thinks he’s heard Sylvain say it once before and he knows he’s heard it said by Dimitri’s Uncle Rufus at least a dozen times, but he can’t quite place its meaning.
But the sudden thought of his friends stops him in his tracks.
Do they even know what happened to him? To Father and Glenn? To his home? He feels his lip tremble but Yuri’s complaints beckon him out of his trance and out the back door of the house.
As he steps outside, the sunlight stings his eyes. He drops his blanket to rub at them, his view of the backyard cut off by his trembling hands.
“Hey, watch it!” Yuri scolds.
Felix whines, but as he opens his eyes, he can see the whole back of the house is a large hot spring. His jaw drops, the steam rising to tickle his nose. Yuri is in the back corner of the yard where a wooden tub sits, steam rising from behind the wood slats. “Come on, bring that over here so we can get it washed! We have a lot to get done this morning and you need to pull your weight.”
Felix gathers the blanket in his arms but still manages to trip over the corner of it that drags on the ground. He just about misses a rock as he falls but that doesn’t stop him from screaming, little bulbs of tears trailing down his cheeks.
“Are you serious?”
Yuri runs over, helping Felix to his feet and snatching the blanket from him.
Felix continues to wail, rubbing his eyes raw. “I’ve never done laundry before!”
Yuri’s jaw pops open. “What?”
“I’ve never done this! And this place is weird and I miss my father and brother and…” His words are lost as his sobs escalate but Yuri makes quick work of them by slamming his palm over Felix’s mouth.
“Not too loud,” Yuri hisses in a whisper. “Kids aren’t supposed to be here even though Mama likes taking care of orphans. Just be quiet and do your work, got it?”
With a hearty sniffle, Felix nods, but he’s still at a loss. He follows Yuri to the large tub and watches as he grabs a bar of soap and starts scrubbing. “Come on, grab some soap and get to work!”
Felix walks over to the edge of the tub and peers inside. Yuri’s sheets swirl within the murky water and a billow of steam fogs his view for a moment. But the warmth is nice and the other small springs in the surrounding area only add to the comfort. He looks up, notices a bead of sweat on Yuri’s brow as he concentrates on his scrubbing. To his side, Felix spots several bars of soap. He reaches over to grab one and wails the moment it slips out of his hand and bounces off the rocks.
Yuri freezes, stunned in his place.
“Oh, this is just pathetic.”
As Felix begins to chase the bar of soap around the hot springs, Yuri peels over in laughter. He’s laughing so hard, he almost falls upon the rocks.
Once Felix finally manages to grab the soap he makes sure to use two hands, only for it to slip up into the air and land on his head. Immediately, Felix screams as the chorus of Yuri’s laughter only gets louder.
“What’s going on out here?!”
Mama appears from the back door, wooden spoon in hand. A few of the girls stand behind her, looking at the scene unfolding.
“He doesn’t know how to do laundry!”
“It’s not my fault, I’ve never done it before!”
“Quiet! Both of you!!”
Felix shuts his mouth, but his tears continue to stream down his cheeks.
“No more roughhousing back here! Get back to work, alright?”
Yuri sighs and walks over to Felix, taking Felix’s hand in his and the soap in his other. “Come on, brat, I’ll show you how to clean the sheets.”
Felix stifles a sniffle, but squeezes Yuri’s hand tightly. He thinks of Glenn, of his teasing and his love. How spars in the fighting ground would end with tears and a loss for Felix. But Glenn was always there to make him feel better, offering a pointer about how to improve on his form the next time.
Yuri looks like he’s around Glenn’s age. He acts like it, too. Maybe he’s a little younger, but unlike Glenn, Yuri lives. Blood runs through his veins instead of on the cold, castle floor. His eyes are wide and full of life instead of fading over with death.
Felix feels another sob coming on, but swallows it down as Yuri leads him to the edge of the tub.
“Don’t grip it so tight,” he says, handing Felix the soap. “It’s slippery.”
Felix nods and loosens his grip just a little. He keeps his gaze on Yuri, carefully watching as he lowers his soap into the tub.
“Just like this, okay? Scrub it real good.”
Felix dips his hand into the water and almost wishes he could jump in instead of washing linens, but he follows Yuri’s lead. For the first time in his life, he’s doing laundry, a chore once reserved for the castle servants.
But his castle home is gone. Those servants are likely dead. And now Felix stands in the back of a so-called “whorehouse,” washing stinky sheets beside a boy with violet eyes.
⊱┄❀┄⊰
By the end of the morning, Felix’s belly is grumbling with hunger. While the girls remain in the back, Felix and Yuri collapse in the main room as Mama fills two bowls for them.
“And when you’re finished, it’s a bath for the two of you.” Her spoon is pointed at Yuri, her look threatening.
“We were practically just bathing while washing the sheets!”
“Yuri…”
Yuri rolls his eyes and spoons some porridge into his mouth as he grumbles out his compliance.
“The girls will be finished by then which should leave you two a little privacy out back.”
Felix stares at the bowl of white and brown lumps. He takes a bite and swallows it down; while his stomach is thankful, his tongue is not.
“What, don’t like it?” Yuri smirks at him, half of his bowl empty by this point.
“N-no, I just…”
“Yuri, hush! Leave him be!”
Mama returns her spoon to the pot and wipes her hands on her apron. After an exaggerated huff of breath, she walks over to Felix and kneels by his side.
“I know it’s not the best, little one, but it’s food and it’ll fill you up. Good to build up your strength, okay?”
He nods, looking into her warm eyes and trying not to cry while thinking of his father, tending to him after one of Glenn’s or even Sylvain’s teasing sessions.
“Mind telling me where you came from?”
He takes a spoon of the porridge into his mouth and swallows it down quickly before he looks back to her. The word “traitor” echoes in his mind, and he quickly shakes his head, trying to hide into the low cut of his collar.
“Must’ve been really bad,” Yuri says softly, pushing his bowl aside.
“Don’t…wanna get in trouble,” is all Felix can get out before he fills his mouth with a too big bite of porridge.
Mama sighs and stands, wiping her hands on her apron once more. “Judging by the state you were in when we found you last night, I can see how you came to that conclusion.”
“Mama?”
“Not now, Yuri. Or ever, maybe. Just finish up so you two can get clean. I’ll go check on the girls.”
The floorboards creak under Mama’s weight as she leaves down the long hall, the sound of high pitched giggling trickling in from the back door.
Felix continues to take small bites of his porridge, staring at the shapes he leaves after swiping up a spoonful. He startles when he feels the brush of hair on his arm and Yuri’s nose almost touching his.
“What kind of trouble?” His eyes are wide, a wonder-like glee filling them at the implication of Felix’s trouble. But if he knew, his eyes would not look so excited, he would not be smiling.
Felix shakes his head and finishes up his breakfast. He doesn’t want to say anything, not with his father being branded a traitor, not with his death something the soldiers sought out.
Instead, he lets his spoon clatter into the bowl and looks at Yuri, giving him only one word:
“Huge.”
⊱┄❀┄⊰
Felix has never bathed in a hot spring before. Normally, his baths occur in the castle washroom, after servants spend the day carrying buckets of fresh water into the tub to be heated slowly over a fire. He kind of likes the hot spring better, feeling the stones against his back, the calming sound of water trickling through the grounds. Yuri helps to wash his hair, the stale scent of ash filling his nose, reminding him what remains of the castle that now sits in his memories.
Once cleaned up, they make it back into the main room where Mama hands Yuri a small pouch of gold and a list.
“It’s already getting late, so don’t take too long. You know the rules, be back before sunset!”
Yuri gladly takes the pouch, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I know, Mama, I know.”
As he starts to leave with Felix in tow, Mama calls out.
“Leave the little one here!”
They both turn and Mama’s face has grown pale, her eyes wide.
“I…don’t want him out there.”
“He’ll be fine, he’s with me!”
Mama takes in a heavy breath; she looks scared, a fresh bead of sweat growing on her temple despite nothing but embers flickering in the fireplace. “Yuri, I said…”
“Come on! I finally have a friend to come with me during my chores. He’ll be fine, Mama, trust me.”
Yuri grips Felix’s wrist and before Mama can protest, they’re both out in the streets.
Though thin under his soles, Felix is thankful for the modest leather boots Yuri lent him. It makes running through the streets of Fhirdiad a little easier than going barefoot.
He can’t remember when he lost his shoes during his journey, but he remembers the cool crunch of snow beneath his feet when they crumbled into nothing. Unlike the many times he would frolic in the snow with Dimitri, barefoot and naked, only to be scolded by his father as King Lambert laughed in the background.
The memory causes his lip to tremble and he can feel a sob welling up in his chest, but Yuri’s guidance through the city streets snaps him out of it as he’s yanked in front of a vegetable stall.
“Need some ingredients, sir!” Yuri’s smile is big as he holds up the pouch of gold and presents the list to the shopkeep.
As Yuri tries his hand at haggling, Felix looks around the market. It’s a different angle than he’s used to, a different perspective. It’s only the afternoon and he can spot men stumbling around with mostly empty bottles in their hands, people in rags begging for the slightest bit of food. It makes his chest hurt and he clings closer to Yuri as a foul smelling man walks past the two of them, hanging by them a little too long for Felix’s liking.
“Thank you, sir!” Yuri tugs at Felix and takes him to the next stall as he begins to discuss prices with a woman selling bread. But something else in the market catches Felix’s attention.
“Didn’t expect the Duke to be a traitor…”
“And his two boys, you say? That’s just cruel.”
“The King’s going to be making a statement today. I’m curious about what he has to say…”
Felix tucks his head closer into his chest, hiding his face against Yuri and whining.
“What gives, kid? I’m almost done with this sale!”
“Wanna…go back,” Felix mumbles, trying to hide his face from the crowd.
But before Yuri can get a response in, the crowd begins to move. Shoppers and merchants alike all begin to swarm down the street as the bells from the Palace start to ring. More voices mumble around them, barely audible over the sound of marching feet.
“It’s the King! He’s in the city square!!”
“Maybe he can put an end to these nasty rumors…”
“Don’t be too sure about that!”
Felix begins to shake, clutching to Yuri’s thin cloak. But as Felix’s knuckles turn white, Yuri’s smile only grows and he grabs Felix’s wrist, tugging him in the direction of the swarming crowd.
“N-no!!”
“Oh, come on, Felix! It’s the King! He doesn’t usually make proclamations in the city square but when he does, you don’t want to miss it!”
A sour pit begins to form in Felix’s stomach, his chest tightening as he struggles to fight back against Yuri’s surprising strength; must be from lugging all those heavy bedsheets around every morning.
As they get close to the square, Felix can hear the excited whispers around him. Upon the dais stands King Lambert, wearing a large fur-lined cloak around his shoulders. But his normally kind and gentle eyes seem unhinged; Felix can spot it even from the distance. His stance is odd, not strong and tall but slightly hunched within himself. Beside him stands Felix’s best friend, Dimitri, and Felix can see how red his eyes have gotten, even as he hangs his head low.
“Dimitri?” Felix’s voice feels meek in his throat. He clutches to Yuri’s side, wishing to get a better view of Dimitri’s face.
“What did you say?” Yuri looks down briefly before the King’s booming voice fills the square.
“People of Fhirdiad!” It cracks slightly in pitch and Felix wonders what has happened to his Uncle Lambert; his voice is normally calm and steady, deep and comforting. Even with that short greeting, Felix feels like something is off.
“I am here to assuage your fears, to settle down the nasty rumors, and to put to bed the incessant talk against my character.” A spray of spit leaves his lips and Felix cringes.
“What you have heard is true: Duke Fraldarius is dead.”
A hush fills the crowd and Felix feels as though he might faint.
“All traitors to the crown shall be taken care of thusly. Those of you who conspire against your liege shall meet a similar fate. All for the protection of the realm, for the protection of the Kingdom!!”
A few men cheer in response but most of the people around Felix whisper nervously. The atmosphere is uneasy, thick with dread, but maybe that’s just Felix listening to his beloved Uncle Lambert excitedly proclaim the death of his father.
“I will protect you from those who wish to topple this kingdom, no matter how! Are you with me?!”
More people cheer this time but as Felix dares to look upon the dais once more, he thinks he can see a glint of tears streaming down Dimitri’s cheeks. He begins to cry himself, softly, soundlessly.
“Is…is Dimitri crying?” He chokes out his words, his small body shaking against Yuri.
“Huh?”
“Is he crying? And why is Uncle Lambert so…?”
He loses the rest of his words in a noiseless sob as his knees finally give way.
“H-hey, Felix! Are you okay?!” Yuri bends over to pick up Felix, slinging his numb body over his back.
Felix feels lightheaded, the size of the crowd cutting off his breath. Or perhaps that was the King’s doing.
“Let’s get you back, okay?”
Felix nods, letting his head fall against Yuri’s back. Despite how heavy his lids feel, Felix chances one more glance towards Dimitri. One more moment to look upon the face of his dearest friend.
For a brief moment, he spots a gleaming pair of blue eyes, pointing in his direction. Locking in his gaze. Staring for a brief, frozen moment. Until that moment shatters and the crowd swallows Felix and Yuri whole. But not before Felix can catch a glimpse at Dimitri, at the way his mouth seems to form the name:
“Felix?”
Dimitri’s eyes have never felt so raw, so sore and dry and raw. He feels like he’s been crying for days, ever since Father mentioned what he had ordered on Fraldarius Castle. After he claimed to be ridding the realm of traitors. But he still can’t make sense of it: why would Rodrigue do such a thing? Why would he, his Father’s greatest friend and truest ally, go against his King? Dimitri still can’t believe it; it has to be false, it has to be a mistake!
He sits at his dinner plate, merely picking at his food, staring blankly as a fresh set of tears dry to his cheeks.
“Your Majesty?”
A soldier enters the hall, bowing before his King and standing to attention immediately. “They have arrived.”
“Good,” Father croaks out. His voice is hoarser than normal, eyes uncharacteristically bloodshot. Even his cloak is bigger and thicker than normal. Father stands, as well as Lady Cornelia beside him; it’s been days since he’s last seen his step-mother and Lady Cornelia has been taking meals with Dimitri and his father in her place. Or so it seems.
“An excellent boon, I must say,” she says, hissing like a snake delighting to feast upon its prey. “Don’t you agree, Little Prince?”
Dimitri doesn’t want to look up at her, doesn’t even want to acknowledge her. Thankfully, his father’s voice interrupts in time.
“Bring me to them,” he calls out to the soldier who immediately turns to lead the trio down the hall.
Cornelia keeps up with the King’s pace down the corridor, her eyes quickly turning back before she whispers more secrets into his ear.
Dimitri’s short legs can only carry him so far, but he knows Father will get angry if he doesn’t keep up; he’s been getting angrier and angrier as of late. More unruly, less like himself. Especially in the past few months. Especially since Cornelia returned from her trip to the Empire back in the summer.
They turn the corner when suddenly a foul stench hits Dimitri’s nose. He covers his face, trying not to retch, but Cornelia up ahead cackles with delight.
“Oh, your Majesty, I can tell they have arrived!”
“Silence,” he grumbles beside her.
As they near the door, Lambert pushes it open, the foul stench growing exponentially worse. Dimitri has no choice but to retch against the wall before his father can summon him.
“Boy,” he barks, a name he’s only been using for Dimitri very recently.
Dimitri doesn’t like it.
“Come here and look upon the faces of treason.”
After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Dimitri walks forward and around the wide berth of his father’s cloak. Almost instantly, he freezes at the sight.
Rodrigue’s corpse lies upon the floor, his once bright eyes a pale, milky white, his skin gray and partially decaying at the corners of his mouth, within the cavities of his nose. Dark brown splotches of dried blood cover his clothing. A man he saw just a week ago, dead before his eyes. Beside him is the corpse of Glenn, his hands clutching the remains of a training lance, its ends burnt. It’s only now that Dimitri realizes he’s sobbing, choking on his cries as he scrambles against his father’s cloak.
Slowly, his eyes scan over to see the charred remains of who he is told is…
“Felix, was that the younger boy’s name?” Cornelia looks upon the bodies and shakes her head, as if it’s a shame they’re not more grotesque upon their presentation.
“Yes,” Father says simply.
“Tsk, what a pity. To be marked a traitor at the tender age of six.”
Dimitri falls to his knees, body shaking violently as his eyes scan over the three bodies; Rodrigue and Glenn lying lifeless and bloodied before him, and the crisp remains of a young child who could only be Felix.
“And all because his father dared to share secrets with a Srengi national.”
“Treason is treason,” his father says, his voice rumbling within the room; Dimitri can feel it deep in his bones. “It matters not who spreads the lies.”
There’s a crack in his voice that leads Dimitri to believe his father still has some sense in him, has some sort of remorse for the deed done upon his once good friend.
“One would think Margrave Gautier would be the likely culprit, but the Duke? Surprised me as well, Your Majesty.”
From his spot on the ground, Dimitri begins to slowly crawl towards Felix’s remains, stretching out his hand to touch his friend one last time.
“Boy!” His father barks the order, startling Dimitri in his place. “Get up, we’re done here. Dispose of the bodies however you see fit, Cornelia. I’m done with them.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” She bows low, the strident hiss of her voice grating on Dimitri’s ears.
He stands slowly, keeping his eyes on Felix, fat tears welling from his eyes as he gives a silent goodbye. Before he fully turns to leave, the simplest of things catches his eye, keeping his gaze locked on the charred corpse for just a moment longer. And a memory from one week prior fills his mind…
“No fair!” Felix yells, tagging behind the other boys as Glenn crosses the finish line first. He raises his arms triumphantly, chanting his victory for Dimitri and Felix to witness.
“The honorable Knight of the Realm, Glenn Fraldarius, wins! Leaving His Highness and the Duke’s snotty youngest son in the dirt.”
“Glenn!”
“I’m n-not snotty!!” Felix begins to wail, a bubble of mucus emerging from his nose.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Dimitri rushes over to hug Felix tight, cooing soft words of comfort into his ear before his cries get too loud.
“You are, too! Observe. Exhibit A: snotty little Felix, crying because he lost.”
And then the dam breaks; Dimitri can only do so much to soothe Felix’s sobs when Glenn gets in one of his moods.
“It’s because you’re s-so much taller than us! It’s n-n-not fair, your legs are longer, that’s why you won!!”
Glenn puffs out his chest, letting a haughty laugh explode from his mouth. “Listen, squirt, once you reach me at my shoulders, you’ll definitely beat me. Besides, you’re the one with the major crest. Talk about an unfair advantage…”
“Glenn, stop it,” Dimitri scolds, letting the front of his tunic soak in Felix’s tears. “You know how sensitive he is about his height.”
With a sigh, Glenn resigns and walks over to Dimitri and pats Felix on the head.
“Sorry, Your Highness.” Though he doesn’t sound it. “I take it back, Felix. You’re not that snotty.”
And another wave of sobs echoes around them…
He stares at the burnt corpse, lying beside Glenn’s body, once so full of life. Lying toe to toe, with its head reaching just a few inches over Glenn’s shoulder.
“That’s…” Dimitri starts to say, but his father ushers him out of the room and the doors slam closed, cutting off his view of the corpse.
“That’s not Felix,” Dimitri mumbles into his shoulder, staring at the double doors as a bright yellow light illuminates the between the cracks. A strong smell of sulfur and ash fills his nose, his body shaking at the thought. Destroyed, gone. And before he ever got a chance to inspect the bodies once more.