Chapter Text
Garreg Mach hasn’t changed an inch from when he left it. Still standing, proudly as ever, and built into the very face of the mountains themselves, the monastery remains seemingly untouched by time. Decades. Centuries. Nearly a millennium, now. Whether it be by divine blessing or by the work of particularly dedicated craftsmen, likely both, its walls have held firm as the fortress it is. It could be that the very first entrants to the officer’s academy were greeted to the very same view he’d once had. Unchanging places like this have become harder and harder to find in Fodlan, what with various skirmishes here and there razing villages and sanctuaries alike to the ground.
But thankfully, somehow, the monastery is ever the same. Despite the dour reason for the visit, Rodrigue is still happy to have an excuse for it. It’s been far too long. As he and his entourage reach the front gates, turning a corner in towards the marketplace, he finds himself fighting the once forgotten urge to bound up the steps a few at a time. The black iron gates rumble as they’re pulled up to the top to make way for their arrival.
Still, today’s visit isn’t one for leisure, and he knows it well. Thieves have plagued the already overburdened Gautier territory for some months now, he’s heard. Their doings were minor, at least at the start, but things began to grow violent once they were met with little resistance. Their attacks have only gradually moved south since then, as they searched for new villages to pilfer and terrorize. The Margrave already has his hands full managing the northern border, and as the months grow colder and northern attacks from Sreng more desperate, he would have little time or resources to spare on handling common thieves…were it not for the unfortunate identity of their leader.
At the news, the Church pledged their complete support in curtailing their advance, to the gratitude and acclaim from the besieged territories. And to secure said support, Rodrigue finds himself back at the towering house of faith.
If he’d the time, he might find himself content to wander the monastery grounds and lose himself in the nostalgia of the place. It would make for a comforting stroll if he decided to go ahead with the idea. Already, the hum and bustle of the marketplace was stirring up memories. Did that one faucet by the dorm still stall up sometimes, only to suddenly spray water in the faces of the unsuspecting? Was it possible that after all these years, no one had found those silver coins he and Lambert had hidden behind the saint statues? Granted, those had probably been pilfered ages ago by some children lucky enough to happen across them…and their old professors were likely no longer there…but…
A pair of schoolboys, academy students, rush past him and his accompanying knights, trying to weave between them as they pass by the market stalls at the foot of the stairs. In his hurry, one accidentally bumps into Rodrigue at his side, as the other only runs further away.
“Sorry!” the boy calls back, with a quick turn and a wave before continuing to give chase, his friend already quite a few paces ahead. If the smiles on their faces are any indication, Rodrigue guesses that the two of them are meant to be in class right about now. But the sky above is bright and clear, the sun warm and inviting. It’s too nice of a day to not skip a lesson or two.
…
“On second thought…”
“Lord Rodrigue?”
“You two go on ahead. I’ll meet up with you back here…by evening, at the latest.”
“Sir? Wha- Where are you going?”
“I’ll return, quick as I can!”
He turns to detour to the side of the entrance hall instead. Addressing the bandits will have to wait just a bit longer. For now, he lets his heels carry him where they may.
Most of the faces he sees around the monastery are unfamiliar now, but there are still a few people Rodrigue can recognize. Some of the older monks, an older woman in charge of the dining hall, a few of the Knights here and there. He spots a few other faces that seem like he’s seen them before at some point, though he could be mistaken. But time moves on, and people’s circumstances change. A decade or two and it’s like an entirely different place despite those same bricks having stood there for so many hundred years. Though looking around, it’s as though someone he knows, his old classmates, could come bounding around a corner any moment. He looks across at the fishing pond, where at times his friends would get scolded for trying to scoop up a catch with their bare hands. He looks across, to the edge of the dorms where they’d meet as a group in the mornings before heading off to class together. And past that, around the corner should be the-
“Lord Rodrigue?”
A deep, unfamiliar voice calls his name, and he turns. The sound reaches him from stairs behind him. There, he spots a pair of academy students returning his gaze. One, freckled, carrying a burlap sack over his shoulder, the other, the taller, with a stack of supply crates in his arms and-
“…Hm?”
The second, taller one…much taller, he notices when the two draw a few steps closer, very clearly has his eyes on him. It doesn’t take Rodrigue more than a split second to recognize him though, golden earring and all, though the young man’s sheer, towering height is enough to make him second guess himself.
“Is that…Dedue?”
“Yes…?”
“You- That really is you, isn’t it!” He moves to clasp his hands around his shoulders, but with the crates, and the height, and…the height, his attempt is clunky at best. Once Dedue sets the supplies down on the ground, Rodrigue opts for a handshake instead, wondering if he’s really gotten that old, or if kids really grow that fast. And while the young man leaves most of the hand shake to him, his grip is firm, solid. Rodrigue takes a step back, looking him up and down once more. “I can hardly believe my eyes-just how many years has it been, now? To say you’ve grown would be an understatement!”
“Um…someone you know, Dedue?” Ashe finally asks.
A nod. “This is Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius,” he begins, “A noble from the north of Faerghus. He visited His Highness many times while we were still in the capital.”
“Fraldarius…Felix’s father?!” Ashe jumps, nearly dropping the bag of flour he’d been carrying once the last name clicks into memory. He straightens in a near automatic show of respect, and after setting down the luggage, he bows his head some when Rodrigue moves to shake his hand as well.
“Yes, as it happens.” Rodrigue answers at the end of a laugh, “Though I doubt he’s keen to mention me all that much. Good to meet you. I’m guessing you’re a part of the Blue Lions as well?”
“Ah, yes. I’m Ashe, from the Gaspard region.”
“Gaspard territory? So you’re actually a lot closer to the monastery than us Northerners are. Makes the trip easier, that’s for certain. It’s weeks from our home to here, but…” he takes a glance up in the direction of the distant, shining bell cradled at the top of the cathedral, “The trip is certainly worth it, at least.”
With that, Rodrigue steps between the two of them and lifts one of the wooden crates off the ground. “Well then, where are these headed, boys? I’ll help you drop them off.”
It’s not the worst of the chores, it often beats the disarray and tendency for accidents that comes with stable duty, but this side of the monastery is dim, poorly lit by the sun and shaded at most times of the day. The darkened interior of the storage towers doesn’t make it any easier, as even the lamps meant to light the way are difficult to find in the darkness. Only the sparse windows keep it from being pitch black. So naturally, the place is almost certainly haunted…or at least it’s been rumored to be for years now. So for a hesitant Ashe’s sake, the three stay together until they’re forced to take the supplies to separate towers. While Ashe nervously makes his way to the adjacent storage tower, where dry materials and non-perishing foodstuffs are kept, Rodrigue hefts the crate he carries atop his shoulder, as Dedue leans onto the wooden door in front of them to hold it open for him. It seemed the two students had been at this for a while, ferrying supplies from their source to here, where they could all be organized at the end. Their work shows in a group of boxes and barrels sitting near the doorway, and the two set to work putting them in order.
“You know, that uniform suits you, Dedue.” Rodrigue says, as he finds a place to set the crate down by a stone brick corner.
“…?” Dedue briefly looks over his shoulder, as he searches for a place to set down the crate he carries. Most stacks are already too high to safely add another, so he moves a bit further in to start a new one.
“It’s something I looked forward to seeing on my own son for years. And you don’t know how proud it makes me to see you wearing one now.”
“Hm. Is that so…”
“Well, of course. The things you take from your studies here will no doubt continue to help you in the days to come. And the year’s only just started. There’s still plenty ahead of you.”
“…Lord Rodrigue.” Dedue sets one crate down on top of the last, and comes to a pause. “I’m sure you’re aware of the reason why His Highness chose to come to the monastery.”
“Well, I could harken a guess.” He begins, pulling over some of the smaller boxes to lay down over the larger ones. Then, he returns to the door to lift up the next crate. “Although, even if the Tragedy hadn’t taken place…Prince Dimitri would have likely come to study at the officer’s academy, like his father before him.”
“…”
“But now, his reason for being here has changed, and circumstances have brought you here as well. And to be frank, I worry that if you two aren’t careful, that reason for being here could take a real opportunity away from the both of you.”
“The both of us…?”
“Let me ask you, what is it you want to take from your year here? Do you want to leave stronger? Or do you want to leave wiser?”
“…”
“From that face, I think I could suppose the answer.”
“…As long as I’m able to leave the officer’s academy stronger, I’ll be more able to ensure His Highness’ safety.” Dedue answers, with some part of him reaffirming the long term aim in all this. Yes, they need to look into the details of who may have been involved in orchestrating that long past bloodshed. But when the time comes to face those in question, they’ll of course need the strength to support that end, to follow through. It won’t be easy.
“That’s good, then. That’s good. It’s important to have a goal in mind.” Nodding all the while, Rodrigue makes his way over to a small stack of crates leaned against the nearest wall, placing the one he carries on top. Once he’s certain it won’t collapse, he returns to the door, where just a few remaining goods await. “Having someone strong by your side is an invaluable gift, one I’m sure His Highness knows he has. But…”
“…? Yes?”
“As you know, House Fraldarius is a house charged almost entirely with the wellbeing of House Blaiddyd, that of the royal bloodline. And I knew this my whole life, long before I officially took my father’s place as lord. And so do you want to know what I was doing when I was about your age? Right here, at this very academy?”
“What would that be?” Dedue asks, at last turning to face him with the last of the crates on his side now put away.
“Skipping class!”
“…”
“Sure, Lambert and I were often scolded about it, but it was just for the fun of it! There’s much more you can do around the monastery while it’s less crowded during classes and-“
“…”
Rodrigue stops himself, once it dawns on him that he’s getting off track. “I’m losing you, aren’t I?”
“Somewhat.” A painfully honest answer without an ounce of hesitation.
“Alright, to the point then. You see, back then, the two of us didn’t think much for what our duties would be after our year at the academy. But that’s because we had plenty of time to take them upon ourselves afterwards. And that’s what I’d like to see from both you, and His Highness as well.”
“You…” Dedue looks back at him, first with concern, then with confusion, “…You want us to skip class?”
“Wha- No. Well…perhaps on occasion. But! What I mean to say is that you have every day ahead of you to get stronger, but only this one year here at Garreg Mach.” He raises his hands to set on his shoulders, but quickly realizes it’d be easier to set them on his arms instead. “Make them count.”
“…”
The chime of the cathedral bell marks mid afternoon.
“Hm… Perhaps I ought to get going. The day will run away from me if I’m not careful.” Rodrigue begins, taking a step back and moving to look out the nearest window. The clock tower is nearly in view, but with this angle, it’s difficult to check the exact time. “But it’s been nice to see you again after all this time, Dedue.”
“Will you be going to see His Highness?” he asks, to which Rodrigue nods.
“Hopefully I’ll run into him sooner rather than later.” He begins to make his way towards the door. “And when I do, I expect to see him doing just as well as you!”
The door opens behind him, then, as Ashe unknowingly pushes it into him from the other side. “Oh! Apologizes, young man. I’ll be seeing you!” He excuses himself, moving out of the way before the boy can even begin to apologize.
“Huh? Um, thank you for your help!” Ashe starts, calling after Rodrigue as he keeps the door held open behind him. “He’s…already gone. Well, I guess he was already busy with something. Though I wish we could have thanked him properly…”
He turns back to face Dedue, whose gaze remains fixed on Rodrigue as he disappears into the distance.
“It was kind of a surprise to run into him like that, but he seems really nice!”
“Yes,” Dedue answers, searching for words he doesn’t have to thank someone who’s already left. But still, he speaks, an echo of what’s to be said the next chance he has to speak with him.
Dedue steps forward to meet Ashe at the door, and by the time he does, Rodrigue is nowhere to be seen.
“He’s a good person.”
Each moon, Lady Rhea has the house leaders summoned to the audience hall to brief them of their newly assigned missions. No details yet, not until the Knights have returned from their scouts with more information on where the students will be headed in the coming days. But they’re told enough to start preparing in advance. The archbishop tells them of their tasks one by one with all the urgency of partitioning weekly chores, skimming over the particulars in a calm, measured cadence. Perhaps, Dimitri wonders, through some unrevealed premonition of the Goddess, she senses that no harm could ever befall them. She may already know how they’ll fare, or if she doesn’t, she certainly gives off that feeling. Maybe that’s why, with very little fuss and very little concern, she turns from Claude, takes a few steps, turns to face him, and then sentences the thieves in the north of the Kingdom to death.
…Lady Rhea moves on to assign the Black Eagle’s mission, but Dimitri tunes out her voice just as quickly, as it turns to a muffled something in the background. He’s been given their next task.
Now, to report to the Professor. Once he manages to find her, at least.
The Professor often hurries about the monastery, busy as she must be. There are days when she can easily be found working at her desk in the classroom. It’s the first place he checks, but she’s nowhere to be found. It takes a bit for him to guess at her whereabouts, with only the word of those nearby as hints to where she’d last been seen. But at last, Dimitri finds her heading down the entrance hall just before she reaches the stairs leading down.
“Ah, Professor.” He calls, catching her attention. “There you are. A moment, if you aren’t busy.”
“I heard about our mission for this month.” He crosses his arms. “So... We are to eradicate thieves in Kingdom territory. I'm sorry for dragging into the Kingdom's petty squabbles. This should not be your burden to bear, but my own...”
“I'm happy to help,” answers the Professor, with a firm nod and her usual reliance.
“Thank you, Professor. Hearing you say that puts my mind at ease.”
“…Hm?” Someone hums, off to their side.
Dimitri turns his head, and a smile recognizes the voice’s owner before his eyes do.
“Your Highness? Ah, it's been ages!”
Once the Professor takes her leave, Rodrigue is left with a task to complete and few excuses to put it off any longer.
While the layout of the monastery has remained largely unchanged for all these years, some facilities have swapped places, or been pushed a few buildings down to make room for new ones depending on the situation. The Knight’s quarters being one of them, Dimitri offers to guide the way to the new station, leading the way towards the facilities a bit further than the staff dormitory. But the guidance soon drifts into yet another detour, with them opting to make their way past the academy classrooms instead of taking the most direct route.
“Will you be joining us for our mission this month, then?”
“Not quite, I’m afraid. I’m mainly visiting to formalize our recruitment of the Knights of Seiros for the job. But I won’t be fighting alongside you just yet.”
“I see… That’s too bad. I was looking forward to showing you just how much stronger I’ve become these last few years.”
“I doubt you even need to! It shows in how you carry yourself that you’ve come a long way, Your Highness.”
“Hardly,” Dimitri says at the end of soft laugh, a jovial sound that Rodrigue can’t recall hearing for some years now. “Even though I have made significant progress, in these last several months especially…it seems as though every day I find that there’s something new for me to learn. Something else for me to master.”
They turn the corner that leads past the bridge, and continue onwards down the shaded path in the direction of the Knight’s Hall.
“Well that’s par for the course, isn’t it? There isn’t a single person I know who feels like they’ve perfected all their skills on the battlefield.”
At that, Dimitri slows his pace, his face turned some to look over his shoulder, only for him to return to facing forward shortly following. “Rodrigue, if I may ask,”
“Hm?”
“Of those people you know, of those you met at the Officer’s Academy during your time here, are any of them still around? Any…who knew my father?”
“While we were students?” Rodrigue glances up slightly as he tries to recall. It’s a tall, sudden order, and beyond quite a few friends was a wider net of acquaintances. Lots of names, even more faces. There were those they knew, both in and out of their own house, and their professors as well…though he has yet to see a classmate anywhere on the grounds. And even of those he’s kept in touch with over the years, it’s mostly been through letters. When he returns to focus, however, he finds Dimitri half turned in his direction, wearing a pensive expression that suggests more than just curiosity. He’s stopped where he stands. “Well…a few of the monks at the cathedral, and one of the women working in the dining hall stand out as familiar. But our classmates from back then have mostly taken up their positions all across Fodlan.”
“I see.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I was…just wondering, is all. Wouldn’t it be nice to come across an old friend after all this time?”
…He speaks without particular attention to his words, then turns to continue walking.
“Prince Dimitri.”
But stops as Rodrigue calls out to him. Walks up to meet his level. Continues walking alongside him instead of behind him. They proceed, now making the turn past the gate of the staff quarters. The corridor is blocked off from sun, shadow cast onto the paved path as the dorm buildings on either side of them keep the pathway in shade.
“…This year will fly by, you know.” Rodrigue pivots. “It’ll be over in an instant if you aren’t careful.”
“Time is already rushing past me as is.”
“Then take your time. No need to move at a snail’s pace if you don’t want to, but you’re already doing more than enough to be proud of.”
“To be proud of…” Dimitri echoes. “To think you’d speak so highly of me. I suppose all I can do is work harder to earn such praise.”
Dimitri lets his pace slow to a crawl, just as they step out from the cool shaded path and back into the brilliant midday light.
“Then I’ll become someone worthy of accepting the crown. I intend to hold my head high on the day of my coronation. And when that day comes…” A slow, slow exhale. “I’ll make you proud. I promise you that.”
Rodrigue smiles, relieved to hear it, just as they get to the end of their stroll, reaching the front of the Knight’s building. But he can’t help but ponder why Dimitri doesn’t turn to face him as he speaks.
He gets the feeling that the Professor isn’t going to cover for him.
Not that she won’t try, Felix thinks. She might, just to do him that favor. It’s just that when he asks if she’s seen his old man around, and once he gives her a vague idea of what he looks like, her eyes widen in obvious recognition. Word travels fast at Garreg Mach when someone of note comes to visit, more so for high members of clergy, for nobles and the like. So he wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she’d at least heard of his father’s visit, or seen him prowling around somewhere on the grounds. But with that look, she’s clearly seen him already, perhaps even spoken to him. She even starts to say something to him, before seeming to decide against it, shaking her head.
“I have not.” She finally answers.
So Felix just puts a hand to the back of his neck, and sighs, “If you get the chance, tell him I’ve gone out, okay?”
“…”
“What? What is it?”
“…Don’t you want to go say hello?”
“Say hello? I thought you said that you hadn’t seen him.”
The Professor turns and hurries away in the opposite direction, vanishing down into the staircase before he can get to the end of his sentence. He wouldn’t have thought her to be such a terrible liar.
He lets out a heavy sigh, and asks himself what business could have possibly brought his old man so far away from house territory. Worse yet, he feels a chill at the idea that the man could be out there looking for him. Still, he doesn’t exactly feel like having to lurk around the monastery, or even stay stuck in the dorms until his father finally decides to take his leave. And although he probably wouldn’t be staying at the monastery for very long, just waiting around for him to go would be more trouble than would be worth. Felix turns, heading for the far end of the hall back to his room. There’s a tournament going on that day that he might not be too late to join. So he goes to pick up his sword, in the hopes that there’ll be suitable competition there waiting for him, to take his mind off things. A distraction. More than anything, a distraction.
Except the tournament is painfully short lived.
The first round, the second, they both fly past without much fanfare. He cuts down a squire who fights as though he wasn’t prepared for a sword tourney, as though it isn’t his weapon of choice. Felix wonders why he entered in the first place without being ready for it. The mage he battles next wields an magic imbued sword, but is unprepared for him to take the full brunt of her attacks in order to get up close for his first, second, and final strikes. But the third challenger, a soldier with more brawn than he appears to have, is all brute force. Dodging his blade is only half the problem. Once the blunt hilt of that sword strikes into his chest, knocking the wind out of him as it does, Felix knows that it’s over. It’s a fair move, anything that doesn’t draw blood goes, and for him, the tournament ends there. And even when the man offers to spar with him afterwards, doing so is more taxing than anything. Distracted, there’s little he learns from the endeavor.
It’s long past sunset when he finally decides to emerge from a day spent holed up at the training grounds. Evening has fallen, and he decides to bring food up to his room to eat it there so he can collapse into his bed as soon as possible. The dining hall glows a gold hue in the darkness, drawing him to it faster than is probably good for him. But when he gets there, passing by darkened hedges and reaching the side door, he hears it. The boisterous cheering of a unit of soldiers, as though they have the entire place to themselves. He thinks nothing of it, until he takes a step through the doorway and catches a glimpse of dark hair and wishes he hadn’t.
The old man’s in there, because of course he is, raising a glass to nothing in particular as he trades stories with total strangers as though he’s known them all his life.
…Felix turns on his heel, more than ready to leave and wait for them to vacate the place. But after a day spent exerting himself, his stomach growls. Hunger won’t let him leave this place without something to show for it.
“…Tch.”
He enters the dining hall with the deepest sigh he can muster.
It’s nothing but noise and light and the all too frequent outburst of laughter. It’s not all that out of the ordinary; there’s always a wave of people in the dining hall a couple of times a day when the knights change shifts. There’s enough people that they take up multiple tables, but many have moved their chairs to circle around the table where his father sits. People talking over each other, with each person trying to get a word in somehow. Felix shuffles to the back of the line for food, there’s only a couple of people ahead of him anyhow, and tries not to flinch each time the laughter roars back to life.
“You should have seen her face! I thought I’d lost my post for good!” someone cries, fighting through his own laugh.
“Maybe you should’ave! Would do you some good to have to haul your ass back up the mountain!” another jeers, though she pours him more drink as she does.
It’s all similar back and forths, though each time the table erupts into sound, somehow, the old man’s voice stands out to him. He’s not even the loudest of them, he’s just… The line moves up just one person, and two places ahead of him, someone seems intent of taking their sweet time making up their mind. Restless, Felix turns some to look over his shoulder against his better judgment.
Though it seems his luck is bent on running out on him today. His eyes glint in that direction for what could only be one, misguided second. Not even that. In that second, mid swig, Rodrigue happens to glance back. Sharp eyes lock onto him faster than he can turn back around, and suddenly going hungry sounds immeasurably better than staying here even a second longer. Felix stills where he stands. That was nothing. It should be easy enough to ignore. He could just keep his head down and that would be it. But even turned away, he gets the feeling that he’s still being watched, and regardless of what the Professor did or didn’t tell him, any chance of avoiding bumping into Rodrigue evaporates. Knowing him, it won’t be long until he stumbles his way over to him, and-
…The monk standing behind him taps him on the shoulder, gesturing ahead as the person ahead of them leaves the line. Finally at the front, Felix takes take his food, bread is portable enough he figures after a quick scan, and leaves, appetite ruined. If he’s lucky, his father would be too drunk, too distracted on the whole to recognize him. He wouldn’t remember this in the morning.
They could both just keep walking.
…Lord Fraldarius sets down his mug with a muted thud, and his gaze comes to rest at the exit. He’s gone, passing by with little more than a glance in his direction, but it’s to be expected by now. Though he may have a word or two for him later on, Rodrigue won’t force Felix to talk to him. Not if he doesn’t wish it. He’ll only be at Garreg Mach for the next day or so anyway, before he and his retinue begin the journey back north. Subduing the bandits isn’t a task he’ll be directly involved in, so he needn’t stay for very long. Though, and his ale addled thoughts would have him linger on it, it’s still nice to see that Felix is doing well. He carries a sword at his side and a stride in his step that lends him an air of independence.
But someone at the table, one of the guards that had come to greet him upon his arrival, throws an arm around his shoulders in a drunken show of camaraderie, and Rodrigue wonders if anyone’s done the same for Felix. He hasn’t mentioned anything of the like in his letters. After all, Felix still writes to him. Infrequently, yes, but he writes. But Rodrigue figures he can be patient until that day comes. Until the day when Felix might tell him all about it over drinks.
So for now, until then, Rodrigue decides to wait.