Chapter Text
Ashe hugged both his siblings against his chest.
“Must you?” Rowan said. He towered over Ashe now, but felt small in his arms in this moment, shivering like when they were children and Ashe served as a surrogate parent.
“There must be someone else.” Fina, trying to sound brave, but the way she clung to Ashe’s cloak gave her away.
Ashe swallowed. He had to steady his voice. They could not hear the tears clogging his throat.
“Yes, I must,” he said. “Yes, it has to be me.”
“Why?” Rowan’s voice broke on the word and he buried his face against Ashe’s shoulder.
Because Ashe was the only one left. Because Ashe was the only person in all of Fodlan who could claim even the most tenuous right to call himself the heir of Gaspard. Because Gaspard had no heirs, no leaders, nothing but burned fields and razed villages, but Ashe was close enough.
He couldn’t say any of that. He couldn’t tell his siblings he was a sacrifice, a pig led to slaughter. His connection to Garreg Mach did not help, either. Some part of Ashe suspected this whole plot was … personal.
The reason didn’t matter. Just as he had throughout the war, Ashe would do what he had to. He would do whatever would protect Gaspard and, more importantly, his siblings. If that meant he had to give himself to the Kingdom as some sort of game piece, so be it.
Resentment simmered in his chest. He wanted to blame Lonato for dying, Rowe for turning on the Kingdom, Edelgard and Dimitri and Claude for starting a war at all. Gaspard sat on the border of everything. When the war broke out, every side came to them, trying to win them over. And Rowe had happily played them all, positioning Gaspard on whatever team might win.
In the end, Gaspard could only lose.
They were a traitor to all, a fickle ally. And now Gaspard had to prove their devotion to the winners – to the Kingdom.
Thus, Ashe would go. He was all Gaspard had left to give.
Ashe eased his siblings away. Rowan’s eyes shone. Fina’s throat worked as she swallowed over and over. He kept his hands on their shoulders, gazing at each in turn.
“It’s going to be OK,” Ashe said. “I’ll write to you. It isn’t even that far. Once I – once things settle, I will see if you can visit.”
It as a lie, a paper thin one. Ashe would never bring his siblings into the Kingdom, much less into Fraldarius territory. He would never endanger them like that. But the hope of that distant visit lit up their eyes. They let him go a little more easily when the coachman cleared his throat and politely reminded Ashe that they were on a schedule.
The duke would not be kept waiting.
#
The familiar countryside of Gaspard smoothed into paved roads and walled towns. Each revolution of the carriage’s wheels took Ashe farther from home and deeper into territory where he was considered a traitor.
As the last burned out Gaspard village passed, Ashe’s mind flashed back to Ailell. He’d reunited with his former classmates across those boiling pits, shot arrows into their ranks to try to keep the farmers and cobblers and masons of Gaspard alive.
They were no match before Dimitri, more beast than man as he drove his spear through Ashe’s allies. Ingrid swooped down like vengeance itself, diving out of the sky to strike Gaspard’s fighters down. And Felix…
Ashe preferred not to remember the way Felix waded into the heart of the battle, his sword flashing as he fed blood into Ailell’s molten, bloody ground.
Ashe turned away from the window inside the carriage, closing the cloth over it to conceal the sight. Across from him, a Fraldarius guard in blue scowled. The woman did not seem to speak – ever – but her eyes never left Ashe, even when the carriage stopped for the night. As though he could do anything about this, as though he had any say in what happened next. There were three of them total, three guards watching Ashe in shifts, and Ashe didn’t have so much as a knife. Even if he did, it wouldn’t do him much good against three soldiers from Fraldarius.
Ashe tucked himself into a corner of the carriage. The cramped, bumpy contraption didn’t afford him much distance, but he’d take anything he could get.
Any moment now, they would officially pass into Kingdom territory. It was mostly a formality, however. As soon as Ashe was delivered to Fraldarius, as soon as the duke there bound them together for life, Gaspard would belong to the Kingdom, too.
It was that or die. And Ashe would not let one more person from Gaspard die in this war.
The air changed as they wound northward. A few days after that final burned village passed, Ashe was shivering from the chill that stole into the carriage. His guards bundled themselves up in furs, but offered him no similar comfort. At night, he lay on the hard ground with his teeth chattering. By day, he layered on extra shirts, but Gaspard did not get this cold; Ashe had no furs, no hooded cloaks, nothing to ward off a cold this deep.
His muscles ached from shivering by the time the carriage trundled over paved streets. He heard the change even before he felt it. The steady, dull thump of the road rose to a roar as the wheels crawled over paving stones.
A knot clenched in Ashe’s stomach. He pulled aside the cloth covering the carriage window and glimpsed a city of cold stone. They were rolling through a massive gate in a stone wall – likely the wall that ringed the city of Fraldarius itself. Even the homes beyond were mostly stone with tiled roofs that overhung the streets to cast deeper shadows.
The carriage wound up a broad main lane, one clearly designed for such vehicles. The city pulled them upward toward a peak Ashe could not see. The farther they rose, the more people crowded the street, until Ashe reeled away from the window and the curious looks awaiting him on the other side of it.
Something struck the carriage with a thump. The driver and guard outside shouted. Another thump. Ashe jerked as a tomato hit the window, obscuring the view with a splatter of red.
Across from him, the Fraldarius soldier smirked.
Ashe sat in the center of the carriage, listening to the thumps and shouts, hugging himself as he tried not to shiver. Eventually, the thud of rotten fruit against the vehicle ceased. Ashe might have been relieved, but the silence that followed could only mean one thing – they’d arrived at the fortress.
The carriage shifted as the Fraldarius soldiers in the driver’s seat hopped down. They called orders and instructions. How many soldiers were out there? Even after the war, in a time of alleged peace, boots clomped on the ground and weapons jangled. Ashe could not mistake the sound.
One letter. One letter home to his siblings. That’s what he’d request if he was only here to die. One letter in which to promise Rowan and Fina that he was perfectly fine, even if it was a lie. Let them believe he just became too busy as a duke’s consort to keep writing to them. It was better than the truth.
Someone spoke. They didn’t even yell, but their voice silenced all the others. They moved without hurry; they moved with authority.
Ashe’s blood went cold.
The final soldier in the carriage with Ashe shuffled along the bench and exited with a quick glare over her shoulder. But what could Ashe do now? He was sitting on the fortress’s grounds, surrounded on every side by the very same soldiers he’d aimed his arrows at during the war.
“Duke Fraldarius,” the soldier said. She’d closed the door behind her, shutting Ashe back in, but she must have been standing close to it yet because Ashe could hear her clearly.
“How was the journey?”
Ashe could not mistake that voice, even after all this time. He shivered. A lifetime ago, that voice belonged to his classmate. His friend, very nearly. A lifetime ago, Ashe showed his prickly fellow Blue Lion an old book and they’d sat in the monastery’s courtyards and pored over their favorite passages and sipped tea and let their elbows brush together as they flipped the pages. Felix had been surprisingly patient, surprisingly kind.
No. No, it wasn’t a surprise. Not to Ashe, at least. Perhaps to the others, but Ashe had merely glimpsed a side of Felix he always knew existed. It took patience to draw it out, but to Ashe, it felt worth the work. It was a small thing, reading a book together, sipping tea in the gardens as the monastery’s trees and flowers unfurled into full bloom. It was such a small thing, but Ashe clutched it to his chest now, curling his frigid fingers in the thin fabric of his tunic.
The door opened again. Ashe blinked at the gray glare of the muted light.
“Did you not provide him a proper cloak?”
“We, uh, Duke Fraldarius, we thought it best to let him wear his own clothing,” a guard said. “We did not have extra to spare.”
A low growl, then something thick and heavy was thrown into the carriage. A cloak lay in Ashe’s lap, dyed a deep, rich blue, lined in white fur, warm with someone else’s body heat.
“Put it on.”
Ashe wrapped it around his shoulders and immediately sighed. He hadn’t been warm like this in what felt like years. As he pulled it snug around himself, his eyes fluttered shut. He inhaled and a familiar scent rose off the garment, something like leather and spice, clean and mild.
He snapped his eyes back open with a gasp. This cloak—
Felix Fraldarius stood in the door to the carriage, wearing a fine, embroidered vest, but no cloak. Ashe looked between the wonderfully thick garment he clutched and the duke, but Felix’s expression did not change. Neither anger nor joy, just the mild annoyance Felix wore perpetually.
“I see my guards mistreated you,” Felix said. “I apologize. You’re in my care now.”
“I...” Ashe could do little but blink as his stomach somersaulted. Was this a show of kindness or merely Felix doing his duty? There was no way to tell. He would treat both actions exactly the same. His hard face – even harder now, after all these years – revealed nothing. His amber eyes were as bright and keen as ever as they picked over Ashe, but his face had lost some of its boyish fat, the cheeks sinking in, the lips thinning, the bags under the eyes deepening.
Felix stepped back. “Show him in. Take his things to my chamber. A bath – a hot bath. We’ll dine together when he’s ready.”
With that, Felix turned on his heel, leaving Ashe wrapped in his cloak.
#
Ashe sank into the water up to his nose. The water bubbled when he sighed. The heat seeped right into his bones, chasing out the long, long days of cold.
A man stood watch, but he wore no weapon and dressed in a simple coat and trousers. Perhaps an attendant rather than a soldier? He kept his hands clasped behind his back, studiously ignoring Ashe as he scrubbed the dirt and dust of the road off his skin with a bar of tallow soap.
As Ashe picked the muck out from under his nails, he wondered if this was just a kindness on Felix’s part or if Ashe was cleaning himself for the duke. He’d arrived here to serve as his consort, after all. Even if it was merely political, did Felix expect Ashe to … perform his duties in the bedchamber? Ashe didn’t even know if Felix’s preferences leaned that way. He’d seemed to have no interest in such things back when they were students. As much as Ashe swooned over a classmate who reminded him of every one of his favorite heroes in his favorite stories, Felix remained aloof, indifferent. It wasn’t like Ashe could give him a Fraldarius heir, either. So was he merely a political alliance? Or did the duke expect Ashe to fully embody the role of consort?
Ashe’s skin broke out in gooseflesh, even in the steamy bath, but it wasn’t entirely fear. His boyhood infatuation had survived the war, apparently, as ridiculous as that seemed under these circumstances. And time had been unduly kind to Felix. The roughened angles of his face lent him a sort of dignity. His eyes were just as bright, his hair just as silky, though probably even longer now. Would he let it down at night? Would Ashe sleep next to him with that hair in his face?
Handsome as Felix had become, he may also have become cruel. He’d survived a war, taken countless lives, and become duke afterward. Was he as cold as his blade now? Would Felix be kind to Ashe when he had him alone? He’d given Ashe his cloak when he saw him shivering, but perhaps he regarded that as mere duty. If this was also simply his duty, would he treat it as a task to complete, one that didn’t require any particular finesse or care?
Ashe sat so long in the bath worrying over it that his fingers pruned. The attendant said nothing, though his eyes slid toward Ashe as the water cooled.
Ashe couldn’t avoid this forever.
He stood, stepping onto a plush little square of carpet while he toweled off.
“Clothing for you, Your Grace,” the attendant said.
He waved at a neatly folded pile sitting on a wooden stool beside the tub.
“Thank you,” Ashe said. “Could I ask your name?”
The attendant blinked. “My name?”
“Yes,” Ashe said. “If I’m to live here and all…”
A ghost of a smile flitted across the man’s mouth. “Julien, Your Grace.”
Ashe returned his smile, but didn’t hold his back. “Thank you, Julien. The bath was wonderful.”
Only the flutter of Julien’s blinking gave away any reaction to the statement. “You’re most welcome, Your Grace. Ah, I believe dinner will begin soon. You ought to dress.”
Dinner. Dinner with a duke. It would be quite different from those dinners at the hall in Garreg Mach, those dinners where everyone in all three houses piled onto the benches, elbowing, teasing, trading playful jabs and juicy gossip. Half of those kids were dead now. The other half were … well, one of them was the duke of Fraldarius and one was his unwilling consort. What a far cry from those carefree days as students.
Ashe folded his towel before setting it on the floor, another thing Julien seemed to find odd. His new clothing included a fresh white shirt and a thick, warm doublet with a high collar to button up over it. Green, rather than blue. Surely it was chance that the color matched his eyes. The trousers were simple and black. Ashe tucked them into supple leather boots that protected his feet from the chill of the floor.
Julien gave a small nod. “I’m pleased his clothing fits you, Your Grace.”
“His clothing? You mean … Felix’s?”
Julien winced as though Ashe’s casual speech physically hurt him. “Yes, Your Grace.”
A strange tingle twinged in Ashe’s belly as he looked down at the clothing, Felix’s clothing. How often had he worn this? Was it just old clothing he no longer wanted? But it was in perfect condition, not a thread frayed or out of place. Had Felix chosen to give this one over to Ashe or had Julien selected it?
“It is convenient that you are of a size,” Julien said. “Though, of course, we’ll have the tailor prepare your own garments for you by the time of the wedding.”
Wedding. Right. He was actually here to wed this man, this former friend turned enemy turned utter stranger.
Ashe swallowed.
“Shall we head to dinner, Your Grace? He is likely waiting.”
#
Ashe had never been inside a fortress, not even a ruined one. The closest he’d ever seen was probably the monastery at Garreg Mach.
He therefore nearly stumbled when he entered the dining room in Fraldarius’ fortress. It loomed around him, cavernous as a cathedral with its high, echoing ceilings. Sconces sat in recesses, trying alongside the tapestries to warm the stone walls. A long table sliced down a carpet in the center of the room, cutting it in half. Candelabras studded the table in intervals, the flames flickering.
Only one person sat at the entire table.
Felix did not choose the head of the table, but sat at one side, like a common guest in his own feast hall. He wore a doublet similar to Ashe’s own, but in black slashed with silver and studded with silver buttons. He was already eating when Julien showed Ashe to the chair across from him.
Ashe nearly turned and searched for the attendant as Julien drifted away from the table, vanishing behind Ashe somewhere. Even knowing the man was still in the room, Ashe sat gripping the edge of his chair like he was clinging to a buoy in the middle of a vast ocean, adrift and alone.
A cup of spiced wine and an empty plate sat before Ashe. Between him and Felix rested roasted duck, wedges of cheese, sugared almonds, honey-mustard eggs, freshly baked bread and more, far more than two men could eat. Felix was picking at a bit of roasted duck, eating it like it was a chore to be completed.
Ashe soon learned why. He tried to reach for food and a servant swept up to fill his plate for him. He got a bit of everything and while it looked beautiful, it tasted bland and plain. It was as though no one in Fraldarius had ever heard of salt – or any form of seasoning, for that matter.
“Is it not to your liking?”
Ashe nearly yelped when Felix addressed him. He swallowed the duck in his mouth and shook his head. “N-no. It’s good. It’s just…”
Felix raised one thin eyebrow.
“It is … different,” Ashe said carefully.
Felix snorted softly, whether amused or annoyed, Ashe had no idea. He went back to his own plate, but a part of Ashe wished he’d talk more. Aside from this and the thing with the cloak, he’d said nothing to Ashe this whole time. Was he angry? Upset? Was he forced into this by Dimitri or had this been his suggestion? Did he dread having Ashe around or … or look forward to it?
“Felix,” Ashe tried. When those amber eyes snapped up to regard him, he nearly regretted it. “I was, uh, I was just wondering if perhaps I might send a letter. Back to Gaspard. To my siblings. I just want them to know I arrived safely.”
Felix looked over Ashe’s shoulder at something behind him. After a moment, he nodded. “Julien will arrange it. You understand, of course, that we will have to read the letter.”
“Oh. Oh, yes. Sure. I-I understand.” He truly didn’t intend to do anything but reassure Rowan and Fina, but it served as a stark reminder of how little freedom he would enjoy in Fraldarius.
Felix stood.
“Enjoy your meal,” he said. “Or don’t, as it may be. I need to train.”
With that, he stalked away. Ashe blinked after him, mind whirling. Train? He was still training?
Suddenly, Julien appeared at his elbow. “Are you finished, Your Grace? Please, eat as much as you like.”
Ashe had hardly picked at his meal, but his stomach clenched closed like a fist. “No, I think I’m done.”
“Very well,” Julien said. “I will show you to the bedchamber.”
Bedchamber.
Felix’s bedchamber? Or would he have one of his own? If it was Felix’s and he was training, was Ashe meant to just … wait for him? Should he … prepare himself? But how could he when he didn’t even know what Felix wanted or expected?
“Your Grace?”
Julien’s voice pulled Ashe out of his thoughts. He rose while he still could and followed Julien back into the fortress.
Ashe hardly saw the halls and staircases. It felt like they walked for some time before Julien finally stopped before a door. They had to be high up. They’d climbed several stairwells. And now they stood at the end of a hall with only this one door.
Julien opened it and swept his arm out to encourage Ashe inside. Ashe swallowed as he crossed the threshold, heart beating in his throat.
Tall windows overlooked the city below. A chair and couch clustered around a small round table with a book on it. And right in the center of the room, sitting on a raised platform, was the bed. A canopy overhung the whole thing, with drapery that could open to enclose it. It was larger than any bed Ashe had ever seen, much less slept in.
There could be no doubt. This was Felix’s bedchamber. And Ashe was meant to stay here.
Julien bowed once as he exited, closing the door behind him. Ashe held still, breaths stuttering in his chest. There was a large chest in one corner, a shelf in another. The space offered few comforts and little light. But, then, how much light would Felix really need for … for whatever he intended tonight?
Ashe moved about the room, mostly to control the flutter in his chest. He found a sword in one corner, sitting in its sheath, the belts still attached to the scabbard. The hilt curved slightly and when Ashe drew near, he realized the sheath was actually a very dark blue rather than black.
Felix’s sword from school. Even after all these years, Ashe recognized it. The youthful Ashe who’d first seen Felix strutting around the monastery with this sword against his slim hip would have done anything to be in his classmate’s bedchamber. Ashe stroked his fingers along the leather of the sheath, wishing he could summon some of that younger Ashe’s excitement.
The rest of the room held little of interest. Felix’s bedchamber was as sparse as his dorm had been. Even as a duke, he’d accumulated little that was not absolutely necessary.
At least there was a book. Ashe had to hold it close to read the title. It seemed to be a historical text. Of course. It’s not like Felix would keep fairytales around. It’s not like he’d actually have a copy of that book they read back at Garreg Mach. Far too sentimental.
It was better than nothing. Ashe took it to the long windows and stood close, using any light that squeezed inside. The torchlight far below and starlight far overhead did little to illuminate the pages, though, and Ashe strained his eyes trying to decipher a decidedly dull textbook. It left his eyes heavy and burning, but at least reading was so boring it finally distracted him.
He startled when the door opened. For a second, he thought it might be Julien, but the long, confident strides did not belong to any attendant.
They belonged to Felix.
Ashe hugged the book against himself as Felix strode into the room. He dumped his doublet on the floor without ceremony picked at the laces of his shirt before peeling it off over his head. His bare chest heaved with deep breaths, the sweat coating it shining in the waning light. And even in these circumstances, even after all this time, Ashe could see nothing but a knight in the man before him.
Ashe must have sucked in a breath because Felix snapped his head in Ashe’s direction. Had he truly forgotten Ashe was even here? His fingers were on the laces of his pants, but they moved away when he saw Ashe at the window hugging a book to his chest.
“You’re here,” Felix said.
“I – this is where – Julien brought me here,” Ashe said.
“Of course.” But Felix did not sound pleased to find someone in his bedchamber.
Ashe pushed back against the cold glass when Felix stalked toward him, but the duke stopped several steps away. Still, it was close enough for Ashe to pick out every bit of lean muscle corded over his naked torso and goddess, there was plenty of it.
Ashe hated himself even as the desire tickled in his belly. This man had killed countless citizens of Gaspard, cut them down in cold blood, used those corded arms to wield a sword with sinister grace.
And now Ashe wanted him. Wanted him so bad his stomach clenched.
Felix jerked away suddenly, like he could sense Ashe’s desire and it repulsed him. Perhaps it did. He stalked through his room and threw on a shirt, keeping his back to Ashe as he took off his pants as well. Ashe couldn’t look away. The thin fabric of the night shirt was translucent wherever the moonlight touched it, offering Ashe glimpses of a lean back, supple muscle flush with blood from recent exercise working as Felix disrobed.
No, Ashe thought. Anything but this. Please, anything but this.
He was still warring with himself when Felix straightened and turned. He wore nothing but that light, loose shirt and braies that revealed his shins.
“What?” Felix snapped. He seemed to draw a breath before he spoke again. “Do you … do you have anything to sleep in?”
Oh goddess. Ashe was supposed to sleep here. He was supposed to sleep here with Felix. In his bed.
“Y-yes,” he managed. “Yes. Uh. Just.”
He started to unbutton his doublet. Eventually, he would get down to layers similar to Felix’s own. Then nothing but gauzy fabric would separate their bodies. Would Felix look at him the way Ashe had looked at him? Would he try to see Ashe’s bare skin through the thin shirt? Would he like it? Would he want it?
Would he take it?
Ashe struggled to breathe when he discarded his last bit of clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor. He wanted to hug his arms around himself and shrink down, but he balled his hands into fists instead and looked up to find Felix standing beside the bed. If the duke had any reaction at all to Ashe stripping down, it did not show on his shadowed face.
“Very well,” Felix said. “Goodnight.”
He climbed into the bed, threw the covers over himself and turned on his side.
Ashe stood in the dark bedroom, not even sure what he was waiting for. Did he expect Felix to storm over and drag him to the bed? Perhaps he was supposed to go meekly to his future husband, offer himself by slipping into bed and just … lying there.
Ashe steeled himself as he padded to the bed. The cool floor kissed the bottoms of his feet. He stepped onto the platform where the bed sat, then sank slowly onto the mattress. He sat for a moment with his back to Felix, but Felix did not move, did not shift at all. He just lay there on his side.
With a steadying breath, Ashe forced himself the rest of the way into the bed. He slid under the covers, lying on his back with his hands folded on his chest. Like a corpse. This was his coffin more than his marriage bed, the end of his life, his freedom, his dreams and hopes and ambitions. Ashe lay in the dark waiting for the end to come.
But it never did.
The longer the silence stretched, the stranger it felt. Felix did not stir, did not so much as rustle. Ashe stared at the canopy draped over the bed, not daring to move. Perhaps he’d earned a reprieve for one night. Maybe Felix was tired or angry or just had no interest in a captive fiance.
Whatever the reason, Felix’s breathing soon deepened. Ashe listened to him sleep until he drifted off as well.