Chapter Text
Glenn supposes he deserved everything coming at him faster than a sniper’s arrow. It hurts, like an old wound reopened, but it’s probably nothing compared to the pain etched on the kids’ faces.
“Are you… Glenn Fraldarius?”
The woman with bright green hair is looking at him like she’s the one who came back from the dead, her empty eyes assessing him while seeming at the same time not to really care about what she will find. Glenn has never been really good at reading people, but he would recognize the gaze of a fighter anywhere.
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”
His gaze moves about, unable to quite make eye contact with anyone while Dimitri is still acting like he’s not here—some days Dimitri knows he’s not dead, but more often than not he believes he’s talking to a ghost. Maybe he should have tried harder to act like a human being instead of simply hovering and repeating things will be alright.
One of the girls, the one with short orange hair who hasn’t stopped staring at him during their fight against the bandits, gasps and brings a hand to her mouth. She most likely didn’t mean to be so obvious, as she quickly shrinks on herself and tries to disappear behind her friend, who has a fragile smile on her face as she observes him. The boy with the freckles also looks like he wants to unabashedly stare, but all he does is shifting from one foot to another. Glenn would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation were he not the most ridiculous one.
He’s not surprised when Felix runs off, Sylvain hot on his heels with a call of his name, and Ingrid strides towards him, brings up her fist and punches him.
Yeah, he deserved that.
“Ingrid!”
“Wow, I wasn’t expecting… that.”
Ingrid has always been stronger than she looked; she has never been one to hide her skills but people assume too much and they deeply regret it later when she wipes the floor with them. She is shaking, her eyes that are directly looking into his shimmering with so many emotions that Glenn can’t name them all. His cheek and his nose are throbbing and already swelling, and he winces when he tries to open his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he says lowly.
“I bet you are,” Ingrid replies, choking on her voice. “I bet you are.”
Then she stomps away. And Glenn is left with a gaping hole in his heart and too many pairs of eyes peering at him. So he sighs, runs his hand through his hair, and goes after—after whoever he finds first.
He doesn’t have to go far. The monastery is huge but he’s wandered in it enough times to have a clear path in mind. He climbs down the stairs to the main gates and sees from afar Sylvain and Felix by the pond, with Sylvain talking at Felix’s back in a hushed voice. Glenn won’t pretend that it won’t end in a disaster, one way or another.
The dread pooling in his stomach only increases with each step closer to the two boys, while his palms start sweating and stay that way even when he wipes them against his dirty pants. He’s dreamed of this day for years; but in his dreams he isn’t confronted with the reality of his decisions or the stares, and above everything, he knew exactly what to do.
Glenn is stealthy, but Sylvain still notices his approach, and turns around. His face is unreadable—his eyes are cold but they shine with something too clear, like he’s also ready to throw a punch if he looks at Glenn for too long.
“I don’t think it’s a wise idea,” Sylvain comments, crossing his arms over his chest.
Felix doesn’t move from his spot, though he visibly stiffens and resolutely keeps his head bowed. Glenn scratches the back of his head.
“Clearly not. But we need to have a talk, don’t we?”
Sylvain looks distrustful, face carefully crafted into a blank slate with his gaze as the only window to his soul. Glenn suddenly remembers the story of the disinherited Gautier son stealing the family relic to only be impaled by his own flesh and blood without a hint of remorse. If Sylvain did it with this face, then Glenn doesn’t believe it was without remorse.
“Please, Sylvain.”
“I’m not the one to make the call, Glenn.”
The curl around his name is bitter, disappointed. It’s not anger—and it would have been easier to deal with it if it was.
“I’m… just going to apologize, then,” he says lamely. “I know it won’t amount to anything. I’m glad you’re all safe.”
“Five fucking years.”
Both Sylvain and Glenn stare at Felix’s back, who is looking to the side, at the dark waters swaying quietly and crashing against the edge of the dock. The sun has gone down a long time ago now, and if it weren’t for the makeshift lamps they found in their scavenger hunt for anything useful, they wouldn’t even be having this conversation outside the safety of the building.
“Were you with the boar for those five years?”
Glenn closes his eyes.
“No, but I did find him a year after his supposed execution,” he answers truthfully.
Dimitri, running away from the imperial troops, hiding in abandoned areas and spilling the blood of anyone standing in his way. Dimitri, thinking he was dying the day he met his eyes and had kept apologizing for letting him down since then.
“I couldn’t leave him alone in his state,” he adds, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets them.
Felix whirls around and explodes. “You—! Of course that’s what you’d say, of course you’d prefer staying dead to us because someone else needed you!”
Sylvain is stepping aside, silently, to let Felix fully face his brother. Glenn isn’t sure he’s grateful for it or not.
Felix barrels on.
“And even before that, you never came back! Not even a single fucking letter! Like—like you really wanted to disappear from our lives! Is this what you wanted? Is freedom what you wanted, Glenn?”
There are many reasons Glenn never sent a word of his survival—months of recovery, adjusting to his new environment among the people who nursed him back to health, wanting to make the journey back to Fraldarius and greet everyone in person. He’s thought about them all these years, because he longed to embrace his family again, warm and real and alive. He’s daydreamed of this reunion every time he was left alone with his thoughts, the number of these moments increasing with each passing day, week, month. In the end, he did nothing, and the reasons grew into excuses.
“I’ve wanted to go back,” he whispers. “To tell you and Father that I was fine, but I guess I was too much of a coward to show my face after all these years.”
Glenn Fraldarius has never been called a coward before, when he was a knight in the royal guard—but people change and some for the worst. He smiles wryly.
“In retrospect, it was really stupid of me to be scared of going home.”
“You’re the perfect knight that the old man has always praised. It doesn’t even surprise me you chose the boar over us. Fucking predictable.”
Glenn remembers a little brother too afraid to let go of his hand when they were surrounded by strangers, eyes wide and scanning every face to determine whether they’d be nice to him. He remembers a kid eager to learn swordplay and archery to become a great fighter, better than his older brother, but still seeking approval from him and from their father. Felix’s face was full of grins and enthusiasm even if crying came to him too quickly and too often for his liking, and he made the decision to stop being a crybaby because he wanted to be like Glenn—Glenn, who was resilient and didn’t let anyone trample on him, even if it meant resorting to colorful barbs.
This Felix is ten years older than the one in his memories and everything about him changed. He snarls as he hurls those words born of raw emotion, displaying more animosity than Glenn’s ever thought he’d see on his face, his sharp features twisted with fury and pain. It’s the face of someone ravaged by grief and—it’s the face of his little brother holding back the inevitable tears.
Glenn thinks he’s going to cry, too.
“I’m so sorry, Felix. I’m so sorry.”
Felix walks up to him and grabs a fistful of his collar, his breath coming in short, ragged blows. He has their mother’s eyes, glimmering golden when he’s overwhelmed with feelings.
“Apologies won’t undo years of… of mourning, you stupid, selfish bastard.”
And Felix’s voice cracks towards the end of his sentence, stopping abruptly his tirade and casting down his gaze, though he never loosens his grip on Glenn. He’s making choking and hissing sounds, like he’s drowning in the deepest waters and is trying to stay afloat. The sight pulls too many strings on Glenn’s heart, tugging on him painfully and rattling his entire body with hot guilt. He has frequently been the cause of Felix’s tears, but never like this—unbridled misery concealing even more layers of anger and anguish that Glenn doesn’t know how to extinguish.
He covers Felix’s hand with his own, swallowing his own fear, and brings up his other hand to put it on Felix’s head, but then thinks better of it when he notices Felix’s shoulders are still so tense.
“I know. I fucked up.” He licks his lips, trying his hardest not to look away. “I truly fucked up this time, didn’t I? But I mean it when I said I wanted to go home, one day. I shouldn’t have been such an idiot. So, if you still want me around...”
The more he speaks the less confident he becomes, his throat going dry with each word that doesn’t seem to go through Felix. He’s still not looking at Glenn, his jaw clenched while his eyes shine with unshed tears. Glenn lets out a shuddering breath.
“I’d understand if you want me to leave, or to give you space, I only hope that one day I can stand by your side again. As your big brother.”
Felix recoils and jerks his hand away, like he’s been burned and only realized now that he can be consumed whole. He finally lifts his gaze to stare at Glenn, and isn’t it weird to have your little brother at eye level instead of looking down to find an outstretched hand demanding to be held.
“You’re going to stick to the boar’s side,” Felix says accusingly. “So you’re going to stay here.”
Glenn slowly nods. Felix’s voice is quivering, and he bites onto his lips most likely to stop their wobbling. He exhales heavily, then covers his face with both his gloved hands.
“You’ve always been the most stubborn one. Whatever I say won’t—make you change your mind, so what’s the point? Don’t fucking make it sound like it’s my decision.”
Glenn knows that he should step away, come back later when they’re both more coherent than the pathetic mess they’re displaying, but he can’t run away from this. He’s been selfish all those years, and he’s going to be again as he lifts his arms, wrapping them around Felix’s shoulders and back, and brings him close. Felix makes a protesting noise and struggles into his hold, but he quickly stops and thumps him in the shoulder with a hand not covering his face. That doesn’t faze Glenn at all.
“I’m the stubborn one?” Glenn chuckles. “Maybe that’s right, but you’re a handful too.”
People remember him as a man brandishing his weapon to cut through the situations rather than talking his way out. And that’s true, to an extent; but he’s always wanting to be better for his family.
“What do you really want, Felix?”
Perhaps it’s the familiarity of the touch. Perhaps it’s the simple way the question was asked. Glenn isn’t sure what opened the dam and let him into the guarded grounds of acceptance again, but Felix gives up hiding behind his hands and hugs him back fiercely, sobbing uncontrollably, fingers clinging to his back. It’s small, quiet hiccups that soon turn into loud sniffles, and tears are soaking his shirt but Glenn is oddly relieved to be able to hold Felix while he cries, like it was only yesterday they had seen each other. And he starts crying, too, stroking Felix’s hair and murmuring soft reassuring words to let him know he won’t leave again and that he’ll make up for lost time, as thank yous and sorrys are too easy to say and more difficult to prove.