Bring out your dead (a list of grievances)

Chapter 3

Felix feels like he's watching himself in slow motion, spiralling with no way to reach out and stop.

It's almost funny, really. A part of him hoped he was dead - if not for anybody else's sake, then for the beast himself. He didn't deserve this, didn't deserve a decade worth of his humanity being stripped away, piece by bloody piece. It would've been better for everyone if he was dead.

But then, as always, there had been a part of him wishing on every star and broken wishbone and clock when it struck the hour. Wishing that the boy he had once known had somehow survived underneath the beastly exterior, making it through to the other side unharmed. It was a childish notion, but he had held on to that final shred even through the five years of war.

He's simultaneously on the edge just before the fall, and already falling, ground rushing up to meet him.

There's no time to brace for impact. There never has been. Not for Duscur, not for the rebellion. Not for Remire or the war or the coup or now, standing beneath the dawn as everyone celebrates the boars' survival.

It's sickening. It's bittersweet. It's everything and nothing all at once, weights tied to his ankles and dragging him down, lungs empty of air as water rushes in over his head.

Something lightly touches his back and Felix startles, head whipping around to stare at Mercedes, her expression something that would be mistaken for pity if it were anybody else. Instead, Felix only sees care and concern, her pale eyes soft in understanding.

"Try to breathe in time with me," she whispers, and it sounds like she's repeating it, fingertips lightly pressing in between his shoulder blades. Their interaction goes unnoticed by the other Blue Lions as they discuss the war, filling each other in on their knowledge.

Felix gives a stiff nod, and Mercedes shifts to rest a slender hand on his upper arm. "Breath in when I go up, and out when I go down," she instructs, moving slowly.

He does as he is told, trying to ignore the uncontrollable shaking in his hands.

"How about we go to the Academy," Mercedes suggests to the group after a minute or two, breaking their conversation. As they all turn to face her, she smoothly steps in front of Felix, shielding him from their curious looks. He catches Ingrid and Sylvain exchanging worried looks and ducks his head, watching the hand on his sword shake and rattle the blade within its sheath. "I can fix us up with something warm to eat, and we can all get some rest."
As he suppresses the shaking in his hands, it simply moves down his body, into his legs.

"That sounds amazing," Ashe's entire body seems to relax, shoulders sagging in a true show of his exhaustion.

"I could sleep for a week!" Annette announces, and the others voice their agreement, moving to collect weapons and bags and various other supplies that they left strewn about when they joined in the fighting.

Aelyth stares unblinking at the mound of fur, waiting for him to move before they do. He eventually does, stalking off with a tight grip on his lance.

Satisfied, Aelyth turns to Mercedes and Felix, head tilted in a silent question. "We'll be right there," Mercedes assures them, and they nod, bringing up the rear as the group begins the trek up the final peak, to the main structure of Garreg Mach.

Mercedes looks back to Felix, once they are the only two that remain. His legs are still shaking, and as much as he tries to prevent it, he pitches forward when he can't support his own weight trying to take a step. She catches him neatly, lowering them both to sit on the ground.

"You look exhausted," Mercedes says gently, and Felix can only just give a single nod, words dying in his throat as his lungs struggle to take in enough air to push them out. "You don't have to say anything just yet," she smiles, care in her voice as she pulls a waterskin from her hip, uncorking the lid and holding it out to him, "focus on regaining your strength enough to get to the Monastery."