Title: Capable of Feeling

Summary: Bertrand had been alone for so long that there were feelings he never thought he would experience again. And he certainly never imagined that it would be Hrothgar that reminded him that he was still capable of feeling…

Pairings: Bertrand/Hrothgar

Warnings: Mild spoilers if you haven't finished the game or gotten very far

AN: Don't hurt me. I think they'd be cute together. I have this short (delusional?) headcanon that after the game Fafnir and Flavio finally get married, Arianna becomes besties with Gadriel, and Bertrand and Chloe form a guild with Hrothgar and Wulfgar, and Chloe becomes the most fearless explorer ever dragging along two protectors and one beast with her every journey. Yeah…anyway, hope you'll enjoy!


Burdens. Secrets. Regrets. The longer one carried such afflictions, the easier it became to hide them, to lie to others and to yourself that they didn't exist. That you had nothing to hide.

For one hundred years Bertrand had lived with his secrets. Even though it was rare that a day went by that he was not reminded by how much he had lost in such a short amount of time. After all, the repercussions of a hasty decision on the part of someone else continued to present day.

One just learned to…adapt, was probably the best word to use. Adapt and survive.

He didn't like thinking about his arm, about his own Fafnir Knight Scar. Didn't even want to look at it. Though he did not have the powers that Fafnir did, his right arm bore the same deep scars and the same desire to taste the blood of monsters.

Sickly black skin with long, near reptilian fingers. A jagged unnatural blue scar on the back of his hand. There was no other way to describe the appendage other than repulsive.

He became somewhat of an expert at distracting himself as he dealt with his right arm. He learnt to bandage it up quickly without gaining anyone's suspicion. He learnt how to ignore the low ache from the scar as it longed for battle. He even learnt how to write and use his right hand as if his fingers were not elongated and deadly.

For one hundred years no one had seen his arm or his scar. No one cared enough to ask of the bandages. In all honesty, he was glad. He didn't like to talk about his arm, about his scar, and about all that had happened one hundred years ago. He didn't like to recall how he lost so much. How he wandered the earth from day to day. How time was so irrelevant to him that days merged together and season came and went so slowly, yet they were so inconsequential to him.

However, they always said that secrets couldn't stay buried forever. And in all honesty, Bertrand had hoped that his secrets would be revealed after his death so that he wouldn't have to deal with the ramifications himself. Yet, like with everything else he had faced so far, the gods of mercy were not on his side.

For the first time in one hundred years, he finally told someone. His guildmates deserved to know. They needed to know. And, well, he didn't have much choice in the matter. His attempt to finally succumb to his own destiny while protecting Fafnir from his backfired in a spectacular fashion.

At the very least, his efforts led to the possibility of no more Fafnir Knights having to endure what he and Fafnir had to. If they could managed to defeat this Calamity, then the pain and suffering he had endured for so long…it would finally be worth it.

It was surprisingly hard to talk at first, especially about something he had ignored for so long. Words came out short, harsh, and jumbled. His memories of events were sketchy, yet he remembered specific details all the same.

People often claimed that after hiding a secret for so long, it was therapeutic to finally get it off of their chest. Yet, Bertrand had been keeping his for so long that all he felt afterwards was tired and surprisingly indifferent.

Still, a part of him was glad that he was able to tell someone. And that, deep inside, he hadn't lost the ability to become attached to someone. Close enough to care.

For one hundred years Bertrand had been alone. And he had been ok with that. Then he met Chloe. A small child, she became attached to him, though he did not know why. Why anyone would want to follow around a lazy, dismissive guy like him was beyond him. At first he tried to shoo her away from him, but the stubborn little thing kept following him so he had no choice but to let her tag along with his wanderings.

It wasn't long that he grew used to her presence. He even grew attached to her as well, though he wouldn't admit it, instead claiming to be the girl's lazy, disgruntled uncle.

Fafnir was the next person he grew close to, though he felt nothing but pity for him when it was first revealed he was to become the next Fafnir Knight. In him he saw the same young man that he was all those years ago, albeit he was a bit less sarcastic and deadpan than Fafnir was. He was surprisingly stubborn and resilient, though, which got Bertrand hoping that if anyone could defeat this Calamity once and for all, it would be Fafnir.

Flavio came next, for his dedication for Fafnir and his sincerity in wanting to keep everyone safe and secure. He genuinely cared for others and he openly expressed that compassion of his. One couldn't help but like the kid. And Bertrand liked him enough to tease him whenever he could, something he hadn't done to anyone for so long.

Of all the members of their guild, he must admit that his friendship toward Arianna came last, mostly because she reminded him so much of his own precious princess. Sweet, polite, naïve yet observant. There were honestly a few times, when the young princess was showing her worldliness, that he almost called her Violetta. Odd, since he had not spoken that name aloud for so long.

After he told his guild, told Chloe, Fafnir, Flavio, and Arianna all he could remember, he had consoled himself that he would not be forced to relive those memories again. He didn't want to sit down and talk about it. He didn't want to sit with a cup of tea and reminisce.

His past was long gone. The time for regret, confusion, disbelief had well and truly passed.

Yet, on the eve of confronting the being known as the Overlord of the Heavenly Keep, Bertrand found himself talking about his past to another. Someone who had no connection to the ruins of Ginnungagap. No connection to the curse of the Fafnir Knight.

Hrothgar.

Bertrand had thought that it was only his guild that he would become close to. They spent their days together, trekking through the labyrinth, fighting side by side, after all. It was just a matter of time.

Yet, somehow, that redheaded protector, the one they saved from virtually committing suicide by trying to defeat Chimaera on his own had somehow gotten under his skin.

At first, Bertrand had dismissed him as some kid with a shield. If he wanted to get himself killed in revenge against the monster that took the lives of his guildmates, then Bertrand wasn't going to get in his way. If that was how he wanted to go, that was his choice.

But it was when the kid looked at him with eyes filled with gratitude and sympathy that Bertrand started to realise that, perhaps, the kid was hurting more than he was letting anyone know. He didn't just want to get revenge for his guildmates' deaths. He wanted to end his own pain. He was glad that someone understood his desire, yet sad at the same time for that meant they had lost someone dear to them, too.

Bertrand felt a sense of pity for the kid then. Pain did strange things to people, after all. Losing everything they knew and loved could either make you desperate to end the suffering by any means. Or become cold and detached, never allowing yourself to care for anything ever again in a desperate attempt to protect yourself.

It was after their victorious battle against Chimaera that Bertrand really started to take notice of Hrothgar. The red-haired protector and his wolf companion found a new lease on life. While they weren't overly flowery or nauseatingly happy about everything, they seemed to be content with a sense of closure with the demise of Chimaera. Yet he continued to be a guiding figure for those new to the labyrinth, content to stay within the boundaries of the first and second stratum.

They continued to bump into each other, at the inn and at the bar mostly. First they were nods of acknowledgements and friendly silent smiles. Then Chloe, of all people, suggested that Hrothgar and Wulfgar join them for a drink. Ever polite, Hrothgar agreed.

After that day, their two guilds often found themselves spending time together. Bertrand especially found himself alone in the redhead's presence. And surprisingly, he didn't mind.

The kid was easy to talk to. Honestly, speaking with Hrothgar about mindless, non-consequential stuff was relaxing. And reassuring in a sense. There was more to life than Ginnungagap and the Fafnir Knight curse. Yet, the more time he spent with the understanding and gentle redhead, the more Bertrand wanted to tell him about his past. But he had always restrained himself. He didn't want to lump the kid with unnecessary baggage, after all.

Yet…

Why he wanted to talk to him tonight, to tell him everything when he really should be resting up for a possible battle against the Overlord, he didn't truly know. He guessed it was because he wanted the kid to know that if he didn't come back from the next battle, it wasn't because he didn't want to.

After Bertrand had finished his tale of his past and as the bandages covering his right arm fell away, Hrothgar sat quietly on the edge of his bed next to him. And in the darkness of his room at the inn, Bertrand waited silently for a response from the man next to him.

He wondered what kind of reaction he was going to receive from Hrothgar. Pity? Disbelief? Awkward comfort? He had stayed quiet the entire time, staring at the floor in front of him as he hands curled around the edge of the bed by his sides.

With his red hair covering his eyes, Hrothgar unexpectedly made a soft sound that was almost like a barely restrained sob. "You're...so strong," he whispered as he lifted his chin up and looked over at Bertrand.

Honestly, Bertrand was surprised to see the compassion and empathy in Hrothgar's soft blue eyes. Eyes that also held unshed tears.

"How could you stand it, all those years?" Hrothgar asked, his voice strained. "When I lost my guild, I virtually lost my will to live. Yet you...you kept living all those years. It must have been so painful for you."

Bertrand gave him a humourless smile. "I wasn't living, kid."

"But you kept going," Hrothgar insisted with a slight, almost desperate shake of his head. "Surviving is just as important as living. And you did that. Despite everything. You kept going."

…He kept going because he didn't know what else to do.

Bertrand shrugged lightly, trying to appear dismissive. "Apathy. Indifference. Detachment. You just stop caring about anything or anyone."

Again, Hrothgar shook his head as he leaned a little closer toward Bertrand, their shoulders just touching. "That's not entirely true. Especially not now. If you didn't care at all, if you were just tagging along out of duty and obligation, then you would not spend so much time with your guild. With Chloe. You...wouldn't be talking with me."

A soft sigh passed Bertrand's lips. There was no point in denying that anymore, was there?

Hrothgar turned his gaze back to Bertrand's arm and his expression grew softer still. "When was the last time this hand touched anyone?"

"…I don't remember," Bertrand answered honestly.

"Can I touch...?"

"...Sure."

Slowly, Hrothgar lifted his hand from the bed and with no hesitation, reached out to softly touch the back of Bertrand's hand that rested on his knee. He didn't immediately reach out for the blue jagged scar like Bertrand expected, instead his fingers touched the back of his wrist before slowly moving over the back of his hand. His touch was soft, moving gently over each little crease and dip of his knuckles, yet Bertrand could every little caress.

It was a little surprising, actually.

Wordlessly, Bertrand pulled his hand away, watching as Hrothgar curl his own hand away, disappointed. But he had only pulled away so that he could turn over his hand, allowing for himself to flex his fingers a little and to reveal his palm. Hrothgar immediately reach forward again trailed his fingers across the lines that still creased his palm. The life-line, the heart-line, and (ironically) the fate line.

"Does it hurt?" Hrothgar asked as he pressed his palm against Bertrand's, his fingers slipping through Bertrand's. He wasn't even remotely afraid of the claw-like appendages.

"No," Bertrand answered truthfully as he carefully curled his hand around Hrothgar's. "The pain went away years ago."

Hrothgar placed his other atop of their joined hands. "So it did hurt at some point?"

"Yeah."

Hrothgar sighed before he pressed his shoulder against Bertrand's, leaning closer to him. "You're going to meet this Overlord tomorrow?"

Bertrand gave a short nod of his head. "That's right."

"What if he won't cooperate?"

"Then we'll fight."

"…Then you'll fight the Calamity?"

"Yeah."

Hrothgar tightened his grip on their joined hands and chewed on his bottom lip as he stared at the floor. Bertrand could tell that he was on the verge of tears, his fear getting the better of him. "…You-?"

"I've lived this long," Bertrand said, interrupting him. "I won't be dying now."

Hrothgar slowly lifted his head up to look at him and he did something unexpected and surprising. He suddenly leaned forward toward Bertrand and kissed him softly on the lips. Bertrand felt his eyes widen in shock and when Hrothgar pulled back, he was blushing lightly, a sense of uncertainty in his eyes.

"I can't lose you, too…" he whispered.

Although Bertrand could never have suspected that the redheaded protector would feel that way toward him and he never thought that he, himself, could feel something like it either, he didn't have it in him to push the other away. It had been so long since he had touched someone, held them tightly in his arms that he almost forgotten was it felt like.

He missed that feeling. Pulling someone close. Feeling them in his arms. Holding them. Touching them. Telling them that everything was going to be ok. Promising that he would take care of them no matter what.

…It wouldn't hurt to let himself feel that again, would it?

"Ah. Settle for an old man like me?" Bertrand asked with a slight smile on his lips.

Hrothgar drew in a sharp breath before an expression of relief appeared on his face and he smiled. "I'm not a superficial person," he said as he leaned closer toward Bertrand.

"I know," Bertrand said as he disentangled his hand from Hrothgar and wrapped his arm, his cursed arm, around Hrothgar's shoulders as he gently lowered him onto the bed. "You'll regret it in the morning."

Hrothgar fervently shook his head and grabbed the front of Bertrand's shirt with his hand as the other slipped through the short strands of Bertrand's hair and pulled his face down toward his.

Bertrand would worry about the Overlord and the Calamity tomorrow. Because for tonight, there nothing was more important than this…