A week passed before things calmed down.
In all honesty, Ashe was surprised it only took that long. Maybe Sylvain's position was more solid than he'd expected. Or maybe it was just by nature of how Dimitri had acted.
"Ashe?" Augustus spoke, bringing him back to the present.
"Pardon, I was elsewhere," he apologized, turning his attention back to the man who sat across from him.
Count Rowe gave him a sympathetic smile. "You lost a friend, you need not apologize to me. I was actually going to suggest we adjourn, I've nothing more to discuss today. At least, anything more would require his majesty here."
Ashe hadn't adjusted to that yet either. Sylvain was no longer Sylvain, now variations of formalities. My king, your majesty, his grace, the list went on. It'd taken years for Ashe to adjust to Margrave Gautier, now he had King Gautier to reckon with.
Still, he afforded a smile. It was a good problem, in light of last week's events.
"Thank you," Ashe finally said. "It's been…hard."
Augustus leaned back in his chair. He sat in the same spot he'd signed their peace treaty, Ashe in Sylvain's. They had privacy, Gwendal finally accepting that they meant his lord no harm.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Augustus offered.
He thought about it, the raw memory oh so recent. Even as far away as he had been, he could see the blood—
"No, I don't think I'm ready yet," Ashe admitted.
Augustus accepted that with a nod. "I understand. I know you've those you're close with, but should you desire the ear of someone detached from it, you can call on me."
Ashe chuckled. "You know, Augustus, I'm impressed you've stayed this genuine of a person. I've been a noble for only part of my life and I feel like that part of me is sapped away."
"I try," he said, shrugging. "I just try to do what I think is right. Nothing more."
Nothing more. Ashe liked that. More sounded even more exhausting.
Goddess, he needed a nap.
Sylvain watched the few flakes of snow fall from the sky onto the grave.
"It's me, again," he said, looking at the small headstone. In reality, it was nothing more than a rock with a name carved onto it. "Don't know why I keep coming here. I…don't have much more to say."
He sat down in the gathering snow, just outside Arianrhod and under the lone tree they'd picked. It was cold, but he found that it didn't bother him. It was feeling, something that had been lacking during the past week. Everything felt numb, the achievements he'd worked so hard for felt empty.
Everything…it had led to this. All the good, all the strides, they still ended in death.
"I owe you an apology, I think," Sylvain finally said. Maybe that was what brought him back to this barren patch of ground over and over. That he had something to say, something that he needed to speak into word before he could move on.
"I'm sorry," he began before stopping. Sorry for what? This had been the right thing, hadn't it? Even despite all the pain, Faerghus had peace. Their war was over.
But what came now? How did they move on from this?
"I'm sorry for never listening to you," he finally settled on. "You were struggling and I thought I understood. I should have spent more time shutting up and less talking. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be here."
"I think this was inevitable," another voice said, behind him.
He didn't turn around. "Hello, Ingrid."
She used his shoulder to help her sit down beside him. She was bundled up in a cloak, but underneath were bandages for her wound. Felix was quite the artist with a sword, using the height difference between Dimitri and Ingrid to hit his vitals, not hers.
"You sure you should be moving around?" he asked.
She shrugged. "If I sit still for another goddessdamn minute, I'll probably kill one of the healers." It was a jest, but he could hear the anger in her voice.
He nodded, going back to where he'd been. "You think this was inevitable?"
Ingrid didn't speak for a while. "Laying in a bed gave me a lot of time to reflect. Maybe…maybe I saw this in him a long time ago and ignored it."
"Do you really think that?" Sylvain asked, looking at the headstone that was carved with the name, 'DIMITRI'.
"I think I'm angry," she said. "Angry at a lot of things. Mostly myself."
He nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. They sat like that for a while, not saying anything as they both stared at the grave of their friend.
That was how Sylvain chose to refer to him at least. Friend. He'd remember the good times, not the ill.
He broke the silence with a whisper. "How are you feeling?"
"Better than yesterday," she said honestly.
He held her tighter, comfort only a friend could provide.
Felix had been hoping no one would be at the grave, but Ingrid sat there. The snow beside her was disturbed, which meant Sylvain or Ashe had been there earlier.
Despite his mess of emotions around Dimitri, he was sorry they'd had to bury him like this. A small grave where he'd be forgotten. But the four of them had agreed that it was better this way. Out of eye of anyone who would desecrate the grave. The man had been their friend. He deserved that honor.
He took the spot adjacent to Ingrid, not at all surprised to see her wipe tears away. Felix pretended not to notice.
"You'll freeze to death out here," he said, bluntly.
"Hello to you too," she returned.
"How's the wound?" he asked, studying her face in case she lied. Goddess knew he'd drag her into the fort if she was in pain.
"The cold actually feels nice," she said. "It reminds me of better times. Winters with the four of us. Winters with Glenn."
Not sensing a mistruth, he nodded. "It is a nice chill," he admitted, brushing fingers through the snow. Those raised in Faerghus had quite the natural tolerance for cold. He could imagine someone like Lorenz shivering like a child. It made him smile.
"I'm glad you came out here," Ingrid said. "I've been wanting to talk to you."
"Hm?"
"It's…his last words." Ingrid bit her lip. "I heard them as we collapsed."
"He mentioned me?" Felix frowned, connecting the dots.
She shook her head. "No, he mentioned Glenn and said something about a lake. I wondered if you knew anything about that?"
"No, nothing comes to mind," Felix said. He chuckled darkly, drawing a questioning glance from her. Elaborating, he said, "Just makes me think about how I never really knew him after all. I thought I did. But the Dimitri I knew wouldn't treat you like he did."
"Do you think he was ever the man we knew?" Ingrid asked. "Or was it just a dream we bought into?"
Felix shrugged. "I don't care. But I've got a feeling that you do."
"You sure have a way with words," she grumbled, not disagreeing.
That was a bit of the Ingrid he knew. It was heartening. "I think it just matters what you think. You knew him best, out of all of us."
"And still I killed—"
He cut her off with a glare. "No. Whatever you think about him, you will not blame yourself for that. I killed him. End of story."
"You couldn't have if I didn't grab him."
"I wielded the sword. I did the deed. He's dead because of me. You've plenty to saddle yourself with, don't add my burden to yours."
She looked at the grave. "But…"
"I've plenty to make up for in this life," Felix said. "I've done bad things. You haven't." You're better than me, you've more to offer this world than a patricide like me. But he didn't say those.
Ingrid looked down. "You…"
Felix stood up, not liking where the conversation was going even if it was his fault that it went there. "Don't stay out here too long. You'll freeze."
He started to walk away when he heard her say, "You're a good friend, Felix."
Saying nothing, he continued to leave.
"Good, I thought I'd find you out here."
She snapped out her reverie as Ashe sat down next to her. As tired as he looked, he seemed lighter. Content, maybe.
"You need me for something?" she asked, welcoming the distraction.
"That can wait. Are you feeling any better?" he asked.
Of course not. "Some," she said. Looking at his grave, she shook her head. "Not really," Ingrid admitted.
Ashe nodded, understanding. "If it helps, you're handling things better than I did when my father passed."
That was because she didn't have anyone to blame but herself. Ingrid had held onto that hope for him. No one made her, it had been her choice.
"I guess. What did you want?" she asked, welcoming a distraction.
He seemed to sense that. "The war's over in the north. Our army is in shambles still and the country needs repairing. Though Edelgard perpetuated this, we've no means to end this conflict with her but trust in our allies."
"But?" she asked.
"But," he said, "we can still help them. I've asked Sylvain, and gotten his consent, to lead a small battalion down to Enbarr to help fight. Only volunteers. I thought you might welcome the distraction."
Ingrid looked at the headstone.
"Felix might come too," Ashe mused. "But regardless, I'm going. I won't have our friends fight alone in the south, not when I can help. Plus, a change of scenery might be nice." He looked at the grave, too.
A change of scenery…
Suddenly that cold that had been so comforting felt suffocating. Maybe it would do her good.
"I'll come," Ingrid said. "You sure Sylvain won't need us?"
Ashe laughed and it was a welcome sound. "You think either of us will have much to say about political reforms or reconstruction?"
He had a point.
"Then I better get back to resting," she said, extending a hand for him to help her up with.
He acquiesced. "Let's go help our friends."
"Let's."
"We leave in a week," Ashe said. "We'll make for Hevring, then to Enbarr from there."
Ingrid nodded, focusing on the words as Ashe explained the travel plan. And for the first time in a long while, Dimitri wasn't on her mind.
Snow would cover the grave, wisps covering the name. None of them would forget the place he lay to rest, finally allowed some peace of mind, they hoped.
Life continued moving on, as it ever did. They had people relying on them, friends to support. There was little time for grief, only reflection.
Memories of laughter. Dimitri chuckling as Felix was at Sylvain's throat.
Memories of happiness. Felix smiling with his friend before the Tragedy ever happened.
Memories of comfort. A hand on his shoulder as Ashe mourned.
Memories of a dance. Dimitri blushing as he handed her a Viscaria, inviting her to the Millennium Ball.
Gone. But not from their hearts. Not now, not ever.
Author Notes: I'm fond of the language of flowers. Lily of the Valley can mean 'rebirth', which is in reference to Ingrid last and this chapter. The first chapter of this arc was Love-lies-bleeding, my favorite flower, which can mean 'a tragic love'. Viscaria literally means 'will you dance with me?'
Dimitri's last words reference his intermezzo thirty chapters ago.
End of Faerghus arc, though not the last we've seen of our frozen children as you can guess from that final scene. More Ashe's depression, Ingrid's grief, and if you're all good, Felix's angst to come!
Editing Notes:
2/18/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments.