Mercedes's hook weaved in and out, over and under the loops of yarn in a smooth, steady motion. Constant, unwavering, mesmerizing, and normally a comfort Annette enjoyed watching in the evening candlelight before bed. But even with her most steadfast concentration, it was impossible to keep focus on her friend's crocheting. Annette rolled over and faced the wall adjacent to her bed with a sigh.

"Annie? Am I keeping you up? I can go back to my room if you'd prefer."

"No... I'm not sleeping."

"It's been a long week," Mercedes added after a pause, "if we're aiming to reclaim the capital soon, you're going to need all the rest you can get."

"That's...! I mean… it's not that," Annette mumbled into the pillow and drew the blankets up closer under her chin. Despite her best efforts, peace of mind and relaxation continued to evade her ever since the battle on Gronder Field.

The weeks following their clash flew by in a frenzied rush, and everything after their victory seemed to fall into place as they prepared to reclaim the capital. As much of a reassurance it was to watch Dimitri return to his senses and take charge once more, Annette was still unsettled. Even her father's countenance appeared greatly cheered by the change in direction. Finally he was talking to her again and even presented her with years of written letters in a display of goodwill to make amends, yet...

This is a turning point for us, right? For everything we've worked so hard for. But...

The candlelight flickered across the wall, Mercedes's shadow growing in size as she moved her chair to the edge of Annette's bed. "I know it's not," her friend answered gently. "But if you want me to leave you alone, I understand."

Annette flopped back over, her nightgown tangling with the bed sheets. "No! I just...ugh," she buried her face in her hands. "Mercie, I think I must be the absolute worst person."

"The worst? That's a little bit of a stretch, wouldn't you say?"

"Okay, maybe not the worst-worst, but I'm pretty high up there!"

"Annie," Mercedes laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, "you know that's not true…"

"It...it feels like it!"

"You're my best friend in the whole world. Do you truly think I would befriend someone like that?"

Annette groaned and pulled back the sheets. "It's just… Mercie, I...I feel like it's my fault."

"Oh, no…" Mercedes leaned back in the chair, her hand still resting atop Annette's shoulder as she set her crochet work down. "You know that's also not true. Lord Rodrigue… it wasn't anything to do with you, Annie."

The source of Annette's guilt went unsaid, but Mercedes always seemed to know. Shame churned uncomfortably in her stomach. "If I hadn't frozen up during battle, if I had paid more attention to our surroundings—"

"But none of that was your fault. These things happen in war, after all."

"No!" Annette tossed off her blankets and sprang out of bed. Her bare feet against the thin dormitory carpet felt cold and unsteady. "Mercie, if it weren't for me, we might've been able to stop it! We… we were so busy focusing on the empire's retreat. If I hadn't been so scatter-brained, Lord Rodrigue might...Felix might…"

"Annie! I'm disappointed in you."

"W-what…?"

"Just listen to yourself!" Mercedes's voice suddenly took on a sharper tone, "Is that the sort of thing you think Lord Rodrigue would want to hear? We all have things we regret during the war," her friend's hands slowly closed around her crochet hook, "but it was you who taught me that we have to keep trying our best without giving up!"

"I'm not giving up! I… I…"

It's not me I'm feeling sorry for.

An unsteady silence blanketed the room. Mercedes's watchful stare was not unkind. As usual, Annette felt as though her friend could see straight through her to the heart of her troubles. She slowly sighed and began folding up her crochet project. "Normally I don't like to interfere but… you haven't exactly been subtle. I know your reasons, but...I think you're approaching this the wrong way."

"Subtle? Reasons? What on earth are you talking about?"

"Annie. You've been avoiding Felix, haven't you?"

The carpet under her feet felt even colder and scratchier than it did moments before. "I-I am not!"

"You moved your chair to the other side of the table in the middle of our strategy meeting."

"I was having trouble seeing the professor!"

"You skipped stable duty yesterday. You never skip your chores."

"I… I had a stomach ache!"

Mercedes gently smoothed her palms across the skein of yarn resting in her lap. "If you say so… but I don't think you have anything to be ashamed of. In fact, keeping your distance might do more harm than good."

Something cold twisted in her stomach. "Harm?"

"I'm always here for you as your friend," Mercedes rose from her chair and returned it to the desk, taking care not to scrape it across the floor. Her voice resumed its usual, gentle softness, "But I should be going. It's late, and you did have a stomach ache, after all," she hovered by the doorway with her candle in hand, "Just...try to get some sleep, okay?"

The right response never came. Annette could only nod and stand in place as Mercedes quietly closed the door behind her. The single remaining candle atop her desk flickered feebly. With a heaving sigh she slowly sat back down on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands again.

"What am I doing…" Annette murmured to herself. "Mercie's right, this isn't like me at all."

When she closed her eyes, the scent of smoke and the sounds of the battlefield came rushing back all too quickly. Her throat burned as if she were still surrounded by the flames. She ran over the scene in her mind again and again, as if there were some way to change the course of events and save Rodrigue from death. But even if such a miracle were possible, it was Rodrigue's sacrifice that saved Dimitri.

Annette lowered her hands and stared down at her lap in thought. "If he had any idea just how much it saved Dimitri… or maybe he knew all along what would happen."

Rodrigue's sacrifice had an undeniable benefit beyond just saving the prince's life. It also somehow managed to bring Dimitri himself back from the brink of whatever abyss he'd been staring down into ever since the group reunited after five years apart. Finally seeing glimmers of the old Dimitri she remembered from their school days was deeply comforting. But knowing that came at the cost of Rodrigue's life was a difficult fact to accept. An even exchange, Annette mused—in a morbid sort of way, Dimitri was brought back from the dead at the expense of Rodrigue's own life.

"But Felix… now he has no one left."

The lone candle at her desk flickered again, reminding Annette that she was alone with her thoughts. Her eyes strayed over to the stack of envelopes pushed off to the side of her desk.

Father's letters… I still haven't decided if I want to read them yet.

"Augh!" Annette grabbed her shawl and whipped it around her shoulders in sweeping, frustrated motion. "This is stupid. Mercie is right," she grumbled and jammed her feet into the slippers resting at the foot of her bed. "I'm just sitting here feeling sorry for myself! Well no more—! Father, Rodrigue, Dimitri… I'm not going to let it get me down!"

She scooped up her candle and set off down the dark dormitory corridor, across Garreg Mach's grand hall, and over the stone bridge. There was no real destination in mind. Just simply moving was enough to keep away from the mess of emotions clouding her thoughts. The flame of her candle seemed to bob ahead of her with each step until she reached a large, familiar entryway.

The monastery cathedral never failed to disappoint, and in the dark it somehow managed to exude an even more impressive aura than its usual daytime glow. Annette pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders as she stood in front of the altar. The nights were still cold, even as spring continued to blossom around them, and the damage to the cathedral was such that they weren't fully shielded from the elements. After taking in the surroundings, she bowed her head and closed her eyes out of reflex.

I guess this is where I pray, right?

But instead of a well-rehearsed prayer, the only thing that came to mind to ease her nerves was a song. Annette hummed, a low, steady melody. With each beat her anxiety slowly melted away. No matter what hardships life tossed her way, music continued to serve as her best armor and most reliable shield to weather the storm.

A sudden clattering broke her concentration. Annette immediately spun around, half-expecting to come face-to-face with a ghost from one of Mercedes's stories, only to lock eyes with the one person she'd been trying her hardest to avoid. A few paces behind her stood Felix, frozen in place like a small child caught pilfering from the cookie jar. The source of the noise was most likely the standing candelabra he held awkwardly at his side, preventing it from falling over.

"I-I'm so sorry," Annette flailed, her chest tightening in a panic simply from catching his eye. "I didn't mean to interrupt you! I mean, I didn't even know you were here! I just figured it was late and I was alone—"

"You didn't interrupt anything," he realigned the candelabra and shuffled uncomfortably. "Sorry for startling you."

"No, I'm okay," she replied, "but...what are you doing here?"

Wait, what kind of stupid question is that!? Of course he'd be here; it's only natural to want some alone time to pray after losing a loved one!

"I… needed to drop something off in the comment box."

"The comment box? After midnight…?"

"...Yes."

Something in his posture suggested there probably was nothing left behind in the comment box, but pushing the subject seemed insensitive. "Ah," she answered lamely after another pause.

"How's your stomach?"

"My...stomach? Why?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Stable duty? Dedue filled in for you."

Oh. That.

"I-it's great!" Annette gave her belly a hearty pat, then immediately turned red with shame. This time she was the one caught in a lie. "Just a little indigestion, haha…"

"Good. We can't afford to take any chances with the next battle."

"Of course not!"

Despite the candelabra standing upright once more, Felix had yet to let go. "That… that wasn't a prayer hymn," he blurted out after a moment.

"What?"

He broke eye contact and realigned the candelabra. "Your song."

"It wasn't meant to be," she confessed. "It's just a little tune for myself when I need reassurance—oh! But...I mean… I'm not saying that you don't need reassurance, that is to say—"

"Reassurance?" Felix scoffed, "If you're about to spout off some pathetic drivel about my father's death and his noble sacrifice, you can forget it. I've heard it all before. I don't need reassurance."

"No! That's…" Annette paused, and the earlier tension seizing her shoulders finally released. Maintaining the awkward, standoffish wall separating the two of them was too much effort. After days of avoiding him, she simply didn't have the willpower to keep up the charade. "That's not it at all, actually. I'm not going to tell you, 'he was the ultimate hero,' or whatever it is people seem to want to say," she admitted, "They mean well… they really do, but I won't say it. Because hearing that stuff...it doesn't really help."

Felix's grip on the candelabra loosened slightly. "No. It doesn't. But he did what he wanted. The old man always did what he wanted."

"I know," Annette felt a sad smile spreading across her face in spite of herself. "And then you're left picking up the pieces, right?"

He slowly released his hold on the candelabra without responding.

That same nervous, fluttering sensation from earlier seized her chest, but she kept going. "My father's dream—no, his purpose—was always to protect the royal family. It was what he lived for! But somewhere along the way…" Annette's fingertips trailed across the frayed edges of her shawl as her mind wandered to painful memories, "I still don't fully understand why he walked away from our family. Me, mother… he left us all behind. Now he's here, and I should be happy I get a second chance, but I'm still picking up the pieces."

Felix grunted as a sign he was listening. She felt his eyes closely watching her. Normally his silence carried an intimidating and judgmental air, but this time felt different.

"I guess...what I'm saying is, even if his reasons were 'knightly' or 'noble', it doesn't mean it's not going to hurt when you're left behind. Maybe it was the right decision for him to make, but it doesn't mean you have to be okay with it!"

"Heh," Felix ran a hand through his hair and chuckled.

"W-what?! I don't think there's anything funny about this!"

He shook his head. "It's not that. You're just the first person I've spoken with who isn't talking about him like some glorified deity."

"Well...I mean…"

"Don't—" he held up a hand. "It's enough. What you said… I needed to hear that."

"I guess for me...I needed to say it," she shyly rubbed her nose. "Oh, this is so embarrassing! Here I am trying to reassure you, and I wind up talking more about myself and my own worries. How selfish can you get?!"

Felix shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye, it almost appeared as though he was suppressing a smirk. "That's rich. When was the last time you allowed yourself to be selfish?"

"A-all the time!"

"That's doubtful."

"If I hadn't been so selfish and stupid during the battle, things might've been different!"

"It wasn't selfish. Even the best of soldiers would panic under those conditions," Felix answered after a moment and slowly sat in the nearest pew, folding his hands and resting them under his chin. "And for what it's worth, I don't blame you. So don't waste your breath blaming yourself. For what happened with my father...and yours."

The weight of his words slowly sunk in.

That's right… He's completely right. This whole time I've been blaming myself for my father's departure. But he did what he wanted, just like Rodrigue did.

All the recent days spent avoiding Felix in the halls suddenly felt immensely foolish. Focusing on building a wall between them, distancing herself in fear that he would hold her accountable for his father's death... without realizing they were both suffering from the same sort of pain.

This entire time… I probably understand better than anyone what it feels like to be left behind. And he understands me, too.

Relief washed over her. She sat next to him in the same pew with a sigh.

Mercedes was right… I should've just talked instead of avoiding it all.

"Well then…" Annette drew in a deep breath, "it's a promise! So long as you don't blame yourself either. I'm holding you to that, you know!"

Felix continued staring straight ahead at the cathedral altar. Moonlight slowly slipped through the cracks in the damaged wall, painting fractured patterns of light across the stone. After another pause he leaned forward and looked straight ahead, still resting his chin atop his hands. "I changed my mind."

"Huh? About what?"

The tips of his ears were tinged red. "I need reassurance."

"W-what?"

"Tch. Whatever it was you were humming for yourself. I changed my mind. I want to hear it."

"Ah," she felt her own face grow warm. That familiar, fluttering sensation that had become practically commonplace over recent months flared up with a vengeance. "But… it's not a proper hymn, and we're in the cathedral!"

"So you'd rather argue with me in church instead of hum?"

"What?! No!"

"Heh," Felix turned his palm inwards, covering his mouth. He was definitely hiding a smirk now. "How blasphemous."

"F-fine then! Since you insist."

Annette leaned back in her pew and closed her eyes, humming the same wordless melody from earlier. The tune was dearly familiar. It was the same piece that once quelled her mother's tears, the same song that kept her striving forward during the hardest times in the magic academy, the same melody Annette relied on again and again each time life seemed insurmountably difficult. All her memories tied to this particular song were heavy with loss, grief, and strife.

But now she was sharing her song. Annette snuck a sideways glance, still humming. Felix remained with his chin on his hands and his eyes closed. For the first time since departing Gronder Field, his expression was peaceful. The emotion she was imprinting on this melody didn't carry the same negative energy from her past recitations.

I suppose it is blasphemous to think such things in such a holy place.

But…

Felix Hugo Fraldarius, I think I like you. Very, very much.