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DOROTHEA

Dorothea steeled herself as she sat down across from Felix in the dining hall. He had such a knack for finding weak spots and hammering at them, incessantly. Or slicing them or stabbing them... there had to be some sword-related metaphor for his interpersonal problems.

He really only thought about one thing. And, somehow, it wasn't sex.

"I have a proposition for you," said Dorothea. 

He'd pretended not to notice her but, now that she'd addressed him directly, he grudgingly met her eyes. She braced herself for a snide comment; most men wouldn't be able to resist. Yes, yes, all opera singers were prostitutes--because the opera season was damn short and the theater didn't pay enough to support the performers for an entire year. What were they supposed to do? Aside from quit to join a military academy.

She waited. The insult didn't come.

Felix's mouth twisted impatiently. "I'm listening." 

"I noticed that you've joined the Advanced Reason class even though--at least according to rumor--you were barely scraping by in Intermediate," said Dorothea.

Felix stiffened. "What business is that--"

Dorothea barreled on. "And you may have noticed that I've recently joined your Advanced Swordplay class even though I'm pretty hopeless at it." 

"You fit right in with all the other useless--"

"I don't know what the Professor is thinking but I haven't been able to talk her out of it." Dorothea kept her tone pleasant but firm. For all their many, many differences, she did have one thing in common with Felix: she had not enrolled at Garreg Mach to fail. "Since we're stuck with the classes, maybe we could help one another? I'll tutor you in Reason if you tutor me in Swordplay. It's our best chance at catching up." 

Felix sat back in his chair, looking contemplative. 

Dorothea breathed a sigh of relief. She'd convinced him to consider her request. That had been the most difficult task she'd set herself that afternoon (her homework would be a breeze, comparatively) and, whatever his answer, she'd completed it. Gold star for Dorothea. 

"All right," he said finally. "That's fair. I could use the help. Goddess knows you'll be tripping all over the place without mine."

"Great!" Dorothea smiled brightly. "Maybe twice a week? If we start tomorrow--"

"Four times," Felix interrupted. "You need two extra training sessions every week, minimum. Honestly two won't be enough but--anyhow, that means I get two study sessions, so four."  

Dorothea suppressed a groan. Spending four evenings a week with Felix Hugo Fraldarius was going to be a challenge. But she'd been fired in the crucible of the Mittelfrank Opera Company, where if commoners like her wanted to succeed they learned to smile no matter how viciously nobles like him jeered. She could handle it. She already survived worse, hadn't she? 

***

DOROTHEA

Felix was worth the trouble. She'd known he would be.

He wasn't kind or encouraging, but neither was he negligent or sloppy. He knew swords inside and out, theory and practice, and he could explain the subtleties that had escaped her in class: what it meant to hold an active stance while standing still, what the muscles in her thighs and calves ought to feel like. How to stretch and strengthen her wrists, which turned out to be critical. And he assigned light weight-lifting for her off days, to build the strength in her arms and shoulders that she'd need to hold the sword high for long stretches. 

As a student... well, at least he made a sincere effort. He didn't like doing anything he couldn't excel at and muddling through a Reason textbook for an hour put him in an extremely foul temper. 

Dorothea took long walks to unwind after their library sessions. Once, a few weeks after they'd started, she was strolling around the reservoir when she overheard a couple of the Knights of Seiros making snide comments about how she'd slept her way into the academy. Even though she'd heard it a hundred times before, even though it was true, she burst into tears. 

Of course, Professor Byleth saw her crying and wanted to know what was wrong. She explained, which was humiliating. Byleth was kind, which helped. But the Knights weren't the problem. She'd have been fine if Felix hadn't spent the previous hour stripping her raw with his acid tongue. 

The next time they met in the library, she planted her palm flat on Felix's textbook before he could open it. "I have a new rule." 

He narrowed his golden eyes. "What?" 

"Our sessions end when you insult me," Dorothea said. "I'm not trying to--I don't know how to put this, change you or teach you a lesson or anything like that. I'm... too sensitive, I guess. I spend an hour tutoring you and the rest of the evening recovering and, Felix, I can't afford to spend two nights a week licking my wounds. I have to be able to study." 

"I don't mean to..." He trailed off and smoothed his hands over the polished wood of the table, momentarily awkward. "You're a good tutor." 

"Thank you, Felix," said Dorothea. "So are you. I'm grateful for all the help you've given me. I wish the insults didn't affect me so much--I know you're just mad at yourself--"

His head snapped up. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Nevermind. My point is--"

"No, I want to hear it." His voice took on that low, threatening tone that every student at the monastery had learned to fear. "What did you mean?" 

"Fine. I will answer"--Dorothea held up her index finger--"But only if you promise to count to twenty before you say a single word in reply." 

Felix narrowed his eyes. "I'm not playing games." 

Dorothea waited. 

Felix folded his arms across his chest and slunk low in his seat, sulking. "I'll count to twenty." 

"You interpret anything that makes you feel weak as an attack," said Dorothea. "Since tutoring you in Reason requires focusing on the areas where you're weak, so that you can improve, you... not rationally, I know, but somewhere deep down below the surface... see me as an enemy and so you lash out." 

After a long, long pause Felix said, "You're good at explaining things." 

Dorothea let loose a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. "You took that better than I thought you would." 

"Yeah, well." He scowled. "Can we get started?" 

***

DOROTHEA

She did have to cut a few sessions short, but Felix was a fast learner. Tutoring went much more smoothly after their little talk. And she was a better teacher, too, when she wasn't falling apart from nerves. Felix's grasp on Reason advanced by leaps and bounds while, meanwhile, she started to make an impression in her swordplay classes. She still couldn't hold a candle to star pupils like Felix or Petra but, more and more, she eked out wins against students like Hilda and Sylvain who--though strong and agile--were more comfortable with other weapons. 

Professor Byleth was so impressed with Dorothea's improvement that she gave her a Levin Sword. It was a moment like--like her first show as a principal singer at the Mittelfrank. She'd been a stand-in at a matinee but it had meant so much that the director had trusted her to go on stage and hold the audience captive for three hours. And now the Professor thought she was good enough, that she might one day be great. 

She could do this! She really could!

At their first training session after Dorothea received the Levin Sword, she showed it to Felix, who--goddess strike her down if she lied--looked jealous as a cat at the dinner table. And then she gave him a huge hug, which he tolerated. 

***

DOROTHEA

As summer settled in, they took to studying outside. After making herself comfortable at a table and spreading out all her things, Dorothea wasn't in any rush to move. So she'd hang around after the tutoring session was officially over, carrying on with her own work, and sometimes Felix did the same. They didn't chat much--he wasn't a chatty person and she was grateful, because she really did need to study--but neither did they plod along in stony silence. After a few months of this, Dorothea realized that they had somehow... against all odds... become friends. 

She looked up from her work one sunny afternoon and caught Sylvain in one of his lovers' quarrels. Some poor girl was crying while he spouted excuses like a naughty child, unrepentant and resentful. As charming as Sylvain could be when he made a pass at a girl he was truly atrocious at breaking up with them. There were easier ways to go about it. Dorothea was proud that she remained friends with most of her flings; some of them still came around for tea. 

"What's the appeal?" asked Felix, startling her out of her reverie. 

Dorothea jolted. She'd been lost in her thoughts but, "Of Sylvain, you mean?" 

"He treats women terribly but they never learn," said Felix. 

Dorothea chuckled. "Sure they do--they learn the hard way. By being treated terribly."

"You haven't fallen for him." 

"No, but I did learn the hard way." Dorothea smiled wryly. "A long time ago. Most of us do." 

Felix grunted. "I still don't get it." 

"It's like sweets," Dorothea tried. "Sometimes the most delicious things are bad for us." 

Felix made a sour face. "I hate sweets." 

"Of course you do." Dorothea laughed. "You're one of a kind, you know?" 

"They all taste the same--like sugar. How boring. But everyone here is always going on about cake." Felix scowled. "Fuck cake." 

"You like spicy foods, right?" Dorothea asked. "So you do know what it's like to seek something out for pleasure, even though it will hurt you." 

Felix, who'd been watching Sylvain as his public break-up reached its crescendo, slid a gaze of pure molten gold around to land on Dorothea's face. He stared and stared until a hot blush spread up from her neck to burn her cheeks and she--Dorothea Arnault, a former opera singer who'd probably had more love affairs in a year than Felix would in his whole life--dropped the conversation like a hot coal and buried her face in her textbook.

***

FELIX

Felix returned to the dormitory from the bathhouse, the soreness brought on by daily training only half-soothed by a long soak in hot water. He felt good, or as close to good as he ever got. Too tired for worry or rage or fear. Satisfied with his progress. Sure of a dreamless sleep. 

Sylvain poked his head out of his room as Felix passed. "Hey, Felix! Hey!" 

Felix waved and continued on his way. If he stopped to talk, he'd lose this fragile sense of peace. If he lost the fragile sense of peace, he wouldn't be able to sleep. If he couldn't sleep, he'd wake up tired and train poorly in the morning. Once that happened, he'd be off for the rest of the day. Then insomnia would rear its ugly head and the vicious cycle would really get going. No thank you. 

But Sylvain was a selfish asshole so he trotted after Felix, calling, "Hey! Wait up!" as though Felix might change his mind--he wouldn't--and then he blocked Felix's door with his body when Felix tried to shut it in his face. 

"I have a question," Sylvain asked. 

Felix hung his towel from a hook and shuffled through his wardrobe, dropped the shorts he'd worn to the bathhouse and exchanged them for a pair of linen trousers. 

"Thanks for the show," said Sylvain. "Not what I was after, but thanks. All that exercise is really paying off. Good job. But listen: how'd you pull Dorothea? She is so pretty and so nice and she spends all her time with you? It's like a mystery for the ages. You've got to share your secret."

"No secret." Felix poked his head through the neck of a loose singlet. "It was her idea." 

"C'mon, man." Sylvain leaned against the door jamb. He was dressed for bed in loose pants, like Felix, but he hadn't bothered with a shirt. "For old times' sake. Just give me a hint. Bros before hoes right?" 

"She's not a--" Felix pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. That was it. This asshole had just ruined his chance at a good night's sleep, thrown the whole rest of his week off, all because he wanted to get in some girl's pants. Into Dorothea's pants. "Leave her alone. She's not interested." 

"That can't be true. Look at me!" Sylvain gestured at his bare chest. "I'm irresistible!"

Felix looked, as requested. Not to admire but to communicate what he wouldn't say with words: he'd just spoken to Dorothea about Sylvain. She really wasn't interested.

"No way." Sylvain stiffened. "I don't believe it. I don't know what she told you but listen, Felix, she's a commoner on the hunt for a noble husband if I've ever seen one. And I have. I really have. So if she's luring you in--" 

She'd mostly been on the hunt for good grades, as far as Felix could tell, but he didn't ask what she did when he wasn't around and she didn't bring it up. But there was no point in telling Sylvain that. He had rocks in his head where a brain ought to be. Instead of answering, Felix gave Sylvain a shove to get him clear of the door. Then he shut and locked it before Sylvain could weasel his way back in. 

***

FELIX

His one-on-one brawling session with Alois ran long the next afternoon--he'd been working on hand-to-hand combat as a fallback for the rare cases when he was disarmed--so he arrived at their usual study table late. As expected, Dorothea had already arrived. She was never late. Not to tutor him, not to train with him. At the start, when she'd been so infuriatingly incompetent with a sword that every minute he spent drilling the basics over and over and over again was like a tailor-made form of torture, he'd grit his teeth and carry on because damn it, she showed up. Stayed for every minute, never shirked. He respected that.

Not entirely to his surprise, considering the conversation they'd just had, Sylvain had swooped in to take advantage of Felix's absence. Felix approached from Dorothea's back, so while he couldn't see Dorothea's reactions he had a prime view of Sylvain's antics. The redhead made puppy dog eyes, spoke in that low, rich tone he reserved entirely for women, kept moving his arms into different positions with (as far as Felix could tell) the sole goal of drawing attention to his muscles. Fucking peacock. 

As Felix drew close, Sylvain flicked him a quick, angry glance and then said, "You're wasting your time with Felix. A fine, lovely woman like yourself deserves better. Give me a chance. I'll take you dancing. You love dancing, right? Let me show you what a real man is made of."

Dorothea responded with a sweet, tinkling laugh. And then she spoke in an arch and knowing tone that Felix had never, ever heard from her before. "A real man? Oh, Sylvain. I'd bet money that Felix is ten times better in bed than you are."

Felix froze.  

Sylvain's jaw dropped. Literally. Felix could see his tonsils from five feet away.

Sylvain fixed his wide eyes on Dorothea in what seemed a truly desperate attempt not to stare directly at Felix and thus reveal what a complete dick he was being. Apparently this small effort consumed his complete supply of self control because he began to splutter and finally blurted, "I know for a fact that Felix is a--"

"Perfectionist?" Dorothea interrupted brightly. And then, in that evil female voice that managed to mix saccharine sweetness and pity in equal measure, "Which you, Sylvain, are most definitely not. Sometimes settling for 'good enough' really isn't good enough." 

Sylvain stood. He looked like he'd taken a hard punch to the solar plexus. That was how Felix felt, anyhow, and Sylvain seemed to have it worse.  

"I guess I know where you stand," said Sylvain. "Sorry to, uh. Sorry to bother you." 

"Always nice to chat!" Dorothea chirped. 

Sylvain fled. Felix wished he could do the same. Instead, he hovered in place. He'd wait a few seconds and then waltz on in as though he hadn't overheard a single word of that conversation. Under no circumstances could Dorothea ever learn that he'd been listening-- 

Dorothea twisted in her seat and smiled, green eyes twinkling. "You can sit down now, Felix." 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck--

"Sit." Dorothea waved impatiently. "And stop making that face. I knew you were there all along. Sylvain isn't nearly as subtle as he thinks he is." 

Slowly, as though he were walking on a bed of nails, Felix circled to the other side of the table. He perched on his usual seat light as a bird and just as tempted to fly away. What had just happened? What did he do now? The most beautiful woman at the monastery had just said "I'd bet money that Felix is ten times better in bed than you," to the class Lothario. He'd heard her say it. She knew he'd heard her say it. 

He felt like Raphael had just clobbered him over the head with a hammer. 

"Felix, you have nothing to worry about." Dorothea sounded serious and, for a moment, her whole demeanor changed. She looked older and sadder and so, so weary. "Look, I know what people say about me and they're not entirely wrong. But I asked for your help in good faith and I've tried to act in good faith, too. It was the only way to make this work. So you don't need to worry. I don't have designs on you. You're a great tutor and you're my friend, all right?" 

Her friend. Right. Good. Just what he'd always wanted. 

"So..." His voice came out so thick he had to clear his throat. "So you made all of that up for Sylvain? To, um. Embarrass him?" 

Her grass-green eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips curved enticingly. She smiled with her whole face, even her nose, and why was he noticing this? 

"Well, it only worked because I meant every word!" said Dorothea. "I would bet money and then I'd win it all back, plus extra. But Felix, I don't think of you that way. I promise. A lot of guys in your position"--another brief crack in her bright facade, another glimpse of old pain--"would have a hard time trusting me, and it means a lot to me that you've never treated me like... some of the others do. I'm going to prove that I deserve your trust." 

"And by trust you mean..." He honestly had no idea to finish that sentence. His whole body was going numb. Or hot. Or cold. Or all of those things at once. 

"That I'm not trying to seduce you." A little wrinkle formed between her brows. "Besides, it would be so awkward! Some of the stuff we do while training is so... well. If I couldn't set those thoughts completely aside I'd never learn anything!" 

"I see," Felix said woodenly. He reached for his satchel, extracted his Reason textbook, set it on the table. "Thank you for explaining. You're right that things have never been awkward between us. I appreciate that, too." 

Dorothea squinted. "So we're good, right?" 

No. No, they would never be good again. Because while things had never been awkward in the past they sure as sin would be in the future. For him. Not, apparently, for her. 

How wonderful. 

"We're good," he lied. "Now can we stop wasting time? You're supposed to be tutoring me." 

***

DOROTHEA

Dorothea hadn't expected Felix to care at all about her conversation with Sylvain--he was so single-minded about training that nothing else seemed to make much of an impression on him--but the second she'd seen his face, she'd nearly had a heart attack. 

He'd looked devastated. Stunned, horrified... any adjective that described a man who'd just had a very, very bad surprise would serve.

Sylvain's nasty trick had very nearly worked. No, she hadn't said anything awful about Felix. But she'd revealed a side of herself that she'd never had occasion to show him. She'd acted like... well, like a woman comfortable with her sexuality. Nothing wrong with that. But the nobles here had their ideas, and she couldn't blame Felix for wondering if she'd revealed her true self to Sylvain and shown him a false one. 

Which wasn't at all true. They were both her true self. But Sylvain could take a bit of teasing--though she had been harsh--while Felix couldn't. So she'd explained. Poured her heart out, really. And Felix had seemed to understand.

But he'd been different since then. 

At first, she chalked it up to his history with Sylvain. The two went way back--they'd been childhood friends, she knew, until something had gone wrong. To do with Duscur, though the details were hard to piece together. Everyone in the Blue Lions had been wrecked by Duscur, one way or another. Sometimes, especially if Dimitri was around, walking into class was like showing up at a very tense funeral. 

She'd assumed that she'd been caught in the middle of some sort of friend-feud and waited for it to blow over. But weeks passed and eventually, she had to admit that Felix had grown... colder. And not in general. Towards her, specifically.

It was such a shame. She'd really grown to like Felix. But life didn't always turn out the way one hoped. And with the odd goings on around the monastery, starting with Flayn's kidnapping and escalating from there, it was harder and harder to justify spending four evenings a week doing extra tutoring that--in all honesty--neither of them needed any longer. She'd caught up with the rest of the swordplay class and--to her sincere delight--Felix was really starting to shine during Reason. 

So she sat down across from him in the library one afternoon in the late autumn, with brown and gold leaves drifting past the window and a nip in the air that made studying outside impractical, and did what had to be done. 

"I think, since we're both doing so well, we can call an end to these tutoring sessions," said Dorothea. 

Felix blinked once, slowly. "Your swordplay is still sub-par."

"And it always will be, compared to yours," Dorothea replied, not at all offended. "Just like you'll never be the mage that Lysithea is, even though you're competing well with the rest of us. I'm right where I need to be--and I have you to thank for that." 

"So." His jaw clenched and he stared right through her. "Great. We're done." He stood, snatched his textbook. "Guess I'll see you around." 

"Wait! Felix!" Dorothea leapt to her feet and snagged his arm before he could storm off. "I was thinking we could go out to celebrate? Dinner or tea or... whatever you prefer."

Felix pinched her sleeve and used it to pluck her hand off of his arm. As though her bare skin was poisonous or... filthy. 

"That's not a good idea," said Felix. "But I appreciate the offer." 

And that was that. At least, after that awful sleeve pinch, she didn't miss his company nearly as much as she would have otherwise. 

***

FELIX

"Hey, Felix." Sylvain, of course, straddling the bench seats in the dining hall. "So, are you ten times better than me in bed yet? No? Still working on it?" Sylvain grinned like a loon. "I've noticed you're not seeing much of Dorothea these days. Maybe the reality didn't match the expectations?" 

"Shut up, Sylvain," said Felix. 

"That was sooo brutal." Sylvain folded his arms overhead, hands crossing at his nape, and stared gleefully at the chandeliers blazing merrily above. "At first I was like, wow, talk about putting me in my place. I couldn't believe it! And with you standing there, listening... but I should have realized you were even more doomed. No one is that good. She set you up to fail, man." 

Felix swallowed the lump of sodden casserole in his mouth before he gagged on it. "Please shut up."

"At least you made your move though, right? That's progress." Sylvain gave Felix a friendly slap on the back. "I'm proud of you. It's hard to tell a girl how you feel! The first few times, at least. Gets easier with practice. You screwed up the courage and gave it your best shot, right?"

No, he hadn't. What would have been the point? She'd already given him her answer. Very, very clearly. But thanks to Sylvain's stunt, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it and so he'd lost the best friend he'd made at Garreg Mach. 

Felix stood. He couldn't stomach another bite. "You ruined something really good," he told his friend. "I wish you weren't so happy about it." 

***

DOROTHEA

On the worst day of her life, something magical happened. She'd descended into the depths of the monastery with the rest of the Blue Lions to watch Professor Byleth sit on the throne of the goddess in hopes of receiving a revelation. The revelation didn't come, which was fine--Dorothea hadn't expected it to. She didn't think anyone other than Rhea had actually expected the goddess to speak. 

But then, after the world's most predictable anti-climax, the Flame Emperor arrived. He stormed the mausoleum, sent soldiers to plunder crest stones from the tombs, and transformed a quiet afternoon of pretending to believe in the goddess into a battle Dorothea honestly didn't expect to survive. They were outnumbered at least two to one with demonic beasts slithering amongst the enemy soldiers, their teeth like knives and skin like steel. 

Byleth split the group, sending Dorothea with Felix, Ashe, Dedue to protect the tombs along the western wall. They made a good team, Dedue solid and Felix quick, with Ashe thinning their foes before they could arrive and Dorothea pitching in wherever she was needed. At one point, thanks to the strange cramped spaces the massive tombs forced them to occupy--it was almost like fighting in a narrow corridor--one of the Flame Emperor's soldiers slipped past Dedue, his dagger in hand and Felix's back in reach. Dorothea couldn't cast with both Felix and Dedue standing so close to her target, so she tightened her grip on her sword's hilt and put all her lessons to use, striking low on the soldier's side but aiming her thrust upwards, to pierce his lungs. 

Felix whirled as the soldier dropped. He raised his free hand and Dorothea barely had time to dodge before he blasted someone behind her with black magic. She peeked and... yes, one of the Flame Emperor's soldiers had been sneaking up on her while she'd been occupied with the one sneaking up on Felix. 

Euphoria bubbled up inside of her, a shot of joy with a dash of insanity. Without thinking, she offered Felix a high five. "All that tutoring paid off!"

Quickly--because the only time Felix kept a completely cool head was in battle, when everyone else was flying off the handle--he slapped her palm. Met her eyes briefly, warmth flashing within, and then turned his attention elsewhere. Where it belonged. 

***

DOROTHEA

With war breaking out across Fodlan, Dorothea prepared to return to Enbarr with Manuela. They were worried about the Mittelfrank. There wasn't much demand for opera in wartime and the performers would be in a difficult position. Like the noble students, all scattering to their ancestral properties, Dorothea and Manuela wanted to keep their little flock safe. 

So she was standing in a nearly empty room, the last traces of her presence a small pile of odds and ends waiting to be tucked away into her luggage, when a knock sounded at the door. 

Felix stood on the other side. Out of uniform, for once, dressed in the heavy fur-trimmed Kingdom style, perfect for the winter chill. It looked like he was letting his hair grow--maybe an inch or two?--but perhaps not by deliberate choice. A lot of things had fallen by the wayside since Professor Byleth died. 

"Hey, Felix." Dorothea tried to smile--not an easy thing to do, these days. "You're on your way? Safe travels." 

"Sylvain and Ingrid are waiting by the front gates," he answered, looking past her into the room. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." She gestured him inside and let the door fall shut. "What's on your mind?" 

"Too much." He crossed his arms over his chest and then, very deliberately, let them fall back to his sides. "I've been looking ahead and... I don't like our chances. The last time Faerghus fought the Empire, we were evenly matched--and we were a much bigger country back then."

"Don't give up already!" Dorothy protested. "Numbers aren't everything--and she'll have to spread her resources thin, you know that." 

"I'm not giving up. I'll fight to the bitter end." He smiled thinly. "But just in case. I owe you an apology." 

Dorothea nodded. He did, actually. 

"You were a good friend," he said. "The best friend I made while I was here, and I spoiled it. I'm sorry. I was an idiot." 

She touched his arm, light and tentative, unsurprised when he tensed up like a spring. "What happened?" 

"I..." He ducked his head. "I had feelings that you didn't return. It was easier to keep my distance."

Following an impulse that she didn't question--the looming threat of death made a lot of questionable decisions seem sensible--Dorothea rose up on tiptoes and kissed his cool cheek. To her astonishment Felix blushed, cheeks tinting a lovely pale rose. It was so incongruous and adorable that she very nearly kissed him a second time--maybe a third--to see if he could get any pinker. 

"Apology accepted."

He took one of her hands between both of his own and squeezed, much too hard. "Take care of yourself." 

***

DOROTHEA 

As it turned out, Dorothea and Manuela's fears had been justified. The theater where the Mittelfrank performed cancelled the upcoming season and dismissed the performers without notice or pay--her dear friends had been scrambling to make ends meet for months before Dorothea arrived.

Some had fallen back on their usual between-season employment as mistresses to nobles discontented with their arranged marriages, but others struggled to hone their talents by whatever means they had available, busking in public squares, performing at schools and birthday parties. Anything that would pay a few coppers and allow them a shred of dignity. 

Dorothea joined them, donning bright silks and singing her heart out on the streets of Enbarr while frightened, worried citizens scurried past. As much as she enjoyed the companionship, the sense of solidarity, these impromptu performances were not enough. They would starve if they didn't find a better source of income. 

This unpleasant truth weighed heavily on her that fall, with the cold weather settling in and no end to the war in sight. She returned to her modest, fifth-story flat in the center of the city one evening to find Shamir waiting for her, browsing nosily through shelves cluttered with awards and keepsakes--masks and baubles from favorite performances, preserved bouquets and engraved plaques. 

"Shamir!" Dorothea cried, her initial reaction--pure joy--immediately tempered by a cold thread of fear. "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm looking for you. What else?" Shamir propped her hands on her hips, gave Dorothea a brisk once over. "You've looked better." 

Dorothea laughed. "I'm sure I have--but you're just the same."

"My life hasn't changed that much. Some of the Knights of Seiros are still searching for Rhea but no one's footing the bill for that, so I'm back to mercing and..." She shrugged. "Same ol', same ol'."

"You're... mercing again?" Dorothea asked. "Should I, um. Should I take the opportunity to run? Will you give me a head start, for old times' sake?" 

"I was sent with a message. Nothing you need to be afraid of, though if I'm seen it'll be both our necks." 

"What's the message?"

"My employer is a Kingdom loyalist. He has an offer. If you're interested, he can arrange funding to put the Mittelfrank Opera Company on tour in the Empire. All you'd have to do in exchange is supply him with information. Anything interesting that you learn as you go." 

Dorothea's eyes went wide. "You mean... turn spy. For the Kingdom." 

"That's the offer," Shamir confirmed. "Take it or leave it, no hard feelings either way." 

"What about this tour?" Dorothea pressed. "It would be awfully suspicious if we're traveling the country on funds provided by rebels. Imperial intelligence is corrupt, not stupid." 

"Already taken care of." Shamir cocked her hip. "My employer has a connection in the Empire who will take a cut in exchange for fronting the operation. Interested?" 

Dorothea removed the bracelets and bangles clinking on her wrists, the feathered hairpiece and the silk slippers with the too-tight toes. She sat on her bed and rested her face in her hands, weighing her decision. If they were caught, the entire company would be arrested, tortured, possibly executed. Imperial justice had become... strict. But if she let this opportunity pass, they'd starve. 

She didn't like either option, but one was clearly better than the other. 

"I accept," said Dorothea. 

***

DOROTHEA

It went very smoothly. The offer to fund the tour came from a known patron of the arts, a wealthy merchant from Enbarr who, since he had no territory and thus no soldiers to feed and arm, could convincingly express a desire to fund the arts while the nobles were otherwise occupied. Dorothea gathered the company and, innocent lambs that they were, they threw themselves into selecting a program, building props, and rehearsing their lines.

They crisscrossed the Empire over the next few years, rediscovering their confidence and camaraderie as a troupe. A new messenger came to Dorothea every month and took an aural report of all the information that she had collected. They never made appointments--each messenger arrived with a password she could use to recognize the next--and never put a single word to paper. The risk was too great. 

So she was not entirely surprised to find a skinny, nondescript man in drab clothing waiting in her dressing room one evening, at the end of a performance. But when she got a good look at his face, at the freckles on his nose and the clear peridot of his eyes, she squealed and opened her arms. 

"Ashe!" Dorothea pulled him into a hug, heedless of the greasepaint she smeared all over his cheek. "You sweetheart! I can't believe you're here! Isn't it dangerous?" 

"Well... yes." Ashe looked confused. "Everything is dangerous these days, Dorothea. Haven't you noticed?" 

"Why, yes, I have!" She pulled back, drinking in the sight of a familiar face, and then squeezed him tight again. "It's so good to see you!" 

Ashe awkwardly patted her mostly-bare back. "You too, Dorothea. You too." 

"What are you doing in the Empire?" Dorothea asked, waving him into the seat by her vanity. "Don't tell me you came all this way for a performance of The Siren?" 

"Well... no, I didn't. It was lovely though! I really enjoyed it. You have a beautiful voice, Dorothea, and the dancers were wonderful. I've never seen anything like it." As always, enthusiasm animated Ashe's whole body--his eyes shone and his hands danced as he spoke. "But I'm here because I'm your contact this month." 

"My..." Dorothea trailed off. "Ashe? You?" 

"The password is hot buttered rum," he added, correctly. 

"You're a"--Dorothea lowered her voice to the barest whisper--"spy?" 

"Oh, I wouldn't use that word, no." Ashe's smile twisted slyly. "I'm just a simple traveling merchant, making my way through hard times with an ever so slightly unorthodox inventory of goods to trade." 

Dorothea clapped, delighted. "Can you tell me any news? I pass along everything I know but I feel like I'm always in the dark." 

Ashe wilted a bit. "It's safer if you don't know, Dorothea." 

"Well, how is everyone at least? Have you seen any of our old friends?"

"I suppose I can answer that. I see Ingrid a lot because it was her idea to, er, expand my inventory. And it's worked very well for us. I think that's what gave Felix the idea to sponsor the opera company--"

"Wait, wait," Dorothea interrupted. "It was Felix's idea to sponsor the Mittelfrank?" 

"He pushed really hard for it," Ashe confirmed. "And he convinced Sylvain to raise the funds--Sylvain is a little too good at that, if you ask me. I think Lorenz is the one who actually funnels the money into the Empire. A lot of people were really eager to lend a hand for you, Dorothea." 

"How is Felix?" Dorothea asked. "I wish I could thank him in person, but..." 

"I don't know, actually." Ashe sighed. "He was on the front lines for a long time, but recently we've been hearing rumors that Dimitri escaped his execution. Felix is tracking them down. That's one of the things we're hoping you can keep an ear out for, actually. If anyone in the Empire has found the Prince, we need to reach him first." 

"I'll do my best," Dorothea promised. 

***

DOROTHEA

Dorothea heard the same rumors about Dimitri. But the information was never specific enough to be of help. Most of the Imperial nobles she spoke to talked about the kind, considerate Prince of Faerghus as though he were a boogey man. A monster lurking in the dark, waiting to snatch their children away. It all seemed so bizarre and fantastical. 

The company had settled into a fairly long run in Varley--two months--when Dorothea received another visitor she recognized: tall and lean and graceful, his dark hair pulled back into a short, spiky queue, looking windblown and a little feral. 

And handsome. Had he always been so handsome?

"Felix?" Dorothea breathed, disbelieving. "You shouldn't be here! It's too dangerous." 

He shrugged. "I was already in the area. Thought I'd visit. I read the reports when they reach me but I wanted to see how you're doing with my own eyes."

Dorothea twirled. She was still in costume, dressed as a penniless prostitute who'd just died of consumption. Not the most flattering thing she'd ever worn on stage, to be honest. "Well? What's your verdict?" 

His jaw clenched. Just when Dorothea didn't think he'd answer at all he said, through his teeth and in the most grudging tone imaginable, "You're more beautiful than ever." 

"You are too sweet," Dorothea cooed, teasing. But the humor fell away quickly enough. "I've been hoping I'd have a chance to thank you in person. You saved this opera company. So many dear friends... we wouldn't have survived these last years without your help. It means the world to me." 

Felix's golden eyes snapped with fury. "Who told you?" 

Dorothea blinked. "You didn't want me to know?" 

"Of course I didn't!" He tried to pace but her dressing room was far, far too small for it so instead he just looked trapped and miserable. "I didn't want you to feel like you owed me anything in exchange--I wouldn't be here at all if I knew you'd found out--" 

"Well, that's foolish," Dorothea snapped. "I'm glad to know and and I'm happy to see you again. Accept thanks when they're due, Felix, it's--" 

But he wasn't listening. He slipped around her, quick as an eel, and paused with his hand on her doorknob. "I have to go." 

"Stay a minute," Dorothea entreated, though she knew it was hopeless. "Tell me your news. Is is true Dimitri is alive?" 

His expression shuttered. "That depends on your definition of alive." 

"Has he been captured again? Imprisoned?" Dorothea combed through her memories of the past few months. "I'm sure I would have heard something if that were the case, but if I've missed the clues..." 

"Worse than that." Felix paused. "You don't want anything to do with this, Dorothea. Stay with your opera company. Survive to the end of the war--"

"I'll do as I please," Dorothea interrupted crisply. "I appreciate your help with Mittelfrank. That doesn't mean I wish to be packed away like a piece of fine porcelain. I thought you knew me better than that." 

"Everyone who has a choice should take it, and stay away," Felix snarled. "I wish I could. But by all means, do as you please and live to regret it." 

And on those ominous last words, he stormed out.

***

DOROTHEA

The trail of bread crumbs led her back to Garreg Mach. Less than a week after arriving at the monastery, she had to admit that Felix had been right: she should not have come.

The grounds were in ruin, the cathedral collapsed, rats lived in the wrecked pantry. But all that could be fixed, most of it with a broom and a bit of elbow grease. Dimitri, on the other hand... he was alive, yes. But he'd sat down to dine with his inner demons and had no ear for anyone else. 

Even Professor Byleth's miraculous return to the land of the living couldn't brighten the mood at Garreg Mach. Though former students, professors, and knights had begun to congregate, no one spoke freely. The closest they came to honest conversation were the nervous, frightened looks they cast one another in the halls. Should we be here? Can a mad prince bring peace to Fodlan? Or are we simply joining him in damnation? 

The worst part was that Dorothea couldn't bring herself to leave. Her ties to the Kingdom were weak, but she couldn't turn her back on her friends. And they needed every sane person they could find, every scrap of kindness she had to spare. 

Felix glared daggers at her for the first few days after she arrived. He didn't speak to her at all until after their battle in the Valley of Torment, when an Empire ambush came frighteningly close to eliminating the Kingdom's entire resistance in a single strike: if they'd killed Dimitri and Lord Rodrigue, taken Sylvain and Ingrid as hostages... that would have been been the end. 

The night after their return to the monastery, Felix knocked at her door. He stood on her stoop with his fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically, tendons sticking out of his neck, and asked, "Can I come in?" And then, narrowing his eyes, "I don't want to talk." 

To her absolute astonishment, her whole body flushed with heat. She felt a sharp pang of need deep in her core; her mouth watered. She stepped away from the door on trembling legs, gestured him inside. She hadn't expected this, but... it turned out she wanted it. Very much. 

Felix strode past her and sat down. On the floor. He scooted his back against the wall, draped his arms around his crooked knees, and stared blankly ahead.

Dorothea hovered a bit but... it seemed she'd misread his intent. He had not come to do what most men who did not want to talk had in mind. Eventually, when he didn't move, she went about her business. She had a few letters to write, a bit of mending to do, some tidying. Felix remained remarkably still throughout. Like a potted plant. 

Eventually, she came to the end of her nightly routine. It was late. "I'm going to get ready for bed," she told her silent guest. "But you're welcome to stay." 

A tiny, tiny nod of acknowledgement. "Thank you." 

That flummoxed her a little. She crossed to her wardrobe and, after a brief hesitation--the situation was truly odd--she began to undress. She stepped out of her dress and hung it up. Unclasped her stockings from their garters, rolled them down her legs. Unhooked her bodice and folded it neatly. She tried to check, discreetly, if Felix was peeking. But no, not as far as she could tell. Finally, she slid a light, comfortable nightgown over her head and climbed between the sheets of her bed. 

Once she'd settled herself, snugged her head into her pillow, she added, "There's room in the bed if you like. No sense in spending the whole night on the floor." 

A pause. "I don't sleep very well." 

"So long as you don't thrash." 

He didn't answer but a few minutes later, as she was drifting off, she heard him move. His boots hit the floor; clothing rustled, so he must have removed at least his coat. The mattress creaked and dipped as he lowered himself onto it, lying at her back. She sighed and relaxed, let her eyes grow heavy. Her breathing slowed. 

And then he touched her. Fingers skimmed lightly along her upper arm, from shoulder to elbow. They lifted, returned to her shoulder, retraced the same path. She waited for his fingers to stray south, into those nooks and crannies men found so interesting, or to slip a few inches and graze her breasts. It didn't happen. Again and again, without variation or pause, he stroked her arm. 

It occurred to her that Felix would never touch her breasts unless she grabbed his hands and put them there. That she could do so now and he would quite likely respond. He was human, he did not want to talk, he'd said more than once that he found her attractive... 

But she didn't. It made her feel selfish in the most delicious way. She liked the way he was touching her. It felt good and asked nothing from her. What a rare and wonderful indulgence.

Eventually, she fell asleep. 

In the morning, when she woke, he was gone. 

***

DOROTHEA

He returned the next night, and the one after that, and so on. Eventually, to her very great relief, she began to sense a bit of interest from him. She could feel his attention on her as she wrote and mended and tidied. She definitely felt his attention when she undressed--and began to unabashedly put on a show, placing her lanterns to highlight her figure through the cloth, twisting and swaying in ways she knew for a fact could drive a man wild.

Felix didn't pretend not to look. He stared, lips slightly parted, gaze hot. But he never moved from his spot on the floor until after she'd gotten into bed and he never tried to touch her beyond that one, single liberty he'd taken at the start: he'd stroke her arm until she fell asleep. 

After a week, she began to think this nightly routine was affecting her more than him. She couldn't write letters when she was breathlessly imagining Felix's hands all over her body. She stripped as intoxicatingly as a siren and then crawled between her sheets primed for a consummation that never arrived, aching with frustration. He kept a careful distance from her in bed yet she could not sleep with him so close, could not even begin to relax.  

She had reached her limit. She groped for his hand in the dark, strong and calloused and passive in hers. She placed it over her breast and nearly sobbed when it firmed and squeezed, when he eased her back against his front and she could feel his breath coming quick and shallow, his heart racing. 

She twisted, located his face by touch, and urged his mouth in the direction of hers. She was going to kiss him--finally--she wasn't sure when she'd begun to want this but it seemed like forever, years of letting this desire grow until it filled every part of her. 

He went still before their lips could touch.

"Dorothea," he said, and the warning in his voice made her stomach flip. "This isn't a good idea." 

She took a deep breath. It was so dark she couldn't see an inch in front of her face. What better time to ask a painful question? If he made her cry, no one would see. 

Time to be brave.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because I'm..." he swallowed. "Because I'm completely, madly in love with you and--"

"Oh, thank the goddess," she breathed, and sealed her lips against his to shut him up. 

***

FELIX

The word Sylvain had tried to say five years before--the one Dorothea had interrupted so quickly that he'd never once doubted she knew exactly what his dear, dear friend had intended to reveal--was virgin. He was a virgin. It struck him as terribly unjust, because he was also a perfectionist. And if he'd just waited a little longer to fall in love--a few months!--he'd have left the monastery with his heart intact. He'd have had five years to dispose of his virginity and get a little practice in, then returned to Garreg Mach with a rudimentary skill set. 

Instead, he spent those five years in love with a beautiful opera singer who'd kissed him once on the cheek (he'd hung onto that kiss like a gorilla swinging on a twig. It had never not felt like a stretch) and had no interest in other women at all. Occasionally he'd think to himself, "Just get it over with. It's not like you have a chance with Dorothea anyhow." As sound an argument as any, right? 

Never worked. 

So he was still a virgin, and fairly bitter about it. He spent the whole night feeling either ridiculous or ashamed--mostly ashamed; he'd come the very second he got inside of her and sweet goddess on high how was anyone supposed to survive the humiliation? It didn't just happen once, either, and by the end Dorothea was nearly as frustrated as he was. And then he slunk away at dawn like a bloody burglar, couldn't concentrate on anything, got into a fight with Dimitri before lunch. He'd learned not to engage with the boar at all, there was no point, but he couldn't help himself, could he? He couldn't eat, he couldn't bear to return to Dorothea's room, he hadn't been able to fall asleep in his own in weeks. 

So instead he tossed and turned all night, crawled out of bed feeling like reheated vomit, tried to train himself into exhaustion, failed. Nobody was good enough. Well, Byleth was. And Dimitri was. But Byleth was a full-time babysitter now (lucky her) and the boar was insane. 

First his father tracked him down, tried to be nice, but Felix was practically crawling out of his own skin by that point. After a few minutes the old man gave up. Patted him on the back, gave him the oddest look--he obviously found something incredibly amusing but, thank the four saints, did not share--and went about his business. 

Then Felix crossed paths with Sylvain. After the first chance encounter, he started seeing his old friend everywhere. Head tipped to the side, squinting as he tried to crack two of the rocks in his head together hard enough to strike a spark. Not a good sign. 

So three days after losing his virginity he was: (a) avoiding Dorothea (b) avoiding his father (c) avoiding Sylvain and (d) avoiding Dimitri. It was impossible to avoid all of those people. He couldn't go anywhere. If this went on much longer he'd crack and then poor Byleth would have to prop him up in the cathedral next to the boar prince, and they'd both just stare into the distance all day, talking nonsense. 

He was not operating at full strength. He wasn't operating at half strength. Which explained how he walked right into an ambush. One second he was sneaking into the training hall for a little after-hours self-improvement (ha!), the next Dorothea had locked him in, dropped the key into her ample cleavage, and pinned his back against the wall. 

"Felix," she purred, her green eyes snapping and flashing with fury. "How nice to see you. It's been a few days." 

His mouth went dry. His heart skipped a beat. He went instantly as hard as stone and if he could turned the rest of his body to stone as well, then quietly merged with the wall, he would have. 

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you, but it's bad manners to spend the night with a girl and then disappear," Dorothea continued, her tone still terrifyingly sweet. She began to jerk roughly at the buckles of his coat in a way that ought to have concerned him but turned him on instead. "I ought to throw you in a pigsty and leave you to enjoy the company of your own kind but, for the sake of our long friendship, I've decided to postpone that terrible fate and give you a second chance." 

Oh sweet goddess she was better than he deserved. He ought to have dropped to his knees in gratitude, but--"No," he protested. "I can't," and, "You didn't even enjoy--"

She leaned close, until the tip of her nose touched the tip of his. "We are going to practice, do you understand? That's all it takes. And if you do not give it your all, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, I do solemnly swear that I will write an opera about you, and I will perform it in every city in Fodlan, and every single song will make you want to die inside. I will sing an aria that's just a list of all the things you said when you were licking my--"

"You win," he blurted. "I'll uh. I'll give it my all." 

"Good." She rocked back on her heels and her expression smoothed into a charming smile. "I can't wait." 

***

DOROTHEA

After about a week, Dorothea was feeling very satisfied with herself. Not that there wasn't room for improvement, but really. Felix was an exquisite physical specimen who'd spent most of his life honing his superb control over his own body. He caught on nicely. 

But she ought to have paid the old adage about being careful what she wished for a bit more mind. Because Felix really was a perfectionist. He was not content to be 'good enough'. And--another quality she was intimately familiar with--he could be ruthless in pursuit of a goal. All of which meant that before long, it wasn't enough to just give her an orgasm. Oh, no. He had to make her come until she couldn't see straight. He didn't just fuck her, he treated her body like the site of a tournament he was dead set on winning. Whatever he did well he had to do better, and then all of a sudden he had to be the best...

Her smug self-satisfaction soon gave way to a near-permanent, sex-induced stupor. It was nice but incredibly inconvenient. And soon they'd be off to Grondor Field again, which promised to be a nightmare. 

She was in the conference room copying out correspondence--letters intended for multiple recipients had to be copied out for each one by hand; it was one of the little tasks she could help out with, since her writing was very neat--hours in advance of their next strategy meeting when Sylvain plopped into one of the chairs opposite and said, "So, Dorothea. You've been very relaxed lately. That's interesting." 

"Don't be crude," she replied, without looking up. 

"I'm just curious," he continued, completely undeterred. "Everyone else around here is so tense. We could use some tips. Maybe you could teach a special seminar?" 

"Sure," she said brightly. "I'll call it Remedial Friendship and I'll expect you to sit in the front row." 

"Harsh!" Sylvain rocked back in his seat, balancing it on its two back legs and grinning hugely. "You look like sugar wouldn't melt in your mouth but sometimes, Dorothea, you show your dark side and wow. You and Felix really are meant for one another." 

"What a kind thing to say." Dorothea smiled to herself. "Keep it up and you might get an invitation to the wedding." 

"Wedding?" Sylvain's chair thunked hard on the floor and his tone turned dark. "No wonder you're so happy. You got what you really came for, right? A noble with a Crest." 

Dorothea paused her work and looked up, unflinching. "How about this," she said. "I'm his friend, too. I want what's best for him. Convince me that Felix would be better off with someone else and I'll step aside." 

Sylvain's anger softened into bafflement. "I, uh. I'm pretty sure you're the best he's going to get. Like, ever."

"And I don't think I'd be better off with anyone else," said Dorothea. "So. Glad to have that settled. What a relief!" 

***

SYLVAIN

Dorothea looked back down at her work, calm as anything. As though she hadn't just completely scrambled his brain. How'd she do that? He thought he had her, all the pretty lies torn away and the ugly truth exposed, and then she convinced him to change his mind? The girl didn't spend all her time studying black magic for nothing. 

He ambled out of the room, in search or a distraction. If only the war hadn't severely depleted the monastery's population of single girls. Wars were rough on a guy's social life, no lie. He stepped out of the conference room into the corridor and there was Felix, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, radiating smug like a perfume.

Sylvain groaned. 

"You never learn, do you?" said Felix, but he didn't sound angry. Just disgustingly pleased with himself. 

"Yeah, well." Sylvain slapped his friend on the back. "Congratulations I guess. Shoulda been me, but..."

"You never had a chance." 

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in." He elbowed Felix in the ribs and skipped clear of his riposte. "I'm going to go drown my sorrows in a lady's lap so don't feel too bad."