I absolutely loved Fernand, and going into Shadows of Valentia and knowing what happens to him, well I was kind of thinking he died at the end for shock value; then I found out originally he and Berkut were both supposed to be recruitable. Between the ache of losing a favorite character, and that information, I've had so many thoughts of Fernand living swirling around in my head, some of them longer. Usually it is either a quest to find himself, or him working for Alm to find atonement.

This originally had a bit of a different ending, but I chose to change it. This, and many other pieces, have been sitting here half finished, along with a long list of ideas. I'm going to try to get more half finished things done and posted and then work on the other ideas, but it really depends on the amount of time I get!

A united Valentia was not something many people hoped or dreamed of, but somehow their new king, Alm, had managed to do that, along with his bride-to-be, Celica. The war the two of them fought was long and painful, full of loss and heartbreak. Somehow, they managed victory, and with that, a united continent.

Most of their armies had resumed normal, if unusual, lives. Alm had created a united force of knights from both countries. Among the ranks of knights, people he had fought both with and against, was Fernand.

The end of the war had been a blur for the silver-haired man. He fully expected to die, first at the hands of Rinea, who had been used as a sacrifice to Duma. Her attack had left him badly wounded and at death's door. When he had found Alm and his party, he had made what he thought were his final words, he had been accepting of his fate.

The next thing he knew, he had heard a gentle voice say, "Hold on, Fernand." He still did not know who said it, or if it had only been in his head.

The next few weeks blended together in his memories, disjointed thoughts and fleeting glimpses of an infirmary as cheers and celebrations rose from the streets. Sometimes he would wake alone. Other times, someone would be there. Once, when it had been Alm, he asked why Alm was wasting time healing him only to put him to death later.

"I'm not going to have you killed, Fernand," Alm had said softly. "What you did, you did because you felt it was right. In Duma's Tower, you showed everyone you had remorse for your actions. I've got a place for you."

What that place was happened to be as a knight in Alm's personal castle guard.

"Why?" Fernand had demanded of Alm. He expected front lines, grunt work, patrol, even mucking out the stable. He never received a direct answer, but as time went on, he had his suspicions. Surely, Alm mistrusted him. After his actions, Fernand expected no one to trust him. But everyone was warm and welcoming, if a little distant.

It took Fernand some time to realize that he was kept around the castle so that someone could keep an eye on him at all times. It was not because of trust; it was because there were people who cared for and worried about him. In a way, he was thankful. It was not the same as having his family back, but there were people who did take notice of him. He had a roof over his head, his own small room, and was in close proximity to a healer at all times. The scars on his chest had faded, but they still pained him every now and then. Nights were a different thing.

He no longer felt like chasing death, as he had after he lost his family. He felt more at peace than he ever expected to during the day. It was at night when nightmares plagued him, both of the war and what he had gone through before it. He would wake in drenched in sweat, his chest tight. Some nights, when he felt exhausted, he would seek a sleeping drought. Other nights, he would walk the castle and the grounds, trying to keep himself awake.

His presence on the grounds late at night were never questioned to his face. Nor was it ever brought up to him.

All in all, it was not the life he expected, but Fernand grew to like it.

Yet, parts of his old life still overlapped the new.

He still saw people he grew up with, though whenever Clive, Clair, or Mathida offered to spend time with him, Fernand would usually decline. Occasionally, he would accept, but the nights would leave him feeling as though the others were walking on eggshells around him. It was not the pity that was bothersome, it was people thinking he would fracture if pushed too much that made him mostly stick to himself.

One evening, as he discussed his daily patrol work with Alm, Clair joined them. She appeared eager and excited about something. Her hands were clasped behind her back, but he knew her well enough to know she was hiding a mischievous smile as she leaned forward to listen to him speak. Alm took Clair's cue, thanked Fernand for his report, and dismissed him.

"Good evening, Clair." His greeting was a little curt as he tried to walk past her. Clair, however, had other plans. She grabbed his wrist as he passed.

"Oh, no. You're not going directly to bed. Now come on!" She tried to lead him with her, but Fernand stood his ground. Her grip was vise-like, but even in his weakened state, she still could not drag him as she wanted.

"I am not going directly to bed," he agreed as he pried her fingers off his wrist one by one. "First, I am going to eat, then take a bath, and then retire to bed."

"You haven't made yourself available to us in weeks!" He could hear the faintest hint of a pout in her voice. He had no idea of knowing she had asked the chefs to make his favorite meals, that there were over a dozen people, including Alm, who wanted to bring him out of his room and into the warmth of a nice, hot meal surrounded by people who cared about him. "Please, Fernand, we're concerned for you."

"You have no reason to be concerned," he told her. It was true, but to those who knew him in his days in the Deliverance, he was acting akin to how he acted after the loss of his family. He winced and rubbed absently at his chest as he spoke. Half the time, he did not realize he was rubbing at the scars inflicted by Rinea. This was one of those times.

Clair's expression softened as she noticed what he was doing. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly. Her excitement and determination also vanished, replaced by worry. "Is that why you would rather go to your room than to spend time with us? Do you need a healer?"

"I'm fine," he insisted. He was able to muster up a small smile and gave her hand a quick squeeze before he wished her a good night.

She watched him go, torn between rushing to Alm and her brother to tell them what had happened and anger that he had inadvertently bested her. "Good night, Fernand," she called, "but remember, you cannot hide from us forever!"

Later, in his room, after finishing a quick meal and taking a long bath, Fernand lay on his back on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head. Clair's parting words still lingered. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Leave it to Clair to have the last word," he said to the empty room. She was right, but he would never admit it to her. To him, he was not hiding. He thought he made himself available enough, but it was the fragile way that everyone treated him that made him just want to go to bed as soon as he was off duty...

He scowled at the ceiling. When he thought about it like that, it did sound like he was hiding. With a groan, he rolled over and pushed himself into a sitting position. He could not sleep, in part due to what Clair said and in part due to not being tired. He did not want to find Clair, to have her gloat that she had been the one to convince him to join her for dinner and conversation. There was, however, something else he could do.

He knelt and reached under the bed. He had bought a large rucksack recently and stored it under his bed in case he had need of it. The thought of leaving had often crossed his mind. Clair would, without a doubt, say he was running away, but to him, the decision felt right. He slowly walked around the room and gathered his belongings. He emptied the desk completely, though it held very little, and cleared his wardrobe of everything but a set of clothing for the morning. After he placed the bag in the desk chair, he busied himself by tiding the room, not that it needed it. With that done and his decision made, he was able to fall into a light slumber.

The next morning, he woke before he was set to go on duty. He left the bag in his room and went directly to Alm.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" the young king asked when Fernand explained he wanted to leave Alm's service.

"Yes," Fernand answered with no hesitation. "I truly thank you for accepting me into your knights, but, at this time, I do not feel this is the right place for me."

Alm nodded his understanding, but he appeared unhappy by the choice Fernand had made. "I can always give you a parcel of land, or perhaps restore your parents' estate." Alm immediately wanted to take back that second offer as Fernand shut his eyes and turned away as Alm suggested it.

"Perhaps one day I can do that. With your blessing, of course," Fernand said after a moment, his voice thick. "Right now, being a knight in your service or having my own property will not help me find what it is I want." What he wanted even Fernand was not sure, but he did feel something was completely missing in his life. Even if he just found himself on his quest, then so be it. But he could not do any type of soul searching when he was being watched because many feared he would leap from the castle's highest tower or whatever it was they thought he would do.

"I understand. You may go, Fernand."

Fernand thanked the king and returned to his room to grab his belongings. He shut the door behind him and began the long walk to the stables. He hoped to avoid people, but that was no such luck in a busy, lively castle. Most just spared him a glance while others whispered to themselves as he passed. He did not care. He had Alm's permission to leave. Alm would make sure that no one thought him a deserter.

He found the stables blessedly quiet. He passed stall after stall until he found his horse. He unlatched the door and called to her. "Come on, girl." She neighed and sniffed at him. Fernand could not speak horse, no one he knew could, but he thought she looked happy she was going to be ridden. She allowed him to stroke her muzzle and stayed still as he saddled her.

As he led her out of the stall, he heard someone approach. It was Alm, and he carried a small bundle. "I can't have you leave without something to eat," Alm said quietly. "I don't know if you thought of it or not, but..." he trailed off as he offered the wrapped food to Fernand. He had not thought of it, though he did have plenty of money packed away in his bag. He barely touched his pay, so there was plenty for supplies and inns along the way.

"Thank you." Fernand took the bundle and attached it to the saddle. He took longer than he should have. Good-byes were a challenge for Fernand. He thought he had said his piece, but Alm must have thought otherwise.

"Will you write?"

The question surprised Fernand. "Yes," he promised. "Of course." The thought of writing had not crossed his mind, but the sincere hope in Alm's voice as he asked convinced Fernand to do so. Writing a letter or two would not be too time consuming, and would perhaps convince those who thought otherwise that he was not going off and never coming back.

Relief was clear on Alm's face. He held out a hand to Fernand, who took it and clasped it firmly. After the briefest of handshakes, he let go and looked for a mounting block. He used to be able to climb onto his horse with ease, but his injuries had slowed him. Alm stepped closer to the horse and joined his hands, fingers laced. "Go on," Alm insisted. He inclined his head to his hands again.

Fernand was able to get out a small word of thanks as he used Alm's assistance to get in the saddle. He gave his horse a nudge and she began to walk. At the door to the stable he glanced back and gave Alm a quick wave. Outside the stable, he nudged his horse into a canter. The wind on his face and through his hair felt amazing. Oh, how he missed it! For the first time in a long time, he felt at ease.

He knew there were those who would worry, but he knew what he was doing was right. He had, after all, never said he would stay away from Zofia forever. It was his home, after all. For the time being, he did not need Zofia. He did not need constant, painful reminders or the pitying gazes of those closest to him. If the freedom of riding down the streets, wind in his face, brought happiness to him, what else could he find?