Chapter Text
“Hey, By.”
Claude stands in the doorway of her room, hands hidden behind his back as he awaits her permission to enter. She knows his sudden attempts at propriety is more for Seteth’s sake than their own, because goddess forbid someone catch them alone together out of wedlock. Imagine the scandal.
Sitting upright in her bed, Byleth waves him in. The papers that were in her lap scatter to the floor, and when she reaches down to grab them, Claude is by her side, gently grasping her shoulder and push her back against the headboard.
He sets a tray of tea and a handful of new papers on her nightstand. “Allow me, your gracious Majesty,” he announces with all the haughty flourish he can muster as he gathers the scattered documents. “I am but a humble servant in your employ.”
He’d been like that the past three days, assisting her with the simplest of tasks and hardly allowing her to lift a finger. “Claude, I don’t need you doing all these things for me anymore. I can do them myself.”
“You’ll have to get used to it,” he chuckles, placing the documents on her desk. “Pretty soon you’ll have a castle full of people whose sole purpose is to pick up after you. With all the work you’ve done for Fodlan, you deserve to be looked after once in a while,” he adds, his lips brushing against the crown of her head.
Byleth feels her chest flutter as he does so, and places a hand over her new heart.
It was a delicate feeling that stole her breath away each time it did something out of the ordinary, metronome pulses. Sometimes it was shallow, and she hardly knew it was there. Sometimes she could feel each pound in her chest.
The first time Claude was around and her heart had reacted with a stutter, she’d thought she was having a heart attack. He’d assured her that no, her heart was not attacking herself, but was sending ripples of love and warmth throughout her veins.
She loved it.
“Still getting used to it, huh?” Claude smiles, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. “I’ve gotta say, whatever happened after…that.” His smile falters as he searches for the right words, busying his hands by pouring two cups of tea. She hadn’t gone into depth with Claude about what had transpired during her odd, dreamlike adventure on the Blue Sea Star, but the change in her appearance and the beating of her heart had been enough evidence to prove that something unexplainable had transpired. “I really think it was for the better.”
“I do too,” she murmurs. She’d tell him what happened someday, when she was able to wrap her own around it. “Other than the tea, what did you bring me?”
“Oh, right. I got the results of your blood work. It was a little tricky, because the Crest Analyzer was having a bit of trouble getting a read, but Lysithea managed to figure it out.” He hands her the paper, and Byleth skims through Lysithea’s neat scrawl to find the result.
A Minor Crest of Flames.
Byleth almost laughs out loud. That stubborn goddess just couldn’t leave her alone, could she?
A small smile curls on her lips as she idly twirls a loose strand of green hair around her finger. She’s grateful to her, nonetheless. Sothis had always been there for her through thick and thin and...It was nice to have something to remember her by.
He pushes a few more papers into her hands, green eyes twinkling as he does so. “I have some other that I need you to sign. Just some legal documents that state my transfer of power into your hands...among other things.”
Byleth nods, grabbing a nearby quill as she scans the words on each paper. She notices Claude staring a little more intently than usual as she signs the topmost report. She shuffles it to the back, immediately starting on the next one.
Her heart skips a beat when she reads the title, her breath catching in her throat as she looks up at Claude and holds the paper up for him to see.
“This is a marriage certificate,” she informs him slowly, suddenly very conscious of the emerald gem sitting on her finger.
“Huh, wonder how that got there.”
“You’ve already signed it.”
“Is that so? Maybe you should sign it too, just for good measure.”
“Claude.”
“I want to marry you, Byleth,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No one knows me the way you do. You know my faults, and there are many, yet you love me regardless. You see through me in ways I never thought anyone could.” There’s something so raw about his voice that it steals her breath away. It’s heavy with such unfiltered emotion that she rarely hears from him.
“I know that my word might not mean much to others, but if you marry me I promise to always be honest with you. I won’t always have answers and I know you won’t either, but you’ll never be alone in your problems and neither will I. I love you. I don’t need a big party. I don’t need specialty cakes or fancy napkins or a tailored suit. I just need you. At least this way...it’s official. ”
Byleth is sure that her heart does a flip in her chest. Then it backflips and does a cartwheel. Can a heart even do that? Her finger traces the loops of his signature, the ink long dried. He made this decision a long time ago. “Don’t we need a third party present? Aren’t there more laws involved in this type of process?”
He shoots her a funny look, taking his hand in hers and placing a kiss on each of her knuckles. “You’re the Queen of Fódlan and new leader of the Church of Seiros. By, you are the law.”
Right. There was that fact. “Where do I sign?”
As he points to the blank line awaiting her signature, the smile on his face is more genuine than Byleth thinks she’s ever seen. He kisses her before the ink can dry, and Byleth sighs as she leans into it, letting him carefully crawl over her lap and guide her into the plush bedding.
He pouts like a child when she pushes at his chest, licking her swollen lips as she admires the rare, flushed look on his face. “Wait,” she breathes, digging into her pocket to find the leather pouch she always keeps hidden there. She takes Claude’s warm hand and turns his palm upwards, tipping the bag over and letting the ring fall into his hand.
He stares at it in awe, and Byleth is amused by the fact that such a small thing has rendered Claude von Reigan speechless. “You need a ring too. It was my mother’s, so you’ll need to get it resized but--”
He doesn’t let her finish, kissing her fiercely and tugging at the collar of her nightgown.
Propriety be damned.
__________
When the two of them travel down to the monastery’s dining hall, Byleth is sure that Hilda’s high-pitched shriek can be heard in northern Faerghus.
“You did it,” she gasps when Claude holds up the marriage certificate. “When did this happen?”
“We made it official about an hour ago,” Byleth answers, holding up her left hand.
“I’m so happy for you two,” she squeals, grabbing her hand and ogling at the ring. She then whirls around and smacks Claude on the arm. “What about the wedding? You need a wedding!”
Still coming down from their post-coital high, Claude very much looks like he’s trapped in a pleasant daze. “Well we talked about having a wedding later on once things in Faerghus and Adrestia settle down a little--”
Hilda ignores them, jumping into action with a focus that Byleth rarely sees, barking orders with the commanding tone of a seasoned general. “Raphael, take Lysithea into town and go buy a cake. Doesn’t matter what flavour, just make sure it has white icing. Lorenz, go find Seteth and get some decor. Tablecloths, ribbons, drapes. Anything white with gold trim, you should find plenty of it. Sylvian, go scare up some alcohol from the tavern. No proper party is complete without a little booze.”
She snaps her fingers once, and everyone leaps into action.
For once, Byleth finds herself at the eye of the storm. Amidst the chaos commencing around them, Claude snakes his arms around her waist, his chin resting in the crook of her neck. “I guess we’re getting that party after all,” he whispers into her skin.
“Hilda just needs an excuse to throw a party. She earned it.”
Within two hours, the dining hall has been transformed into a small ballroom. The tables have been pushed aside to make room for a dancefloor, draped in white cloth and sprinkled with paper confetti. The candlelight casts a warm, welcoming glow over them, making Byleth feel instantly feel at ease.
And the food. Oh, the scents wafting through the room are enough to make Byleth’s mouth water, and throughout the night she finds herself tugging on Claude’s hand, guiding him back to pick at the different dishes.
As romantic as their personal celebration had been, she definitely didn’t mind the party now. Byleth enjoyed the liveliness on her student’s faces,
When everyone has had their share of food and conversation, Hilda taps a fork against her glass and insists on short speeches from the bride and groom.
Byleth had never been so eloquent in her speech. Flowery language didn’t fall naturally from her tongue, especially not on the spot. She thanks their friends for the party, and tells Claude she loves him, and is excited to spend the rest of her life with him. What more was required?
Claude is the exact opposite. Though he stands and delivers his speech in front of their friends, the way his gaze rests on her makes it seem like they’re the only two people in the room.
“I used to think about you a lot,” he starts. “I still do, but back then I thought about where you would fit into my plans for the future. What I would have you do, and when. Then...I got to know you. I grew to like you and eventually...love you. Somewhere in between liking you and loving you, I realized that you were more than just some moving part. You are my future.”
A chorus of dreamy sighs fill the room, and Byleth swears she sees Seteth turn away as he sheds a single tear.
“Now kiss her on the lips!” Caspar shouts, banging his fist on the table.
Claude doesn’t need any convincing, dipping down and doing much more than just kissing her on the lips. It conveys every unspoken word of love and comfort, condensed into a single action and moment.
More congratualtions are passed around, and soon it’s time to dance. Ignatz has managed to corral a band from town, bringing with them a joyful array of music. From upbeat, jaunty tunes to slower, more intimate pieces.
She and Claude try to share dances with everyone. Everyone is dragged onto the dance floor and having a good time. In a way, it doubles as their post-war celebration, any lingering stress chased away by the lively music. It’s good to see her friends laugh and smile so easily. One final jovial event before life catches up to them and they all go their separate ways.
As the night comes to a close, Hilda clears the dance floor for one final dance between the bride and groom. Flayn places a makeshift veil of white table lace atop her hair. The music slows down, and Byleth leans into her husband. They’re both too tired to waltz anymore, opting instead to just enjoy each other’s company and sway. He presses his cheek to the top of her head, and Byleth presses hers to his chest.
The sounds of the impromptu wedding fade away with the last tendrils of daylight. She no longer hears the music or the chatter, focusing on the sound of the heart that she loves so much.
“Hey, I need to tell you something,” he whispers against her hair.
“Hm?”
“The reason why I wanted to get this done today...Is because I still have to go.”
She looks up at him, blue eyes the colour of a midwinter sky meeting his endless emerald ones. Part of her wishes he would stay. She longs for him to put his trip off for a few weeks to help her settle into her role. But while she knows that the peace they’ve earned is delicate, and it was best for him to start the next phase, and expand his vision to his homeland. “I know. It’s okay.”
He looks surprised, as if he’d expected her to argue. Though it quickly fades into relief, his shoulders suddenly less tense. “I’ll be back before you know it. You won’t even have time to miss me. The second I get back, we’re going on that vacation.”
“Ah, starting with Morfis?” She recalls, the memory of his promise tinged with a hint of sorrow.
She feels the vibrations of his chest as he laughs quietly. “I won’t give myself frostbite this time, don’t worry.”
He leaves the next morning, and Byleth stands on the Star Terrace and watches as his wyvern carries him east, into the dawn. Though her heart is heavy and she already misses him, she forces herself to look forward, looking to the dream they’d fought so hard to achieve.
__________
SIX MONTHS LATER
Claude, as per usual, makes his dramatic reappearance at the apex of the battle against the remainders of the Empire and those who slither in the dark. His arrival with the Almyran forces turns the tides of war and pushes the newly United Fódlan through to the last legs of victory.
It’d been a stressful battle for Byleth, who’d long used the Divine Pulse to ensure the safety of those dear to her. Though the Sword of the Creator was still within her employ, the insurance of her hold on the flow of time had been a crutch, and she’d sorely felt it’s absence.
She also tired more easily, her body succumbing to fatigue more readily and her heart beating so wildly during the throes of battle that she felt it may bust through her ribcage.
It doesn’t help when she sees Claude after the battle, and her heart feels like it may explode.
After six long months, she sheds the sophisticated, royal front she’d put on and runs to him. She drops her sword and sprints across the ruined battlefield. He catches her when she leaps into his open arms, swinging her up and burying his face in the crook of her neck and breathing her in like she was air.
“I missed you,” she tells him, as if she hadn’t in the dozens of letters they’d exchanged.
He draws back to look at her, his free hand coming up to gently trace her cheekbone. No words written on paper could ever convey the intimacy of his touch and what it did to her.
When Byleth takes his face between both of her hands, she realizes that his cheeks are wet, his eyes shining with tears she kisses the tip of his nose. She moves to his cheek, tasting salt - a mix of blood, sweat, and tears - then kisses the line of his neatly shaved jaw before finding his lips.
He still hasn’t spoken, but returns the kiss slowly, deeply. His arms tighten around her, as if saying he never wanted to let her go again.
That wordless assurance alone was enough for her.
__________
To settle the nerves of the nobles and stop the pouring in of marriage proposals to the Queen, they have an official wedding two months later.
It takes place at Fódlan’s Locket. The long used symbol of division between their two countries christened with a new meaning as the doors open on both sides, and the glass bottle that Claude had long envisioned finally shatters.
The festivities are on a scale Byleth had never experienced before. The union of a queen to a king is no small affair, but the sheer level of noise and joy is enough to be heard all across the Throat.
Byleth gets along fabulously with his parents. Together with Judith and Nader the five of them share drinks as they tell old and new stories at the expense of the new King, laughing at the flush on his cheeks as he whines and pleads for them to stop.
Before they leave for their honeymoon, Tiana wraps her arms around Byleth, squeezing tightly in only a way a mother could. “Thank you. For taking care of my son. I hope he does the same for you.”
“Of course,” Byleth nods, clutching her bouquet of valerian to her aching heart and thinks of her own parents. She wished they could have been here. That her mother could have helped her get ready and that her father could have walked her down the aisle.
But as Claude’s wyvern lifts them up into the sky, she sees the Blue Sea Star peek out under the canopy of stars, and knows that her parents haven’t missed a thing.
__________
Claude finds out when they’re in Brigid.
He finds out during Ashe and Petra’s wedding reception (Byleth was right. Ashe, newly minted captain of an order of knights called the Blue Sun, had gotten down on one knee and sworn to serve the Queen of Brigid publicly and privately).
“You’re not drinking?” He asks as she turns down a glass of wine in favour of water. His wife is a social drinker, who never says no to one or two glasses of a bold red when in the right company.
“I can’t,” she says simply, picking at the spiced fish on her plate.
Suddenly feeling guilty, Claude sets his own glass down onto the table, wondering what he’s missing. “Why not?”
She hides a sneaky grin behind her glass of water. “Do you remember that third week in Gautier? When we saw the northern lights for the first time?”
He nods earnestly. How could he ever forget? On their mounts, Ingrid and Sylvain had led them up into the night sky, where they’d gotten an impeccable view of the dancing blues and greens of nature’s greatest artwork.
The high they’d felt afterwards had last them well through the night, fanning the flames of a passion that burned hotter than the flickering fire in the—
Her smile widens when his eyes widen and she knows he’s figured it out, placing a hand over her stomach. They’d discussed this situation dozens of times while up north, deciding it was time to let nature take its course. He hadn’t expected to reach the finish line so soon. “You’re…”
“Yes,” she confirms, threading her fingers through his. “I just found out a week ago.”
“After the first time we ditched the contraceptives?”
“It appears so.”
“Wow,” he breathes, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I must have some strong swimmers.”
She laughs as she swats him on the arm, and he catches her wrist and uses it to pull her closer, kissing her temple. “A hundred gold says it’s a boy. Firstborn boys run on both sides of my family. I’m pretty sure all my boys carry Y chromosomes.”
“It’s a girl,” she argues. “Firstborn girls run on my side.”
They shake on it. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
When they make the official announcement a month later, Sylvain takes all the credit.
__________
It’s not often that Claude sees Byleth in pain. She’d always been so strong, that even in the face of death she’d never once show an ounce of weakness.
So for him to see her face contorted in agony and be able to do nothing about him makes his chest brutally tight. Sixteen hours in, the pained howl that falls from her lips still hurts him all the same. She’d gone into labour in the middle of the night.
“Oh, this is awful,” she groans through another contraction. He sits behind her, his mind a jumble of thoughts as he tries to remember everything Marianne had taught him last month. He rubs her back and lets her squeeze the life out of his hand. He counts the minutes between contractions, - six, currently - pats at her damp forehead with a cloth and braids her hair back so it’s out of the way.
The tasks he assigns himself are almost more for his sake than her own. Something to distract himself from the painful situation he’d put her in.
Marianne checks to see how dilated she is, Byleth inhaling sharply through her teeth as she does so. “The baby is quite low,” she reports, and you’re about six—no, almost seven centimetres along. I don’t think it’ll be long now.”
With her head currently in his lap, Byleth only manages a small nod as another contraction comes - almost five minutes now - and she takes huge gulps of air and twists in his hold, hiding her face in his thigh. “Annette was right,” she moans. “This sucks. It isn’t magical at all.”
“Just ride the contractions out,” Marianne instructs softly, hands working efficiently as she prepares to listen to their baby’s heartbeat. “Let them go up and then come back down…” she coos, her voice almost enough to calm Claude’s frazzled nerves.
“I think I need to— get in the bath now,” Byleth says to no one in particular. “Claude, help me up.”
“Do you want me to carry you?” He offers, hooking his arms under hers and helping her to up onto her unsteady, ‘not swollen, Claude’ feet.
“No,” she refuses. “My legs aren’t broken, I’m just pregnant.”
He and Marianne exchange an amused glance when she isn’t looking. Even now, the Queen of Fodlan is determined to act as independently as ever. (Though she whines with each step towards the bathroom)
Already filled with warm water, Claude lets her grasp his arm as she slides in. Her relief is momentary, and she only grows more anxious and agitated as time drifts by.
“Breathe, breathe, breathe,” he coaches through another contraction as he sits behind her in the tub. “You’re doing so great, By. You’re almost there—”
“Claude,” she wheezes, eyes screwed shut. “I love you, but please, gods, shut up.”
He shuts up. Marianne takes over, assigning Claude to the task of sitting quietly and rubbing his wife’s back.
What could either be an hour or four goes by, and when it’s finally time to push, he and Marianne help Byleth back into bed.
“It’ll be easier to step in should any...complications arise,” she explains, well informed of the difficulty Sitri had during her own birth. “When you feel another contraction, you can push now. Only during the contraction.”
He takes his place at her side, elbows digging into the plush bedding. “I’m right here,” Claude assures her, bushing back her damp bangs as she clutches his hand. He kisses each knuckle in the way he knows she loves. “I love you. ”
She chokes on her sob, her eyes wet and bleary with fatigue. “I hate you so much right now.”
“I know.”
“We’re not having sex ever again.”
“That seems a little extreme.”
“Never. Again.”
“We both know that isn’t true. It’s impossible to resist me.”
It’s amazing to him that, even in the process of delivering their child, she can summon up enough magic to send a shock of electricity through her hand. “If I remember this I might be able to!”
It’s rare that Byleth yells at him. In fact, he could count the amount of times she’d done so on one hand alone, and only one of those instances isn’t traced back to her hormone induced irritation and significantly lowered patience.
He knows that none of it is her fault but...maybe they would wait a while before going through this again.
“Don’t even start planning the second one. I know that look on your face, Claude, Khalid, whatever your damn name is.”
Were his thoughts not even safe anymore?
A crushing force clamping down on his hand indicates that she’d started pushing, and Claude does his best to clear his mind and give her his undivided attention and support.
The ensuing hour passes by in a blur of moments, marked by Byleth’s grunts of exertions strained shouts. Her crest blinks above them, a blessing from the goddess that gives her the strength to make one big, final push, most likely shattering the bones of Claude’s hand as the sound of their child’s cries fill their bedroom and Byleth collapses back into the pillows with a heavy sigh.
“Oh, Byleth,” Marianne coos, giving her a quick checkup before wrapping her in the blanket that Claude’s mother had made. “Heartbeat sounds good. Lungs are working quite excellent. Ten fingers and ten toes...You have a very healthy baby girl.”
“Girl,” Byleth echoes, blue eyes glowing with triumph as Marianne places the baby on her chest. “You owe me a hundred gold,” she laughs softly, knowing full well that all his money is already hers.
He can’t find it in himself to sulk at the lost bet, because he’s already too taken with the baby sitting in Byleth’s arms. She’s still red and splotchy and covered in things that he doesn’t know the name of, but she’s here. She even has a dark tuft of brown hair on her head that makes him smile. “Can I…”
“Left hand under the head, right arm under the bottom,” Byleth reminds him as he helps her sit up and transfer their baby into his arms. His hand is still numb, but he forgets all about it the second that his daughter is in his hold. She’s squirming and wiggling against him, breathing with the softest rises and falls of her tiny chest.
“Hi, my girl,” he whispers to the small, squished face. He leans down to press a kiss to Byleth’s lips. He sets his forehead against hers for a moment, their eyes closed as they listen to the distressed cries slow to a soft murmur, their past transgressions already forgotten.
“Do you have a name for the princess?” Marianne asks as she hands Byleth a glass of water.
“Laila Eisner von Riegan,” Claude says, captivated by the little person that he and Byleth had made. “In Almyran it means born in the night.” As if in response, her little fist uncurls and skims against his chin, making him swoon once more.
“Thank you,” he whispers to his wife, who wears a weary but satisfied expression on her face, just as full of love as he is at the moment.
They were definitely doing this again.
__________
For a long time, Claude had operated daily on less than five or six hours of sleep. He’d heard of the sleepless nights that new parents had experienced, and thought that it would be nothing new.
This however, was an entirely different kind of tired. One that he felt deep within his bones during his every waking hour. It was as if the exact second that he would close his eyes, an impossibly loud wail that couldn’t possibly come from someone so small fills the castle, possibly waking all of Almyra.
Byleth is already up, standing over their daughter’s bassinet and rocking the wailing infant in her arms.
“Let me try,” Claude offers, holding his arms out as he blinks himself awake. Byleth doesn’t hesitate to hand over responsibility, reclaiming her spot in bed. He knows she won’t sleep until their daughter does, but at least she’s getting some rest.
When Byleth’s back is turned, Claude reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a pacifier, fully aware of the fact that he’s cheating as he pops it into her mouth and the room goes silent.
Success.
“You’re always so good with her,” Byleth praises as he rocks the child to sleep. “I can never get to calm down that quickly.”
“Just one of my many talents, By,” he whispers as he places her back in the bassinet. “Maybe the next one will be yours to tame.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, eyes already shut. “We’ll see about that.”
The next night, Claude reaches into the drawer of his nightstand to find it empty, and his daughter’s cries continue to fill his ears as he turns to the lump in the blankets where Byleth lays, holding up the pacifier.
“You can’t fool me.”
__________
Despite what Byleth had said many, many times over the years, they have another baby. A boy this time, with blue hair and green eyes, and a name hailing from his maternal grandfather’s home of Faerghus. Lukas Eisner von Riegan was born on the day of the Rite of Rebirth.
At the ages of seven and five, his children run unofficial babysitter Seteth ragged around the monastery. Laila sneaks around the monastery grounds like a shadow, stirring up trouble whenever she can and escaping reprimand from her mother’s advisor with an innocent bat of her little green eyes.
Lukas takes after his mother, quietly allowing his sister to drag him around, petting cats and dogs when he acts as lookout while she raids the kitchen for leftover sweets, hanging onto Flayn at every chance he gets.
As Seteth and Flayn corral their children, Byleth and Claude sit on opposite ends of the audience chamber, stacks of official documents spread between them.
“Quite the momentous day for Fódlan, your Majesty,” King Khalid praises. “Your country now openly barters with Sreng, Morfis, Brigid, Dagda, and now Almyra,” he says, quill swooping as he signs off on the final missive.
“I was merely following an example set by a former student of mine,” she grins, collecting the signed papers and handing them to her notary to be stamped with the official seal of United Fódlan. “His dream of open borders may have rubbed off on me a little.”
The King raises a brow, his facade breaking as he beams at her. “Sounds like a wise man.”
“My husband has his moments.”
The doors to the audience chamber are thrown open as they’re cleaning up, two sets of feet pattering against the floor and followed by a very exhausted looking Seteth and Flayn.
Laila is a mess, covered in dirt and leaves, wildflowers strewn throughout her brown hair as she leaps into Claude’s lap, squealing as Claude tickles her all over.
Lukas, clean as a whistle, holds a Fraldarius Wirehair in his arms, calmly approaching his mother and allowing her to pick him up before snuggling into her chest.
“As always, your children are a pleasure,” Seteth says through an almost forced smile as he plucks an acorn from his hair and rolls his sleeves down to hide the claw marks striping his forearms before walking away, muttering something about the stunning likeliness.
“Should we go get some dinner?” Claude asks, setting the heavy crown down on the table and replacing it with the blue and yellow silk he’d been gifted long ago. He hoists Laila up on her shoulders, where she proceeds to play with the short braid that’s recently returned to his hair.
Byleth sheds her cloak and diadem, running her fingers freely through her hair as Lukas clings to her chest. She plants both feet on the ground and rises, moving to Claude’s side. “I’m starving. You really talked yourself in circles today.”
Claude wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’ve waited for this day a long time, By. Just wanted to make sure everything was perfect.”
“And was it?”
“Beyond what I could have ever dreamed,” he answers honestly. It’d taken a long time, but the change he’d so longed to see in the world had finally taken shape. Ideals were changing, adapting to each political climate and a new way of acceptance was being nurtured in Fódlan and the lands beyond.
On top of that, he had a beautiful family to witness it with.
__________
Lukas Eisner von Reigan happens to be the subject of one of his father’s most famous debates, almost twelve years later.
“No,” Claude repeats, slamming his hands on the conference table. “Absolutely not.”
Across the table, Lorenz actually makes a face that says he agrees. “For once, I find myself aligned with His Majesty. Have you two thought this through at all?”
All eyes fix on the teenagers at the centre of the table, sitting hand in hand and flanked by Marianne and Byleth.
“The child of a heathen!” Lorenz reiterates to his daughter. “Do you not recall the stories of my Academy days? Each day was but a threat to my safety and my sanity under their leadership!”
Lorenz’s daughter, Melody, casts her father a dark look. “Don’t speak of Queen Byleth that way.”
Lorenz rears back as Claude glares. “I speak not of the queen! I assure you that I hold her in the highest of regards. It is her father that I speak of.”
“And you,” Claude adds, pointing a finger at his son, then at Lorenz, “Do you want that to be a face you’ll see almost daily? I know I couldn’t stand seeing it.”
It’s becoming alarmingly clear to the entire table that the issue sits not in the courtship between the children, but in the possibility that the father’s face at becoming in-laws.
“I’m the King of Fódlan,” Claude starts. “There’s no law I can’t overturn to stop this,” he points between himself and Lorenz, “from becoming a thing.”
“King consort,” Byleth reminds him, taking a sip of tea as Laila snickers into her hand. “You have no power to change the laws of Fodlan, dear.”
“Then you change them!” He begs desperately before beginning to again squabble with Count Gloucester. The children look desperately at their mothers, who both sigh as their husband’s continue to bicker in a manner extremely similar to the Academy days.
“I don’t appreciate the way that you’re speaking to one another,” Byleth announces, her voice accompanied with the authority of a monarch, silencing the two men. “You both want your children to be happy, correct?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but—”
“Of course, By—”
She holds a hand up to silence them once more. “Then like it or not, you two are on the same team, and it’s about time you act like it.”
The looks on their faces can only be described as sullen. Like they were children she’d put in a time-out. “Fine,” they both grumble.
“Then I think this calls for a hug,” Byleth decides, biting her lip to maintain her composure.
As the two longtime rivals shuffle to the centre of the room and stiffly wrap their arms around each other, Byleth’s only wish is that Ignatz were her to memorialize it.
__________
Like any exhilarating play or satisfying novel, the curtain falls or is bookended by a final period to signify the end of an amazing story.
When their children come of age and are ready to receive the responsibilities of their parents, Byleth and Claude retire from their respective roles. Their daughter takes the throne of Almyra, and their son sits on the throne of Fódlan.
Though the journeys they’d shared and the changes they’d made during their time as monarchs would forever be marked as some of Claude’s greatest achievements, he was more than happy to take a step back from it all. It was time to enjoy the fruits of their labour, and what better place to relax than in a small cabin in the Ogmha, where he and Byleth could travel freely and experience the world as mere spectators, visit their children and grandchildren or stay at home and bask in the peace and quiet, passing time by reading or simply laying in each other’s embrace.
Growing old with Byleth was a gift he once didn’t think he would have. It roots her into his life, his true partner and best friend. Though the fire of youth still burns brightly in both their eyes, it’s nice to relax and simply exist as they are. They’d gone by many things in this life. Professor and Student. Duke and General. King and Queen. Mother and Father.
It was finally time to be Claude and Byleth.
Whilst the glory of their youth was nothing to be wished away, each new wisp of grey or white hair, every new ache and pain settling into their bones was but a reminder of the blessings that had been bestowed upon them. Not everyone had the chance to grow old together.
Claude had always thought Fódlan was strange. There were still many things he didn’t understand, but he knew that it would always be his home.
He’d met Edelgard and Dimitri first, and while he may not have ever fully fleshed out their characters, he knew that they were good people.
As for that mysterious new professor that he’d been so wrongly underwhelmed by…
The bullet point that had consisted of a single name, was circled, underlined three times, and question marked.
There was a reason for all of that, he knew now. That pull of attraction he’d felt that night in Remire, that inexplicable feeling that Byleth had admitted to experiencing too.
It’d wrapped around his heart and hers that night. Even as his vision fades and her body grows frail, he knows that what links them together will remain long after they’re gone.
__________
The green haired curator watches as two people approach the museum’s most treasured piece of art. A simple thing that had once hung on the walls of the Riegan Estate now protected by two inches of bulletproof glass.
“Claude,” he hears the teal haired woman say tiredly. “We’re here to research, not gawk at paintings.”
“Well...you have to admit, the Ruler of Dawn kind of looks like you, Teach.”
The woman tilts her head to the side as she studies the face. “I guess you’re kind of right.” She pauses, getting as close as the glass will allow her. “You kind of look like the King of Unification.”
“No way. I’m handsomer then he is, and I don’t think my nose looks like that.”
The curator laughs quietly at that, not at all shocked by the easy confidence akin to the man in the painting. “Either way, they look really happy together. I hope that our wedding photos can capture the same ambiance.”
They study the painting for a few moments longer before the woman speaks again. “I thought that old Almyran tradition required red silk for the handfasting part of the ceremony.”
“Maybe they thought that the gold looked cooler?” The man volunteers, curiosity spiking in his voice.
“Hm,” she replies thoughtfully, blue eyes staring at the string. “Perhaps so.”
They move on, and the curator smiles to himself as they walk away hand in hand, moving on to the section dedicated to Old Adrestia as he murmurs to no one in particular.
“I am happy that you found each other again.”
__________
Ignatz Victor (b. 1162)
The King of Unification and the Ruler of Dawn, 1186
Khalid “Claude” von Riegan liked to refer to fate as an invisible thread. According to ancient Almyran proverbs from the time, there’s a golden thread that connects two people who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. Over time, the thread can stretch, or even tangle, but it never breaks.