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They reunited amid the flames of Gronder Field.
Kill every last one of them, Dimitri had said. But it didn't have to be that way. Byleth was taking a risk coming this far in-field without any reinforcements. Ingrid flew after her, but Byleth ordered her back to the others advancing upon Edelgard.
"You can't possibly think of holding off the entire Alliance army by yourself!" Ingrid cried.
"I can. I just have to reach their commander."
An arrow whizzed by, missing Byleth by inches—and yet, seeing who loosed it, she wondered if he actually missed.
Byleth cut Claude's next arrow clean out of the air and charged forward. In closer range, she'd have the advantage on the archer.
Metal clashed against metal as Claude unsheathed a silver sword and met her strike; so he'd put her seminars to use after all. "Never thought I'd see you again, Teach!" he shouted from his wyvern. "Would have preferred to have our meeting over tea, though." His grin was an uncanny sight against the bloody fighting in the backdrop.
Byleth reminded herself: it'd been five years since they last spoke. She didn't know this present Claude who could be like Dimitri—completely changed—and knowing the tricky little deer, he had the ability to hide it. She hated having to see Claude as an enemy when the Alliance was clearly against the Empire as well, but she couldn't let her guard down. She had to show strength now to have bargaining chips later; and anyway, she was trying not to get Claude killed, too.
Even five years later, she was more nimble with the blade. In six moves, she disarmed Claude, knocked him off his mount, and pinned him to the ground—sword at his neck.
"Retreat. Now," she barked. "We have no interest in fighting you."
Claude coughed up dust, green eyes wide. "Dimitri seems to think otherwise."
"I tried to stop him from loosing the ballistas this way. We're only here for the Empire."
"So are we. Wouldn't it be better if we joined forces?"
"Maybe," she gritted, "before you killed our messenger."
"Your—?" Claude's face fell and he cursed. His glove was sticky with blood as he caught her wrist, not strong enough to push her away; it was more of an automatic, desperate gesture. "Edelgard likely—if Dimitri dispatched any messenger, the Alliance didn't receive it. I swear."
"I know. But I don't trust you enough to let your troops fight beside ours." Nor did Byleth trust Dimitri to play nicely. They were in need of help for this battle, but Claude shouldn't know that, lest he decide to pick off Dimitri's troops afterwards.
"I can give you my word as the leader of the Alliance… and as your former favorite student?" Charming dolt, even with a sword at his neck.
"Not even close."
"Just former student, then."
She let her blade bite into his skin. "You're not just giving your word as someone at my mercy?"
"Your sword could be through my throat if you wanted it to be." Claude grimaced now, as if less sure of himself. He glanced sideways and seemed to shake his head. "In any case, I'll order a retreat. Less soldiers to lose. But if you don't kill Edelgard—"
"We will."
When Byleth let Claude go and turned around, she caught sight of Cyril lurking in the thickets, arrow nocked and aimed at her. Claude waved a hand, and Cyril lowered his bow.
"Couldn't be too careful," the Alliance lord said, pinching the cut where her sword had pressed. "Gotta say, running into hostile territory just to speak to me, that's the kind of clever scheme I wish I was brave enough to pull off."
Byleth stared, pulse spiked. Cyril could have shot at any time, but he hadn't. And who, seeing their commander at her mercy would have hesitated, unless they planned something beforehand? She and Cyril were acquaintances at some point—she often tried to invite him to tea but he never had time due to chores—but kind memories hardly mattered when Claude's life rested upon the flick of her wrist. A life to save a life was as fair as it got on the battlefield.
Which meant Claude knew ahead of time she was coming, and he knew she wasn't coming to kill him. He already told Cyril to stay in the thickets and not to shoot. "Holding your archer back just to speak to me. That's decently brave," she said.
Claude chuckled but didn't deny it. "You should get back to the other side of Gronder Field—your king needs you."
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Claude never told Byleth that on too many nights, he cursed himself for not finding her first when she woke up from five years of sleep. She was the hope that tipped scales in the Kingdom's favor. If she wasn't among their forces, Claude would have defeated Dimitri as well, after the Alliance brought down Edelgard. The fallen prince in his current state was just too dangerous to leave alone.
It wasn't personal. It was just the smartest decision.
::::
Edelgard escaped. Rodrigue fell protecting Dimitri from a blade to the back. The sacrifice shook the prince out of his darkness; he was in frail state, but listening. Recovering.
They set course for Fhirdiad, took it back, Byleth allowed the speck of hope in her chest to bloom fully. Dimitri's countenance improved immensely, his grip even warm when she took it. He faced his people like a king no matter how afraid he was.
Byleth and Claude exchanged letters over the next months to keep Kingdom and Alliance movements against the Empire known on both sides. Claude was more generous with information than she, as if courting her trust. He was casual even in correspondence; once, he doodled a wyvern hatchling to illustrate, one—how cute they were—and two—why he had to find another mount for the time being; his previous one was being a doting, nursing, hissingly protective mother. He promised to get Ignatz to paint a better picture that included the whole wyvern family and send it along next time.
But the letters dwindled the same time scouts reported that Imperial forces were pushing further into Alliance territory. Then Byleth received news they were as far in as Derdriu.
She, Dimitri, and hundreds of Kingdom troops arrived just in time to save Claude at Derdriu's harbor.
Byleth met Claude in the damaged palace after the citizens had returned to the city. Almyran reinforcements arrived to protect Derdriu as well, but after Lord Arundel's defeat it seemed like the remaining Imperial army had scattered.
"I knew you could convince Dimitri." Claude raked a hand through the slick of his hair and had an exaggerated swagger. Byleth guessed he was masking the fact that he was wounded, though she didn't know why he bothered. Outside the heat of battle, she noticed Claude had grown up nicely, even with the dirt and blood crusted on him.
"What if I told you it was his idea to save you?" she said.
"Then it was only due to your guidance."
Byleth squinted. Claude was crediting her generously. "What do you want?"
He grinned at that. "Nothing escapes you, huh? I only hope we can remain good allies, that's all. Strife in Fódlan will continue if the leaders don't cooperate. I'd like peace as much as you." Always with the bravado.
As Byleth rolled her eyes—which she didn't mean for him to see—something in his gaze dimmed. "I really am glad to see you like this. I never got the chance to tell you, but… in the years I thought you and Dimitri were dead, I felt incredibly alone. I've never exactly belonged with the other Alliance lords. I managed to unite them against the Empire but… I think I got lucky, and I don't like that."
She startled at his seriousness, embarrassed at having made light of the conversation; she had just assumed that was what Claude would've preferred. "You've—done well."
"Have I? It still feels lonely to be honest." Claude let out the softest sigh, then leaned back dramatically. "I'm just complaining. We should be celebrating."
If he were still a student, Byleth would tell him that she was proud of what he's become. But he was a lord—the head of armies and an entire alliance—and he'd gone through all of that without her. It didn't seem appropriate anymore. Mostly, she just wanted to reach out and tell him it was okay to be scared and he didn't have to put up some strong front with her; but that probably wasn't appropriate either.
She remembered when Jeralt had said she had opened up during her time at Garreg Mach. The emotions taking root in her were double-edged; for every shard of joy that struck her when her old students came to talk to her, there would be a new crack for when she faced them on the other side of war. She could have killed Claude that day at Gronder Field—she could have, and she couldn't have. That was the paradox people faced when they were at the precipice of life and death; you didn't know which you would choose until the moment arrived.
"I wish I could have been there for you on the Alliance's side," she said.
Claude didn't speak for a long moment and she wondered if she said something wrong, but he smiled. "Dimitri needed you more. When I heard about his execution, I mourned for him. And when I heard the rumors of his return, I… still mourned for the Dimitri I once knew. It's good to see him like this again. So, thank you for that."
Byleth nodded, flustered at how emotional he sounded; it wasn't like Claude. It was hard to reconcile him with the boy she knew in Garreg Mach. Anyway, everyone helped Dimitri recover, Dedue most of all, and even Felix, though he wouldn't admit it. "Before I forget—will the Alliance be okay if the Kingdom moves toward the Imperial capital? We're making preparations."
Claude seemed grateful for the change in subject. "Ah, so I heard. With the Almyran reinforcements, yes, the Alliance can hold its own."
"How did you get their aid, anyway?"
He cleared his throat, suddenly less grateful-sounding. "I… pulled a few strings."
Byleth pieced a few things together about Claude von Riegan over time. He'd let slip details about a complicated childhood and parentage in their letters. She knew, in the way he kept his heart and motives hidden, that he wasn't in a position to trust easily. She would bet he wasn't from Fódlan, but she wouldn't presume. There was something definitely murky about his identity. "Will you tell me who you are, really?"
A smile or frown twitched at the edge of his mouth. Did he like or hate the fact that she was prying into his secrets so easily? Because on her end—she rather liked it.
When Byleth was certain Claude would object, he said, "Only if you promise to stay for dinner. It's a long story."
::::
The Kingdom took Fort Merceus, their troops flooded into Enbarr, and the Empire fell with Edelgard.
It was agreed roughly beforehand: the Kingdom would take over the Empire, while the Alliance would retain the lands they had prior to the war. Claude and the other Alliance lords had every intention of honoring that; he had sights set in the east, anyway. Fódlan might remain divided, but it was a little less divided, and it would have old friends leading it along with him.
He arrived at Dimitri's official coronation dressed in a splendent gold outfit sashed with a red-patterned belt. Behind him, a black cape fluttered as a show of respect to those who had fallen. He congratulated Dimitri, joked with former classmates, and constantly, unsuccessfully, searched the crowds for Byleth.
He should have just followed instinct and went to the gardens immediately. Claude found her lying down on a bench, borrowed dress scrunched around her. She was hugging her arms. He thought of offering her his jacket, but she noticed him first, jolting up.
"Sorry, I never got used to fancy celebrations," Byleth mumbled, standing. "I did look for you." She brightened somewhat as she glanced over him. "You look well."
"So do you." Especially in moonlight—her hair almost glowed. "And no need to worry—I don't care for the celebrations either."
She rolled her eyes openly, a surprising bit of expressiveness coming from her. "Don't lie for my sake."
"Fine, I mean, these things are more fun in places like Almyra. Bigger feasts. Outdoor dancing. Could show you some time, if you're ever free from your duties." Claude kept the offer casual, even as his heart swelled as he said it. He hardly remembered when he was still a boy, leading Byleth to the dance floor; he hoped she didn't hate it then. Funny how now, he was technically older than her.
"I don't think I have any duties anymore."
He frowned. "Aren't you going to be archbishop?"
"I didn't accept yet."
"But you will, right?" If not her, then who?
Byleth hesitated.
No, no, Claude needed her to lead. He couldn't have Fódlan falling into the wrong hands again. "Do you even know the kind of influence you hold? You have the church on a silver platter." He could feel himself getting carried away, but he couldn't stop talking, a jealousy tainting his words even as he meant them as praise. "The church that's kept Fódlan isolated from the rest of the world, that's kept the current nobility in power... you have the power to shape that—all of that—in a better direction. Honestly, you should be queen, too. Dimitri would be an absolute fool not to marry—"
"Is that what you'd do?" Byleth snapped. "Marry me for power?"
Shit—that's not what he meant at all. Except it was, he realized uncomfortably. "No—I mean—" Shit. Piles and piles of wyvern shit. "Dimitri obviously loves you as well."
"As a friend."
Relief flooded Claude, even as her glare was potent enough to cut him in half. "Is that so?"
"He's planning to propose to Marianne, but you didn't hear it from me."
Oh. Well. "Good for her. I missed her and Dorte while she was in the Kingdom. I hope their union is happy."
"Claude. You didn't answer the question." Byleth's fingers dug into her arms as she held herself tighter and further away from him. How did he completely screw this up?
"Would I marry you for power?" Claude drew a deep breath, the night air sharp in his throat. She deserved the truth. "…No. I wouldn't do that to you, if you didn't want that. But if I were being completely honest, I should. It would be an easy way to achieve my dreams." Of a united Fódlan. An open Fódlan. "I thought about doing it, I've even practiced doing it—but I can't. I guess that makes me a coward. A coward or a scoundrel…" He laughed sourly. "Seems like that's all I ever am."
He expected Byleth to walk away, give or take a slap. But she only shook her head fiercely. "I've killed on the battlefield searching for peace. So… I won't blame anyone for deciding to hurt the ones they love for that peace. I don't like it, but life isn't always easy or fair. I just hope you're always honest with me. That's all."
"You really mean that?" he murmured. It wasn't until Byleth flushed that Claude realized he was holding his gaze on her. He buried his head in his hands, dragging his palms down his face, over his most watery of smiles. "Ergh, sorry for ruining your night. If it makes you feel any better, I would offer you my hand, if more power was what you needed."
That made her turn redder, which was delightful and nerve-wracking. "What?"
"I—I believe in you. I—" When was the last time he stumbled over words? Especially ones he knew so truly in his heart? "I… believe you can bring about a better Fódlan. I don't like how the ruling system is, and if I could break down the reliance on the Church and the Houses, I would. But for the time being… I'd settle for having good leaders in their place. That's what you are. That's—that's what you've always been, ever since I met you. And if you needed a handsome Alliance lord for your purposes—"
"You wouldn't marry for love?"
A strangled laughed loosed from him. That was what she got out of his terrible speech? "I... think I ruined my chances for that in the worst possible way."
"How?"
Terror lighted his heels, and Claude very much wanted to run; at the same time, his heart hammered maddeningly, as if he had been running for a long, long time. Because his feelings were impossible, further than any dream he ever had. He had his suspicions about his affection for Byleth, but until he saw her in the garden, he hadn't known truly if he'd fallen in love with her. And now, well—he was a disaster and a half. "By being too honest for once. And ironically… by not being honest enough."
Byleth blinked, her frown tilting up into a smile, despite all odds against him. Claude swallowed thickly as she stepped nearer. He could never hide anything from her.
A falling star winked brightly overhead, drawing his gaze.
But it wasn't a star, he realized too late, as the light glowed brighter.
It was a missile.
::::
Claude had to tear Byleth from the rubble.
Whoever was behind this was only after her. Rhea had warned her, but Byleth hadn't gotten all the details as to why. To be honest, she never trusted Rhea, something Byleth only admitted once—and obliquely—in a letter to Claude; he picked up on her wariness, maybe because he felt the same way about the archbishop. Byleth hadn't mentioned anything aloud with the Knights of Seiros around, at the risk of offending them and compromising their loyalty. They had enough worries taking back the Empire at the time.
But she should've kept interrogating Rhea, despite everyone's insistence on how Rhea needed to rest. The secrets she held were too important. And now the woman was dead shielding Fhirdiad from the worst of the onslaught, there were scores of others unaccounted for, and no one even knew the face of this enemy.
"Byleth. Hey, Byleth. We'll get them." Claude's voice sounded distant, but next thing she knew, he was wrapping her up in his jacket. He pried her off her knees and bandaged her scraped hands, as if he wasn't hurt worse, and when she finally faced him, she buried her face in his chest. He grunted—broken rib—but when she tried to pull away, he only held her tighter.
The mages had held much of the palace up during the assault; it was the surrounding city that took the brunt of the hit. Dimitri was already on his horse, leading search parties into the ruined streets. Marianne—head lifted, voice loud—was giving orders to healers in a makeshift medical space among the debris.
Byleth was so proud of them. She needed to help, too.
She just thought they finally had peace.
She was so tired.
::::
Lysithea found the location of the enemy base not far from Goneril territory. She claimed to have calculated it from the trajectory of the missiles, but Claude knew that for some time, the young gremory been researching her past. He suspected her illness was related to the same group, but for the moment, he wouldn't pry.
Byleth—darling, stubborn Byleth—immediately meant to head there by herself when he told her the coordinates. Good thing that he already rounded up some old friends (and enemies, who were now tenuously friends) before she made a self-destructive, lone-mercenary trip east. Besides, Ingrid and Felix wanted to visit Derdriu for their honeymoon afterwards, although with how Felix and Sylvain were bickering liked a married couple and the fact Sylvain was tagging along with them, Claude wasn't quite sure who was coupled with who.
It was an obviously dangerous trek, but they had faith in their professor, enough to put their faith in him. That was what joined them, despite years of war: they all wanted a solid peace for Fódlan and they all believed in Byleth to lead them to it. She made them better and they'd forever be by her side, no matter the actual distance between them. Claude didn't want to think about his future plans in Almyra yet, but—well, that time would come, too.
What mattered now was that he would walk to the ends of the earth ten times over for her.
And when they entered that strange, smooth underground lair, it was some end of the world. When an ancient enemy broke free from his chains, it was another end.
Their allies were far behind when Claude caught up to Byleth; she'd gone ahead alone anyway to Nemesis. Only she with the Sword of the Creator had any chance against him, she tried to reason, like that was going to stop Claude.
Byleth whirled around. Claude couldn't hide his wounded side where a javelin had caught him; if he stopped clutching it, he might honestly pass out. "What are you doing?" she cried. "Go back to Mercedes." The Sword of the Creator glowed brightly at her side, but he knew there was a chance it wouldn't be enough.
"I won't let you take him on by yourself."
"You're hurt—"
He gripped her hand tightly. "I'm with you."
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A sword sliced through Claude's back as he shot the arrow that blinded Nemesis's eye.
Byleth screamed as she cut Nemesis down. Something inside her broke and beat.
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He wished he told Byleth he loved her. She knew, but it wasn't the same. That was his single regret.
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For five nights, Byleth fell asleep at Claude's bedside clutching his hand; she only moved when the healers needed to work. Mercedes would bring her tea and Raphael brought her a blanket. Mercedes said Claude was stable and that he was put in a deep sleep so he could recover faster. Byleth trusted her with her life, but still, she'd believe her words when she saw him well again.
When Claude stirred, Byleth woke. His eyes opened, he cracked a smile, and she immediately started crying.
He sat up despite her fumbling protests; she'd push him back down, but she didn't want to hurt him. "What's all this?" His voice was hoarse from disuse. "I haven't seen you like this before."
Byleth didn't know. How did people deal with feeling so much? She was fine until she saw Claude wake—shouldn't she have been crying before, when she was mourning and wavering into hopelessness? None of it made sense. "I'm—glad you're alive." She began laughing between her sobs, which was even more ridiculous.
"I'm pretty sure I've been alive, unless the healers weren't doing their jobs very well..."
"You know what I mean." She tried wiping her tears away with the heel of her palm, but they kept coming. Claude winced, and she realized her other hand was squeezing his too tightly.
"I'd never leave you."
That strange new thing in her chest constricted. "You can't promise that." You couldn't promise anything in war—or peace, for that matter.
"I'm gonna do it anyway."
Charming dolt. "What would the Alliance have done if you died?"
"Lorenz would have taken my place gladly… and he would rule pretty well, honestly. Don't tell him that, though."
"Your dreams—"
"I trusted them with you. Which is selfish of me, but…"
"They're my dreams, too." Byleth sniffled, finally managing to control her lungs. Her sleeves were all damp. Crying was awful. "I know there's a lot of work still to be done… but thank you… for protecting Fódlan with me. I couldn't have done so much without you." How close they'd come to killing each other once. The press of a blade, the loosing of arrow—that could have made all the difference that faraway day on Gronder Field, if not for their instinctive trust in the other. Even then, he believed in her and she believed in him, however perilously.
"Same to you." Claude reached up and his thumb brushed over her lips, and she went still. "I love you. You know that, right?"
Unable to do much of anything lest she burst into some inconceivable reaction again, Byleth smiled wide and rested her forehead against his. She did—she did know that. He tried to hide it from her desperately, as if he was afraid of the fact, and only after everything happening now did she understand why these feelings were terrifying. "I—" She hiccuped and clapped a hand over her mouth.
Claude laughed, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. She was a teary mess and he smelled like medicine, and she wouldn't have traded that moment for the world. When he was done kissing her and she was done kissing him and he was done kissing her a second time, she reached into her pocket for the ring Jeralt had given her and curled his hand around it.
"That's no fair," he muttered. "The ring I had for you is in my other clothes."
"Before you accept, you should know that I agreed to be archbishop."
"I hope I didn't push you into it. I definitely don't mean to marry you for power."
"You pushed a little. But I think it's the right choice." Byleth didn't like the idea of being a figurehead, but she'd make it work, and besides—"We have a lot left to accomplish, still."
Claude slipped the ring on, eyes bright. "Together."