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The return from Magdred Way is a somber one. They have accomplished what they set out to—and yet his bow feels wrong in his hands, and he can’t wash the blood off of his clothes until they get back to the monastery, and every time he turns around, he feels the need to apologize to Lonato, to apologize to Christophe, to everyone who raised him and everyone who has now fallen at his hands.
House Gaspard already lacked an heir; now, it lacks a head.
Ashe was the one to kill him. Knew every inch of his armor inside and out, had cleaned and polished it for him so many times while Lonato had taught him how to read—knew exactly where to aim his arrow, knew which notch would give way to weakened chainmail and old flesh beneath it. Knew Lonato would not stop him. Knew Lonato would forgive him if he were able, because Lonato was not an angry man, was always a kind one, the kind of man to give a young thief a book and teach him how to read instead of killing him on the spot.
He did not know the look on Lonato’s face would hurt him as much as it did.
The weather is remarkably poor when they finally return to Garreg Mach. Ashe changes into a different set of clothes, debates having one of his classmates burn his old set entirely, and then finds his way to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach until his throat hurts from dry-heaving.
It doesn’t get rid of the horrible feeling in his stomach, but it at least wipes the metallic taste of blood from his mouth.
He doesn’t go to dinner, despite his aching muscles. The professor brings him some tea and a light meal and leaves it outside his door before walking away, sparing a concerned glance at him as they wander off to whatever it is they do when no one else is watching. He doesn’t eat it, nor can he bring himself to sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, it feels as if Lonato and Christophe are watching him, begging to know why he betrayed them like this, if it was truly worth it after all.
He wants to tell them that they sent him here, that he is only at Garreg Mach because of Lonato’s kindness, but it dies in the back of his throat before he can say anything, and then he is awake again.
How quaint, how unsurprising that he should be the one to kill Lonato. How ironic.
Truly befitting of a thief after all.
Every time he closes his eyes, Lonato and Christophe smile at him, and he almost retches.
He’s never liked ghosts, and now he fears they will follow him forever.
-
The professor assigns him to cooking duty with Annette. He’s not sure if it’s because Annette can’t really cook—she can, she’s just...forgetful—and they’re tired of eating dishes that are half the size they should be because the other ingredients ended up, well, everywhere, or if it’s because they’ve seen how hard Lonato’s death has hit him and are determined to get him out of his rut. Maybe both, Ashe decides, because Annette is most certainly making a mess of the kitchen, and he is hungry.
She smiles at him when he enters the kitchen, but he doesn’t miss the concern that laces her gaze, the slight wrinkle to her brow when he only half-tries to offer a smile back.
They work together mostly in silence—Annette watches him cook, occasionally gives him an ingredient he needs when he asks for it, and relishes in the smell of the dish that Ashe throws together. It was one of his parents’ favorites, and one of the first dishes they taught him how to make—he doesn’t have the emotional energy for anything else today. A goulash, one of his favorites from when he was younger. Something to warm himself up after Magdred Way drained his body of any heat it might’ve had left.
He almost dozes off before he feels one of Annette’s hands on his, and he blinks his eyes open to find her next to him, blue eyes sweetly boring holes into his skull.
“Ashe, are you alright?” she asks, and the words roll off of her tongue like honey.
He doesn’t bother trying to hide it with his patented Ashe optimism. Annette will see through that in an instant. There’s a reason everyone goes to her for studying.
He shakes his head slowly, and she guides him away from the stew as one of the kitchen staff takes over, nodding in understanding—everyone has lost someone in this war—to the sink, where he washes his hands, and then out of the kitchen, along one of the walls of the mess hall. He slides down the wall until he sits on the ground, legs propped up in front of him the way they were when he had found out about his parents’ deaths.
So much suffering. So much loss. Ashe doesn’t know how much more of it he can bear, and he suspects, somehow, it will only get worse.
Annette doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and messing with her hands. Ashe can see the telltale magic kickback at the tips of her fingers, which are bruised all the way through her forearms, and almost burnt at their very tips—he is glad once again he doesn’t use magic, although his own wounds from the fight sting, too. He is reminded once again that he is not the only one suffering.
He is about to tell himself that he must get over this, that Lonato was a necessary sacrifice, that he does all of this in Lonato’s name when, as if she can read his mind, Annette exhales, snapping him out of his thoughts.
She speaks without looking at him, eyes straight forward, almost unseeing.
“I’m worried about you, Ashe.” A pause. “We all are.”
“I’m okay.”
“Ashe—” she starts, and her voice is hurt, and a part of Ashe just wants to wrap his arms around her and hold her, protect her from everything, protect her from himself and the deeds that he’s done. Most of him just wants to vanish. “—you don’t have to be happy all the time. I—we can’t imagine what you’re going through, having to...having to do that.”
To strike down Lonato, Ashe knows she was about to say. He imagines Annette is more familiar with losing a father than anyone else, if not by her own hand.
Perhaps that’s why the professor put the two of them together.
“I can’t afford to be upset,” Ashe says quietly. “Lonato sent me here. I have to—I have to meet his expectations. I can’t let him down, and I can’t let Dimitri down, either. It needed to be done.”
“You’re allowed to be hurt.” Her hands stop twitching, and one of them finds its way into the space between them, slight and yet wider than an ocean all at once. She doesn’t move it. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, or how hurt you are. The church has taken so much from you and House Gaspard. Sometimes, I—” and then she sits up and glances around, makes sure no one is listening, before placing her head back on Ashe’s shoulder, which somehow feels warmer than everywhere else. “—I struggle to believe in the church and their actions. I don’t find this admissible by any standards. It’s just not right.”
He doesn’t think it’s right, either. Ashe wonders if the other houses get sent on missions like these, missions where they must put down their fathers without even a second thought—what would it be like for Edelgard to strike her own father down, he wonders? Or Claude, or Dimitri? Would it eat at them the same way it eats at him, or are they something else entirely?
He doesn’t respond, but his hand trails down his side until it falls on top of hers, fingers interweaving themselves as she flips her hand over until her palm touches his, and she weeps gently into his shoulder.
-
Annette comes to him after Edelgard declares war and is forced from the monastery, sobs into his shoulder once again as he wraps his arms around her and brushes a hand through her hair, bloodstained and tangled from battle. Her arms are bruised again from black magic, from using spells she had once dreamt of learning and now dreads using, and he brings her back to her dorm and takes his time with disinfecting and bandaging her fingers, one by one. They do not talk about Dimitri, nor do they talk about Edelgard, or how Claude had merely stood aside and watched—they do not talk about how both of them had nearly died, how everything had suddenly become real.
They do not talk about the Immaculate One.
They do not talk about how the professor is gone, and they do not know if the professor will come back.
They do not sleep. He assists her in washing her hair, fetches her a change of clothes as he goes to find a spare set of his own, observe all of the damage that the monastery has suffered—they are seventeen, barely anything more than children, and they are frightened.
And he holds her, holds her like he had wanted to do almost a year ago, and promises her he will be here, he will always be here, even when her father and Dimitri and everyone else is not.
“Where will you go?” she asks, and Ashe exhales, pulls her a little tighter.
“I need to go back to Gaspard territory first, but after that, I’ll go wherever you need me to be.”
This is the first step to make up for everything the church has done, and he knows that. He has to atone for what he’s done to his own family, and he needs to make sure his siblings are safe, and that they have a place to stay while the war is going on, because by his side is unfortunately likely one of the most dangerous places they can be. Still, Annette peers up at him with wide eyes, and his heart tugs at his chest.
“I—I think I’ll go back to Dominic territory, with my uncle. Mercie, too, and my father. Ashe, please—please come with us. Bring your siblings, even. My uncle can watch over them. I need—I need you to be safe. Even if you must go somewhere first, please find me. You have to stay alive.”
“I will, Annette. I promise.”
And then she pushes himself off of his chest, eyes still wet with tears, and he is afraid she will leave—and then she leans up and kisses him, and his heart stops.
Her lips are soft, warm, and press against his like she alone could protect him from everything—and for an instant, a part of him believes she could, that the future could lie entirely in her hands and be fine. And then he is tilting his head against hers, sliding a hand up to her cheek, and for a moment they are untouchable before someone bangs on the door.
“Hey.” It is Felix, who sounds as though he has been run ragged. With how close he is to Dimitri—despite how much he protests otherwise—Ashe can imagine he has been. Him, Sylvain, and Ingrid have perhaps had a worse time than anyone else since the Flame Emperor’s unmasking. He sounds as though he has been crying. “We’re—Seteth ordered everyone to evacuate the monastery by evening tomorrow. The risk is too great. I just thought you should know.”
Annette pulls away and then rests her head against his chest, forehead dipping against his collarbone. He wraps his arms around her again.
“Thanks, Felix,” Ashe calls, and then they hear footsteps, and Felix is gone. He exhales. Annette rests against him for a moment longer before getting up, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. Somehow, a school uniform doesn’t feel like something they should be wearing anymore.
“I—I need to go pack,” she says, and then blearily blinks away more tears. “I’m sorry.”
She leans forward again and presses another kiss that is all too quick against the corner of his mouth; it is a farewell, and then she is gone.
-
He returns to Gaspard to check in on the townspeople, and nearly cries when they forgive him, when they hold him close and cry that they are so glad he is safe—and he promises he will come back for them one day, and they nod, let him take his siblings and go. They give him enough food for the road, allow him to take whatever of Lonato and Christophe’s possessions are worth having, and pray for his survival.
He only hopes that one day, he will be able to return. He does not know how realistic that is, but to the townspeople who see him off, he swears to make it so.
-
He makes his way to Dominic territory with his siblings and finds Annette with Mercedes, Gilbert, and her uncle, already preparing for what should happen should the empire invade. The moment she sees him, Annette runs toward him, throws her arms around his neck—it has been months since he has seen her, and he thinks she has grown maybe a little taller, but he has, too. Where she once stood up to the bottom of his nose, the top of her head now barely meets his mouth—but it’s a better height for her to rest her head on his chest, feel his heartbeat against her cheek and take in his warmth and his safety and him being there at all, for far longer than a moment.
“You found me,” she breathes.
“I did.” And his quiver is almost out of arrows, and his bowstring is worn threadbare, and he is covered in half-healed wounds from calls with empire scouts that were just slightly too close, but he is safe, and she is in his arms. Mercedes makes her way toward his siblings, hungry but otherwise untouched by combat, and ushers them inside as Lord Dominic prepares arrangements for where they will stay. Gilbert follows him. Against him, Annette smells like flowers, a moment of sweet respite against the bitterness that is the war.
“I can’t believe Edelgard would do this,” she says into his shirt. “And—and Dimitri. None of us have heard from him since he returned to Fhirdiad, even despite Dedue going with him. And there have been whispers of the empire trying to overthrow the regent...”
Ashe is reminded of how he had once thought whether or not Edelgard would be able to strike down her father—looking back, it does not surprise him that she chose to convince him instead. He cannot claim to agree with her actions, but he also cannot claim not to understand the reasoning behind them.
The church has taken far too much from him, too.
Still, he has a duty to Faerghus, and to Lonato and the kingdom he served.
-
He’s overcome with another wave of nausea that he hasn’t felt since Lonato died when he hears of Fhirdiad’s overthrowal and Dimitri’s execution. Annette rubs his back while he dry-heaves in Castle Dominic’s bathroom, a commoner crumpled against a noble’s floor.
At least he wasn’t the one to kill Dimitri.
When he stands, Annette only comes up to his throat, and she brushes a hand through silver hair that is longer than he realized it was.
-
They are eighteen and then nineteen and then twenty faster than either of them would have thought; it is another night where he lies awake because Lonato waits for him in his sleep that Annette comes into his room, scarred hands trembling, and he is immediately up and by her side, guiding her back to his bed and sitting with her while she calms her hyperventilated breathing, wipes the tears from her cheeks.
She tells him she does not feel like returning to her room to face another night alone, and he does not blame her, offers her his bed as he makes room for himself on the floor. She shakes her head at him, tells him that it isn’t right for him to sleep on the floor, and so he reluctantly gets into bed beside her. It is a large enough bed that it isn’t uncomfortable, but he can’t help but feel that this is improper, that he as a commoner should not be sharing a bed with her, a noble, or that they should not be sharing a bed at all as a couple barely starting—
—Ashe’s cheeks heat up. Barely starting—courting? Is he courting her? Has he been courting her?
She is the daughter of a disgraced knight, he realizes, and one that no longer serves as his house’s head at that. There is no obligation for her to marry out of anything aside from love.
His cheeks feel like they are on fire. He feels as if his freckles may start blushing.
He does not have the money to purchase a proper ring, nor provide the lifestyle that she is likely used to, but—a future with Annette—
If he thinks about this any further, Ashe feels he may pass out. He pulls the covers over the both of them and resumes staring at the ceiling with completely different thoughts in his mind.
When he wakes up, his arm is around Annette’s waist, his chest against her back. She is small and delicate in his arms, something to be protected.
-
When the fourth group of imperial soldiers is killed in the same fashion as the previous three and the whispers of Dimitri living don’t stop coming, Gilbert announces his intentions to find the prince and make him the king.
Ashe decides he will go with him. He owes it to Lonato.
Annette does not ask him not to go, but instead offers him a hug and a soft kiss when no one is watching and makes him promise to come back safely.
He promises, and he is thankful Gilbert is not watching.
-
They reunite at the monastery during what should have been the millenium festival, Ashe arriving with Gilbert and meeting up with Mercedes and Annette at the same time, and meet up with everyone else except Dedue on that same battlefield. His heart aches when he hears of Dedue dying in Dimitri’s place, but it doesn’t feel real in the same way that Lonato’s death did. A large part of him harbors faith that Dedue, gentle Dedue, Dedue who gardened and cooked and cared for everyone, could not have fallen like that.
(He struggles to believe that Dimitri would act so nonchalantly towards Dedue’s death, either. There was far more between them than just liege and vassal.)
Seeing how everyone has changed is off putting, but they are the Blue Lions all the same. They return to their old dorms, and Ashe tries to ignore the way his heart pangs at those of the other two houses, empty and untouched, still in the same state that they were when they had left all those years ago. The professor is back, too, with the same green hair and piercing gaze they had left with—they are the only one who attempts to approach Dimitri, a task even Felix does not try to take on.
He is so much different than the kind soul that Ashe remembers him being. It frightens him.
Still, as terrible as the war is, it is nice to have no one question him or glance twice when they see him and Annette walking around hand-in-hand. She has gotten considerably better at cooking in the five years since she was last in the kitchen. By the smile on their face, he knows the professor appreciates it.
-
Annette finds her way into his room again after the victory at Myrddin Bridge; she had been the one to strike Ferdinand down, knocking him off of his horse and shattering his armor with a perfectly-timed Excalibur. There had been tears on her face as she had ended his life, and yet Ferdinand hadn’t even cursed her as he fell, just given her a sad smile as his body hit the bridge.
He was out of his misery quickly, at least, is what Ashe tells Annette. Her arms are bruised again, but her scarred fingertips aren’t burnt this time, at least. He bandages her hands and pulls her to him when she pulls the covers over the two of them and holds her while she cries, until she quiets in his arms. He tells her he loves her, and for the first time since returning from the bridge, she smiles and tells him the same.
-
When Dedue returns, Dimitri is a little bit more like his old self, but not quite there—the kitchen, at least, has another person who knows what they are doing, which Ashe appreciates. Preparing meals takes up less time and is less lonely as an added benefit, although Ashe can see the pain and longing in Dedue’s eyes whenever he prepares meals for Dimitri, bringing them to the cathedral despite knowing that they might not actually be consumed.
-
Dimitri is back to the prince they knew before, but at the cost of Rodrigue’s life. Felix is broken and healed all at once; he, Sylvain, and Ingrid eat dinner with Dimitri for the first time in forever, and Ashe feels as if he is witnessing what the four of them were like before the Tragedy of Duscur, before everything fell apart.
Dedue finally smiles again.
Annette takes his hand and smiles, too. He squeezes hers and smiles back.
The war worsens.
They march on, hand in hand.
When Claude escapes to Almyra, Dimitri presents Ashe with Failnaught. His crestless blood festers at the thought, and he cannot help but think of Miklan and the fate he met with, but if this is the burden that the war places on him, then so be it. It does not flare to life in his arms in the same way that Crusher does in Annette’s, but it is a weapon, and he will wield it all the same.
-
Ashe is the one who brings down Hubert, Failnaught in hand. He is sent ahead with Flayn trailing behind, sniping Hubert from afar and then once again after Flayn dances for him; Hubert is brought down not even being able to fire back at what hit him.
Even after all these years, death still brings the aftertaste of bile to his throat, but Ashe supposes that that’s better than blood. He itches for the day where he never has to pick up a bow again, can live the rest of his life by Annette’s side in the peace that both of them have fought so long for.
Hubert calls for Edelgard when the last arrow strikes his chest, but he dies with Ferdinand’s name on his lips, his fingers clutched around a locket that had been sitting on his chest.
Ashe requests that Hubert is buried beside Ferdinand, and Dimitri complies, his hand in Dedue’s. Annette is beside him, her hand likewise clenched in his. Dimitri glances at the two of them, and he understands.
He and Annette lay flowers on their graves.
-
He is overcome by that same familiar nausea when they finally break into the throne room and see what Edelgard has become.
His heart aches for her. Ashe knows what the church has done—still, after all these years, he cannot fully blame her. The church has taken from so many, and he cannot deny that, because he is one of those people—but to see what her two crests have morphed her into horrifies him. The mages around her are not imperial soldiers, that much is to be certain, but they cut through them anyway. By the way they treat her, Ashe cannot help but suspect that they are somehow responsible for what the emperor has become.
He wishes with all his heart that she and Dimitri could have come to some sort of conclusion, that things did not need to end up this way, that in some other, distant world, they all could have been happy, but alas, that is not the case.
Dimitri and the professor, Areadbhar and the Sword of the Creator in hand, rush up to meet Edelgard on her throne, and from the sidelines, Ashe raises up Failnaught and takes aim.
-
As soon as he and everyone else save the professor and Dimitri are outside the castle, Ashe nearly collapses to the ground, Failnaught clattering on the cobblestone beside him. He certainly hasn’t turned into a Demonic Beast, but his entire arm sears, and it feels as if his blood is bubbling—this is the price of not having a Crest, he supposes. A part of him suspects that he may never wield a bow ever again after today.
Not that he minds. He is not on the ground if only because Annette has caught him in her arms, hoisting him up to his feet despite the seven inches of height he has on her. He would willingly give up everything for her, and a future together in which they are not at war. He steadies himself with his other arm, trying to blink away the lightheadedness, and frowns at the sight of Annette’s own arms, which are bruised up to the shoulder. By the looks of it, someone has already cast a somewhat sloppy heal spell on her hands, as they are blackened but not burnt; she uses whatever magical energy she has left to soothe Ashe’s bow arm, which still pulses from Failnaught’s power. He doesn’t particularly want to pick it up again.
Save that job for someone with a Crest, he thinks.
He wraps an arm around Annette’s shoulders, half to just have her close to him and reassure himself that despite everything, she’s alive and okay, and half to steady himself. She smiles at him through her tears of sheer relief and goes up on the balls of her feet to kiss him, and he smiles against her, her face that still shows the same wonder it did when they first met and her lips that still curve the same way and her, the one person he’s convinced can make the world better entirely on her own.
He doesn’t have a ring on him, but there’s no better time—
“Annette,” he says, dropping to one knee. His arm sears, and it’s not a steady kneel, and the world spins beneath him. She claps a hand over her mouth and rushes to help him up, but he waves her off with a laugh.
That is Annette. Kind, caring Annette, always one to extend a hand whenever he needs it. Sweet, loving Annette, who cried when she felled an enemy general, who made sure his lover was buried beside him and laid flowers on their graves. His Annette.
He almost feels like crying. He loves her. He loves her so, so much.
He smiles, and steadies himself. Repeats her name. “Annette.”
“Ashe—?”
“I—I don’t have a ring on me,” he says, and then she raises a hand over her mouth for another reason, but he can see her smile through the corners of her eyes, through the way everything bad in the world seems to suddenly go away. “But, Annette—I love you. I know I’m a commoner, and I know there are so many others out there who don’t have the blood on their hands that I do, but—” He gestures around him at the streets of Enbarr that they themselves have marched through, where their fellow soldiers help whatever imperial soldiers are left to their feet, disarm them and return them to the infirmaries they have set up around town. “—but all of this...I couldn’t have survived it without you. After Lonato, after everything—you’ve given me purpose, and—and I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you—”
“Yes,” she breathes, before he can even finish his question. “Yes.” And then she has helped him to his feet and her mouth is yet again fit over his, like the way it’s been so many times in the past, and his searing hand is brought up to her face and cups her cheek, and his other sits on her waist, and they fit together in a way that makes everything make sense, makes everything worth it. This is why he stayed. Because Annette was there for him, in the kitchen, at the beginning of the war and in all the times during it, and because she never gave up. Because of the scars on her fingers that weave between his all the same. Because he loves her.
Lonato would be proud of him, Ashe thinks. This is the future Lonato wanted for him, the future he himself fought for. And with his working arm, he just holds her, relishes in how close she is, and he never wants to let go.
-
Dimitri decrees him the new Lord Gaspard, smiling at the rings on his and Annette’s hand, and they return home, where his siblings have returned to. He never regained his ability to wield a bow, but running his thumb over his wedding ring, he thinks his left arm has been put to a much better use instead. He falls asleep with his head in Annette’s lap as she starts on the book she’s been talking about writing for forever, and she brushes a hand through his hair, clean and free from blood for the first time in what feels like so long.
Annette traces a hand loosely along the curve of his cheekbone before kissing him again, and even in his sleep, he smiles.