Chapter Text
Byleth turns the ring over in their hand, running their fingers over the stones.
One day I hope you'll give this ring to someone you love as well as I love her.
They're sure he wouldn't have meant for this to sit on them so heavily, but here they are.
Here they are, standing in front of a grave with a ring in their hands, afraid to disappoint a dead man.
Would he be disappointed if he were watching? Was he watching, his spirit hovering nearby, or maybe not close at all but watching from the stars, looking down at his strange blank-eyed freak child, standing there with a lovely ring and no one to give it to?
One of the only times he'd ever expressed some sort of wish for them and their life, and they couldn't grant it.
It's not as though they had no one they cared for. They had their students turned comrades turned friends, and they loved them all dearly, and knew they were loved in return. But of the sort of love that he'd meant?
There was no one.
The emotionless freak baby that never cried or smiled had grown into an freak adult who did not know how to fall in love.
They can almost hear his tired, grating sigh, and they jolt guiltily out of their thoughts. He would never think like that. Not their father, who could tell even from their blank face when they were hungry or tired or injured. Who had taken the time to teach them to fight, to fish, even to read, because he knew they were interested even though they said nothing.
Their father, who had thrown away everything to try to keep them safe. Their father, who would would sit with them and fish in comfortable silence, but still turn to them with a proud smile and a clap on the back when they nudged him to show off a particularly big catch. Who had watched as their life completely changed, who had watched them unfurl and open up as the students settled themselves comfortably at the centre of their lives. Had watched with pride as they truly became themselves.
Their father, who had always accepted them just as they were.
Of course he wouldn't be disappointed. Not by this. If they'd given someone the ring half-heartedly to try to please him, then that'd be a different matter.
They shake their head, smiling slightly to themselves. A breeze flows through the graveyard, and they can almost hear a familiar satisfied huff on the wind. They return the ring to its place, tucked carefully away in their pocket.
It's not as though it has to be now, either. Maybe they'll find someone later. Maybe they won't. Either way,
Maybe it doesn't have to be the same sort of love, anyway. Maybe they can give the ring to the person they love most, the one who loved them the most. Even if it's not quite what he'd meant.
Maybe when I'm older, if I still have not found anyone else...
They leave the graveyard. The march to the final battle begins tomorrow, and they must be ready.
Maybe I'll come back and leave it with you.