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“Stay outside for too long and even you shall fall ill Professor.”
Byleth looks up, startled for once, at Edelgard behind them. The Imperial Princess stands beneath the doorway of the balcony, lantern lights from inside bathing her in a gentle glow.
It is late in the Ethereal Moon. Cold winds roam roam the monastery, blanketing the stone grounds in white and frost. The nights are accompanied by children's songs, hymns, and the howling of wolves.
Still, Garreg Mach Monastery remains warm and proud through the chilly winter days and nights. The classrooms, the dining hall, and the courtyards are awash with colorful ornaments and twinkling lights.
“A simple spell,” Linhardt had explained to them, his lanky figure bundled in three layers of clothes. “Just to make the lights change color or flicker every few moments.”
Byleth hid their wonder under a veil of detachment and then pointed to the box under his arm.
“This? Oh, something for Caspar. It’s customary to give gifts to those you love during this time of the year. Frankly, I don’t see the point. Those you care about shouldn’t need to be reminded that you care about them through material possessions but Caspar insists and I—“
Byleth had tuned him out by then, recognizing a long spiel to come. Besides, they had noticed something out of the corner of their vision. A shift; a tiny movement.
Two of the students had huddled under the stone archways, right underneath a berried branch, and Byleth watched, something in the back of their mind burning with curiosity, as they pressed close until their breaths mingled and became one.
They had wanted to question Lindhart. Oh how the curious cat had clawed at their mind, but Byleth had just looked away, back to their student. Something kept their mouth shut, a thought that told them, “this is not for you to know.”
It was with that thought in the back of their mind that they break away from the festivities of their students, slipping out onto the balcony while glasses clink and feet step to upbeat music.
And Edelgard finds them like that, with her shoulders straight and a small green box in hand.
Byleth blinks, blue eyes tracing the flutter of a red cape as their prized students steps forward. Edelgard is feline grace and power all rolled into one body, each move deliberate as she sits upon the stone bench without a snowflake falling upon Imperial black and red.
Byleth tilts their head. “I don’t get sick.”
The princess laughs, white-gloved knuckles raised to her lips. “Of course you don’t Professor. Even so, I imagine frosted stone is unpleasant for bare skin.”
Byleth picks at the lace of their stocking, brow pinched. “I don’t really feel the—“
There is a twinkle in Edelgard’s eyes, her usual pristine, controlled smile broken by a slight smirk.
Byleth’s cheeks heat. At least, they feel like they do. Outside of battle the Professor finds it difficult to pinpoint bodily or behavioral changes. But they think they’re beginning to understand jokes.
“I am full of surprises,” they deadpan.
Edelgard laughs again, a pleasant, soft sound that Byleth thinks they could get used to. Her hair shines silver in the moonlight.
“I cannot argue against that my teacher. Would you mind if kept you company at least?”
A strange thing to ask, but Edelgard is always asking them strange things.
“No,” Byleth says and Edelgard’s eyes light up like the twinkling lights that line the courtyard. It makes Byleth’s stomach twist, especially when Edelgard scoots closer to them, offering the edge of her red cloak. Byleth shakes their head and draws their own coat tighter around themselves. Edelgard quirks an eyebrow but drops the issue when Byleth gestures to the box in Edelgard’s lap.
“Ah, forgive my rudeness Professor.” Edelgard holds out the box to them and Byleth’s eyes widen a fraction. “I hope you like it.”
“Me?” Byleth blinks once, twice. Their frown deepens and they tilt their head. “Aren’t gifts for people you love?”
Amusement glitters in Edelgard’s eyes or something close to it. Byleth struggles to make sense of the situation. They are only a professor, a commonborn one at that, and what’s more, a former mercenary. By comparison, the Black Eagles house is filled with those of noble birth and students who have known Edelgard for longer than half a year.
Edelgard places the gift back in her lap and for a moment, a shadow marrs her face. Byleth jerks when they realize that they had been rude.
“Now, you realize that?”
Sothis’s caustic voice filters from the fog that is their mind and Byleth winces.
“You are impossible. Is your head truly so empty you are incapable of understanding the implication?”
A hum cuts Sothis’s rant short. Edelgard taps her chin, the shadow replaced with a thoughtful look. Byleth has come to recognize it as the expression Edelgard dons when she needs to explain something to them, generally a social custom or a faculty rule.
“It’s not quite like that my teacher. You do not have to love someone to gift them something. For some, it’s tradition. Others, it’s expected. Many give presents to others simply because it’s the polite thing to do.”
“Oh.” Byleth nods, thinks they understand now. They reach by their feet and pull up a long object wrapped in simple linen. “You don’t have to be polite Edelgard. My father already got me something.”
“Be that as it may Professor, I—“
Cloth flutters in the chill winter air and Byleth picks up the hitch in Edelgard’s breath as they unravel their father’s gift. Steel catches red and gold from the candles inside and glimmers silver beneath the moonlight. A mahogany handle rests firm and strong in Byleth’s hand as they lift the fishing rod for Edelgard to see. A wolf’s face is carved into the wood, crowning their name with elegant letters.
Edelgard lifts her hand, fingertips hovering over the barrel. “May I?”
The awe in her voice fills Byleth with a rare sense of pride. They hand the rod over, lips twitching into a faint smile as Edelgard takes it, turning it over and running her fingers over the steel pole and myrthil guides. She is careful, almost delicate in her handling. Byleth has seen her inspect silver axes and swords with less care.
It makes the strange twisting in their gut from before return. And this time, a warmth accompanies it, creeping up Byleth’s neck like a good drink or a well-worn cloak.
“Oh Byleth,” Sothis murmurs in their head and Byleth blinks, wondering what boundary they have tripped over this time. Instead of clarifying with her usual sharp tone, Sothis sighs and Byleth’s head is clouded by that drifting, rocking feeling when Sothis is drowsy.
“Do not stay out in the cold for too long,” Sothis chides gently before disappearing.
Byleth frowns, ready to prod the other soul in their body before Edelgard’s words tickle their ears.
“Did your father make this?”
White fingers trace the carved wolf, following the sketch of fur down to Byleth’s name, lingering on the stem of the first letter. Byleth struggles to find their voice, too caught up in the way Edelgard’s fingers flex as she turns the fishing rod this way and that. The lilac of her eyes is almost silver and Byleth is reminded of angel fish darting above the water.
“Yes,” they finally say, voice quiet and faraway. “He said my old one was falling apart.”
Edelgard’s lips twitch into a smile. She runs one hand down the barrel to the handle before wrapping it. “It’s masterful craftsmanship,” she says, handing it back.
Byleth takes it wordlessly, feeling the heat leftover from Edelgard’s hands.
“In comparison, my gift seems unambitious now.” Edelgard holds the green box out for Byleth once again and Byleth thinks they see pink dot Edelgard’s cheek.
Worry flashes through Byleth and they grab the sleeve of their coat, jerking it up and holding it a few inches from Edelgard’s shoulder. “Cold?” Byleth croaks.
Edelgard blinks several times but beyond that, her composure doesn’t falter. It’s an admirable trait, one that makes her a model leader and student; and makes her even harder to read. Byleth is all too keenly aware where they flounder in social interactions, but they try. Sothis knows they try.
The gentle smile that curls on Edelgard’s lips makes Byleth think they were right. Still, the princess shakes her head and Byleth drops their coat sleeve with a tilt of their head. The pink on Edelgard’s cheeks only strengthens.
“Please, do not worry about me Professor. I’d much rather you preoccupy yourself with this.” She places the box in Byleth’s lap and the former mercenary has no choice but to relent.
It’s odd to get another gift. Byleth can’t recall a time where anyone but their father had presented them with something beyond the bare necessities. Save, of course, for the Black Eagle Pendant that rests under their medallion. Close and safe.
Byleth’s fingers tingle and itch as they peel away the green foil. Blue eyes widen a fraction as a silver fishing float is revealed. Byleth picks it up, transferring it from one palm to the next, thumb running over ingrained scales and fins. It’s small, lightweight, but detailed. Bringing up to their eye level, Byleth can see the scales are dusted with an incandescent coat of paint. Red, blue, and gold glimmer. They can just imagine it bobbing in the water, catching the attraction of fish in the sunlight. Byleth feels a flutter from their stomach up to their chest. It’s almost like a soft drumming in their sternum except their heart does not beat. Perhaps they are getting sick.
Minutes pass before Byleth realizes they have not said a word to Edelgard regarding her gift. They look up, a thank you on the tip of their tongue, when their breath catches in their throat.
Edelgard is watching them with a soft smile, head tilted, a loose lock of pale hair over her cheek. Her hands are laced primly in her lap, legs crossed at the ankles. Snowflakes dot her silvery hair and red shoulder cape. She is the picture of grace and beauty and Byleth has never seen her so peaceful before.
“Do you like it my teacher?” Edelgard asks. There is something in her voice, tender and sweet like the peach dessert Edelgard is so fond of. Byleth’s blood thrums in their veins and for the first time upon this night they feel the warmth of it in contrast to winter’s chill.
“Yes,” they say, voice stilted and dull. Byleth wishes it wasn’t. “Thank you.”
It’s not enough. Not enough at all, but Edelgard preens all the same.
“I’m glad. I admit, finding something that was both befitting and useful for a person such as yourself was challenging, but I swore to myself I wouldn’t falter.”
Byleth frowns. “You didn’t have to try so hard Edelgard. I’d like anything.” Gifts were an unknown; even tea with their students made Byleth happy.
Edelgard chuckles and stands. “Professor, considering your guidance and—” she pauses and Byleth tenses when lilac eyes water. But Edelgard blinks and her eyes are dry again, shoulders straight and one arm behind her back. She bows and continues, “Your guidance and compassion are worth it, my teacher.”
There it is again. That odd catch in Edelgard’s voice. Byleth squirms, the stone bench digging into their thighs. Why did Sothis have to fall asleep so soon? Byleth feels like a fish on land when it comes to reading people off the battlefield.
“Thank you,” they mumble.
Edelgard nods and turns around to head back inside. Byleth wants to call out to her. Wants to find the words that encompass all the emotions and not-emotions tumbling around in their rib cage, where their dead heart rests and holds secrets inside.
Instead, their eyes catch the sight of that little berried plant they had spotted earlier, hanging from the balcony doors. The image of two figures huddled together is seared in Byleth’s brain. It is a loose string of yarn in front of an eager kitten, impossible to ignore. The words tumble before Byleth can think, can analyze.
“Edelgard? What is that little plant?”
Edelgard pauses, one eyebrow quirked. Violet eyes flit from Byleth to the mysterious plant, dangling just above her head.
“Why, it’s mistletoe Professor.”
“Mistletoe?”
Edelgard’s eyebrow rises higher, a look of genuine surprise in her face. “You’ve never seen mistletoe before Professor?”
Byleth shakes their head. “No. Should I have?”
The Imperial Princess crosses her arms, one hand cupping her chin and this expression, Byleth knows. It’s the look Edelgard dons when she’s trying to find the words to explain a concept to Byleth in a thorough, simple matter. Perhaps it’s embarrassment or some strange variation of pride, but Byleth will never admit to anyone—save perhaps Sothis and their father—how much she appreciates Edelgard for this. The young woman has been a guide as well as a model student since Byleth arrived at the academy. Always kind, if stern, while Byleth found their footing as an instructor.
Byleth is all too aware of how the cold can hide warmth beneath its frost.
“Perhaps not,” Edelgard starts and Byleth straightens, ears perked. “Admittedly, considering your nomadic background I’m surprised you haven’t seen it. Do you know of it by its more formal name? The commonfolk coined the term mistletoe, but it was originally known as the Cethleann’s Blessing. For Saint Cethleann of course.”
Byleth shakes their head again. “No. Never heard of it. Father never mentioned it either.”
Edelgard chuckles and closes her eyes. “Right, of course you wouldn’t have. Your father seemed intent on keeping topics and knowledge of the Church’s teachings as far away from you as possible.” She opens her eyes and they glint like cut crystals in the dark. “An...interesting choice I must say.”
Byleth tilts their head. The edge in Edelgard’s voice makes their skin prickle. As if they have stepped into a forest clearing where hungry animals eye them from the shadows.
Before they can ask, Edelgard turns on her heel, white hair lifting and falling like snow.
“If you’ll excuse me Professor, I—“
“Wait!” Byleth jumps off the bench, ignoring the way their skin sticks to the icy surface and a dull pain starts to resonate in the back of their mind. They stumble to Edelgard’s side, the Princess’s eyes widening as she moves to steady them.
Silk gloves press gently into Byleth’s shoulders and the slight heat of Edelgard’s hands soothe the chill in Byleth’s bones.
“Professor, please do be more considerate of your constitution,” Edelgard chides softly. Her eyebrows are pinched together and Byleth has the sudden urge to rub her thumb along that line.
“Sorry,” they mumble instead. “Just one more question.”
“Oh?”
Byleth points up at the mistletoe above them. “Earlier today, I saw two students gathering underneath this. It seemed to be intentional. Why?”
Edelgard frowns. “Gathering? What— oh. ”
Something shifts in the air. Warmth creeps from Edelgard’s fingertips, goes up, up, up Byleth’s shoulders. The grip on their coat tightens, white gloved fingers inching closer to their collar. A shiver runs up Byleth’s spine.
“My teacher,” Edelgard whispers and the words come out in a white puff of breath, crystalline water and warmth and Byleth feels a pang deep in the cage that houses their stone for a heart. “Have you never heard of the tradition about mistletoe?”
“No,” Byleth says and their tongue is thick and dry and clumsy. Thoughts whirl around in their head like hail, clattering against window panes of half-truths and broken understandings. “Should I have known that too?”
Edelgard lets out a soft, oh so soft, laugh and that too, comes out as mist. Byleth leans a little closer because it’s warm and snow is beginning to seep through their coat and armor.
“Of course now, why should you have known?” Edelgard lowers her gaze, staring at the medallion that hangs over Byleth’s chest. When she speaks again, it’s almost as if she’s speaking to herself. “It was silly of me to ask that. Why would you know about an object’s tradition if you didn’t even know about said object.”
Byleth wets their lips. They’re starting to chafe. “What’s the tradition?” A catch in their voice. Their teeth chatter.
Sothis will be angry tomorrow.
Edelgard looks up. Her fingers flex before tightening on Byleth’s coat collar. “Would you prefer I show you?”
Her voice is almost lost to winter’s howling and the chatter from inside. Almost.
Byleth nods. They can’t find their voice.
“Close your eyes my teacher.”
Gloved fingertips lift and press and Byleth’s eyes flutter shut. They lean into the touch, a sigh upon their lips. It’s strange, but not unpleasant, to have Edelgard so close. There’s a creak of heeled boots on frosted stone, a shift of cloth and a stronger heat against Byleth’s being. With only the dark around, Byleth’s hearing picks up, wolf-like and hungry.
They think they hear their name—or something like it—when silk touches their lips.
All the world goes silent. It is only Byleth, their breath, and a pleasant warmth.
A few seconds tick by and then the feeling is gone. Byleth’s eyes snap open, burning blue. Edelgard stands on the tips of her toes. Her cheeks are pink, a frown on her normally composed face. She looks worried. Or...scared? No, that can’t be it. Byleth has seen fear in Edelgard’s eyes, brought upon by night terrors and grave loss, but there is nothing like that out here. It’s just the two of them.
Maybe she’s just cold?
Byleth really wishes they were better at this. Their hand twitches, lifts, and then falls back to their side. “Edelgard?”
Edelgard starts and her calm demeanor is in place once more. She takes a step back, hands letting go of the ex-mercenary’s coat collar, and for the first time that night, Byleth is acutely aware of the winter cold.
“I apologize Professor, but I think I am ill-suited to explaining the tradition about mistletoe after all.” Edelgard flashes an apologetic smile and Byleth’s chest clenches.
“It’s alright,” they say. Byleth’s hand itches again. It’s not like Edelgard to seem so unsure of herself. She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, crosses her arms, and looks away when Byleth tries to catch her eye.
Had...had they done something?
They must have because Edelgard quickly straightens her shoulders and bows, one arm behind her back and the other crossed over her chest, gloved hand curled over her breast.
“Forgive my abruptness Professor, but I have something I really must attend to.”
Byleth doesn’t stop her, staring with blank blue eyes as Edelgard pivots on her heel and disappears back inside. Her figure is lost amongst the other Black Eagles and Byleth is left alone on the balcony, more confused than ever about a little white plant and themselves.
After a minute or so, they sit back at the stone bench. Edelgard’s gift is beside them, their father by their feet. The Eagle pendant beneath their medallion rests on their sternum like a familiar hand upon a shoulder. They are surrounded by things from people they care about. As much as a thing like them can care.
Yet Byleth feels a hole, an ache, inside. Maybe it’s their dead heart. Or perhaps Sothis’s early leave for slumber has exhausted them. Whatever it is, Byleth doesn’t like it.
Unconsciously, their hand touches their lips. A faint warmth lingers. Byleth closes their eyes and imagines a gloved finger, touched by another’s lips, pressed against their own.
Edelgard’s tender smile flickers in Byleth’s mind, a rare, cherished gift.