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Chapter Text

It’s a few months more until the beginning of the war. A ticking countdown in the back of Edelgard’s mind. The details were all but set in stone. A raised axe, ready to strike at Edelgard’s command. Only a few things remained to be done. She still needed the last of her forces to get into position. She still needed to be crowned emperor. She still needed to prepare herself.

The thought of letting go of everything she had slowly gained during her days as a student hurt her.

“Miss von Hresvelg,” comes Byleth’s voice, cutting through Edelgard’s heavy thoughts. She snaps back to attention.

“Yes, professor.”

“Please do pay attention. It’s not like you to zone out like that.” Byleth says, tapping the blackboard with the piece of chalk in her fingers. “This will undoubtedly be part of the certification exams. Not like you’d struggle with it, but even still.”

A faint blush colors Edelgard’s cheeks. “Apologies, my teacher. I’m paying attention.”

Byleth regards her student with a smile, soft and small, and a nod. She turns back to the board to continue her lecture on battalion formations.

From the corner of Edelgard’s eye, she sees Dorothea winking at her from her desk. She mouths “Your crush is showing, Edie.” Edelgard rolls her eyes.

If only it were that simple, she thinks.

She looks at Byleth, back still turned to the class. The sound of chalk scratching against the board fills the classroom. Byleth writes with deft strikes, her handwriting messy. From Edelgard’s seat, she could see the subtle flexing of her professor’s forearms as she presses against the chalkboard, continuing to scribble notes about how to best deploy troops. Muscle and sinew, twisting and pulling. Edelgard swallows, hard.

An uncomfortable feeling begins to bubble from the pit of her stomach. A crush, she mulls. That was a perfectly normal thing to have, right? Most individuals her age had crushes. Hell, she’s had the unpleasant experience of having to turn down so many potential suitors, earning her the title of “ice queen” whispered behind her back. But it’s necessary, she thinks. Someone like her is undeserving of simple joys, she thinks. Her past, her present, and her future leave no room for silly crushes, she thinks.

Even still, she finds herself writing something down in her notebook. Small, careful letters, tucked away in the corner.

Byleth von Hresvelg

Edelgard scratches it out, flustered. No, she reminds herself. No crushes.

________

“Your highness, are you still paying attention?” asks Hubert, towering over Edelgard. They stand off to the corner of the dining hall, conversing about their upcoming plans.

“Yes,” answers Edelgard. She wasn’t paying attention. Her gaze is focused on the middle of the room.

Hubert sighs, following Edelgard’s gaze. There, he sees the source of the imperial princess’ distraction. Byleth, enraptured in conversation with Sylvain and Ingrid.

The two watch as Sylvain cracks some kind of joke. It must be inappropriate, Edelgard thinks, because Ingrid punches him in she shoulder. But Byleth laughs, seemingly unbothered. Edelgard feels coldness pool in the pit of her stomach. She thinks that maybe Sylvain should keep his raunchy humor to himself. She clenches her fists, her jaw.

“The Battle of the Eagle and Lion is coming up, correct?” Edelgard suddenly asks Hubert. She keeps her razor-sharp gaze focused on Sylvain, and by extension, Ingrid.

“Yes, your highness.” Hubert answers, tone even.

Good, Edelgard thinks. She imagines the weight of her axe digging into Sylvain’s armor. Imagines herself knocking him to the ground. Imagines her foot on the back of his head as she makes him eat dirt.

“Your highness, if it would please you, I could eliminate Sylvain and Ingrid.” Hubert offers, a sinister smirk on his face.

This is why we don’t have any other friends, Edelgard realizes, belatedly.

“That will be unnecessary,” answers Edelgard. She shakes her head. That was dark, she thinks. All the more reason not to entertain a crush. She relaxes her fists, opening and closing her gloved hands. Exhales deeply. There were more important things to focus on.

“If I may be so bold,” says Hubert, “jealousy is a normal human emotion.”

Edelgard gapes at Hubert, equal parts surprised and angry.

“Hubert, how da —”

“Oh look, the professor is beckoning us to come near.”

“Huh?” says Edelgard, snapping to look at where Byleth was seated. She finds that the seats are now empty, table void of even the dishes that they had been eating with. She turns back to Hubert, fuming.

“Are you teasing me? Even you, Hubert?” she demands.

“I would never dream of it, your highness,” he deadpans, the barest shadow of a smirk on the corners of his lips. Edelgard resists the urge to punch him in the gut, right then and there.

Hubert bows deeply. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some words to exchange with our dear professor.”

Before Edelgard can push to inquire further about the matter, the man vanishes, leaving her on her own to groan into her hands.

She reminds herself, for the nth time that month, that crushes were bad and she was forbidden to have one.

________

Byleth was making Edelgard’s life difficult on purpose, the imperial princess decides.

The professor of the Black Eagles class had decided to hold one-on-one training sessions, in preparation for the upcoming battles. The sessions were meant to further sharpen their strengths and mitigate weaknesses. That’s what the professor had said, announcing the change in matriculation as aloofly as one would talk about the weather. Edelgard had thought it was brilliant, as all tactical ideas of the professor were.

But now, Edelgard thinks the training sessions were the bane of her existence.

“Hold your sword arm a little higher when you thrust,” instructs Byleth. She demonstrates. A step forward. A coiling of the arm, of the torso. A thrust, exact and powerful. There was a coolness in Byleth’s eyes. Something Edelgard only ever sees when they’re on the battlefield. Byleth’s training tunic stuck to her skin. Her skin seemed to glisten under the sun, beads of sweat catching the rays of light.

For the millionth time that day, Edelgard swallows, hard. She tries to look away, stopping herself from tracing the lines of her professor’s muscles. She wills herself to sweat a little less profusely. She can do this, she tells herself. It’s not a crush. She doesn’t have a crush. It’s just hot. Yes. The sun is just really hot.

“Edelgard, hold your sword up higher, like I told you,” Byleth says, stepping close. She reaches out, fingertips barely touching the bottom of Edelgard’s forearm. She pushes up, gently, until Edelgard has raised her sword arm about an inch higher.

The parts of Edelgard’s skin where Byleth had touched her feels as if it was on fire. Burning deep, deep, lines radiating all the way to her chest. It’s just the heat, Edelgard thinks. She’s dizzy because it’s hot out. She looks up at Byleth’s face.

The professor had her hair in a ponytail, which swayed with Byleth’s movements. Edelgard tries hard not think about how the hairstyle suits Byleth. Edelgard catches a glimpse of the other woman’s nape. Heat seems to radiate from Edelgard’s very being. Napes shouldn’t be so damn sexy. It’s just the back of the neck. Edelgard wills herself to calm down. She was going to be the emperor of Fodlan. She can handle a glimpse of one woman’s neck.

Byleth lightly places another hand on the small of Edelgard’s back, barely putting any pressure into the touch. Edelgard almost gasps.

“Now,” says Byleth, voice calm, “when you thrust, make sure that your hips are balanced. Low to the ground. Makes it harder to counter.”

Edelgard tries to control her breathing. She’s frustrated. Incredibly so. Half of her brain, animalistic and feral, wants nothing more than to pin Byleth down and tear the woman’s clothes off. The other half of her brain, logical and sad, remembers that she really shouldn’t be wasting any of her energy on childish sentiments. She grits her teeth.

The weight of the world is on her shoulders. She cannot, must not, give in to these feelings. She tightens her grip on the training sword in her hand. Adjusts her stance. Byleth lets go of Edelgard, takes a few steps back. A small voice in the back of Edelgard’s mind almost whines, wanting the professor close. Edelgard takes a deep breath. No, she decides. She is above her own feelings. Only she can carry the burdens laid upon her. She must not fail.

Edelgard strikes at the air, swiftly and surely. She cuts through with precision, with grace, and with all the power of a woman chained to her obligations.

Byleth hums in approval.

“You strike as if something’s holding you back,” she says, “but nonetheless, that was really good. Well done, Miss von Hresvelg.”

Miss von Hresvelg. Edelgard frowns, looking away. She chose to keep her distance, but somehow, the sound of her own name stings. Like an impossible wall, between her and the professor. Never to break, never to falter. Yes, Edelgard is nothing more than “Miss von Hresvelg” to Byleth Eisner. A student, nothing more.

“Sorry,” says Byleth, “I don’t think you like it when I call you that.” The professor scratches the back of her head absently.

“Is it alright if I call you Edelgard instead?” she asks.

Edelgard’s voice is small, but laced with hope.

“Yes, my teacher. By all means, please do.”

_______

It’s the evening of the Garreg Mach Ball. Edelgard is there, playing the part of the imperial princess. She plays her part well, moving from one dance partner to another, chatting with one individual and the next. The whole time, a perfectly practiced fake smile upon her lips. Edelgard was never one to enjoy parties. Especially formal parties. They were the epitome of all things in the world that Edelgard despised. Nobles flattering one another with mindless babble. An evening dedicated to appearances and falsehoods. A divide between the haves and the have-nots.

Even still, Edelgard must participate. A little more, she tells herself. A little more and she can finally drop the curtains on this little act of hers.

The music swells, slow and reverberating. Edelgard’s current partner thanks her for the dance, turning away to find a new partner. Edergard’s feet hurt, and she’s tired of smiling like all is well in the world. She turns away, ready to head toward the exit for some fresh air.

And nearly walks into Byleth Eisner.

“My teacher,” Edelgard says, shocked.

“Edelgard,” Byleth says warmly, her voice airy and light. “May I have this dance?”

She nods, shyly. She feels like the way Byleth says her name makes it sound like a song. She feels brighter somehow. She steps forward, aching feet and fake pleasantries forgotten. She’s smiling now, honestly and truly.

Byleth places a hand on Edelgard’s waist, firm and steady. The other she slips into Edelgard’s hand. Edelgard places a hand on her professor’s sturdy shoulder. It’s alarming how easily their hands seemed to find one another, Edelgard thinks. A wild warmth seems to bloom from her chest, spreading out to the very tips of her toes and every hair on her head.

In just one moment, the rest of the ball seems to fade away. It’s just her. Just Byleth. Just them, and the music. They dance, moving to the beat, each breath and each step in perfect rhythm with one another. Edelgard seems to lose herself in Byleth’s blue eyes. The professor says nothing, looking deep into Edelgard’s eyes as well.

There was a deepness there that Edelgard could not look away from. For the first time in so long, she feels like she was being seen for who she truly is. She doesn’t question it. Doesn’t think too much about it. Perhaps it’s the song echoing in Edelgard’s ears, beautiful and drawn out. Maybe it’s the way Byleth’s hands felt on Edelgard, strong and reassuring. Maybe it was the way the professor was looking at her, with a fondness that Edelgard could not even begin to fathom. Edelgard can’t help it. Maybe, for one fleeting moment, she can allow herself to be herself. She surrenders herself to her feelings, for just one song.

What would it be like if they could be together?

She could almost see it, playing at the back of her mind. Herself and Byleth, living out quiet days in a cabin by the lake. Perhaps, she thinks, Byleth would spend most of her time gardening and bringing home fish for them to have for supper. It’s almost too vivid in her mind’s eye. She could imagine laugh lines at the corner’s of Byleth’s eyes. Strong arms wrapped around Edelgard in gentle embrace. A smile, for Edelgard and only Edelgard.

Her insides go warm. Her chest suddenly feels too small, ribs digging into her lungs and her rapidly beating heart. It’s wrong to feel this way, she decides. These feelings are a distraction. A hindrance. Something that someone like her could never hope to have. But she can’t help it. She imagines Byleth and her, by the hearth of their home, spending dinner together in peace. Away from the conflict. Away from harm. Away from the burdens upon Edelgard’s shoulders.

Edelgard speaks without thinking.

“And when we’re old, we’ll complain about how much our bones hurt by the warm fire.”

“What do you mean?” asks Byleth. They spin, to the rhythm of the song, feet stepping perfectly in sync.

“Forgive me, my teacher. Please ignore my ramblings.”

Byleth affixes Edelgard with an odd expression. Edelgard makes a point of looking away. Her heart thunders away in her chest. Her mind unable to let go of the small wish that had begun to take root. She allows herself, for the briefest of moments, to hope that maybe, maybe, she could live long enough to experience such joys.

If only hope were fleeting, and not something that clung desperately to Edelgard’s very soul.

The song ends. The magic is lifted, and with a smile and courteous bow, Byleth politely steps away. Edelgard stands still, watching as her professor walks away, a swing in her step.

For the rest of the night, Edelgard thinks of nothing but warm hearths and freshly caught fish for supper.

________

Edelgard finds Byleth at the goddess tower. It wasn’t as if she was looking for her professor on purpose. She had wanted to step away from the party, for just a bit. To collect her thoughts. To breathe.

Instead, she sees Byleth at the top of the tower, back turned to her, facing out the wide open window. Moonlight shines on Byleth’s face, casting her shadow long behind her. From where Edelgard stands in the professor’s shadow, Byleth seems so tall. So distant. Someone Edelgard could never hope to have.

Byleth raises her arm, and reaches out with an open hand. To what, Edelgard could not decide. She seems to reach toward the sky. Toward the stars. Toward the moon. Her hand tries to grasp something intangible.

“I will choose you,” says Byleth, to no one but the night air.

Edelgard continues to stare, frozen in place. Byleth chuckles to herself. Shakes her head. Turns to face Edelgard, who regards her professor with wide eyes.

“I know you’re there, Edelgard,” she says, “don’t think you can sneak up on me.”

Edelgard clears her throat. Steels her resolve. Whatever it is that Byleth had decided on, it matters little. The path before her was set, and there was little that she could to do change the plan that had already been set in motion. If anything, tonight was the night to finally let go of these small feelings of hers. So she steps forward, toward the professor.

_______

It’s a few days into the war. Despite everything, Byleth had chosen to stand by Edelgard’s side. She could not believe it. The professor had every reason to spite the newly crowned emperor, but even still, chose to defend Edelgard.

It’s the night before a big battle. The camp bristled with uncertainty, unsure of whether or not they could go up against the Church of Seiros. Unsure of whether or not Edelgard could lead them to victory. Edelgard takes it in stride, walking through the camp. Only one opinion matters to her. Only one that seemed to keep her together through it all.

She finds Byleth’s tent. Stands before it awkwardly, unsure whether or not she should call out or simply march back toward her own tent. A voice rings out from within.

“Edelgard, I know it’s you. Still not sneaking up on me!” Edelgard could hear Byleth’s light laughter ringing out from inside. “What are you waiting for,” says Byleth. “Come on in.”

Edelgard steps into Byleth’s tent. It’s small and simple, but furnished better than most. She sits on a stool, by the lamplight, polishing an iron sword in her hands. She smiles softly at Edelgard. The warm light glows on Byleth’s skin.

“I wanted to speak to you about something… important,” Edelgard says. Byleth nods, gesturing to another stool beside her. Edelgard takes a seat.

“It’s about… what happened to your father,” Edelgard continues, watching Byleth carefully. The professor freezes, holding the cleaning rag and sword in her hands. Byleth seems to regard her reflection in the metal. Something seemed to simmer past Byleth’s calm expression. Anger, Edelgard thinks.

“What about it?” asks Byleth, setting the sword aside. She looks at Edelgard, facing her completely. In those blue eyes is a rage that threatens to spill out, despite the stoic way that Byleth looked at Edelgard. The emperor wants nothing more than to fall to her knees, to beg for forgiveness, to take it all back.

Instead, Edelgard clears her throat. This is her role. She must continue to fulfill it.

“I should… apologize.” The words seem to stick. They taste sour, like bile at the back of Edelgard’s throat.

“What for?” Byleth asks back. Her voice is heavy. Strained.

“If it weren’t for me…” Edelgard trails off, unable to say the rest. The words are caught in the pit of her stomach. Simmering, simmering. Guilt seems to consume her every thought.

“What,” says Byleth, impatient, “if it weren’t for you, my father would still be alive?”

“Yes,” says Edelgard, defeated.

Byleth throws her head back, looking up at the ceiling of her tent. She inhales. Exhales. She looks back at Edelgard, expression completely different. In place of the anger is calm acceptance.

“Listen, Edelgard,” she says, a tone to her voice that Edelgard had never heard before. “Let’s talk, as equals.”

Edelgard isn’t quite sure what that means, but she nods. “Understood, professor.”

“No,” Byleth corrects, “call me Byleth.”

“Understood, Byleth.” The name feels odd coming out of Edelgard’s lips.

“Now, did you specifically order your people to kill my father?”

“No,” says Edelgard. Byleth stares long and hard into Edelgard’s eyes. It’s new to Edelgard. She’s used to being the one assessing the person she was talking to. Being the recipient of such a heavy gaze is odd and unnerving, she realizes.

“Why is it your fault then?” Byleth finally asks.

“Because I empowered those people,” Edelgard answers. The truth seems to reverberate within her, Echoing, loud and clear.

“Let’s extend that logic,” says Byleth. “Then, because I empowered you by being your professor, does that mean that I had a part to play in my father’s death?”

Edelgard opens her mouth to answer, but no words spill out.

“I’ve made my peace, Edelgard von Hresvelg.” Byleth’s voice resonates with a finality that Edelgard has only ever heard on the battlefield. “If we played games of ‘who is to blame’ we would never get anything accomplished. My father died. His killer is now dead. That’s all that matters.”

“I’ve made my peace,” she repeats.

Edelgard sits in silence, soaking in the words that Byleth had told her.

“Edelgard, I want you to know,” says Byleth. She reaches out and holds Edelgard’s hands in hers. The sensation is new, and pleasant. It’s warm. Impossibly warm. Hope begins to tug at the corners of Edelgard’s mind.

“It was your voice that brought me back,” Byleth finishes. “When I did nothing but wallow, it was you that made me want to wake up. I chose you. Don’t forget.”

Edelgard thinks she’s forgotten all the words she’s ever known. She nods, looking deep into Byleth’s eyes. They spoke of determination. They spoke of honesty. They spoke of a loyalty that Edelgard felt that she did not deserve.

Byleth reaches out, but stops herself before touching Edelgard’s cheek. Without thinking, Edelgard takes Byleth’s hand and presses the hand into her cheek herself.

“Thank you, Byleth.”

“Thank you too, Edelgard.”

The smile Edelgard gives Byleth is small, but it’s the truest smile she’s ever had on her lips in so long. Byleth smiles back, a smile just for Edelgard.

“Now,” Byleth says, “when you leave this tent, you can resume calling me professor and whatever else you like.” Byleth chuckles slightly. “But when we’re alone, like we are now, we are equals.”

“Equals,” Edelgard repeats.

Byleth nods. “I may be… a bit clueless when it comes to feelings,” says Byleth, “but I want to see you as you truly are.”

Edelgard nods back. Hope seems to take root in her heart, in her muscles, in her bones. Every fiber of her being aches with a feeling that she dare not name, not yet. Instead, she allows herself to think about maybe asking Byleth out on a date, when everything is all said and done.

“Together,” Edelgard says, her voice so soft, a voice only for Byleth, “as equals. From now, until the end.”

“Equals,” Byleth echoes, “from now, until the end.”

Chapter Text

It’s five years and a few months into the war. Edelgard isn’t quite sure how she got to where she is now. Byleth is, once again, by her side. The emperor half expects it to be some kind of mocking dream. One day, she’ll open her eyes to realize that her happiness had turned to dust in her tired hands.

What is it that fuels her onward? The past five years seem like a haze to Edelgard. A distant nightmare. A recurring nightmare. All she knew was to work. To train. To fight. To win. To lose. To sleep sleepless nights and then rise the next morning to do it all again. Five years with nothing but a fire burning at the pit of her stomach. A low burning fire, only enough to keep her aching limbs moving.

Byleth is there again. Edelgard reminds herself that’s it what matters most. The war will soon be over. Because Byleth is there and Byleth could cut through time itself. It was as if the sun decided to rise again after years of darkness. Edelgard was being dramatic, she knows this. But she can’t help it.

The clinking of a teacup against a saucer brings Edelgard out of her thoughts.

“You’ve been sitting there, staring into your tea, Edelgard.” Byleth speaks softly.

“Sorry,” says Edelgard, “there’s just a lot on my mind.”

There’s an easy smile on Byleth’s lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s late afternoon, a few hours before sunset. The garden is quiet, the tea on the table before them already lukewarm. Edelgard looks up, at lazy clouds crawling slowly across the sky.

“I’m just… tired.” Edelgard says, setting her teacup down.

Byleth reaches forward, gently clasps one of Edelgard’s hands with her own. Edelgard almost jumps at the contact. Electric. Warm. Comforting. Edelgard resists the intense urge to lace her fingers in between Byleth’s. Instead, the emperor looks around, worried.

“P-professor,” she stammers, “t-this is…”

“...Inappropriate?” Byleth offers. “How so, Edelgard?”

Edelgard says nothing. She stares at the hand on top of hers. The logical side of Edelgard’s mind tells her to pull away. To rebuild walls between her and the professor. It will save her pain, claims the side of logic. Edelgard imagines chains, countless chains. They pin her down. Suffocate her. Edelgard is the emperor. Upon her brow is a crown that reeks of the iron stench of blood.

But the small flame at the pit of her stomach seems to burn just a little brighter at the contact. Hope, she feels, small flames licking away at the last of her resolve to push everyone away from her. Why shouldn’t she hold Byleth’s hand? The voice of hope at the back of her head is small, but insistent. What if she loses Byleth again and all she has is this moment?

Edelgard turns her hand over. They lace their fingers together, slowly, tentatively.

“There,” says Byleth, her voice barely above a whisper, “do you feel any better?”

There’s a small smile on Edelgard’s lips. She nods, relishing Byleth’s company. Relishing the time they have together. Relishing the small warmth in between their hands.

“Professor,” says Edelgard. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but you seem… different somehow.”

Byleth hums. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“You’re suddenly so… forward.”

Byleth tilts her head slightly, rests her cheek on the palm of her free hand. Edelgard was growing familiar with this expression. It meant that Byleth was thinking. Searching for words in a vast sea of them. Fishing, almost. Edelgard’s smile widens slightly. She waits for Byleth to speak up once more.

“It’s like… I’ve lived my entire life inside of a cage,” says Byleth. “Joy, sorrow, anger, excitement… I can feel these emotions but not really feel them because the cage won’t let me.”

Edelgard nods, unsure if she’s really following. With her free hand she picks up her teacup, swirls the cold tea.

Byleth continues speaking. “But the more I’m with you, the more I feel like that cage is breaking.”

“Is that a good thing?” Edelgard asks. The voice of logic within her thinks that maybe Edelgard would be better off if she had a cage around her heart. Edelgard tries her best to clear her mind. She presses her teacup to her lips to take a sip.

“It is,” answers Byleth. She holds their hands up, fingers still laced together. Her smile seems lazy, but relaxed. Content. Edelgard thinks that Byleth’s eyes seem to sparkle.

“I know what I want now,” Byleth says, winking.

Edelgard nearly chokes on her tea.

_______

The window from Edelgard’s impromptu office has a good view of Garreg Mach’s lake. It’s precisely why Edelgard even selected the room despite it being perpetually cold and a little too dimly lit despite their best efforts. In the afternoons, the Emperor likes to stand by the window, idly watch her dear professor spend hours by the dock, just fishing the day away.

Sometimes, the professor would wave at the window, at Edelgard. Edelgard would wave back, a small smile on her lips.

Byleth would frequently invite her to go fishing with her. “It will beat just watching,” she would say.

Edelgard would decline. “I thank you for the offer though, my teacher.”

This was necessary, thinks Edelgard. She must not get too close. She must stay in the cool, dark confines of her office while Byleth stands proud in the sun.

The weight of the crown feels heavy on Edelgard’s brow.

It’s better this way, she tells herself.

_______

It’s one of those nights when Edelgard can’t find peaceful sleep. Instead of tossing and turning in bed, she decides to put her time to much better use. She changes into training garb and lights a lamp to take with her as she walks toward the training hall.

As she approaches, she notices the warm glow of torchlight spilling out onto the hallway. She walks closer. Hears the unmistakable sound of dirt crunching underfoot. The sound of a sword cutting through air.

She finds Byleth, in the middle of practicing sword swings and stances.

“It’s a little late to be training so hard, professor,” says Edelgard, setting her lamp aside and extinguishing it. She approaches one of the weapon racks and pulls out a training axe. She runs her finger down the blunt edge to check.

“I could say the same to you, Edelgard,” Byleth answers. She wipes the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. In the low light, the professor’s skin glistens. A faint memory bubbles up in Edelgard’s mind. It seems so long ago, her days as a student.

“Trouble sleeping?” asks Byleth. She sounds concerned.

Edelgard looks away. “Yes,” she says, embarrassed.

“Me too,” says Byleth. “There’s a lot on my mind.”

Edelgard chuckles, a little too bitterly. She rolls her shoulders. Her wrists. She stretches her legs and tests the swing of her axe a few times. “If that’s the case, let’s put our restlessness to good use.”

“Well then,” says Byleth, getting into a fighting stance, “may I have this dance?”

“You may,” answers Edelgard. She gets into a stance of her own.

Edelgard wastes no time. She rushes forward, swings to the side, hoping to catch Byleth’s ribs. She doesn’t move fast enough. Byleth parries with ease, blocking the axe with the broadside of her blade and stepping to the side.

“There’s no bite to your attack, Edelgard,” says Byleth, an odd edge to her voice.

“I’m just warming up, professor,” Edelgard answers, stance dropping lower to the ground.

She charges forward again. This time, she swings upward, trying to catch Byleth’s blade and disarm her. As metal hits metal, Byleth doesn’t resist the strike. She moves with the upward motion of Edelgard’s swing, slicing upward as her blade catches on the curved edge of Edelgard’s axe. Iron scrapes against iron. Edelgard’s caught off balance as the weight of her axe pulls her backward at the top of the swing.

Byleth cleaves downward. Edelgard doesn’t raise her axe in time. With ease, Byleth knocks Edelgard’s axe aside. She flicks Edelgard on the side of her neck with the flat side of her sword. Edelgard backs away a few steps.

“You can do better than that, Edelgard,” says Byleth. She holds her sword up. In the firelight, it glints dangerously. Her eyes simmer not with her usual calmness but with anger. Rage.

Edelgard exhales forcefully. Shakes her head. She readies her stance once more.

This time, the professor rushes forward. Strike after strike, a flurry of swings and slashes. Edelgard can barely keep up. The pressure is relentless. The strength behind each strike constantly threatening to knock Edelgard down. Every now and then, she’d get hit with the flat of a blade. On the leg. On the forearm. On the torso.

Byleth backs off, panting. Edelgard tries to catch her breath too. Her body was aching. Burning. Arms and legs feel like lead. Beads of sweat drip down Edelgard’s cheeks, going splat, splat, splat on the ground. The axe in her hands feeling a hundred times heavier.

“Even when you were a student,” Byleth says, in between huffs, “you always fought as if something were holding you back.”

Edelgard says nothing. Watches Byleth closely. She moves unnaturally. Muscles coiled and tight. An animal ready to strike. There was an intensity to every movement that Edelgard had never seen before. She braces herself, ready to block.

“It’s infuriating,” Byleth hisses.

The professor takes a step forward, thrusts with her sword. The movement is fast, concise, technically perfect. Edelgard blocks with her axe. She manages to step to the side in time, the blade only grazing her axe as she pushes the sword away.

“It’s frustrating,” Byleth grunts.

She strikes again, a thrust, similar to the last. This time Edelgard dodges better. She steps to the side, swings wide to counter. Byleth simply hops backward and the strike misses.

“Explain this to me, Edelgard,” she growls. Fire is reflected in Byleth’s eyes. She opens her arms. “Why do I feel this way?”

“Pardon?” asks Edelgard. She drops her guard slightly. She tries to piece together what Byleth was getting at.

Byleth clutches at her chest with her free hand, balling the fabric of her training garb.

“When I see you fighting like this, fighting like the world were weighing you down, it hurts me. Why does it hurt? What is holding you back? Why won’t you tell me?” There was an increasing desperation to Byleth’s voice. She steps forward, resolute, seeking answers. Edelgard steps back, afraid.

Still, Edelgard says nothing, unable to answer. At the back of the emperor’s mind, an unpleasant truth rings out. The world weighs me down because I am afraid. Afraid that I will be defeated. Afraid that I am unworthy of my crown. Afraid that I will lose you.

Byleth rushes forward again, slams her shoulder into Edelgard. Edelgard is caught unaware. She feels the air knocked out of her lungs. She sees stars in her vision. She staggers backward and falls to her knees. She leans on her axe for support as she tries to catch her breath. Byleth takes a few steps back.

“I’m coming at you with everything I’ve got,” Byleth declares.

“I can… see that…” Edelgard heaves.

“Come at me with everything you’ve got,” goads Byleth. “Strike me with everything you have.”

Edelgard rises to her feet, shaky. “I don’t understand what you want from me, professor.”

“Professor,” echoes Byleth. She clenches her jaw. “Is that all I am to you?”

“No?” answers Edelgard, confused. Byleth’s questions were dangerous, thinks Edelgard. They were beginning to push into an area Edelgard had spent years repressing.

“What is it you’re so afraid of?” asks Byleth. A step forward. Edelgard steps back.

“Professor, I —”

“What is it that scares you so much that you can’t let go?”

“I —”

“Do you think you can’t win?” Another step forward.

Edelgard’s fears rise up to the back of her throat. Cold, like ice pressed against her heart. She stands in place, frozen. She looks into Byleth’s eyes. They burned. Determined. Resolute. How Edelgard longed to have even a fraction of her courage.

“Do you think you’re not strong enough?”

“Pro —”

“Do you not trust me enough to be by your side?”

“What? No!” Something in Edelgard’s veins seems to ignite. She imagines a flame roar to life, going thump thump thump inside her rib cage. Burning, burning. She meets Byleth’s gaze with an equally intense glare.

“Then why do you keep pushing me away?” says Byleth, voice rising.

“It’s for your own good!” answers Edelgard.

“Do you think I’m weak?” Byleth demands. Her voice is dripping with venom. Edelgard grits her teeth.

“No!” Edelgard shouts.

“Then strike me!”

Edelgard rushes forward, swings her axe high above her head. Byleth holds her sword up to block. Edelgard swings down, with all the force she could muster. The strike is swift. Powerful. Metal clashes against metal. Sparks fly. Byleth holds her sword up, the axe against it trembling.

“I will win!” Edelgard roars. “I will prove that I am worthy! That I am the strongest! That I can claim for myself what I have always wanted!”

“Then strike harder!” Byleth roars back.

Edelgard rears back, to strike again. She feels the heft of her axe. The cool air on her skin. Byleth’s gaze upon her. The weight on her shoulders feels lighter.

She swings. She imagines chains, breaking under great force. The fire burning in her chest burns bright. Her blood boils. She is Edelgard von Hresvelg. The Adrestian Emperor — no, the Emperor of Fodlan. In that fleeting moment, only one thought crosses her mind. Not the war. Not her fears. Not the burdens of her past. Only one thought shines through. The one, selfish wish that she has finally allowed herself to make.

She wants to make Byleth hers.

Once again, her axe strikes Byleth’s raised sword. The sound of metal against metal rings throughout the training ground. The iron of Byleth’s sword cracks. This time, Edelgard’s attack breaks Byleth’s sword in half. Byleth rolls out of the way in time before Edelgard’s blade sinks itself into her skin. Edelgard follows through, her axe slamming into the ground, edge cutting into the ground.

Edelgard pants, deep, heavy breaths. She seems to snap out of her stupor. “Byleth,” she says, letting go of the axe firmly stuck into the ground. “Are you alright?”

She tries to walk towards Byleth, but her legs suddenly give out, feeling like jelly. She falls backwards, landing on her butt, catching herself with her hands behind her. Edelgard looks to her side where the professor had dodged.

Byleth is also sitting on the ground, broken sword beside her. She laughs, loud and carefree.

“Yes, I’m quite alright,” she says, grinning widely. “Now that’s what I call a strike.”

Laughter bubbles from the pit of Edelgard’s stomach. It spills forth, open and unashamed. It rings throughout the arena. Edelgard laughs and laughs, sides hurting and cheeks burning. She wipes a tear at the corner of her eye. She sees Byleth, smiling softly, so, so softly at her.

“See,” says Byleth, “when you strike with nothing holding you back, you will be unstoppable.”

“Yes,” answers Edelgard. A newfound courage burns at the base of her heart. No longer ignored. No longer suppressed. “I will have what I want.”

_______

There’s a knock on Edelgard’s door. It’s unmistakable. A knock only Edelgard would recognize.

“Yes, my teacher?” she asks, still seated at her desk. The door is closed, but she still instinctively moves an arm to cover what she had been working on.

There’s a pause.

“My teacher?” asks Edelgard.

“You aren’t opening the door,” comes Byleth’s muffled voice from the outside.

Edelgard looks down at the drawings on her desk. “I… am not,” she says.

“Are you drawing me again?” asks Byleth. Edelgard blushes, furiously. All the blood in her body seems to rush toward her head.

Edelgard covers her face with her hands. Her face feels incredibly warm. She wills the earth to swallow her whole. It does not.

“Edelgard?” asks Byleth, voice more insistent.

“Yes, professor. I am.” The words almost hurt Edelgard to say. She feels her pulse thundering in her ears. She wills a stray bolt of lightning to strike her where she sits. No such thing happens.

“Can I see it?” comes the voice from the other side of the door.

“No.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Byleth, please.”

“Oh,” says Byleth, “you called me Byleth.”

“I… did,” answers Edelgard, just as surprised. She knows that she had special permission to address her professor casually when it was just them, but it still felt wrong for Edelgard. Remnants of the chains of the past, she thinks, still holding her back. Byleth interrupts her thoughts.

“You know, I thought it was really cute too when you would mistakenly write my name as ‘Byleth von Hresvelg.’”

This is it, mulls Edelgard, she’s going to die of a stroke. Her face hurts from how hard she’s blushing.

“If this were an assassination attempt,” says Edelgard, voice strained, “you would have succeeded.”

“What is going on here?” comes another voice outside Edelgard’s bedroom door. Deeper, graver. Hubert, somehow summoned by the word “assassination.”

“Hubert,” says Byleth, unfazed by the man suddenly cutting into their conversation. “Did you know that when you were students, Edelgard liked to write my name as ‘Byleth von Hresvelg?’”

“Oh,” Hubert deadpans, “did she now? How scandalous.”

“I think it’s cute,” asserts Byleth.

Edelgard can’t take it anymore. She stands abruptly. Her chair screeches against the wooden floorboards of her room. The two outside are suddenly quiet.

“Did you hear that?” asks Hubert.

“Yes,” says Byleth, voice serious. “It sounds like our signal to run.”

“Indeed,” answers Hubert.

The two bolt down the hallway as Edelgard chases them down, axe in hand.

_______

The camp’s infirmary bustles with energy. People are brought in stretchers and laid in beds as the healers tended to the wounded. Manuela and Lindhardt are a flurry, moving from one bed to the next.

Edelgard’s ears are buzzing. She sits by a bed. Lying on it is Byleth. The war had been won. Rhea had been slain. Edelgard exhales deeply. Her nerves were still on edge. The rush of adrenaline had yet to run it’s course. It’s odd, she thinks. She had expected the end of the war to be met with rousing cheers and celebrations and a night of endless festivities. Not an infirmary full of the injured and dying. Not a room where Edelgard is surrounded by the pained cries of her allies. Not Byleth, lying motionless on the bed.

For the millionth time, Edelgard presses her fingers against the base of Byleth’s wrist, checking her pulse. Steady. The skin warm to the touch. Byleth’s breathing is deep and even. It’s as if she’s asleep. Her hair is blue again, no longer that shade of green that Edelgard was never quite fond of. Worry tugs at the back of Edelgard’s mind. What if Byleth weren’t joking when she said she had spent five years asleep? Was Byleth going to sleep for another five years? The thought made Edelgard’s insides lurch. Or maybe it was her injuries. She sat, still fully armored, still covered in grime and blood and dirt. She’s certain that she’s injured in one way or another, but she refuses to budge from her spot.

She feels a heavy hand on her shoulder. An electric pulse of healing energy courses through her. She groans as she feels ribs snapping back into place, skin closing over open wounds.

“The other healers tell me you keep waving them away,” says Dorothea. She gives Edelgard a tired smile.

“How’s Petra?” Edelgard asks.

Dorothea looks toward a bed on the opposite side of the room. Lying upon it is Petra, asleep. Dorothea sighs deeply.

“Who knew that this is what the end of a war would look like?” she says.

“Thank you, for everything, Dorothea,” says Edelgard.

Dorothea says nothing. Nods. With a small bow, she heads back towards Petra’s bed. She sits by the woman’s side, much like what Edelgard was doing. The emperor watches as Dorothea takes one of Petra’s hands, presses the knuckles against her lips. To Edelgard, it seems almost like a silent prayer. Edelgard forces herself to look away. She feels like she had intruded, somehow.

When she looks at Byleth, she’s startled to see blue eyes peering up at her.

“Byleth,” Edelgard says, shocked, “y-you’re awake.”

“Mhm,” says Byleth, voice raspy.

“Hang on, I’ll get you some water,” says Edelgard. Before she could stand to leave, she feels Byleth catch her by the wrist. Tugging.

“Wait,” Byleth says.

“Yes? What is it? Are you okay? Do you need a healer?” Edelgard’s voice is panicked, worried.

Byleth shakes her head. “I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you.”

An immense feeling seems to bloom within Edelgard. Impossibly large. Impossibly warm. She feels it settle into every inch of her body. She seems bigger than she is, somehow. A fire, burning bright.

“I’m proud of us, you mean,” corrects Edelgard.

Byleth tries to laugh, but it comes out half a cough, half a chuckle. “We did pretty great.”

It finally dawns on Edelgard. They had won the war. They won, against all odds. Edelgard proved she was worthy. And most importantly, Edelgard still had Byleth at her side.

Edelgard bends over the bed, plants a soft kiss on Byleth’s forehead.

“Yes,” she says, “we did pretty great.”

_______

Edelgard walks out of the goddess tower, unsure if she really was walking. She looks down at her legs, finds that yes, she still has them and yes, they’re moving, one after the other. She feels drunk almost. Like she’s drifting along, floating like a cloud.

The ring feels foreign on her finger. She raises her hand to look at it again. The silver band glints under the moonlight, embedded gems catching the light and sparkling. It’s there. Definitely there. On her left hand’s ring finger.

Edelgard is engaged.

The emperor realizes that she desperately needs to sit down and breathe for a second. Was she still even breathing? The past hour or so had been a lot for her to process. She marches along, awkwardly, trying to find her bearings.

The dorms, she thinks, she needs to head to her room and maybe just lie down for a few days. She stumbles as she walks. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears. She feels the ring, on her finger, a symbol of how her life is now forever changed.

She can’t walk anymore, she decides, as she reaches the dorm’s first floor. She knocks on the first door she sees. Anyone will do. Hell, she’d even settle for talking to Hubert about her feelings if that’s what it took.

“Just a minute!” comes a muffled voice. There’s the sound of rustling, of objects knocked over.

Dorothea opens the door.

“Edie!” she says, “What brings you here?” Dorothea leans on her door frame awkwardly. Her clothes are crumpled, her hair a mess.

“I…” Edelgard manages. She raises her left hand up, trying to show the ring.

“Edie, are you okay? You’re… flushed. Is everything fine? Should I call the professor? Hubert?”

Edelgard shakes her head. “No, no, everything’s fine. I just…” She gestures with her head toward her still-raised left hand. Dorothea slowly looks down at it.

“Oh! Oh. Oh goodness. Edie, is that what I think that is?”

Edelgard pauses to think for a moment. It was, right? Byleth had never specifically asked for them to get married. It was the same thing though, right?

“It… is?” Edelgard manages.

“Huh,” goes Dorothea. “Wait just one second, Edie, we need to have a girl to girl talk about this.”

Dorothea closes the door once more. There’s the sound of rustling again. More objects being knocked around. The door opens. “Please come in,” Dorothea says, grinning widely.

Edelgard steps in. The first thing she sees is Petra, sprawled on Dorothea’s bed. She snores lightly, sleeping on her stomach. A sheet seems to have been thrown haphazardly on her.

“I-is that… did you… Petra?” Edelgard manages to say, blushing a deep shade of red.

Dorothea is sitting on a seat by her study, and gestures Edelgard to sit on the empty chair beside her. On the floor beside it is what Edelgard undoubtedly recognizes as Petra’s gear.

“C’mon Edie, don’t think you’re the only one having all the fun.”

“I… didn’t… but… Sorry, am I intruding? Is Petra… alright?”

Dorothea laughs. “Oh Petra is alright. Tomorrow though? Maybe not as alright, if you catch my drift.”

Edelgard feels the tips of her ears go warm. Suddenly the ring on her finger feels like it pales in comparison to what was playing out before her.

“Anyway,” Dorothea says, leaning toward Edelgard, “you need to spill the beans. What happened?”

Fine, Edelgard thinks. She’s in the room of a classmate who clearly just had sex with another classmate and she now has to sit in said room and talk about how she’d just gotten engaged. Yes. Of course. This is her life now. Edelgard sits down on the seat that Dorothea had offered. Squirms a little, trying her hardest not to keep glancing at Petra.

Dorothea waves a hand. “Don’t worry about her, she’s out like a light.”

“Of… course,” says Edelgard. Is that something that normally happens after sex? Essentially getting knocked out cold? Edelgard doesn’t even want to begin thinking about sex.

“So? Spill the beans!” says Dorothea, grinning from ear to ear.

Edelgard raises her hand again, looks at the ring. She plays with it a little, twists it on her finger.

“The profe — Byleth. Byleth gave me this ring, at the goddess tower.” Edelgard feels her cheeks flush even more.

Dorothea’s grin somehow widens. “And then?”

“W-well…” Edelgard looks at the ground. “I don’t think that Byleth had… intended to propose.”

“But that’s quite clearly an engagement ring you’re wearing, Edie.”

“I know. She… she said it was more like a promise that we’d always be together.”

“… And then?”

“I said…” Edelgard holds her hand, holds the ring, close to her heart. “I said, ‘Isn’t that the same thing as a proposal?’”

Dorothea squeals, reaches out with both hands and shakes Edelgard by the shoulders. Edelgard is shaken. Even retelling the story seems to make her feel lightheaded.

“And then… Byleth kissed me. For the first time.”

Dorothea’s shaking stops. “Wait. The first time?” she says.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Oh. Sorry. We had all just assumed. You know.”

“Assumed what?”

“That you and the professor have already been having the sex,” says Petra, now sitting up in Dorothea’s bed, covering herself with the bed sheets.

“I apologize. Dorothea’s squealing has awoken me.” she says, chuckling.

Edelgard gapes at Petra. Then turns her head to gape at Dorothea.

“… who is we? Just the two of you?”

“Oh no,” says Petra, “as Dorothea would be saying it, everyone and their grandmo — mmmphhh” Petra is unable to finish the rest of her sentence as Dorothea dives forward and cups a hand over Petra’s mouth.

“Ohhhh Petra,” she coos, “You know Petra! I must have said something confusing! Ha ha! Silly me!”

Edelgard stands up. “Does all of the Strike Force think this? Even Hubert? Ferdinand?”

Dorothea shakes her head. Petra nods. Dorothea shoots Petra a warning glance. Petra starts shaking her head too.

Edelgard weighs her options here. What was she going to do? Write letters to all of the members of the Strike Force informing them all that “No, Byleth and I are yet to have ‘The Sex’”? Instead, she asks Dorothea.

“Why did you all assume this anyway?”

Dorothea closes her eyes, a pained expression on her face. Petra places a hand on her shoulder. “You must not say, Edelgard will be killing him.”

“Him,” echoes Edelgard.

The songstress puts a hand over Petra’s. “It must be done,” she says, gravely.

“Well?” says Edelgard, the voice of a commander.

“Caspar swears he almost walked into you two ‘getting it on all wild-style’ in the training arena some weeks ago.” Dorothea throws air quotes at the phrase “getting it on all wild-style.”

“I see,” is all Edelgard says, her voice steely. She turns and begins to head out of Dorothea’s room.

“Where are you going, Edie?” Dorothea says, worry in her voice.

“Like Petra said, I ‘will be killing him’ now. Thank you both for your time.” And Edelgard heads out into the night, ready to flay her classmate alive.

_______

With the war over, the Adrestian army is now in the process of dismantling their camp and packing up for the journey back to the capital.

It’s hectic, but still oddly nostalgic. The members of the Strike Force find themselves visiting many of their old haunts, the old classroom, the hallways, the dining room. They all know that they’ll still be able to visit whenever they pleased, but there was a general air of sentimentality. It was as if they were all saying goodbye to a time of their lives that they will never return to.

It’s that same sentimentality that brings Edelgard before a grave. The graves, to be exact, of Byleth’s parents. The night air is cool. The sky is dark, the waning moon giving off little light. Edelgard can barely make out the silhouettes of the epitaphs. She twists the ring on her finger. A new habit she picked up. There, before the graves of her fiance’s parents, the ring feels heavy. Almost as heavy as her crown once weighed.

“Please,” she says, voice almost a whisper, “forgive me.”

Edelgard gets down on one knee. It is unbecoming of an emperor, she thinks, but before these graves she is no one but Edelgard, a woman undeserving of even an ounce of the joy that Byleth had given her.

“Your daughter…” she says, “she’s… she’s wonderful, and I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to prove myself worthy… yet… yet she…” Edelgard’s words fail her. The ring is heavy. Everything is heavy.

She feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see Byleth, a calm smile on her otherwise stoic expression. She tugs Edelgard to stand up.

“Come now El, we shouldn’t let the emperor kneel now should we?”

There was a teasing lilt to Byleth’s voice. Edelgard stands, unsteadily. She feels her face warm at the mention of her name. She still wasn’t used to it. Beside her, Byleth seems to turn toward her father’s grave.

“Dad, do you remember Edelgard? You probably remember Edelgard. The short, angry one.”

Edelgard isn’t sure if she should laugh, be angry, or feel uncomfortable. She feels a mixture of all three. She also tries to stand a little straighter.

“Remember how I told you about how she likes to write my name as ‘Byleth von Hresvelg?’”

“How many people did you tell about that?” Edelgard interrupts, the tips of her ears burning.

“Hm,” goes Byleth, “that’s not really important.”

Oh good, thinks Edelgard, the entire army probably knows.

Byleth turns to talk to her father’s grave again. “Anyway,” she says, “I guess it did come true.”

“I’m going to be Byleth von Hresvelg. Meet my fiance, Edelgard von Hresvelg.” Byleth gestures toward Edelgard. She steps forward. Bows.

“H-hello sir,” she says.

“Call him ‘dad,’” Byleth whispers.

“… Dad.” Edelgard manages. She closes her eyes. She feels too embarrassed, her face burning.

“I’ll talk to you again soon,” says Byleth, to her father’s grave. She takes Edelgard’s hands in hers, tugging her along. Edelgard follows, the two of them climbing back up the steps toward the dorms.

“Do you feel better now?” asks Byleth.

“What do you mean?” Edelgard asks back, confused.

Byleth pokes a finger in between Edelgard’s eyebrows.

“This part gets all furrowed when you’re thinking too much,” she says, grinning. “I had the thought that maybe you were worried about the engagement.”

Edelgard swats Byleth’s hand away. She giggles. “Yes, I’ll admit that it did put a lot of my worries at rest.”

They walk together, hands swinging slowly.

“How did you figure out my specific worry though?” Edelgard asks. Had Byleth’s emotional intelligence grown so rapidly that she could already read Edelgard like an open book?

“The part where you have a problem is pretty easy for me to tell,” she says, chest puffed out. “The engagement thing though, Dorothea gave me a stern talking to about that.”

“Ah, I see,” says Edelgard. She resigns herself to the reality that she now lived in a world where no secrets were sacred anymore.

_______

In the middle of the night Edelgard is awoken by hurried knocks on her door.

“El, it’s me,” comes a voice. Byleth. Edelgard practically jumps out of bed, scrambles to open the door.

Byleth stands in the doorway, disheveled, sweaty. She gives Edelgard a once-over.

“Oh,” she says, “you’re in your night gown.”

Edelgard feels her cheeks warm up. “I was… sleeping,” she says. “But that’s no matter. Are you alright? Is anything wrong?”

Byleth shakes her head, as if remembering.

“Right,” she says. “El, please tell me why my insides are hurting.”

“Insides? Are you feeling unwell? Should we rouse Lindhardt or Manuela?”

Byleth shakes her head. “No, no. I tried healing myself. Even drank a concoction. Still feel fuzzy inside.”

“Fuzzy?”

“I was going to sleep. And then I was thinking about you. And then my insides started really aching.”

At the back of Edelgard’s mind, she hears, faintly, Petra’s voice. “The Sex,” she seems to say. It echoes in her head. She feels her face warm up more. She shakes her head. No. It’s not The Sex. Enough of The Sex.

Byleth continues speaking, hurried. “So I was tossing and turning but my insides were feeling very warm and uncomfortable. Like I wanted to hold you really close. So I went here.”

Edelgard struggles to process what Byleth is saying.

“I would like to hold you really close right now, El. Is that okay?”

Is this it? Edelgard tries to think back to all the romance books she read in secret. How did things escalate? Were there mentions of fuzzy insides? Is “hold you really close” a new, popular way of asking for The Sex? Edelgard tries her hardest to keep her panic internal. Byleth must not see her lose her cool over this. It’s just sex, not The Sex, she reminds herself. It’s normal. Totally normal.

“El?”

“Y-yes?”

“Is it alright? If I hold you close right now? Do you think that will make my insides stop hurting?”

Edelgard’s heart is pounding. She tries to think of an elegant way of saying how she feels. She takes a deep breath.

“I must admit, the course that our relationship had taken was definitely unconventional,” says Edelgard, staring pointedly at the ground. “But please don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m unhappy in any way it’s just that —”

“No, no,” interrupts Byleth, wildly gesturing to her torso, “my insides feel weird.”

Edelgard gapes at her fiance. The gears in her head click.

“… you were never actually joking about having no heartbeat, were you?” she says.

“Joking? Me? I’m never joking,” Byleth deadpans. She’s still gesturing to her torso.

“… I see.”

Is Edelgard disappointed? She doesn’t even want to think about it.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. Byleth frowns. Despite her embarrassment, Edelgard chuckles lightly. She remembers their conversation about cages and feelings. She taps a finger to Byleth’s chest.

“Maybe you’re not used to feeling things,” she says.

Realization seems to dawn on Byleth’s face. She looks down, at her own chest. “Feelings,” she repeats.

“You may be a military genius,” says Edelgard, laughing, “but you somehow don’t know anything about your own feelings, my love.”

Byleth’s blue eyes dart up to meet Edelgard’s. Edelgard freezes.

“… did you just?”

Edelgard clears her throat. Shuffles her feet. “I… I uh…”

“Can you say it again?”

“P-pardon?”

“My insides felt really warm when you said that, El. Could you? Please? For me?” There was a soft pleading to Byleth’s voice. It’s irresistible to Edelgard. The fire in Edelgard seems to roar with renewed vigor. Her insides were beginning to hurt too. But Edelgard knew enough about her own feelings to know that this is the reason why she won the war. This is why she keeps finding the strength to move forward. This is longing. This is love.

“My love,” she says, almost a whisper.

“Again,” says Byleth.

“My love,” Edelgard repeats, louder.

Byleth takes a step forward. Their faces were inches apart. Edelgard could feel Byleth’s warm breath.

“My love. My light. My everything,” Edelgard says, and she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips softly against Byleth’s.

They part. Byleth’s face is flushed. Edelgard thinks that her face must be equally flushed.

Byleth smiles, softly, warmly, at Edelgard.

“I feel like I’m floating.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” answers Edelgard.

Byleth hums. “Yes, it feels very pleasant.” She stares at Edelgard, content. Until an expression seems to wash over her features. She seems to have realized something.

“Oh,” says Byleth, “did you want to have sex, Edelgard?”

The tips of Edelgard’s ears suddenly feel like they have spontaneously combusted. She pinches the bridge of her nose. She tries to suppress the wild blush spreading over her cheeks.

“Not when you say it like that, no.” she says.

“You’re so cute.”

“Do you want me to die, Byleth? Because this is how I’ll die.”

Byleth laughs. With a wave of the hand, she steps back. “Sorry, just teasing you El. I think… I think I can go sleep now. Maybe not so well because my insides still hurt, but it’s enough for me to understand now.”

Without thinking, Edelgard grabs Byleth’s wrist, tugs her to come back.

Edelgard’s life was far from ideal. Far from peaceful. Far from normal. But there, in that moment, with Byleth before her, bathed in the moonlight from the wide open windows of the hallway, everything felt perfect.

“Actually,” she says, somehow emboldened by a newfound courage beating away in her chest. “I would like to… show you how I really feel, my love.”

Byleth blushes. She blushes a deep shade of red that Edelgard has never seen on the woman’s skin before. Edelgard decides she quite likes it.

Byleth nods, and lets Edelgard guide her into the room, toward the bed.

Chapter Text

It is around three years after the end of the war. Summertime. The air is warm and humid, even during the nights at the palace. The buzzing of crickets fills the silence.

Edelgard and Byleth sit by the lakeside dock, feet swinging just above the water’s surface. There, they’re alone, free from prying eyes, save from the lone guard or two patrolling the area. Shared secrets and stories spilling out freely. It has quickly become their new habit, whenever one woke up from dreams of the past.

Byleth reaches forward, hand open. “Then,” she says, eyes narrowing, “I would feel my chest go fuzzy and then time would rewind.”

“A Divine Pulse,” says Edelgard. “Interesting. To think that all this time, you had such a tool at your arsenal. No wonder it seemed that your every move on the battlefield was the best course of action.”

“Do you think any less of me, now that I’ve told you the truth?” There’s a wistful look in Byleth’s eyes. Edelgard gets the sense that her wife had long been holding on to such a secret.

“Frankly,” says the emperor, “I’m surprised that you’re only telling me this now.” At this point, they had been wed for more than two years. Edelgard thinks that maybe the time for sharing such deep secrets would have been past them by now. She looks at the woman beside her. At the furrowed lines in between her eyebrows. At the slight downward tug of her lips. This is Byleth, thinks Edelgard. The same woman that had burst into her office the other day, shocked at the revelation that the signs that Edelgard von Hresvelg and the Flame Emperor were one and the same were there all along. Edelgard taps Byleth playfully on the forehead.

“I am not mad By,” she says, “only surprised that it’s taken you this long.”

“Well. It didn’t seem important. Plus, I can’t do it anymore anyway.”

Edelgard laughs. “Only you would say that the ability to bend time itself to your will is unimportant.”

“I mean,” retorts Byleth, pouting, “I had to discover that you were the Flame Emperor all along.”

“Oh,” says Edelgard, “you’re still thinking about that.”

“Of course I’m still thinking about that. You didn’t tell your professor what was going on.”

“I wonder how such a conversation would have gone,” says Edelgard, chuckling. She straightens her back, places one hand on her hip. “My teacher,” she says, mocking herself, “I am about to commit actions that would label me as a treacherous heathen in the eyes of the Church of Seiros.”

Byleth laughs. “It would have not gone on like that,” she says, nudging Edelgard with an elbow.

“Oh? Pray tell, how would it have happened?”

The former professor seems to mull it over. She scoots a little closer to her wife. Wraps an arm around her shoulders. Faces inches apart, she speaks.

“Miss von Hresvelg,” she says with a dramatic drawl. “It would appear that something is troubling you so. Care to share your burdens with me, your dear teacher?”

“Oh professor,” Edelgard replies, equally as dramatically, “you’re harassing a student. Whatever will your employer say about you?”

Byleth whines. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say. You’re supposed to swoon.”

Edelgard giggles. “Okay. Sorry, By. I’m taking it seriously now.” She places one hand on Byleth’s chest. Tilts her head slightly upward, their lips barely grazing against each other. “My teacher. I am swooning.”

Byleth grins, unable to keep her laughter in. She presses a soft kiss on Edelgard’s lips.

“You just kissed me. That hardly sets up the mood for me to reveal my identity as the Flame Emperor.”

“I was distracted by how cute you are El.” Byleth’s grin widens. She pulls her wife a little closer.

Edelgard reaches out. Pinches her wife’s stomach playfully.

“Ah,” goes Byleth, surprised.

“Someone’s lazing around a little too much.”

“Are you implying that I should lose weight?”

“No,” says Edelgard, “I like the soft parts of you too.”

Edelgard feels that familiar press of her heart against her rib cage. The steady thrumming of her pulse. The warmth blooming with every passing second. She doesn’t say it out loud, but the thought is clear in the back of her mind. This is proof that my work has forged us peace.

“Like my breasts?” Byleth says, interrupting Edelgard’s thoughts.

Edelgard laughs heartily. “Yes, my light. Your breasts are quite pleasant to touch.”

_______

It’s the morning before another full day of meetings and court appearances. Edelgard stands before the full-length mirror in her complete emperor regalia. Swathed in reds and golds, cloak flowing. She looks at the crown on the table beside her. Picks it up and holds it in her hands.

Ornate gold horns, curved upwards. Powerful. Defiant. The metal glints in the sunlight. In the many years that she’s worn the crown, she thinks that she should be used to it by now. It should feel like second nature. Like nothing but air. She places it upon her head, carefully, like she always does, every morning.

The crown is heavy. So, so heavy.

Edelgard adjusts it, sets it perfectly upon her brow. She stands straight before the mirror, smooths out the creases on her clothes. She still picks up a blade to fight every few days, but certainly not as frequently as she did when Fodlan was at war. Even so, her muscles ache. Every inch of her, weary, tired.

Was the work ever over? She had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that there was a quick end to her struggle. After the war it was Those Who Slither in the Dark. After them it was the quest to remove the crest forcibly implanted within her. After that it was the long journey towards establishing a newer form of government.

Edelgard sighs, deeply. She adjusts the crown, once more. It smells like iron, she thinks. Like rust. Like blood. She wants nothing more than to be done with it. To finally never have to wear the horns upon her head. But they represented her sins as much as they did her authority. A reminder to all of the world that this was a woman that took her axe and cleaved the world asunder. Blood pools at her feet, red, red, like the cloak upon her shoulders.

Merciless Edelgard, who sunk her blade into the flesh of her former schoolmates. Remorseless Edelgard, who slaughtered the pious members of the Church of Seiros. Emotionless Edelgard, who swung her axe down upon her half brother.

This is how the world sees her. This is the identity upon her brow. Emperor of Fodlan, Edelgard von Hresvelg.

Edelgard adjusts the crown on her head again. She looks at her reflection, eyes steely, distant. It’s heavy, so, so heavy. But it is her burden to bear. And she must bear it.

The emperor hears the rustling of sheets. She looks to the bed she shares with her wife. Byleth had kicked the thick blanket off of her. She’s naked, sprawled spread eagle on their spacious bed.

“Good morning, my light,” says Edelgard.

Byleth yawns. “It’s too early to be thinking so hard, El,” answers Byleth, her voice still thick with sleep. She raises an arm, it sways side to side, Byleth’s senses not quite fully awake. She wiggles her pointer finger toward Edelgard’s general direction. “Your face is all serious.”

“Ah,” she adds, “good morning to you too.”

Edelgard smiles, small, faint. She thinks, almost bitterly, how she doesn’t deserve to have Byleth at her side. She looks to the table by the mirror, to the other crown on top of it. Byleth’s crown. The crown of the Empress of Fodlan, Byleth von Hresvelg. Guilt begins to rise to the back of Edelgard’s throat. The crown was also horned, similar to Edelgard’s, at Byleth’s insistence. The horns on the other crown curved backward, tips pointed upward. In just the right angle, and in just the right light, they almost looked like a pair of wings on the empress. The wings of hegemon.

In their bed, Byleth turns over, on her stomach. She nuzzles her face into their pillow, bare butt cheeks exposed.

“By, what are you going to do if Hubert suddenly barges in here?”

“Keep you from gouging his eyes out,” Byleth mumbles into the pillow.

Edelgard laughs. She catches her reflection in the mirror. Catches the way her eyes crinkle at the corners. The way her smile is wide and carefree. The way her shoulders seem to relax, ever so slightly. The crown on her head is slightly askew now.

She reaches up to fix it. Stops herself. There’s a fire rumbling at the pit of her stomach, wishing to be free of the barriers she’s built around herself. She steps back from the mirror. Grins at herself.

The crown feels lighter, somehow.

_______

The doors to the throne room are shut with a resounding thud, the last of the day’s audience ushered out. Edelgard sighs deeply. It had been another stressful day, meeting with countless village lords to discuss the status of the territories. The thrones were beautiful and ornate, but they were definitely not designed with comfort in mind. From the corner of Edelgard’s eye, she could see Byleth practically squirming in her seat.

“Sorry,” says Edelgard, reaching out to hold Byleth’s hand. “It was a long day. Thank you for bearing through it.”

From beside the two thrones, Hubert speaks up. “Actually,” he says, “there is one last thing.” He hands Edelgard a sealed letter. The seal is the Macneary coat of arms. Byleth leans over from her throne.

“A letter from Petra,” she says.

Edelgard opens the letter, holds it so that Byleth could read as well.

Dear Edie and professor,

 

Surprise! It’s me, Dorothea. How are things there? Like last year (and the year before) the summers here are punishing. I don’t know how my wife or son are managing it, to be honest.

 

But I digress! I’m actually writing with news for our dear professor (hi!). Petra told me the other day that there are rumors of a legendary fish living in the deepest pond in the deepest part of the forest. Now, it sounds like just that, a legend, but I figured that our dear Byleth would want to know about any special fishes lurking out in the world.

 

Side note: do you and the professor have any children on the way? I’d hate for our little boy to not have any playmates to grow up with.

 

Do come visit! I am eagerly awaiting your response. Please also answer the question about children Edie.

 

Sincerely,

 

Dorothea Macneary, Queen of Brigid

Edelgard reads the letter. Blushes at the mention of children, but she tries to stifle it. “Look,” she says, “my light, a legendary fish.”

No response. Edelgard turns to find that the empress’ throne is empty.

“She dashed out a few minutes ago, your majesty,” says Hubert.

“Oh,” goes Edelgard.

“I’m assuming, by the speed that Byleth left the room and your mention of a ‘legendary fish,’ we will be traveling to Brigid soon?” says Hubert.

Edelgard hums. “We can’t just leave things here,” she says.

“Now’s a good time as any to see if our appointed council members are any good at their jobs,” answers Hubert. “Most of the visiting lords had nothing out of the ordinary to report. Everything is relatively stable. The most exciting thing we heard about all day were the rumors of a certain loud-mouthed, blue-haired, axe wielding moron acting as a hero for villagers and saving them from bandits and the such.”

Edelgard makes a mental note to write Caspar a stern note.

“That’s true,” says Edelgard.

“Her majesty, your wife, is always pestering us to take a holiday,” Hubert adds.

“It’s unusual for you to push so hard for something like a vacation, Hubert,” says Edelgard.

“Yes. But you see, Ferdinand refuses to shut up about it. Sometimes I fear that it’s the only thing he’s capable of talking about nowadays.”

“I… see.”

“Shall I make the proper arrangements, your highness?”

Edelgard studies Hubert’s expression. The man looks desperate, almost. It’s an expression she’s never seen on her longtime friend. Maybe the empire could survive without their watchful eyes for a month or two, she thinks. And if things went sour, maybe she’d throw their mysterious hero friend into the fray.

“Please do so. Thanks, Hubert,” says Edelgard.

Hubert smiles. Actually smiles. Not in a dark, semi-threatening way, but a legitimate, warm smile. Edelgard feels like maybe this trip really is what they all need.

_______

There’s a knock on the door of Edelgard’s study. There’s a cadence to it, slightly off beat. The sound is unmistakable.

“Come in, my light,” says the emperor, barely looking up from the document she was writing on. Another letter to one of the members of the council. Part of her can barely keep track at this point. She has written so many letters. Drafted so many treaties. At this point, the only thing is to wait and see if the council can work as one governing entity that can function even without Edelgard or Hubert’s constant presence.

Byleth sets down a tray with a tea pot and some cups on a nearby table.

“I figured you were due for a break, your majesty,” she says.

Edelgard sets her quill down, rolls her wrist. “Perhaps,” she says, standing up. She stretches, her legs and back stiff from her seated position. Byleth pours her a cup of tea. Edelgard sits across her her wife at the table to the side, accepts the cup.

Byleth takes a sip of her tea. She seems to be looking at Edelgard’s work desk from the corner of her eye. “I noticed,” she says, “that you’re keeping the documents on your table in much neater stacks lately.”

Edelgard tries to hide her blush by taking a sip of tea. “It’s good to be organized,” Edelgard says.

“Is this because I brought up office sex a few months ago?” Byleth asks.

The tips of Edelgard’s ears feel warm. She sets her teacup down. She leans forward, resting her chin on an open palm. She looks at her wife directly.

“What if it is?” she asks.

Byleth hums, a smirk on her face. She sets down her own cup and leans in closer to Edelgard as well. There’s a light blush dusting her cheeks.

“Then I’d like to take you up on that offer,” says Byleth.

Was this it? Were they finally going to have spontaneous office sex? Edelgard wonders what should happen next. It’s almost embarrassing how much thought she’d given Byleth’s innocuous suggestion. They really haven’t had sex on the office table. They’d tried then, but it got awkward after a while of them sorting documents in silence. They did eventually have sex, yes, but that was in their bedroom and that was different. Of course, Edelgard, being the woman that she is, decided to prepare for an opportunity should it ever arise again.

Yes, it was good that all the documents were in neat stacks, good for her, but how were they going to proceed from this point? Was it even possible to somehow be sexy while transferring stacks of papers from one table to another? A flaw in the plan, Edelgard realizes. She wonders how what she could do to further streamline the scenario. Make it more possible to have spontaneous office sex.

“El, you’re thinking very hard again,” Byleth says.

Edelgard shakes her head a little. “I — uh,” she says, standing up. “We should… move the papers?”

“Sure,” goes Byleth. She stands, and Edelgard watches as her wife approaches the office table. Edelgard catches a mischievous glint in her wife’s eye, but it’s too late. With one sweep of the arm, all the documents come flying off. The papers scatter everywhere, all around Byleth, who is grinning wildly at Edelgard. She goes ahead and sits on the table.

“Byleth,” gapes Edelgard, switching from staring at the mess of papers on the floor and her wife beckoning her from the office desk.

“This is more exciting,” says Byleth.

Edelgard approaches, careful not to step on any of the documents. Looking at the floor, it looks more and more like a sea of papers, words blurring and blending in. What was she so worried about? Why keep any semblance of organization? She starts making less careful steps. Prouder strides. Who cares about the papers? The empire could live on without them, she thinks.

She finds herself in her wife’s arms.

“Was that so hard?” Byleth whispers in Edelgard’s ear, half teasingly and half a purr. Edelgard suddenly feels stuffy in her regalia. She presses kisses along Byleth’s neck. Byleth leans her head back, groans.

Edelgard reaches up, under Byleth’s clothes, hands exploring the warm expanses of Byleth’s skin. Edelgard undoes the buttons of Byleth’s robe, opens it. She reaches out and squeezes a breast, smiling playfully at her wife. Byleth pulls Edelgard closer, runs her hands up and down her wife’s back. She unhooks the clasp of Edelgard’s dress. Pulls it down, revealing Edelgard’s bare torso.

Byleth takes her crown off. Takes Edelgard’s crown off. Sets both aside on the table. She cups Edelgard’s face, kisses her deeply.

Byleth pulls away, but suddenly squints. Stares at a point on Edelgard’s forehead. Still cupping Edelgard’s face with both hands, she pulls Edelgard’s forehead closer to her eyes.

“Um,” says Edelgard, locked in place. All she can see are her wife’s breasts. “While I do like this view, what’s happening?”

“Edelgard.” says Byleth, astonished. “The roots of your hair are brown.”

Edelgard pushes away. Reaches up to her head as if trying to see. “What? Really?” she says.

“Yes, really,” says Byleth, wide eyed. “The bedroom. We have a mirror. Come on.”

They frantically get decent again. They run out the office, along the hallway. They almost bump into a cleaning maid. Into a guard. Laughing, laughing, they crash into their bedroom. Edelgard rushes toward their mirror. She leans in close.

“My hair is turning brown,” she says. She looks at Byleth. There are tears in her wife’s eyes. She feels something damp on her cheeks. She reaches up to touch it. Tears. She’s crying too.

This is it, she thinks, the first step toward her own freedom.

_______

It’s the late afternoon. The day before their departure to Brigid. Edelgard finds her wife busying away in the greenhouse. As Edelgard walks along the rows of plants and flowers, she catches her reflection in one of the glass panes. A woman in red, a pair of golden horns upon her brow. She stops. Her hand unconsciously raises, traces the shape of the heavy, heavy crown. Proof of her sins. Proof of her past. A burden she cannot easily cast aside. She shakes her head.

She finds Byleth deeper within. She’s hunched over, by the flowerbeds, weeding. She’s wearing the full attire of the empress. While it is entirely Byleth’s choice to go around dressed as she wants, Edelgard can’t help but wish that maybe, maybe, Byleth would at least try not to get her empress regalia dirty. The fine embroidery must make it hell to clean.

“By, are you all packed? We depart tomorrow,” says Edelgard, her voice ringing out. Byleth looks behind her, waves a dirty, gloved hand. Oh good, thinks the emperor, she remembers to wear gloves. Byleth stands, revealing that the front of her robe has been stained with mud. Again. Ah, thinks the emperor, at least she wore the gloves.

“I have been packed the day we received the letter,” Byleth declares.

“Are you now? You only packed a change of clothes and your fishing rod.”

“That’s all I need.” She wipes her gloved hands on her robe. A small part of Edelgard dies a little. Byleth tears the gloves off, tosses them aside.

“Right,” says Edelgard. She resolves to pack for her wife later before they sleep.

“El,” says Byleth. “There’s something we should talk about.”

Worry pools at the pit of her stomach. This is sudden, she thinks. “What is it?” she asks.

“You’ve been thinking too much about the past lately,” says Byleth.

Edelgard is caught by surprise. Had she been too obvious? Without thinking, she reaches up and touches her crown again. The metal that smells of iron, rust, and blood.

“You seem to forget, El,” says Byleth. She taps the crown upon her brow. Horns that almost look like wings. “We’re in this together. Your equal, remember?”

“Your equal,” Edelgard echoes, nodding.

Byleth takes Edelgard’s hands in her own. Turns them over, their palms facing up.

“I know how you feel about the choices we made,” says Byleth. Her voice trembles, ever so slightly. She seems to search for the words, pausing. Edelgard waits patiently. Byleth had talked about her dreams. Dreams where she had chosen differently. Dreams where her life played out so differently than the days she currently lived at the palace.

“All the other paths I could have walked down,” continues Byleth, “ended with you meeting the tip of my blade.” She speaks, almost bitterly. Her eyes are glassy with tears she doesn’t want to shed. She blinks a few times. Clears her throat. Edelgard isn’t sure what she should say.

“If only one path leads to this point,” says Edelgard, “then do you think it’s possible that I’m wrong? That maybe I’m the villain of this story?”

“Don’t say that,” Byleth answers. A tear rolls down her cheek. “Please don’t say that, El,” she repeats. She bows her head forward. Her crown glitters in the light of the setting sun. A crown that Edelgard herself had set upon Byleth’s head.

Byleth traces lines in Edelgard’s open palms. “These are hands with honest intentions,” says Byleth. “Hands that sought to change the world. Hands that work hard. Hands that hold me close at night.”

Byleth looks up, at Edelgard, a small smile on her lips. “Yours are the hands I chose. Regardless of what came of that decision, I’m glad I chose these hands.”

Edelgard breathes in, deep. Her lungs feel larger somehow. She feels larger somehow. The world just seems to be a little bit brighter. The crown on her head feels much lighter. The fire at the pit of her stomach roars with a little more life. If she was the eagle, she thinks, then Byleth must be her wings.

She gets on her tiptoes, kisses her wife warmly. Sweetly. Byleth kisses back, with an intensity that Edelgard could feel all the way to the heels of her feet.

“Thank you, By,” says Edelgard.

“Thank you too, El,” answers Byleth.

They smile at each other, softly. Byleth’s smile grows into a wild grin.

“Now,” she says, “we only have a little bit of daylight left and these plants aren’t going to water themselves.”

Edelgard chuckles. “Time to put these hands to work, then.

_______

The carriage is mostly silent. Byleth stares out the window. They still have around a day and a half’s travel before they reach the port.

“Is her majesty alright?” asks Ferdinand.

Edelgard shrugs. “She’s probably excited about the fish.”

Byleth turns to look at her three former students. “My entire life has been leading up to this moment,” she deadpans.

“Wow,” goes Hubert.

_______

The ship they’re riding toward Brigid is one of the smaller available ships. Edelgard had insisted that they maintain a low profile while traveling, to maintain a sense of anonymity.

The smell of salt is thick in the air. The temperature seems to grow warmer and more humid as they approach Brigid. The group trades their normal garb for something lighter, more suited to the warmer climate. They’re surrounded by nothing but water and more water. The seas are relatively calm, their vessel cresting over small waves, floorboards creaking underfoot.

Edelgard finds her wife standing in the middle of the deck, an odd, distant expression on her face.

“Is everything alright, my light?” Edelgard asks.

Byleth closes her eyes. “I had a dream about this once,” she answers.

A dream of the future, thinks Edelgard. What could that mean?

Byleth smiles. Opens her eyes. Looks at Edelgard.

“I guess this means that the path I’m walking is the right one,” Byleth says, winking.

After a moment, Byleth speaks again.

“You know El, when everything settles down more, I think I want to go back to teaching.”

Edelgard suddenly remembers her wife as her professor. She giggles, remembering her childhood crush.

“Only if you don’t flirt with any of your students,” Edelgard says, teasing.

“Oh trust me,” answers Byleth, “I wasn’t doing any of the flirting.”

_______

Their reception at Brigid was warm and accommodating. Dorothea and Petra themselves came to meet the group at the dock, surrounded by curious townspeople. There were embraces and exchanges of greetings. They’re surrounded by sun and sand and trees. Buildings seem to blend with the foliage rather than try to stand out against it. The weather is unbearably hot, and Edelgard’s clothes seem to stick to her skin no matter what she does.

The group is quickly ushered to a large hall. The ceiling is high, with natural vents at the top. The air inside is much cooler than the air outside. Inside, they are greeted with a feast boasting all of Brigid’s best native dishes. Byleth quickly begins scarfing down plates of food. One after the other, as if she hasn’t eaten in ten years.

“I am glad to be seeing you enjoying the food so much,” says Petra. “Our food is also our pride.”

“Our pwide,” echoes the young boy seated on Dorothea’s lap. He’s the splitting image of Petra, but with Dorothea’s striking green eyes. His hair is short, with one tiny braid at the side. He seems to stare the new people at the dining table with awe.

Byleth stops eating. Swallows. She smiles at the boy. There’s a new expression on her face, thinks Edelgard. She wonders what it is. Wistfulness? Longing?

“It is very delicious,” Byleth tells the boy.

The boy points to himself. “Kidlat,” he says.

Byleth chuckles. “Yes, your name is Kidlat.”

Dorothea leans in closer. “He’s learning more words with each day,” she says.

“He is quite adorable,” quips Ferdinand.

“Did you hear that?” says Dorothea, “Uncle Ferdie thinks you’re cute! Now what do you say?”

“Thanking you,” says Kidlat.

Dorothea laughs. “He really picks up after his mother.”

Petra smiles, takes her son into her arms. “Our little cub is quickly growing to be a strong hunter.”

“Huwnter,” Kidlat repeats. “Grr!”

“So fearsome!” says Byleth.

Kidlat giggles.

This is nice, thinks Edelgard. It’s been so long since she’s talked to people about normal, regular, everyday things. It beats talking to a disgruntled lord or ex-noble. It beats hours slaving away at a desk. She looks at the people surrounding her. Her former classmates, who each swore allegiance to her and fought in a war for her sake.

She remembers, faintly, the day when Byleth had asked her to treat her as an equal.

“Please, when it’s just us, let’s do away with formalities, shall we?” Edelgard suddenly says.

Beside her, Byleth smirks. Edelgard gives her wife a warm smile.

“I understand now, how you felt then,” she says. Byleth nods.

“We have done many great things,” says Edelgard, her voice steady. “And I believe that we should be regarding one another as equals.”

“Equals,” repeats Ferdinand, mulling it over.

Dorothea leans back. “Oh I’ve already been doing that all this time, Edie.”

Hubert chuckles gruffly. “As you wish, Edelgard.”

Ferdinand gasps. “Hubert, you actually called her just ‘Edelgard.’”

“That is her name, is it not?” Hubert quips back. “Or should I perhaps be even more casual. How about ‘Edie.’”

Edelgard winces. Byleth laughs. “Hubert, that just sounds creepy when you say it,” the former mercenary says.

“Well,” Petra suddenly says, “you are all free to be doing as ‘just Edelgard’ requested, but I would still be preferring to be called ‘your majesty.’”

A pause. Long. Silent. Everyone stares at Petra. Except Dorothea, who turns away in an attempt to stifle her laughter.

Petra looks down. The child in her lap stares silently up at his mother.

“I was trying to make a joke,” Petra finally says.

“Ohh,” goes the group. Dorothea cackles.

_______

The next few days are dedicated to the search for The Fish.

They had been spending hours trekking in the forest trying to find this mysterious pond where The Fish undoubtedly resides. The heat was beginning to get to Edelgard, a dull headache throbbing at her temples day in and day out. The Black Eagles continue on, regardless of anything. An unspoken pact. They’re doing this for Byleth. For their dear professor. For the eccentric woman who really enjoyed fishing.

They find another pond to camp out at. Byleth stands at the edge. Stares deep at the water’s surface. “Sensing if The Fish is there,” she had said. Her new routine. Kidlat watches the former professor carefully, seemingly trying to learn from her.

“It’s here,” Byleth says, suddenly. The group is roused to life.

“Is it really?” asks Ferdinand.

“Byleth is knowing fish better than anyone,” says Petra.

“I agree,” says Edelgard.

They keep a respectable distance away from the pond. Byleth readies her fishing rod. Swings to cast her line, but she halts. Stops before the line could hit the water.

“No,” says Byleth, “this requires a more hands-on approach.”

“What do you —” Edelgard begins to ask, but before she could finish her question Byleth begins wading into the pond with nothing but her bare hands.

“Byleth?” goes Edelgard.

“I will catch The Fish,” says Byleth, resolute.

She wades out into the lake, swims out to the center. The water must be deep, thinks Edelgard, as she watches her wife paddle to stay afloat.

“Ferdinand, Petra,” Byleth says, the tone of a tactician. The two snap to attention.

“Yes, professor?” they both say, an old instinct within them revived.

“Flank me,” says Byleth, calmly, “I will dive into the water. When I emerge, drag me back to shore.”

The two look at one another, and nod. They swim out as Byleth had instructed. Edelgard and Dorothea watch on, somewhat concerned. Hubert plays with Kidlat, who was sitting in his lap.

Kidlat points to the group in the water. “What doing?” he asks.

“They’re risking their lives over a fish,” Hubert says, dryly.

“Hubert,” scolds Dorothea, “you can be snarky but don’t teach my son weird things.”

“Sorry,” says Hubert. “They’re swimming,” he tells Kidlat.

“Swimming,” echoes Kidlat.

“Petra, Ferdinand, are you in position?” asks Byleth, not turning around to check.

“Yes,” the two answer in unison.

From her spot in the shade of a tree, Edelgard shouts. “Be careful my light!”

Byleth gives a thumbs up before she dives into the water.

Time seems to stretch on. Edelgard leans forward, counting the seconds that Byleth is underwater. Thirty seconds. Forty five seconds. A minute. Worry begins to tug at the back of her mind. Shouldn’t her wife at least emerge for some air? What if something wrong had happened? What if she needed help? A minute and fifteen seconds. A minute and thirty seconds.

Suddenly, Byleth surfaces, gasping for air. “Quick, to shore!” she shouts. Petra and Ferdinand each wrap an arm around Byleth, swim toward the shore. Edelgard stands up, approaches. Once at the shore the group realizes that Byleth had The Fish securely in her arms. Or, more like, Byleth had shoved her fist down The Fish’s gullet, all the way down to the elbow.

Byleth holds her arm up, proudly, The Fish latched onto it flaps around wildly. It looked to be at least a meter in length. Huge. Its scales were dark, almost oily looking. Its face was unlike any Edelgard has ever seen, almost like a long snout. Eyes that seemed to pop out of it’s skull. Along The Fish’s back were protrusions, pointed spines sticking out.

The group claps. Edelgard claps the hardest. Byleth seems to soak in her achievement. She deftly pulls her arms out, revealing long gashes where The Fish’s teeth (?) must have sunk in. Edelgard thinks that fish shouldn’t have teeth that looked that sharp.

As if it’s nothing, Byleth cradles the large fish in her arms as it continues to struggle uselessly. Dorothea quickly casts a heal spell, closing the open wounds along Byleth’s arm. Edelgard mouths a quick “thank you.”

“Is that the legendary fish?” asks Ferdinand.

“It looks…” says Dorothea, but she trails off.

“Ugly,” says Kidlat, pointing at The Fish.

Hubert laughs. “I agree,” he says, darkly.

Byleth stares hard at the fish in her arms. The gears in her head seem to click away.

“By?” says Edelgard. “Do you want me to, uh, hold that for you?”

Byleth shakes her head, looking at Edelgard. “It’s okay,” she says. She turns around, walks back to the pond. She wades in until she’s about knee deep in the water.

“Catch,” Byleth deadpans. She twists, and chucks the fish back into the lake. It soars majestically before splashing into the water. “And release.”

Everyone is silent. Edelgard is unsure if she should be happy that they don’t have to lug the thing back or mad that after everything they won’t even have anything to show for it.

“Goodbye!” says Kidlat.

Byleth turns around to face the group. Edelgard could tell her wife was feeling genuinely sad.

The Black Eagles seem to look at one another, some kind of unspoken understanding taking place. The Fish just looked unnatural and it was probably for the best that they didn’t bring it with them. A cursed animal, they seemed to agree on.

Petra isn’t taking part of the nonverbal conversation. She walks towards Byleth, wades into the water. She places a hand on Byleth’s shoulder.

“I see,” says Petra, “Byleth is showing that even the greatest of hunters can still have a heart full of mercy. I have understanding.”

“Yes,” answers Byleth. “That is what I had hoped to demonstrate.” Her face is as stoic as ever, but Edelgard can see the ever so subtle furrow of the brow. The way her lips tighten slightly. How she seems to sweat just a bit more. Edelgard nods along.

“Indeed Petra,” says Edelgard, “behold my wife’s wisdom.”

_______

Over dinner, Byleth leans over to Edelgard. She whispers, very loudly.

“Are Petra and Dorothea alright? They seem upset.”

Edelgard sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. Beside Edelgard, Hubert leans into view.

“I don’t know professor,” he pretend whispers, just as loud. “Maybe if you whisper louder you’ll find out.”

“Hubert,” goes Ferdinand, scolding his husband.

Byleth frowns, looks at Edelgard. The emperor is trapped. The empress is using her secret weapon: puppy dog eyes. Edelgard sighs again, deeper. Her love is both her greatest blessing and her greatest curse, it seems.

Edelgard looks at her two former classmates. Petra seems to be struggling to continue eating dinner with a neutral expression. Dorothea is visibly angrily eating her dinner. Their son stares idly at his mothers, unsure if he should speak or continue eating.

“Uh,” goes Edelgard. She clears her throat. “Are things alright between you two?” She feels embarrassed. She wants to run away. But no, she can’t. Because her wife wants her to do something.

“As we were returning here,” Petra says, looking deeply upset at the grilled fish on her plate, “Dorothea told me to no longer be speaking to her.”

Edelgard turns to Dorothea, seeking an explanation.

“My moods are just all over the place okay,” she says, spearing a carrot with her fork. She stares, long and hard, at the food on her plate. She suddenly breaks into tears.

“D-Dorothea?” Edelgard stutters.

“I think I’m pregnant again,” Dorothea sobs.

Petra turns to face her. “That is wonderful news, Doro! Why would you not be wanting me to talk to you about this?”

Dorothea turns to face her wife. “Giving birth really hurts and I was weirdly mad at you for it okay.”

“I… am sorry?” says Petra.

“Ugh,” goes Dorothea. She throws her arms around Petra, who reciprocates the embrace. “You shouldn’t apologize for that my darling. Ugh. Why are you so sweet and perfect and wonderful?” Dorothea cries, louder. Petra can’t help it, she’s crying as well. Their son sees them crying, and he begins to wail too.

Edelgard is struck with the feeling that she’s intruding on an intensely personal family moment. She gets the sense that she should probably excuse herself and eat her dinner in the hallway.

“Ah,” goes Byleth suddenly, “this is how Hubert feels when we kiss while he’s in the same room as us.”

Edelgard feels her cheeks burning. Hubert idly sips his wine.

“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” he deadpans.

_______

“I didn’t set the fish free because I’m a hunter with a heart full of mercy,” says Byleth.

“Mmhm,” mumbles Edelgard.

“I just thought it was too ugly to eat.”

“Of…” Edelgard yawns. “…course.”

“El, what do I tell Petra?” A rustling of sheets.

“By, stay on your side of the bed,” Edelgard whines. “It’s hot and you’re sticky.”

“El, what should I say? Do you think Petra would be upset?” More rustling of sheets. “Ow, why did you kick me?”

“Byleth von Hresvelg, don’t cross the territory border like we discussed. You’re very sticky.”

“I’m sticky because it’s hot.”

“I know. Please stay on your side.”

“But what do I tell Petra?”

“I don’t know, o merciful hunter.”

“El —”

There are knocks on the wall. Quick. Angry.

“Please cease this incessant yapping this instant,” growls Hubert from the room next door, voice muffled but still very clear.

“Sorry!” Ferdinand chimes in. “Hubert is quite grumpy because he is also very sticky.”

“We are all very sticky. So let’s all go back to sleep. Now.” Hubert says, his voice graver than usual.

“Everyone, what do you think I should tell Petra?” Byleth asks, louder.

Edelgard groans. “It’s fine Byleth. I don’t think Petra really cares.”

“But what if she does?” says Byleth.

“That is true. Such a miscommunication could potentially lead to bigger problems,” supplies Ferdinand.

“See,” says Byleth, “Ferdinand gets it.”

“Everyone. Shut. Up. Sleep. Now.” Hubert roars.

Silence.

“Good night!” says Ferdinand.

A thud.

“Hubert! Why did you kick me off the bed? That hurt!”

_______

Unable to sleep, Edelgard finds herself walking along the shoreline. She hears nothing but the waves, lapping against the sandy beach. She looks behind her, watching as the push and pull of the water slowly erases her footprints.

It must be nice, she thinks, to have the waves wash away my sins.

She shakes her head. Byleth had already spoken to her about this. This was their burden to carry. Together. Why does she feel like she needs to keep punishing herself over these things? Hasn’t she done her best? Hasn’t she stayed true to her word? How come she can’t find it within her to forgive herself? She wishes that Byleth were there, to tell her that everything was fine. That she can let go. That the horns on her head made her look more like a hero than they did a villain. That she can forgive herself.

She feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around her. It’s Byleth. Of course. Edelgard chuckles to herself. Thinks that maybe, maybe, this was a sign that she really should forgive herself.

“Oh, don’t kick me El,” Byleth says, laughing. “I know we’re sticky but I would like to hug my wife.”

Edelgard chuckles. Returns her wife’s embrace. “I guess I will have to accept the stickiness as part of our reality now.”

“But see,” Byleth quips, “now we’ll never be apart. Because we’re so sticky.”

Edelgard kisses Byleth softly on the lips. “We didn’t need the stickiness for that to happen.”

_______

Their journey to Brigid seems too short. Before they know it, they’re back on the ship. There are promises of meeting again in a few months. Of letters to be sent right when they get home. Dorothea and Petra are on the dock, waving. The group watches as they grow smaller and smaller, their ship steadily sailing away.

It was a nice retreat, thinks Edelgard. A taste of the peace that she longs to have for herself. She stands next to her wife, at the back of the ship. Dorothea and Petra have long been reduced to specks beyond the horizon. Her arm still aches from waving so much.

Edelgard takes her crown off. Almost cradles it in her hands. A crown forged in misery. A crown forged in suffering. A crown forged in blood. Hasn’t she had enough of this yet? She looks out to the horizon. The sun still rises and sets even without her in the throne. Hasn’t she arrived at the future she wanted? Does she even deserve such joy?

“By,” says Edelgard, “do I deserve to be happy?”

Without missing a beat, Byleth answers. “Yes.”

Edelgard looks down at the crown in her hands again. The culmination of everything she has worked for her entire life. She decides that she’s ready to let go of this chapter of her life.

She grasps the crown in one hand. Rears her arm back, like how she raised her axe so many years ago, and throws her crown into the ocean.

Edelgard watches as the gold soars through the sky, twisting, turning. It splashes into the water. Huh, she thinks, for something so heavy, it seems so small.

Beside her, Byleth takes her crown off. Edelgard turns to face her. With a grin, Byleth throws her crown into the ocean as well.

“We walk this path together, whatever it is,” says Byleth.

Edelgard reaches out to hold her wife’s hand. They lace their fingers together, looking out to the ocean. Their crowns growing further and further away, sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean, never to see the light of day again. Edelgard feels light. Impossibly light. She squeezes her wife’s hand. The fire in her burns brighter, stronger. She’s free to live as she pleases. At last.

Behind them, they hear a muffled sob. They turn to look, startled. They find Ferdinand and Hubert. Ferdinand dabs gently at the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief. He quickly puts it away. Regains his composure.

“Oh please,” says Hubert, “don’t mind us. Feel free to have your emotionally freeing moment as if we weren’t here too.”

Ferdinand slaps his husband on the shoulder. “Come now, Hubert. Do not be so grumpy.” He tugs on the taller man’s arm.

“I have an idea. Let us go to the other side of the ship. You can throw something overboard as well.”

Hubert stares at his husband, a look of tiredness and despair plastered on his face.

“Oh come on Hubert,” says Ferdinand, “Do not be embarrassed. Look, we will have her majesties come watch as you have your own emotionally freeing moment too.”

_______

Later that night, the two are sleeping in their quarters in the ship. Their quarters are spacious, comfortable. Even still, Byleth seems to want to cuddle close to Edelgard, who welcomes the touch more now that the air was cooler the closer they were to Fodlan. They’re lying on their sides, facing one another. The waves cradle the ship, gently, from side to side. Like a lullaby.

“Is there something on your mind, By?” Edelgard asks. She could tell, based on the intense way that her wife was staring at her.

It’s almost scary, Edelgard thinks, how much she and Byleth have become attuned to one another. She still feels like an individual, like she’s her own person, but with each passing day she finds that Byleth is beginning to be more and more a part of her. An extension of her, almost. Edelgard stares deep into Byleth’s blue eyes. In the darkened cabin, Byleth reaches out and holds Edelgard’s hand.

“You’re different now from how you were as a student, El,” says Byleth.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t really get it before,” Byleth says, slowly, “but I think you never really allowed yourself to be happy.”

Edelgard smiles, feeling that familiar warmth blooming in her chest.

“I’m very proud of you,” continues Byleth. “I think you’re finally allowing yourself to forgive yourself.”

The words resonate within Edelgard. The words turn into fire, burning burning. She feels the warmth take root in her muscles, her joints, her veins, her bones. She thinks that maybe, she’s being forged anew. Yes, Edelgard von Hresvelg, the emperor that learned to forgive herself.

“It’s taken me a while to realize that I’m the only one holding myself back,” says Edelgard. The words feel heavy as she says them. A truth she had kept herself from materializing for so long. She feels like it’s a little easier to breathe now.

“I really am proud of you,” repeats Byleth.

“It’s your fault you know,” Edelgard says, lacing her fingers into Byleth’s. “Because you were persistent.” She pulls her wife close to her. Closer still. “Because you stood by my side.” She tugs more. Pulling until Byleth has Edelgard pinned beneath her. “Because you made me feel like I was worthy of love.”

From her position, Byleth’s features are shadowed, but Edelgard could tell her wife was blushing, stern features set. She’s serious.

“El, do you want children?”

“Hmm,” hums Edelgard, almost playfully, “you answer first.”

“Yes,” comes Byleth’s answer. Quick. Certain.

Edelgard reaches up. Traces Byleth’s features. She draws a line along her jaw. Along her nose. Traces her eyes, her ears. She cups Byleth’s face with both her hands. She imagines children, with Byleth’s features. The same stoic expression, the same off-beat style of living. She remembers a dream she had once, buried in the depths of her heart. A warm hearth. A home full of laughter. A life spent in peace.

“El?”

“Yes, I would like to have children with you, my light.”

Chapter Text

Edelgard wakes up from a strange dream.

In it, she lived in a world that was unlike anything she’s ever seen or read about. She, with Byleth, resided in a strange castle, one that was so tall that you needed to ride a mechanical carriage that would bring you to the top. It was a strange world, one without magic, without empire borders, without the need for soldiers or armor or weaponry. Or crests. Edelgard decides it’s a nice world to live in, probably. At least there she has Byleth with her too.

Edelgard blinks at the ceiling a few times. She looks to her side, to Byleth’s sleeping form. Her wife snores lightly. Married for almost eleven years now. It has been around eight years since they first decided to have children. Eight years since Edelgard cast away the heavy crown upon her brow. Eight years since she decided to begin the long process towards forgiving herself for the sins she bore.

She decides to check on her children. She sits up, stretches. Edelgard gets out of bed, feet expecting to feel floorboards underneath.

Only, instead of a flat surface, she hears a crunch.

And feels the distinct outline of a wooden toy soldier digging into the soft skin of her foot.

The pain is instant and immobilizing. Edelgard falls to the ground, clutching her aching foot. It’s both searing and like a bolt of lighting right on the arch of her sole. Throbbing, throbbing. Tears gather at the corner of her eyes as she uselessly rolls on the ground.

“Oh my fucking shit,” she hisses, trying her absolute hardest not to scream into the heavens. “Aaaaaaaaaghhhh.”

Edelgard has had the unique displeasure of actually getting pelted with arrows. And stabbed. And blasted with all manner of magic. But this? This was different. This was like an assassin in the night, hitting one of the most vulnerable parts of the body at the least expected moment. The pain in her foot radiates like no injury ever has before. Her life flashes before her. If she could change anything, she wishes she tried at faith magic just a little bit more so she could make the aching instantly stop.

Beside her, the rustling of sheets, as Edelgard continues to roll around in absolute agony.

“El?” comes Byleth’s voice, thick with sleep.

“Byleth,” Edelgard manages, her voice raspy. She tries to warn her wife but it’s too late.

The sheets rustle some more. Byleth tries to stand up. Another crunch rings out in their bedroom.

What were their children doing? Littering the area right around their parents’ bed with their pointiest toys?

Thud.

“Son of a —” goes Byleth. She groans. Edelgard hears the quick intakes of breath. Hiss, hiss, through gritted teeth. There’s a glow of healing magic. The sound of Byleth crawling towards Edelgard.

“No more toys for the children. Ever,” says Byleth. She reaches out and casts heal on Edelgard.

“Agreed,” says Edelgard.

_______

What desk work for Edelgard means has changed considerably in the past eight years or so. Once, it meant a dingy office with paperwork stacked to the ceiling, with nothing but the sound of quill against parchment, the shuffling of paper, the occasional deep sigh or two. Days blurring together, wrists cramping, lower back aching. Ferdinand and Hubert appearing at the doorway with more stacks of paper. Byleth appearing with snacks and tea.

Never, in her wildest dreams, did she ever think she’d end up the headmaster of the academy.

It was a joke at first. Byleth wanted to resume teaching. Edelgard had jokingly offered to rebuild and improve Garreg Mach as the new headmaster. The Black Eagles had quickly latched onto the idea. It was poetic, it seemed. Now that Edelgard was to abdicate the throne and hand over the reigns of the government to the council, what better way to ensure the future of the empire than to oversee the growth of its next generation.

Now, desk work still means paperwork stacked to the ceiling. But now her wife and children have taken the liberty of spending many afternoons just spending their free time in her office.

Edelgard scribbles away. Still, she thinks, she can’t complain. The level of difficulty of her current job paled in comparison to being emperor of Fodlan. It’s still stressful, yes, but everyone seemed to agree that Edelgard would have withered away without some kind of work to put her mind to. She certainly has more free time than before. And in the six or so years that she’s done this job, she finds that she’s gotten quite used to it.

Her office is comfortable. Bookshelves lining walls, intricately carved wooden furniture, a small meeting area (usually) reserved for guests, a small fireplace. Her family is off to the side, lounging around the guest area.

Adelaide is focused on reading a book about knights. She’s turning eight years old soon, Edelgard recalls. Long brown hair, snowy white skin. The near splitting image of herself, down to the slight furrow in the brow as she concentrates. Byleth is helping Jeralt read a basic book about the alphabet. He looks strikingly similar to Edelgard as well, but with the same aloof expression as Byleth. Both children have Byleth’s eyes. Which is nice, Edelgard thinks. She’s always loved Byleth’s eyes.

“A is for ‘Apple,’” says Jeralt, pointing at the one of the pages of the book splayed out before him.

“Yes, that’s right,” says Byleth. “A is also for ‘assassin.’ And ‘Adrestia.’”

Edelgard stops writing. Wonders what weird thing Byleth is teaching their children today.

“A is also for ‘Aymr,’” quips Adelaide.

“Yes, that’s true,” says Byleth. “Jeralt, can you say ‘Aymr?’”

Edelgard sets her quill down. She opts to observe how this pans out for her family.

“A-a-a….” goes Jeralt, clearly struggling. Byleth nods along. Adelaide leans in close, nodding too.

“A...pple?” says Jeralt.

“Aymr,” repeats Byleth.

“Amrer?”

“No, Aymr.”

“Emmer?”

“Aymr.”

“A… Apple.”

“Hmm,” goes Byleth, her chin in the palm of her hand. “Oh well. Nice effort!” Byleth ruffles the boy’s hair. He grins. Adelaide chuckles, goes back to reading her book.

“Aymr was your mom’s axe,” says Byleth. “She was very skilled with wielding all manner of heavy weaponry. She was also very good as a heavily-armored unit. That meant that she couldn’t really get that far in a turn but she was invaluable as both a defensive and offensive tank.”

Jeralt nods, vacant expression similar to Byleth.

“Your mom was very smart and very strong,” says Byleth. “She was very good at everything she put her mind to.” Byleth pauses. “Well, she was good at most things, anyway.”

Edelgard squints. While it’s nice of Byleth to speak highly of her, Edelgard can’t help but feel that there’s something off with how her wife is phrasing things.

“By, why do you refer to me in the past tense?” says Edelgard, speaking up.

“Oh,” goes Byleth, shrugging. “That’s how my dad used to talk about my mom. What’s up?”

Edelgard hums. “That’s how you talk about people that are…” Edelgard pauses, looks at Adelaide and Jeralt. “You know, D-E-A-D.”

A few silent beats pass.

“Mother,” says Adelaide, “I can spell.”

“Oh,” says Edelgard. “Right.”

Jeralt points to a picture in his book. “D is for ‘Dog.’ Woof woof!”

“It’s also the first letter in ‘Dead,’” supplies Adelaide.

“Adelaide,” scolds both Byleth and Edelgard.

_______

It’s the middle of the night. Edelgard’s on her way to the bedroom after finally finishing with her mountain of work. The hallway is dark, empty. She hears the creak of floorboards. A shadow skittering past her periphery. She freezes. Holds her lamp up higher. An animal? Intruder? Instinctively, Edelgard reaches for the dagger she keeps on her belt.

Standing before her is Jeralt, staring blankly at his mother.

“J-Jeralt?” says Edelgard. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”

Jeralt’s deep blue eyes seem vacant. They seem to pierce through Edelgard’s soul.

“… Jeralt?”

Edelgard loves both her children equally.

She feels this, undoubtedly, but Jeralt unnerves her sometimes.

The young boy gives his mother a thumbs up. “Nice effort!” he says, before scurrying away back into his room.

_______

Edelgard still dreams about the past sometimes. They seem like a library of worn old books in the back of her mind, letters smudged and pages frayed and yellowed. The feelings are there, still. Feelings that have echoed in her chest time and time again. Worries. Fears. That ever-consuming feeling of loss for all the things taken from her in her youth. The feelings of regret for all the things she had to let go of in order to build her future. She had done her best. She had worked hard. She had fought for what she truly believed in.

Still. Even still.

She still wonders if she deserves the happiness she has.

Byleth presses a finger in between Edelgard’s eyebrows. Edelgard winces, her mind coming back to the present.

She’s lying on her back in bed, pinned under her wife. Byleth grins at her. Warmer than the sun. Surer than the sea. Edelgard is drawn into everything that she is. Edelgard’s anchor. Edelgard’s joy. She smiles back, remembers that she’s allowed to be happy.

“Good morning Miss von Hresvelg,” Byleth says, teasingly. “Thinking so hard so early in the morning, I see.”

Edelgard reaches up, squeezes Byleth’s cheeks. “Oh, it is but a small worry, my teacher,” says Edelgard playfully. “But perhaps you could… tutor me a little more? I find that the lessons are quite… difficult as of late.”

“Oh?” goes Byleth. “I think my lessons are quite clear. How could I possibly assist you?”

“When you look at me like that,” says Edelgard, tracing a line down her chest, down to her stomach, further down still. Byleth follows with her eyes. “I feel like I could use a more… hands-on approach.”

Byleth’s expression shifts. Her grin more mischievous. “Oh,” she says. “So eager to learn, are we?”

“Of course, my teacher. Only for you.”

Near their bedroom door, they hear the clearing of a throat. Adelaide stands there with Jeralt beside her, holding his sister’s hand.

Byleth immediately scrambles off of Edelgard, sits on the edge of their bed. Edelgard sits up, smooths out the creases in her nightwear somewhat.

Jeralt points at his parents, looks up at his sister. “Mom and mama wrestling again?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Adelaide, a pained expression on her face. “They’re wrestling again.”

Edelgard thinks that their daughter is too perceptive for her own good.

“Good morning, you two,” says Byleth, scratching the back of her head. She smiles awkwardly.

“Good morning mama,” says Adelaide. “Uncle Hubert sent us to go fetch you two since Aunts Dorothea and Petra are supposed to arrive today.”

“Will Aunt Petra teach us hunting again?” asks Jeralt.

“I hope so,” answers Adelaide. She smiles at her brother. Turns to look at her parents, scowling now. “I’ll tell Uncle Hubert that you’ll join us when you’re done…”

“… wrestling.” Jeralt supplies.

“Yes,” says Adelaide. She squints at her parents.

They leave the room, Adelaide closing the door behind her.

Byleth turns to look at Edelgard after a moment. “Wow,” she says. “The von Hresvelg in her comes out pretty strong, huh?”

“It’s quite scary, actually,” says Edelgard, laughing.

_______

It’s a bit later in the afternoon when the queens of Brigid arrive at Garreg Mach. Edelgard, Byleth, Ferdinand, and Hubert wait near the entrance gates. Their children beside them, chatting among themselves. Kate towers behind Adelaide, dark hair tied into a tight ponytail. She has the same gaunt expression as Hubert. Edelgard was told that they had adopted Kate, but it still amazes her how much the young girl seems to mirror Hubert so well.

The carriage pulls to a stop right inside the gate. The doors swing open, and Dorothea and Petra’s children pour out, running wildly towards the other kids. Dorothea steps out next, shouting something in the Brigid language. The children answer, shouting back. Petra steps out last, waves to the group. They wave too.

Dorothea pulls both Byleth and Edelgard into a tight embrace.

“Ohh!” she squeals. “I have missed you guys so much! Tell me, how are things?”

“Everything’s doing quite fine,” Edelgard says, chuckling. “I have to say, the tattoos suit you quite well.”

Dorothea brandishes the intricate tattoos on her arm. “Oh, these were quite the scandal for me to get, you wouldn’t even believe, Edie.”

“We do not normally allow foreigners to be having the markings of a warrior,” says Petra. “But Doro is being as much a warrior of Brigid. As queen, it is a right.”

Dorothea holds a hand up, pretends to cover her mouth and whisper, “Mostly because Petra refuses to be outdone by you, Edie.” She giggles. Petra blushes and pouts.

“Doro,” she says, “please do not be embarrassing me.”

“Speaking of being outdone though,” says Dorothea. She gestures toward their children. “Would you look at that.”

Adelaide is standing on a box, addressing the other children. They gather around her, listening intently.

“Where did Adelaide get the box?” asks Byleth.

“I believe Kate brings the box around with her,” answers Hubert. “Like someone else I know, little Adelaide does not enjoy being short.”

Edelgard feels the tips of her ears go warm. “I hope you aren’t teaching Kate to be Adelaide’s assistant or something,” she says.

“Oh no,” says Hubert. “Kate von Vestra simply takes it upon herself.”

“Yes, Hubert is quite proud of her,” says Ferdinand.

Adelaide seems to shout a rallying cry. The children cheer. They all scurry into the academy.

“Just like a little Edie,” says Dorothea. “The von Hresvelg in her really comes on strong, doesn’t it?”

The group hums their agreement. Edelgard’s ears are too red. They’re beginning to ache. She rubs at them.

“Anyway,” says Edelgard. “How about some refreshments?”

The group begins to follow, heading into the academy where their children have run into. Byleth tugs on Edelgard’s wrist. They hang back a little, as the rest begin walking up the steps, chatting.

“Everyone’s happy,” says Byleth. “I think it’s because you did good.”

Edelgard is taken aback. She doesn’t know what to say.

“Don’t underestimate me, Miss von Hresvelg.” Byleth grins. She holds up her hands, fingers splayed out like fake horns spurting out of the sides of her head. “I am Byleth von Hresvelg. You are my wife. I know you better than anyone.”

Edelgard blushes. She plants a kiss on Byleth’s lips.

“Thank you, my light,” she says.

_______

Byleth’s voice rings out in the training hall. She instructs Adelaide on some basic sword techniques. Edelgard watches the scene unfold, sitting by the side. Beside her, Jeralt is drawing on a paper with his crayons. Edelgard takes a peek at what he’s drawing.

The page looks like a giant splotch of brown, with some greens and blacks thrown into the mix.

“What are you drawing, little one?” asks Edelgard.

Jeralt continues to scribble with his brown crayon held in a fist. He colors the page with wild, broad strokes. “Dirt, mama,” he says.

“It does look like dirt,” says Edelgard. She turns to look at what Byleth and Adelaide are doing.

Adelaide seems to swing the sword around wildly, which Byleth easily parries.

“When you swing,” says Byleth, “use not just your arms, but your entire body. Watch.”

Adelaide pauses, huffing. Byleth demonstrates a sword swing. Her body moves as one, the movement efficient, precise. Adelaide nods.

“I see,” she says, trying to mimic Byleth’s stance. She tries to swing, just like her mother had demonstrated, but her movements are uncoordinated, still rough around the edges. She drops the sword.

“Sorry,” says Adelaide.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Byleth, ruffling her hair. “Nice effort!”

Jeralt looks up from his drawing. “Nice effort!” he chimes in, grinning.

“Nice effort!” adds Edelgard.

Adelaide smiles. “Nice effort,” she says to herself, chest puffed out.

Byleth’s expression shifts. She seems surprised. She stands there, not saying anything. She blinks a few times. Edelgard chuckles to herself. She recognizes the expression. Byleth had completely lost her trail of thought.

“Mama?” says Adelaide. “Are you going to show me again?”

Byleth drops the wooden sword she was holding. It clatters on the dirt beside her. Adelaide looks to the sword. Looks to her mom. “Mama?”

Byleth picks Adelaide up by the armpits. Adelaide holds on to her mama’s arms, feet dangling.

“M-mama?” she stutters. “Is something the matter?”

“You look so much like El,” says Byleth. Her brows are furrowed, a look of astonishment plastered on her face.

“People say that a lot, I guess,” Adelaide answers, squirming a little.

“You’re my daughter,” Byleth declares. “I actually have a daughter.”

“Yes? I’m seven. You had me seven years ago.” Adelaide looks to Edelgard, confused.

Edelgard shrugs, chuckling. “You’ll get used to that, sweetie.”

Byleth sets Adelaide down again, gently. Byleth looks toward Edelgard, approaches. She cups her face with both hands. Byleth smells like dirt, grass, and sweat. Edelgard looks warmly into her wife’s eyes, very much aware of what she’s about to say next.

“We’re married,” says Byleth.

Edelgard grins. “Yes,” she answers, “for around eleven years now, if I’m not mistaken.”

Byleth gasps. “You’re the mother of my children.”

“Mhm,” goes Edelgard. Byleth presses a soft kiss on her lips.

“Ewww,” goes Adelaide.

“Ewww,” chimes in Jeralt, mostly copying his sister.

_______

Edelgard holds the training axe in her hands, the firelight glinting off of it. She and Byleth find themselves at the training hall again, this time to spar with each other. She swings at the air a few times, rolls stiff joints.

“This is almost quite nostalgic,” she says.

“Are you saying we don’t spar enough?” says Byleth.

Edelgard chuckles. “No, I meant that one time we fought here. Way back then.”

“Ah,” goes Byleth. “We’ve come a long way from then.”

“We have,” says Edelgard. “Well then, my teacher, may I have this dance?”

Laughing, Byleth assumes her usual fighting stance. “You may, Miss von Hresvelg.”

Edelgard rushes forward, swinging. Their cadence matches one another. For every swing, a perfectly timed block. For every counter, a well-timed dodge. Their steps sound like wild drum beats on the training ground’s earth, the rhythm constant, the beat steady. The clash of metal against metal rings out, punctuating every breath, every grunt. A battle song, just for them.

In the low torchlight, Edelgard can see it. Fire, glinting in her wife’s eyes. She grins wildly, swinging her blade with almost reckless abandon. The strikes are still perfect, still a joy to watch, but they move smoothly, like the wind itself were guiding her.

Edelgard matches Byleth’s energy. She swings her axe with full force, keeping close to Byleth. She must be grinning too, she realizes, because her cheeks are actually beginning to ache.

Byleth feints a strike, deftly moves to the side. With a quick step, she dashes forward, knocks Edelgard’s axe away. Edelgard loses her grip, the axe goes flying off to the side. She steps backward, stumbles, losing her balance. Byleth rushes forward, tossing her own sword aside. She catches Edelgard in her arms before she hits the ground. Edelgard laughs, heartily. She wraps her arms around Byleth.

“You got me again, By,” Edelgard says.

Byleth pulls Edelgard up, her arms still around her wife. She presses a kiss on Edelgard’s forehead.

“How about another dance?” says Byleth. She adjusts her hold on Edelgard. One hand on Edelgard’s waist. Another holds Edelgard’s hand up high. Chuckling, Edelgard puts her other hand on Byleth’s shoulder. She looks up, into her wife’s blue eyes.

She feels that unmistakable rumble in the pit of her stomach. Burning, burning. A fire that seems to spread out into every corner of her being. She sighs, remembering her past self. The version of her who clung to her hopes desperately. The her who managed to find herself here, in the arms of the woman she yearned for more than anything else in existence.

Byleth hums a song. Her best imitation of a waltz. They move to the irregular beat. Their dance is slow, clumsy. The steps made up. But they still move in perfect sync. They twirl, in the middle of the training ground, to a song that only they know.

“I love you,” says Edelgard.

“I love you too,” says Byleth.

They hear a clatter in one of the training area’s darkly lit areas. The two freeze. Look to one another. Look to the corner.

“Anyone there?” says Edelgard. Her voice rings out. Silence.

The two approach, Byleth picking up her sword and Edelgard picking up her axe.

They find Hubert and Ferdinand, pressed tight against the wall, in an attempt to hide behind some crates.

Hubert exhales deeply. Relaxes a little. “Oh please, don’t stop having your little cute moment on account of us being here,” he says.

“We were here first actually,” says Ferdinand. “I am quite certain that we only hid because Hubert here is too shy to openly express his feelings.”

Hubert covers his face with a gloved hand. Looks away. “I should have teleported away when I had the chance,” he mumbles.

“And leave me here?” asks Ferdinand. “Come now, dearest, we should strive to be good fathers to our sweet Kate and show her that expressions of love and adoration are completely normal and good.”

Edelgard furrows her brow. “Wait, how long have you guys been hiding?”

“Should we… leave?” asks Byleth.

“Oh, please stay, the both of you,” Ferdinand answers eagerly. He steps out of his hiding spot. He bows, elegantly, and offers a hand to his husband. “Come, my love, let us also dance and be merry.”

“I am teleporting now,” says Hubert.

A flash of familiar dark magic. Hubert is gone.

Byleth puts a reassuring hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder. “Hang in there,” she says.

_______

“Mom?” Adelaide’s voice rings out in Edelgard’s office, as she knocks on the large wooden door.

“Yes, sweetie?” Edelgard answers.

Adelaide opens the door, peeks her head in. “Can I go visit the town with Kate and Kidlat? I promised Kidlat I’d show him around.”

“Hmm,” goes Edelgard. “Ask your mama.”

“I did. Mama said to ask you.”

Edelgard rests her chin in the palm of her hand. A mannerism she picked up from her wife.

“Hmm,” she goes again. “Will there be anyone else accompanying you?”

“Yes,” says Adelaide. “Mama will be going with us.”

Edelgard furrows her brows. “Then why did your mama say to ask me?”

“I think she wants you to come too.” Adelaide looks just as perplexed as Edelgard.

Byleth’s head peeks through the door. It swings open. In one arm, Byleth is holding the sword of the creator. She uses it to scratch her back absently.

“By, why didn’t you ask me yourself?”

“It’s that thing,” says Byleth, tapping a finger to her chin. “I was feeling all weirdly fluffy inside because I realized I have a wife and child. So I wanted to hear you two talk.”

“So are we going to the town or not?” asks Adelaide, confused.

“Sure,” says Edelgard. “Just give me a moment while I… wait.”

“Yes?” asks Byleth.

“By, are you using the sword of the creator as a back scratcher?”

“What? It has good reach, El.”

_______

“Now remember children,” says Byleth as she kneels in front of her children. She pulls two gold coins from her coin pouch, presses them into their hands. “If we get separated in town and a stranger asks where your parents are, just give them that.”

Byleth pulls another coin out. She holds it up, looks to the side, showing the children her profile. “See? It’s me!” she says, proudly. The coin, glinting in the sunlight, shows the profile of the former empress.

Jeralt looks at the coin in his hand. “Mama,” he says.

Adelaide looks at Edelgard, coin in hand, very confused. Kate and Kidlat look at each other. Kidlat shrugs.

Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose. “My light, you are adorable,” she says. “But telling the children to give strangers gold coins is going to give off the wrong impression.”

“Oh,” goes Byleth.

_______

This time, thinks Edelgard, this time I have tamed the beast that is cooking.

She dramatically waves an arm over the dinner table. “Let’s eat!” she says.

Jeralt takes his seat. Byleth and Adelaide exchange a few glances.

On the table is an assortment of dishes that Edelgard is sure will win over the hearts of her family. Now, what those dishes are called, she isn’t quite sure herself. Which isn’t… reassuring, she realizes belatedly, but that matters little, she thinks. At the end of the day a dish boils down to what it tastes like and not what it’s named.

There are dishes with fish, which she knows Byleth likes. There are dishes with apples, which she knows Jeralt likes. And there are dishes with chicken, which she knows Adelaide likes. She also took the liberty to add as many spices as she knows to all the dishes since spices are universally good, so the more the better, right? And she likes sweet dishes, so she added milk. To everything. Yes, Edelgard thinks, congratulating herself, this time I have made amazing food. She even went so far as to cook with an actual knife instead of an axe, which she would have generally preferred.

Edelgard sits down, watching her family closely. They begin to eat, slowly, tentatively. Sure, cooking is a skill that has never quite come… naturally to her, but she is Edelgard von Hresvelg and there is nothing in the world that can stop her from accomplishing a task she has set her mind on.

Jeralt leans over his plate. He spits out half-chewed food. He stares at it, blankly. He takes another spoonful but spits it out again. He seems genuinely confused.

Byleth seems to tremble as she chews, slowly, slowly. There’s a determination that’s burning in her eyes. It reminds Edelgard of how Byleth looks when she’s focusing on battle strategies.

Adelaide looks like she’s on the verge of passing out. Sweat seems to gather on her brow. She makes eye contact with Byleth. Byleth makes eye contact back. They seem to have a nonverbal conversation.

Hang in there, don’t give up, Byleth seems to say. Just keep chewing. It will pass.

I’m doing my best mama, Adelaide seems to answer. My eyes are trying to roll back into my skull.

Focus, Adelaide. Focus!

Understood, mama!

Did they think Edelgard couldn’t see them having this exchange in front of her face? She could read the expressions on their faces as clear as day. The absolute opposite of subtlety.

Edelgard puts her hands on the table, with a little more force than she had intended. The dishes clatter slightly.

“It’s fine,” says Edelgard. “We don’t have to eat this.”

“It’s not bad, El!” says Byleth, panicking.

“Yeah mom, it’s certainly an improvement from last time!” joins Adelaide.

Jeralt tries to eat another spoonful. Spits it out a third time.

The three are pale, sweating. Edelgard wonders if she put too many peppers. Or was it the milk? Maybe everything needs more carrots or something.

Edelgard buries her face into her hands. Groans. “Let’s just ask if there’s any bread and soup left in the mess hall,” she says, defeated.

Jeralt speaks up. “Nice effort!” he says.

Edelgard looks up. Jeralt is doing his best to grin at his mother. He’s holding a thumbs up, bits of food stuck to his cheeks.

She reaches out, ruffles his hair. Smiling warmly at her son, she says, “Thank you, Jeralt. I did do my best.”

Byleth quips in as well. “You did, El. Nice effort!” She also gives a thumbs up.

“Nice effort!” echoes Adelaide. She gives a thumbs up too.

Edelgard looks around the table. Her wife and two children were each giving her a thumbs up. She can’t help but wonder how on earth she has managed to get herself to this point. She laughs, heartily.

“Okay, okay. I love you all too,” she says.

“We hug now!” exclaims Jeralt.

And the family hugs over the table, over abominations of dishes that Edelgard had called “cooking.”

_______

It’s late into the evening. Byleth and Edelgard are relaxing by the fireplace in their quarters. Edelgard leans into Byleth’s easy embrace. She traces idle shapes on her wife’s chest.

“To think,” says Edelgard, “that there was a time that I didn’t think I’d ever live to this age.”

Byleth says nothing, but she wraps her arms around Edelgard a little more tightly. She starts to play with Edelgard’s long brown hair, admiring it.

“There was a time that I would have been perfectly fine with it too. Dying young. Dying on the battlefield.”

“Well I’m glad that we get to be old and wrinkly together,” says Byleth, chuckling.

“Yes,” says Edelgard. “Hope is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

Byleth hums.

Edelgard presses her ear against Byleth’s chest. Listens to the beat, beat, beating of her wife’s heart. Steady. Sure. The light that Edelgard had clung to, the light that had given her the courage she needed to allow herself to hope.

“I’m glad we met,” Edelgard whispers.

“I’m glad we fell in love,” Byleth whispers back.

Edelgard listens as Byleth’s heart beats a little faster. Edelgard smiles. She adjusts her position, her joints beginning to ache.

“Do you think we can continue to live like this?” asks Edelgard, looking up at her wife’s face.

Byleth’s embrace tightens more. “Of course,” she says. “You aren’t allowed to stray from the path we chose together.”

“Together, huh?”

“Yes. The days will pass. The seasons will change. Our children will grow up. We’ll get old. And still we’ll find time to rest by the fireplace, just like this.”

“That would be nice,” says Edelgard, wrapping her arms around Byleth.

It’s been quite the journey for them to reach this point, but something tells Edelgard that they’re nowhere near done with the path they’re treading. Time seems to stretch out before Edelgard in a way that she’s never thought about before.

She has Byleth, Adelaide, and Jeralt. Her family. Her home. A slow burning flame that will keep going on for the rest of her days.

Her bones may ache but she’s never quite felt so alive.