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"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a queen--"
"I think you already told me this one."
"Have I?"
"This is the one with the evil queen, right?"
"That's a different tale." A pause. "Do you still want to hear about this one?"
A nod.
A laugh, a kiss.
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a queen. She was the strongest queen in all the land, a legendary protector of its immense borders. She was brave, fierce, beautiful, and most of all beloved by her people. Some say her benevolent rule was the product of a magical mirror, from which she received prophecies that could predict the flow of time. Others say that the queen was simply an emissary for a long-fabled goddess, who gave the queen unparalleled power because she, unlike all others before her, had been worthy to the task.
Regardless of these rumors, there was one thing that all knew to be true. The Queen did not possess a beating heart. One day, the silent mass would simply turn to stone.
And for this reason, it was known far and wide that the Queen's reign was to be short-lived, like the light of hot-burning flare. Her enemies slithered in the dark, awaiting the day they could emerge and trammel the people once more in their spiteful claws.
All of the Queen's sorcerers, hunters, and soldiers sought a way to free the Queen from her wretched curse, but none could find nor fashion a heart that would prolong her life.
Poets and minstrels argue on the details, but all agree that, indeed, a path forward was eventually discovered. The Queen learned of a triumvirate of mythical creatures whose immortal hearts could make a heart frozen and cold as her's beat as strong as a bird's. None of these mythical creatures had been seen in generations. They were rumored not to exist, to simply be fables that bestowed hope in troubled times.
Yet, the Queen persisted. She sought them out, ordering her most skilled and loyal knights to seek news of these creatures.
Of her sorcerers, she sent to the Adrestian Mountains to seek out the Black Eagle. The Black Eagle, with wings so wide and dark it could blot out the sun, was thought to live on the tallest peaks, where the air was too thin for mortal lungs. A single feather from the Black Eagle was said to bestow great power on its finder.
Of her soldiers, she sent to the northern reaches of the frigid Faerghus Tundras to seek out the Blue Lion. The Blue Lion, with claws and teeth that glowed like sun-lit snow and glaciers, was thought to live in the eye of the coldest storm. A single tooth from the Blue Lion was said to bestow unrivaled courage on its finder.
Of her hunters, she sent to the deepest regions of the sacred Forest of Leicester to seek out the Golden Deer. The Golden Deer, with antlers that shone like the sun itself, was thought to live in an ancient woodland growth, a hidden place where the land's first flowers bloomed. A single antler from the Golden Deer was said to bestow brilliant wisdom on its finder.
The Queen refused rest, and accompanied her contingents on all of their searches, often braving the most perilous of conditions and locations alone to spare her people the danger. Every day that passed, her heart grew heavier, leaden like a dead weight in her chest.
Months passed, slowly eating away at the Queen's remaining time. Her enemies, emboldened by her weakening state, began to wreak havoc on her villages. Instead of continuing to seek a cure, she redirected her forces to protect the towns.
It was during one of these quests to eradicate her enemies, that the Queen stepped foot into a briar untouched by mortals. Flowers and plants, the likes of which had never been seen nor recorded by any botantist, gently waved in a sweet breeze, as if in greeting to her. The briar was soundless, and had she a heartbeat, she would have heard it more loudly than anything else in this hallowed place. She dared not remain. Quickly, the Queen turned back to seek out her battalion, but the path beyond had already disappeared behind overgrown vines.
The Queen's eyes searched warily for an exit, and it was then that the divine beast appeared before her.
A stag with antlers that shone like the sun itself. Its eyes a verdant green, like the leaves of summer. Its coat a bright gold like veins of precious metal that coated the earth.
The Queen then realized what fate had given her. The heart of this immortal stag would surely save her life. Her fingers trembled above her blade. She simply needed to cut it out.
It watched her, its impossible eyes keen and penetrating. She knew it could read her every thought, know her every desire, yet it did not flee. The Queen pressed a hand to her silent chest as her life dripped away.
Finally, she drew the blade. A violent fear and hatred appeared in the stag's eyes. Like a cold winter, the air became sharp to breathe. It would fight her then. It would fight to protect its own life, and that of the spirit of the entire forest.
The Queen's hands tightened against her sword. It knew how much she wanted to live. It knew.
Before it could step to her, the Queen dropped her blade. It fell soundlessly to the floor of the glade, cushioned by lush, vibrant grass. She knelt before the stag.
"I will not harm you, Golden Deer. I do not wish to trade one life for another. I will accept my fate. You have my word."
The stag regarded her. Slowly, the warmth returned to the air. It bowed and behind her, the path back opened.
The Queen left and did look back.
When she returned to her palace, the knights asked where she had been. She did not disclose what she encountered, but bid all her people to forget the tales of the mythical creatures, to leave the land in peace.
On the day of her death, when every breath was labored, every pump of blood forcing its way through immovable stone, she kept her chin high and promised her people that her knights would protect them in her stead, that though her reign would end, their hope lived on. Prosperity, she was sure, would come again.
She awaited her last breath in an empty glade by her palace. The sun glimmered just barely over the mountains, with the cover of heavy night behind it, a portent of the end of her time.
Suddenly, a blinding light appeared in the glade, as if sun had crested over the mountains and fallen into her lap. She stepped back, a gasp caught in her throat.
Before her, the golden stag stepped forward. Beside it lay her sword, clean and crisp as the day she left it. The Queen understood its intentions, but her will was iron.
"I will not trade my life for yours. Keep your heart. I have accepted what must come."
The golden stag then transformed into a man. She could recognize the mesmerizing green of its eyes in his face. His coat became a cape of billowing, gilded gold.
"You misunderstand, my Queen. I have not come to trade. I have come to offer you my heart."
The Queen shook, sinking to her knees in the glade, as her heart began to stutter and stop beneath her chest. "I have no need of it, sacred beast."
"On the contrary, it appears you have great need. I do not offer it to you in the way you think."
Kneeling before her, he took her hand and clasped it in his own. "Will you accept this heart of mine, my Queen?"
The Queen stared at this beast turned man with awe and lament. "I can not offer you anything in return."
"Your heart."
The Queen laughed. "It is made of stone."
The man pressed his lips to hers. "Not anymore."
Loudly, in her chest, her stone heart began to beat.
"So, did she die?"
"Eventually, yes, as all mortals must do."
"I've never heard this one before, Baba!"
Claude smiles down at his daughter, ruffling her hair. "That's because I've never told it to you."
"I don't really get it."
Claude shrugs, a whimsical smile upon his face. "There really isn't much to get. It's just a story."
They both catch the sound of footsteps in the hall.
"Mama!" His daughter tears herself away from the bed, racing directly into her mother's arms. "Baba just told me a story about a golden deer."
Byleth tilts her head, a rare smile on the edge of her lips. "Did he now? Did you like it?"
"I wanted more fighting."
Byleth picks up her daughter with an affectionate look on her face, plopping her back into bed. "Did you hear that? More fighting next time," she directs at her hapless husband, dark eyes twinkling.
"I'll remember that for next time, my love."
Together, they tuck their daughter into bed and leave her room.
"Why did you decide to tell her that story?" Byleth asks, her fingers intertwined with his.
"Don't you like that one?" he says, lips lifting into a grin.
Byleth regards him quietly. "I wouldn't say 'like' is the best term for it."
They reach their rooms, and Claude unclasps his hand to reach for a shimmering golden cloak, hanging by the open balcony doors.
Before he sets it across his shoulders, Claude pulls her into an embrace, and Byleth feels his strong heart beating wild and thunderous his in chest, in perfect tandem with her own. "I'll be back soon, my love."
"I know," she says fondly.
He pulls the cloak on.
A golden stag leaps into the forest and a former queen presses a hand to her chest.