Chapter Text
Hilda sighs when she hears the shrill cry of Lorenz’s protests drift down the hallway. She could hear that voice even though he was five doors over; it had become a staple in the past week. Even with everyone coming off the high of their success at the Battle of Eagle and Lion, Lorenz had taken it upon himself to determine Claude’s “true motives” towards the Alliance. She couldn’t exactly blame Lorenz for being suspicious of Claude- it’s not like Claude hid his own distrust- but his straightforward attempts to figure him out were going to lead him nowhere. Asking questions would only give Claude more ways to confuse and frustrate.
She prided herself on being a good friend, someone who pays favors back. Maybe not by actually doing anything, but by praising and cheering others on. Lorenz had been taking all her chore assignments recently, so she figured she’d pay him back by saving him, just this once, from Claude.
Moving down the hallway, she can hear Claude laughing over Lorenz’s sputtering. (She hasn’t quite figured out which of his laughs are real, or if any are. It bothers her.) She follows the clamor to Claude’s room; Claude is leaning back on the bed, cackling while Lorenz flails his hands, blush spreading from his cheeks to his collar.
“I can’t believe you’re seriously suggesting I am trying to seduce-” Claude’s sentence is choked off by his laughter.
Lorenz’s response is marred by the high pitch of his voice. “Well how else is one to interpret the efforts you take to spend time with her? Especially since she got that sword.”
“Some of us actually came here to learn, not just choose a wife. Though it’s not like you’re having any luck with that either.”
“That- that is beside the point here!”
It is clear to Hilda, by the smirk on Claude’s face and the blush on Lorenz’s neck, that this is a conversation Lorenz cannot win. She chooses, then, to knock, putting on her most breezy smile.
“Well then, what’s all this about?”
Claude gives her an easy smile in return. Lorenz gapes at her, before his eyes harden.
“I am asking Claude about his… intentions with the Professor.”
What.
“What?”
Claude rolls his eyes. “Lorenz here thinks I’m trying to seduce Teach for nefarious purposes.”
Hilda closes the door.
“I was simply inquiring because he spends an inordinate amount of time with her and-”
“She’s my professor, I’m-”
“It’s completely unacceptable, trying to use her like-”
“Just because your love life is a disaster doesn’t mean you have to-”
“This isn’t about me at all!”
“Oh, sure, sure, this has nothing to do with you not getting-”
“Ok, stop, stop! This is ridiculous!”
Claude sweeps a hand towards her in agreement. “Exactly! There’s no way I’m trying to seduce Teach to use her.”
Lorenz glares at him, then at Hilda. “Then what-”
She prides herself on being a good friend, which is why she sends Claude a brief, nasty smile as a warning before she responds.
“He’s just in love with her.”
Claude tries to play off his flinch as casually as possible, but she had been looking for it. His facial control is impressive, as always; within a second, he’s already conjured an expression of faint amusement. Lorenz, on the other hand, is staring at her open mouthed.
Claude’s voice is even and calm, as if he’s explaining something to a child. “I’m not in love with her.”
She stares at Claude, her most threatening smile on full blast. His face twitches, his mouth twisting at the corner. Lorenz doesn’t seem to notice, as he hasn’t managed to drag his jaw off the floor yet. The pause stretches, until Lorenz finally croaks out, “In love with her?”
Hilda’s smile is rewarded by the hint of panic in Claude’s voice. “I’m not in love with her!”
“Oh?” He shoots her a glare before his face smooths over again. He waves a hand, the movement carefully calculated to look as flippant as possible.
“Attracted to? Sure. Interested in? Maybe. In love with? Absolutely not.”
She’s amazed that Lorenz manages to force sounds out with his lips pursed in disapproval like that. “Attracted to?”
Claude raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say you’re not?”
Lorenz’s blush, which hadn’t quite faded, returns with a vengeance, making his face match the flower on his lapel.
“C’mon, everyone’s got a little crush on Teach.”
Hilda nods. So much for saving Lorenz. She’d landed a verbal blow on Claude, she thinks, but this can’t be salvaged. “It’s the leggings.”
“The tactics…”
“The swordplay.”
Claude’s expressive hands cup in front of his chest. “The just-”
He’s cut off by an odd choking sound from Lorenz.
Claude tries again, a smile beginning to curve his lips. “Absolutely-”
Lorenz flails a hand at him, making that smile grow.
“Huge, massive-”
“STOP, stop, you- you dishonorable, disgusting person, stop!” Claude’s grin has something viciously pleased within it, all his teeth showing, but he stops.
(She prides herself on being a good friend, but it’s too tempting.)
“Boobs.”
Lorenz wails like he’s in pain as Claude collapses into laughter.
-
The second half of the school year is, to put it nicely, an absolute shit show. Between the attacks on the monastery, Jeritza’s sudden disappearance, the Death Knight and the Flame Emperor and all the rest of it, there has been little time for rest. The ball seems like a welcome breath of air, a chance for them all to forget, if only for a few hours, all the horrible things swirling around the academy. Hilda hates that she’s been forced to actually fight and has avoided it whenever she can. As such, she’s been on the battlefield less than others, but it’s still hard work, keeping everyone’s spirits up when they’re all so gloomy.
The night of the ball, she takes her sweet time getting ready. First her dress, a dark pink one from home that shows off her shoulders, then her makeup, then her hair. She gently coerces Lysithea into getting a make over before dragging Marianne out of her room to have her hair done. She was, perhaps, a bit aggressive on the timing, so they wind up having more than an hour before the ball is set to begin. She brews some tea while Marianne and Lysithea chat somewhat awkwardly. For a minute, she admires her handiwork. Lysithea looks a bit older, but not so much that it clashes with her figure; her eyeshadow is subtle but matches her dress, deep purple with elaborately embroidered gold lines curving over it. Marianne’s hairdo shows off her slender neck nicely, pulling all of her silky hair away from the high collar of her conservative dress. It frames her face wonderfully and the whole school would know her to be a beauty if she would only keep her face lifted from the ground…
She spikes her tea heavily with whiskey she’d swiped from Manuela’s ‘secret’ stash in the infirmary. Marianne declines politely and Hilda pours Lysithea a significantly smaller portion. By the time the ball is set to begin, Hilda is pleasantly buzzed and Lysithea appears to be drunk, all soft giggles and delighted smiles that seem out of place on her normally serious face. Marianne, while she hasn’t been drinking, seems caught up in their high spirits, failing to hide her small smiles behind her hand like usual. She laughs at something Lysithea says and Hilda is briefly enraptured by the sound, the fuzzy feeling in her brain increasing for the next few minutes. When they gather themselves to leave, Hilda is feeling lighter than she has in months.
The levity continues through the feast. There seems to be a sense of relief that has swept through the whole student body, cleansing some of the trauma of the past weeks. The Golden Deer are dazzling, dressed beautifully, their full charm on display. It is clear that several of the Deer have been drinking; however, none of them are smashed like Sylvain appears to be, making dinner more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.
(They promise to meet again, five years from now. It seems so close, so far, and so very possible in that moment, Claude’s eyes shining and the Professor smiling slightly as all of them agree.)
The school slowly migrates to the reception hall for the rest of the party. They all stand to the side, waiting for the house leaders to open the floor. Edelgard and Dimitri both move to grab partners for the first dance, but Claude is still standing next to Raphael, absent mindedly nodding as the other breaks down his favorite aspects of the meal. She scurries over and catches him by the elbow. Raphael doesn’t even pause in his description, ignoring her completely.
“Claude! What are you doing?”
He seems startled, like she’d snuck up on him instead of barging right up. “What?”
“You have to open the dance floor for the Golden Deer!”
He blinks, for once allowing confusion to cross his features. “Why?”
“You’re our house leader! Look, Dimitri and Edelgard are stalling for you.”
Peeking over her shoulder, he catches sight of their highnesses and winces. “Shit, ok, but I…”
“You what.”
“I don’t know any Fód- I don’t know how to dance.” There’s embarrassment on his face, mingling with a strange defiance she doesn’t understand.
“Seriously?”
“Why would I be lying about that?” he hisses back.
“I don’t know, you just, I don’t know.” He pulls on his jacket, clearly uncomfortable in his formalwear. She is momentarily distracted- it’s cut well, accentuating his shoulders- before she shakes herself back. She risks a glance around the room, her eyes lighting on something. He must see the gleam in her eye, for when she turns back his face is wary.
“What.”
“Ask the Professor.”
Something must really be bothering him for him to be so expressive; he’s openly glaring at her now, annoyance replacing the wariness. “Hilda, seriously.”
“She won’t know any of the dances either.”
He thinks on this for a second, his brow creasing, then smiles, sly and sharp. He gives her arm as squeeze as he turns towards Byleth. She cuts a dark figure in her form fitting black dress, staring with slight confusion at Edelgard and Dimitri whispering on the other side of the room, but she is, as always, enchanting. Hilda watches Claude flash their highnesses a hand signal before he’s striding up to Byleth, bold as brass, and taking her hand with a slight bow and a wink.
She really was a good friend.
The three couples make their way to the floor and the music starts up. Dimitri and Edelgard, as expected, dance beautifully, both graceful and perfectly in sync with their partners. Their perfection is marred by Claude and Byleth, who clearly have no idea what they’re doing. The two of them spin awkwardly, Byleth obviously staring at her feet while Claude talks, seeming to ramble. She stumbles, grabbing his shoulders as she steps on his toes, and Claude throws his head back and laughs.
-
Hilda loses sight of him as the dance floor fills up. She takes a turn with Lorenz, which is surprisingly pleasant, with Marianne, which is delightfully awkward, with Sylvain, whom she holds up for most of it, with Dorothea, who compliments her hair and her dress until she’s blushing. She’s sitting to the side with Marianne for a while, simply observing the room, when she notices that neither Claude nor Byleth are still there. She remembers, then, a rumor about wishes and the Goddess Tower, and smiles to herself.
-
(She confronts him about it immediately the next morning, of course.
“Look, just admit that you like her.”
“Nope, because I don’t.”
“You’re interested in her.”
“She’s a mystery. You know how I feel about mysteries.”
“Oh, please, this is way beyond that.”
“Well, I’m saying it’s not.”
“You went to meet her at the Goddess Tower?”
“I went to the Goddess Tower, yes. She happened to be at the Goddess Tower as well.”
“Oh? You weren’t hoping to meet her? Didn’t have your fingers crossed that she’d be there?”
“Nope. Shut up.”
“Claudeeeeee. Deny it all you want but you’re not fooling me.”)
-
The brevity lasts less than a week. They’re supposed to be guarding the empty chapel, but suddenly there are monsters, the massive beasts shaking the floor with their footsteps, and she’s doing everything she can to not panic, and then there is Monica, her face shifting and changing before their eyes, and then there is…
There is…
She is twenty steps away when it happens. Claude is even closer, and his arrow pierces the air where not Monica used to be. Byleth is kneeling, magic pulsing out of her hands, muttering under her breath. She can hear Leonie screaming behind her, Ignatz yelling, footsteps splattering as it starts to rain. She stands there, motionless, as Byleth bends her head and cries. Claude takes a step forward, one hand reaching out, before he turns sharply on his heel. Hilda flinches badly when his hand lands on her shoulder.
“C’mon, let’s give her some room.” His voice is completely calm, like he’s saying they should go to the market.
“…how can you just walk away, I can’t just… I can’t…”
There’s a flatness to his voice when she finally hears it again, a slight inflection that tells her he’s said her name more than once. “Hilda, look at me.”
She looks up. There’s a deep cut above his eyebrow that’s still slowly bleeding, making lines down the side of his face. The blood sluggishly drips down his jaw, mixing with the splashes down his front. She glances at the hand he’s holding out to her, at the red under his nails and the brown stained between his fingers, then back at his face. It is completely empty, like hers used to be.
She takes his hand and walks away, leaving Byleth bent over her dead father.
-
The next few weeks are awkward, to say the least. Byleth is understandably distracted, giving them most of the weekends off. She’s no longer seen bustling around the monastery, retrieving everyone’s lost items and handing out the perfect gifts with a slight smile on her face. Instead she’s locked in her room, the door stubbornly closed all hours of the day. That is understandable. What isn’t is Claude’s reaction. While Byleth is quieter, slower, more withdrawn, Claude is distracted and on edge. He ignores her more than once, responding incoherently to whatever she’s trying to tell him with his eyes glued to a worn leather book, and snaps at her when she calls him out on it. It’s completely out of character, or at least out of character for the façade that he’s built. It annoys her, then it angers her, so she decides to do something about it.
Lorenz says something to her about Claude not coming back to his room at night; while he frames it as something degenerative, yet another character flaw revealed, Hilda sees it as something worrying. She takes it upon herself to seek him out one night, sneaking around the monastery after everything has closed and the guards are supposed to be keeping curfew. She is not surprised to find him in the library, hunched over a desk in the back. There are stacks of books at his elbow, but he is immersed again in that book, muttering to himself as his finger drags down the page. He hasn’t noticed her approach and jumps out of his seat when she pulls the book sharply from under his hands.
He shouts at her, just a single “No!,” but what really gives her pause is the genuine panic and distress in the draw of his eyebrows, the clench of his mouth. She resolves not to look at the contents of the book as she pulls the ribbon hanging off the spine between the open pages and closes it. She places it back on the table in front of him and he visibly relaxes, flopping back into his seat with a sigh. She notices one hand lands on the cover, pulling it slightly towards him.
There are bags under his eyes, almost as dark as the smear of ink on his cheek.
“Claude.”
“Hilda. You scared me.”
“You can’t… you need to sleep.” It’s not what she’d meant to say, but it’s what comes out.
He sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face. His other hand remains stubbornly on the book. “…I know.”
“You’ve been kind of a dick recently.”
He looks her in the eye, then. She registers the remorse on his face, hopes that it’s genuine. “I’m sorry, Hilda.”
His eyes drop back to the book as he idly taps a finger on the cover. There is something disquieting about the stiffness of his shoulders, the sharp line of tension in his face. She’s a good friend, so she takes a deep breath and a leap of faith.
“Is this something I could help you with?”
His reaction isn’t something she’d expected, as she’d assumed he would flippantly reject her. Instead, he stares at her for a moment, his face carefully blank, before he smiles, small but undeniably grateful. She thinks this one might actually be real.
“No. No, I don’t think so. Thank you, though, for the offer.”
She nods, accepting the rejection she’d been waiting for. “Can I ask what you’re doing?” There is another moment of pause, of him evaluating her face and words. She silently hopes that he’ll understand that not everything is a trap, that she really means it.
“I’m looking into Jeralt’s death.”
She conceals her surprise as best she can, though she’s sure he can see it anyway. Her control isn’t quite at his level.
“Does the Professor know?”
He nods, his eyes burning into her. Seriousness looks wrong on him off the battlefield, and she finds herself struggling to not look away.
“She trusted me with this.” He gestures towards the book. “It was his diary. I think there might be some answers in there somewhere.”
Hilda sighs, feeling out of her depth. “I’m sure she finds some comfort, knowing someone’s looking into it. Knowing that the responsibility isn’t all hers.”
“That she isn’t alone,” he says in agreement. “Though I’m sure she can use a bit more ease than just this,” he adds ruefully.
“Well, maybe I’ll put in some effort this week so she doesn’t have to worry about the stables being clean.”
His barking laughter is sharp, but it makes her smile all the same.
“Or I’ll just make her a bracelet instead? Or would a broach be better? Maybe she’d want something with glitter and flowers.”
His shoulders drop even further, edging closer to his normal slouching. “You would know better than me, I think.”
“Oh? Because I don’t think she’s taken off that bracelet you got her since her birthday.”
Hilda is gratified by the slight blush that dusts his cheekbones as he looks away. “I don’t know about that.”
As much as she wants to, she doesn’t think now is the time to tease him for that, so she switches tactics. “It was a nice gift. I’m sure she loved it. And it’s a reminder that all the Deer are with her.”
The serious look crosses his face again, the steel coming into his eyes. “We are.”
There’s another pause, one in which she admits to herself how uncomfortable the intensity of this conversation has been.
“Aaaaaaaand all the Deer should be in bed.” He laughs quietly, but stands up, gathering the books to put them back on the shelves. As they turn to finally leave, she watches him tuck the leather book into the front of his uniform. He pauses by the doors.
“Hold on, I need to lock these…”
“Who gave you a key?”
“Never said I had a key,” he replies with a wink, pulling out a small iron tool. He turns to the door as he continues, “With Tomas, uh, unmasked, Seteth has been keeping a closer eye on the library than usual, but he hasn’t figured out how to keep me out yet.” Something in the door turns under Claude’s fingers and the door clicks. Hilda tries the handle, just to make sure. With the door successfully locked, they sneak back to the dormitory. Hilda starts to narrate their daring exploits across the grounds and Claude joins in, nearly getting them caught when they can’t control their giggles. Finally, they make it up the stairs. Claude pauses at her room, but she tuts at him.
“No way. I’m making sure you get into your room first, Claude.”
He sighs, but links his arm with hers, bowing dramatically when they reach his room.
“You first, my dear lady.”
She steps on his foot as she enters the room, ignoring his whining in favor of clearing his bed.
“How many of these have you stolen from the library?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, Seteth hasn’t managed to keep me out.”
She deposits the books on his desk, careful not to knock over the little vials on the shelf. Her (minimal) work done, she turns to leave, throwing one last warning over her shoulder.
“You better get some sleep, Claude. Those bags make even you less attractive.”
He nods and catches her by the arm, causing her to look at him. “Hilda. Thanks. I really mean it.”
She smiles in response. “Goodnight, Claude.”
-
The tension remains in his shoulders even as Byleth slowly returns to normal. Hilda doesn’t push him on it again, but she does make sure to check on him, to drag him to his room after curfew, bring him food when he doesn’t make it to the dining hall, and ensure that he’s keeping up with his actual studies, not just his secret ones. She informs him one day, her hands on her hips as she eyes the stacks of newly stolen books on his bed, that this is the most effort she’s ever put into a friendship. Claude just smiles, warm yet sly in that way she’s starting to think might be only for her, and tells her he believes it.
The end of the month takes ages to arrive, anxiety still bubbling under the surface of all the students. Without a mission to prepare for, everyone throws themselves into studying and drills. The lack of new information or a distraction is frustrating, even more so when Claude confides that he hasn’t been able to figure much out in his private investigation.
It’s the 30th when she sees him sprinting through the monastery towards the dormitory. She waves him down and he skids to a stop, panting slightly.
“Claude, what’s-”
“Get ready to move out. They found her.”
“What? Are you serious?”
He glares at her, but the effect is ruined by how breathless he is. “Yes. But Teach doesn’t know yet.”
“Alright, alright, go. But I think I saw her in the entrance hall.”
He’s already moving as she finishes her sentence. “Thanks!”
Claude is, as usual, right. They’re called to deploy to the Sealed Forest the next day, causing everyone to scramble to get their things in order. Marching out under the banner of Seiros, she notices Rhea standing on the balcony, looking out over them. She elbows Claude.
“Look at Rhea. She looks… disapproving.”
“Fuck her,” Claude spits out, not bothering to look up.
“Whoa.”
He sighs, adds more calmly, “She didn’t tell Teach about this, I did. She didn’t want us to go.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Hilda risks a glance back up at the balcony, but Rhea is gone.
-
The battle goes better than they anticipate, their forces moving quickly through the trees. Not Monica (Kronya, she calls herself) is surrounded by monsters, but Byleth has prepared them well. She turns their anger into focus, keeping them in tight formation; when she charges up to Kronya, Hilda follows, slipping her axe into the openings Byleth creates, surging forward. Under the force of their combined assault, Kronya turns and runs, stumbling over her wounded legs in her haste to get away. Byleth signals her backwards so Hilda retreats, sliding down the muddy hill even as she watches Byleth loom over the bleeding woman. She raises her sword, the blade glowing red, just as Claude shouts from his wyvern. Hilda sees what used to be Tomas suddenly appear and plunge his hand into Kronya’s chest, lifting her off the ground, before her vision is obscured by dark swirling lines. There is a deafening roar of magic, and then there is nothing.
Only one figure remains on the top of the hill.
She hears Claude scream, anguished and furious, as a rain of arrows comes from the sky. Not Tomas laughs as his magic cuts them easily out of the air, the grating sound sending shivers down her spine. She forces herself back up the hill, unheeding of the commands behind her, of Lorenz calling her and Claude back, warning them of the pillars on the hill. She’s one step away from the stone platform, Claude’s wyvern screeching above her, when she’s forced to throw a hand up in front of her face. The sudden light burns through her eyelids, and she’s stumbling back again at the horrid noise of something tearing, feeling the ground beneath her shift, when the light and noise end abruptly.
She feels more than hears Claude land behind her, the massive wings of his mount pounding the ground.
“Hilda.”
She looks at him. His face is drawn in awe, his mouth hanging open, his hands slackening on the reins.
“Hilda, look.”
There is a figure kneeling on the stones, a sword glowing red by their side. They stand, slowly, odd green hair obscuring their face, before they point their weapon at not Tomas. He takes a step back, before disappearing in a flash of dark magic.
The force of Claude’s wyvern taking off knocks her to the ground. He’s shouting, pointing with one hand, directing their troops to spilt. Disoriented, she heads left, joining with Leonie and Raphael. She hears Claude shout again, his voice ringing over the battlefield.
“For the Professor!”
The rest of the group takes up his call, the army screaming as it surges forward again. Exhaustion slows their onslaught, but under Claude’s command they keep their composure enough to beat back the reinforcements. She watches Byleth (could it really be her?) out of the corner of her eye as she charges, slashing through enemies like butter, her sword glowing red, Claude’s arrows keeping her path clear.
The monster Hilda has been fighting finally collapses, arrows in its eyes and her axe in its skull, and she turns, pulling her lance off her back. No one has been able to get near not Tomas, stationed high on the hill, his dark magic slicing through anyone that comes within a few feet. He’s beginning to look panicked, however, as his forces are defeated, as Byleth and Claude bear down on him. Hilda curves to the right, hoping to catch his flank as they attack his front. He notices her too quickly, flicking a spell her way; she barely dodges, losing her footing in the mud, and finds herself sinking in the soft ground as he turns back to Byleth and Claude. The Sword of the Creator unhinges as arrows pin not Tomas in place. He screams in pain as the sword catches his leg, yells out a spell as an arrow hits his arm. Claude’s wyvern roars as the magic hits her wings, and Hilda finds herself screaming with her as she and her rider fall from the sky. She scrambles back to her feet, desperately trying to wade through the mud, as Byleth charges forward, yelling in rage. The sword flashes again, the light burning through the darkness, hitting not Tomas in the neck in a spray of blood. Hilda is struggling up the hill when she sees Byleth fall next to him.
The sight stops her in her tracks. She watches as Claude emerges from under the wing of his wyvern, her flanks heaving as the animal struggles for air. He drags himself over to Byleth, gathering her in his arms, looking around slowly, like he’s dazed. His voice shakes her out of her stupor and she runs over as quickly as she can in her armor. Claude is breathing heavily, Byleth in his lap, his left hand over her heart. His arm is burned black by magic, crumpling his armor, the darkness spreading up his neck and under his jaw.
“Hilda, I… carry her, I can’t carry her, please, she’s… please…”
She carefully lifts Byleth into her arms, then slings her over her shoulder after a moment of consideration. Claude looks appalled under the burns and dirt on his face.
“What… she’s hurt, be careful-”
She steps forward and grabs him by the waist, settling him awkwardly on her other shoulder.
“Hilda!”
“Someone’s got to carry your dumb ass back to the monastery.”
-
She makes it to the wagons before her arms start to really shake, making sure the two of them are arranged comfortably on the bedrolls before she lets herself sit down heavily on the floor of the cart. They’re left in the care of the Seiros monks; Marianne had returned to the field to heal the abandoned animals enough to get them back to the monastery. When Hilda had told her about Claude’s wyvern, her face creased in such worry Hilda’s heart had clenched painfully in her chest. She knows she’s in the way of the monks, but her legs are like jelly after fighting and then carrying them so far. The church monks smile understandingly though, letting her dump her muddy armor in the corner, asking her kindly to hold Claude’s arm while they bandage it. She stares at his face as they work, his features twisted in pain as his breaths come quick and shallow.
Beside her, the monks attending to Byleth begin to whisper frantically. Even amidst the rattling of the wagon she’s able to hear them whisper, “She has no heartbeat.”
Claude seems to hear it too, turning his face towards Hilda as he struggles to speak. “She never… she never had one.”
“Never had one?”
“A heartbeat.”
In bewilderment she relays this information to the monks, who seem even more confused than she is. Claude’s face remains drawn and pale under the blood and burns. She doesn’t ask him to explain.
-
A week passes before Claude is released from the infirmary. Professor Manuela asks her to escort him back to his room, since she’d been visiting so much, bringing him written work and sneaking in pastries. Hilda had kept him updated on Byleth, who had recovered soon after the troops return to the monastery. Kept secret is the fact that Byleth had been spending long hours with Rhea and Seteth, something Hilda thought would agitate him, and she had been strictly told not to upset him. The burns had already faded under Manuela’s gentle hands, but there was scarring under his jaw, where the magic had hit his skin directly. White lines swirl in intricate patterns against his tan skin, ending abruptly at his collar; she tries to joke that they look cool and add another layer of mystery to him, but her words never seem to land right.
She doesn’t tell him about Byleth’s meetings until they’re back in his room, the door firmly shut. Predictably, the anger flashes in his eyes, though he allows it to linger. Hilda can’t help but feel amazed by the amount of emotion he’s been showing her recently. She chalks it up to having proved herself a good friend, maybe someone he might even trust, if only a little bit.
“Can you tell me about her heartbeat?”
The anger in his eyes rises as his mouth twists into a scowl briefly. “I don’t really know what happened. But…” A moment of consideration, evaluation. She stands tall, lets his eyes drag over her face, until he decides. “Jeralt seemed to think it had something to do with Rhea.”
That was a surprise. “Rhea?”
“He didn’t have any proof, of course. And I’m not sure he was on the right track either. But it’s true that she wants something from Teach.”
“Doesn’t that seem odd? The Professor is constantly saying she doesn’t know much about the Church, or her crest. Why would Rhea want anything from her?”
Claude takes a deep breath before blowing it out noisily. “I don’t know. At first, I just… well, I thought Teach was lying. Seemed awful suspicious that someone from Fódlan could know so little about the Church, let alone so little about themselves. But… the whole business with Solon, with her hair, with her crest… it’s unbelievable. And she has no idea what’s happening, I’m convinced of that now.”
“But Rhea does?”
“She knows something, something that she’s not sharing with Teach. I just don’t know what it could be.” The anger has faded somewhat, leaving him looking lost and worried. She remembers him falling out of the sky, dragging himself towards Byleth, and has to look away.
“What should we do?”
“I… I don’t know. Support Teach, I guess. I just don’t have enough information.” He bites the last word out, clearly frustrated.
“Support I can give. But I can’t help you on the information front. I’m just a sweet girl, you know?”
Adding her brightest smile only earns her a deeply skeptical look, but at least it’s not frustration or pain.
“You know you can’t count on me, Claude. I’m just a delicate flower.” He snorts in response, before his face crumples again.
“I want to help her,” he says helplessly, “I want to do something, I hate being on the sidelines.”
“We’re going to get her through this.” She tries to inject confidence into her voice, but she gets the feeling that she’s falling short.
-
Blessed by the Goddess. A rare crest, a rare change. A blessing that hadn’t been bestowed on anyone in centuries. A saint’s power.
Byleth looks like she wants the ground to swallow her. She actually shies away from Ignatz when he gushes about her new power, as if she couldn’t kill him in a second. The rest of the group is staring at her in awe, making her curve even further back behind her desk. Hilda catches Claude’s eye from where they stand in the back, and he grimaces and shimmies over, ignoring Byleth’s quiet answers to the torrent of questions.
“Invite her to tea or something, she likes tea.”
“Me?! Aren’t you her favorite?”
He makes a face. “I’m not her favorite.”
“What planet are you on?”
“It doesn’t matter! You do it. I think I showed a little too much interest in her before to be comforting now.”
“Oh, your nefarious seduction plan?”
“It was not- look, just do it.”
“Fine. But only because I’m a good friend.”
“To whom? Me or her?”
“Her, obviously.”
He huffs in mock annoyance before pushing her forward through the small crowd of Deer.
And so she ends up awkwardly across the table from a very flustered looking Byleth. Byleth is at best a mediocre conversationalist, seeming to almost guess at topics that might be of interest, but today she is picking all the wrong options. Their tea time grinds to a halt, neither of them really having much to say to the other. Hilda taps her fingers on the table awkwardly, wishing she knew what to do to salvage this.
“So, that, uh, that Marianne, huh?”
Hilda knows she must be making a face, because what, but Byleth plunges on.
“She’s got great hair.”
There’s more silence. Marianne does have great hair, but why is Byleth bringing it up? Surely, she can’t know how much Hilda thinks about Marianne’s great hair and great… other things. As Hilda stares, Byleth actually winces, pushing her own hair behind her ear like the action will protect her from her own horrible conversation skills.
“I mean… I guess?”
“Did you do it?”
“What?”
“Did you do her hair? You know, for the ball?”
The ball that was weeks ago? “Yeah, I did.”
“It looked nice.”
“Thanks.”
Another pause. Hilda is struck by an idea. She’s supposed to be cheering Byleth up, not letting the silence stretch into infinity.
“How about I do yours?”
“My hair?”
“Yeah! I can cut it, or, or style it, if you wanted.”
Byleth seems to think about this a moment. Her face is more expressive than even last week, her brow furrowing noticeably. Hilda wonders if it’s a side effect of the blessing.
“Um, sure. If you want. Maybe… Maybe you could cut it short?” Hilda gets up and pulls out a small pocket mirror, coming around to stand behind Byleth. She hands over the mirror and watches Byleth struggle to line it up properly before taking her hair in her hands. It’s not at all what she expected, silky and smooth, with no tangles to speak of.
“How short do you want it?” She uses her fingers to show different lengths, gradually going shorter until Byleth nods.
“About shoulder length? Sure! Let’s go to my room, I have my stuff there.”
She forces herself to chat as they walk the grounds to the dorms, aimlessly filling the air with her tips on fashion and jewelry. Byleth barely responds, but she nods and smiles, so Hilda concludes she’s doing well.
In her room, Hilda washes Byleth’s hair, taking her time, before drying it enough to cut. While she’s cutting, Byleth sits silently, her eyes closed. Hilda is worried she’s fallen asleep, but she opens her eyes and responds when asked again about the length. When she’s done, the floor is covered in light green strands and the sun is beginning to cast orange beams into the room. She gives her hand mirror to Byleth, who stares at her own reflection for so long Hilda starts to actually wring her hands.
“It’s nice.”
She thinks her smile is too obviously relieved, but she responds cheerfully anyway. “Good! I think it rounds out your image change.”
Byleth sighs. “I didn’t ask for this,” she says quietly.
Hilda shifts on her feet, trying to think of an appropriate response; she decides for brevity. A good friend, not a serious one.
“Yeah, but look at your hair! How many people have this lovely color? And those eyes! They’ll draw anyone in immediately. Just an instant and they’ll be enraptured.”
Thankfully, Byleth laughs quietly, turning her head to see herself better in the mirror.
“They are a pretty color, aren’t they?”
Hilda squeezes her shoulder, leaning over her. “Yeah, they really are.”
-
(Hilda pretends to not have noticed Claude walk straight into the door jamb when he arrives (late, as usual) in the classroom the next day. Or, more accurately, she pretends to not have noticed until lunch, when she teases him mercilessly until he turns the color of Edelgard’s tights.)
-
As blessed as she is, Byleth seems to have the absolute worst luck. Of course Edelgard’s surprise assault comes during her ceremony, the Flame Emperor declaring herself the new Adrestian Emperor the instant the group leaves the Holy Tomb. The battle is a complete mess, the monastery writhing like an anthill that’s been kicked. Outside the Holy Tomb, the students scramble to defend the walls alongside the Knights of Seiros, the staff running themselves ragged trying to get enough supplies to the front lines and the medical tents. Some students turn to the Imperial Army over the course of the battle, further confusing the fight. The grounds are a mess of bodies and equipment, troops of every color scurrying left and right. She thinks she sees Claude, back to back with Dimitri outside the walls, but then she’s distracted by a deafening roar as an honest to Goddess dragon flies above the monastery. It lands, its voice drowning out the sounds of fighting; Hilda is so busy watching she nearly forgets the soldiers around her. Collecting herself, she moves back into battle, sweeping through the confused forces. A few minutes later, she thinks she hears a dull roaring, the crashing of stone. She can’t locate the source of the noise before the horns are sounding, the red flag of the Empire rising above the monastery’s entrance.
-
(The dragon is gone when the fighting is over. So is Byleth.)
-
Claude is in a small tent, sitting cross legged on the ground while he writes furiously on a broken piece of a shield. The Alliances students are moving slowly, making their way back east under the careful eyes of the Imperial Army. They had been stuck in the monastery for nearly three months, basically under house arrest, while the Duke of Riegan had negotiated with Edelgard. Eventually, the Duke had convinced her of the neutrality of the Alliance, allowing them to return home under escort. The Emperor had taken most of her army north three weeks ago when forces of the Church of Seiros had gathered in Faerghus territory.
Hilda was just glad she hadn’t actually seen Edelgard since the attack.
Claude glances up at her approach, signing whatever he’s writing with a flourish.
“Hilda? What’s up?” He sounds exhausted as he blots the letter he’d finished to dry the ink. There’s a stack of papers piled by his knee which Hilda moves aside to flop down next to him.
“I’m just trying to talk to a friend. What are you writing?”
“My grandfather has put me in charge of hostage negotiation. In the chaos of Edelgard’s attack, a lot of people went missing. Most of them are part of some house or another, probably taken for ransom. Since I… know her, he thought I would be a better candidate to try and buy them back.”
“That seems like a lot of responsibility.”
“Certainly too much for you, Hilda,” he snips back, probably trying to tease but making the comment too sharp for it to land right. She ignores it.
“Have you… found anything?”
“No,” he says calmly, not looking at her as he works. “Nothing.”
“Fuck, I’m- well, she’ll turn up. She’s resilient, you know?”
“She’s almost certainly dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Hilda, it’s been three months.”
“So? You just said yourself, a lot of people are still missing!”
“People with-” the vitriol in his voice makes her wince, “value. She had no family to speak of, no ties to nobility. No one outside of the monastery knew about her blessing. She wouldn’t be much use as a hostage.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s dead, she could… still be trying to make her way back! She’s a competent warrior, a brilliant tactician, she’s not just going to, to, get killed by some random kid in armor!”
“And why not?” he snaps back, finally turning to her. “It’s not like she was immortal.”
“Don’t say that! You’re already talking in the past tense, don’t say that!”
The energy seems to drain out of him in the face of her outburst. He flaps his hands uselessly, dropping them into his lap.
“I… you were right, Hilda.” His voice softens, then drops even further, so quiet Hilda can barely hear him. “I loved her.”
Hilda feels like she’s been hit over the head, his admission so sudden and unexpected that it leaves her reeling. She’d spent the past six months teasing him, joking that he was in love with Byleth, and now he sits in front of her admitting it, his face filled with nothing but exhaustion.
“I almost told her, too. I said we were more than friends, that our hearts were connected.” He laughs bitterly. “And now she’s gone.”
“She’s not.”
“She is. I can’t afford to just sit here and wait for her to come back.”
“You can still hold on to some hope. A little faith. You’re allowed to believe, you know.” (The Goddess will protect her, Marianne would say.)
He laughs again, disbelieving. “A little faith.”
“She is blessed by the Goddess, after all.”
“…that she is.”
“So you can believe in her, then.”
She’s surprised to see the skepticism he allows on his face. “In the Goddess?”
“No, in… Byleth.” It feels odd, saying her name aloud.
Claude stares at her, his face carefully empty now. Then he smiles, and it’s small and sad and so obviously fake Hilda wants to scream at him.
“Believe in Byleth.”
She nods, hoping that he’ll take it despite the mask he’s wearing. Hoping that he’ll just accept what she says, for now.
Hoping that this conversation will soon be over.
“I’ll try,” he says, after what feels like forever.
The relief washes over her in waves. “Good.”
-
They all split in Derdriu, going their separate ways.
Ignatz promises to visit, if he can. Lorenz assures her he’ll be around at some point, as the heir to House Gloucester. Raphael reminds her to visit his ‘little sis,’ Lysithea gives a politely distracted hug, while Leonie says she’s up for hire if House Goneril needs. Claude sends her off with a tired smile, a promise to write. Another, quieter promise to hold a little faith.
(She doesn’t see Marianne.)
(She doesn’t see any of them, for years.)
-