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Chapter Text

There are plenty of lush and soft pillows in the mansion of House Damiell, bright red like winter rowan or midnight blue, the velvet so smooth it leaves no pressure against skin.

But none of those pillows supports Astrid’s back. They’re Art and Decoration. A lady sits straight regardless, and she is never bored, nor upset, nor thrilled.

A lady simply is.

Astrid is a lady. Well, she’s five years old, so she’s not much of anything, but she already knows how to nod and courtesy and how to not throw a fit. Emotions are not good for a lady, and Astrid has learned how to feel cold without moving a muscle in her face—even that time when her mother took her doll away, saying Astrid no longer had any need for such things.

Had she cried, her mother and father would have given her The Look, the worst punishment of all.

You are not good enough. That is what The Look says. If Astrid falls victim to the Look, there was no need to pretend that her heart was frozen over—it froze all on its own.

The Look is rarely thrown in her direction, however, because Astrid is always good.

She sits straight—without pillows. She sleeps without a doll, forcing herself not to hug her blankets instead. She does not run. Does not talk back. She learns how to read, and says ‘yes madam’ or ‘yes sir’ when her tutors tell her things of politics and history.

And most important of all, she says ‘yes, father’ whenever there is mention of her future. Because she is five, she does not know that the tone her father uses when he talks about her future is called ‘indifferent’, but she knows what it sounds like.

Because she is of House Damiell of Begnion, Astrid is Important. Other girls may become soldiers or academics or magicians or farmers, but Other girls are not Important girls.

Important girls know how to sing and to please and they know just enough about the world to not be smarter than their future spouse. Because that is another aspect of Important girls; they find a man to secure something called ‘political alliances’.

“One day, Astrid, we will find you a good man. When you are eighteen, you will leave this house to live with him. And a good man does not want a crooked lady—hence, it is important that you do not slouch like that—do you understand?”

Astrid angles her head so that her hair falls out of her face. “Yes, father.”

A lady simply is, and Astrid is a lady. She does not think much of this.

But she is also five years old, and the future is nothing but a concept.

* * *

Astrid’s birthdays are not celebrated. Only Apostles celebrate their birthdays—as a nationwide event where every soul in Begnion rises to sing her name and wish her blessings by the goddess Ashera. There are gifts exchanged among families and firelight shows done by mages brightening the night sky.

The Apostle Sanaki was born in spring, seven years ago. It is now autumn, the season Astrid was brought to the world, eighteen years ago.

And when a Begnion citizen is eighteen, they may be married. Astrid knows this law well, with how many times it has been repeated to her by her father.

She spends the morning walking the garden. Not too slowly, as that would be a burden for her future partner, but not too quickly either, since that would mean she had ideas of individuality.

She thinks of what it would be like to be seven years old instead, like the Apostle. And she is convinced that such a child cannot have much else on her mind than what her parents want, either. On the other hand, the last Apostle Consort died early, and Her Excellence Apostle Misaha was killed many years ago, so Apostle Sanaki doesn’t have parents.

Astrid cannot imagine whether that is a sad thing for her or not. Maybe sadness is not something Apostles feel. They probably have a good posture and graceful nods and unthreatening smiles, just as a lady should.

Astrid has a hard time smiling now, though. A carriage is let inside their front yard, the pompous horses wearing bright white feathers along their manes. The front door opens, and her mother and father step out on the porch with bows and curtseys.

Astrid abandons the gardens to join their side. She stares at the carriage from beneath half-closed eyelids. She knows what she is waiting for, and her heart feels heavy.

But a lady simply is, and Astrid is a lady.

It is not the first time she sees the man who exists the carriage. She has seen him many times as a child, since he works with her father.

He has always looked the same. Wrinkled face. Golden moustache that makes his cheekbones look swollen. There is not a scar or blemish on him, because he has never lifted a finger to do labour in his life—just like Astrid. His cloak is made by bright blue fur, with a rim of golden tufts as the bottom.

Astrid knows those are laguz skins. And the black brooch on his chest is an ancient dragonscale from a royal dragon. He has bragged of such things to her before.

“Duke and Senator Lekain of Gaddos,” her father croons and bows again. “Thank you for coming. You know my daughter, Astrid, of course—”

Astrid knows this is her que to curtesy again, so she does. “Good day, Senator.”

Lekain glances at her, his lips twisting to a smirk. Her father seems pleased with this exchange, and urges them to come to his study. There are soft chairs and a fireplace and many different bottles of finely filtered spirits on shelves—Astrid is rarely welcomed into this place, but now that she is, she does not think it a happy occasion.

Lekain sits on her father’s chair, and her father takes the guest chair. Astrid remains standing beside her mother. She doesn’t know if this will be one of the last times she sees her family.

A maid asked Astrid if she would miss her family, now that she was going away soon. Astrid didn’t know what to answer, because she doesn’t know what it would mean, to miss someone.

“Now, Senator Lekain, as we’ve previously discussed,” her father begins after the pleasantries are exchanged, “the law now allows for us to set our plans into motion. We appreciate your presence so soon, and I hope everything is to your contentment.”

Lekain looks at Astrid. He has done so many times, but not quite like this. Astrid knows what is expected, and a lady simply is, nothing more—his gaze should not make her blood cold.

But it does. She is afraid.

“I believe it is,” Lekain answered. He has a kind voice, but Astrid is afraid still.

Maybe that is what it means to miss something, even if she has not yet left these grounds. It is one thing to do as she’s told in this place where she has a garden to walk in, where she knows her tutors and her parents.

She is to be married with this man, and she does not know what that means. She should not be scared of this change, but what she should is no longer important to her. There is a voice in her that has been silent for as long as she can remember, but now… it cries the way she had wanted to do the day her mother put her doll on the hearth.

“That is good to hear,” her father says, a distant echo. “Please, make yourself at home, Senator. The arrangement shall be complete within the week. Astrid, would you perhaps grace the Senator with a walk through the gardens?”

Astrid cannot answer. There is a lump in her throat. But she smiles and nods, just like she’s been taught to do.

The walk is an agony.

Astrid asks polite questions, smiles and compliments Lekain when it is appropriate, but her heart does not still, because he looks at her like he does his laguz furs.

She is a finery disconnected from the life that has once wielded it. A passing fancy.

He prods her with words and looks only, but both are frightening enough. Lekain speaks of politics in a way that makes the ground feel unsteady below her feet.

He pushes her into conversations where he can give a clever response, and watches over her responses like a hawk would a mouse.

He claims to want her views, but he leads her firmly to the responses he fishes for. He wants her views on the horrible deed orchestrated by the now-purged Heron Clan—and by that he means the assassination of the late Apostle Misaha—and on the incorrigible state of the Holy Guard, and the beauty of Begnion’s political systems.

Astrid manages to ignore the gazes and answer aloofly to his questions. A lady does not have opinions, after all, a fact that seems to please Lekain more than most things about her.

And Astrid knows that she would rather die than continue down the path that would lead her to marry him.

* * *

Her family disowns her on the spot. Her cheeks still burn from the humiliation, but at least they let her pack a bag of belongings to bring with her. Not much in terms of gold, but a cloak or two. And in a fleeting sweep of emotion, Astrid takes her childhood doll down from the hearth and stuffs it in the bag, too.

A lady did not sleep with stuffed animals or dolls, but Astrid was no longer a lady, and damn her if her five-year-old self has not longed to do this every day since her doll was taken away.

Its name was Curly, because it had curled yarn on its head, and its vacant smile had been more joyful than anything her parents had provided.

She did not hate them, though. She could not do that. She was mostly afraid of this tipping point of her own making, because she was being unreasonable and unladylike and was bringing shame upon those who raised her.

But Lekain makes her not care about that. If this is what saying ‘no’ leads to, then so be it.

She rides out of the Damiell property, tears stinging her eyes. She is alone, and despite there being daylight, the outside world feels dark and imposing. The sky is covered by clouds, every bend of the road unfamiliar—but she knows the way to the closest city, and that is where she will go.

Her home is in the north-western parts of Begnion. A somewhat forgotten place, but there is a recruitment site for the army in every city (which she has learned from her tutors, because politics), and she doubts there is anywhere else for her to go.

Riding up to the barracks shadows her with doubt, though. She knows how to stay atop a horse, but most people do, and she’s not exactly skilled with it. She knows that people in the army does not nod and smile and curtesy, so what use is she?

Her fears realized, the captain that comes out to greet her looks at her with disdain.

“I don’t think there’s room for you here, princess,” the captain says. “Run back home to mommy and daddy. We cannot house you through your feeble rebellious phases and have you break down and cry at the first sight of a blister.”

The captain has scars on her face, but not that many. That probably means she’s skilled at what she does.

Astrid swallows. It is perhaps not that uncommon for a noble child to feel displeased with their future, and clearly not that uncommon to have the same idea as she does.

It might be a grave mistake, but she will not turn back.

“Please,” she says to the captain. “I am disowned.”

The captain’s eyes soften. “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” she says. “And it wouldn’t be the first time that you’re welcomed back if you just go home and apologize, kiddo. I mean it. You need to bring some skill to your unit if you conscript. We cannot have liabilities stay on.”

Astrid’s chest hammers. “Please,” she repeats, desperately. “I cannot go back. I cannot. I swear to you I will do as I’m told. I always have, except for today. I know how to ride a horse, and…”

She needs to lie, she realizes, and that frightens her. But what else can she do?

“…and I know my way around a bow. At least, um, the basics. Captain, sir.”

A bow seemed like the most appropriate thing for her. What else could a frail lady without magic talents do?

The captain’s eyes soften even more, and Astrid feels a slither of hope.

“All right,” the captain yields. “Fine, princess. It will not be easy, and you will not get special treatment. That good with you?”

Astrid is still afraid, but less so than of Lekain. Perhaps she is a fool to find him so disturbing, but now that her gut has spoken for the first time in her life, she cannot do well to ignore it. This woman before her seems at least honest, and that is more than she could ask for.

“I would not expect anything else,” Astrid promises. “Thank you, Captain, sir.”

The woman lets out a low chuckle.

“Don’t thank me yet, princess.”

Chapter Text

Astrid is not a very good soldier. No matter how ready she believed herself to be, she did cry the first time she saw a blister on her palm. She has nothing in terms of constitution and all the social rules she has learned before does not help her one bit.

She is alone, her body hurts, and she is hungry. Her captain—which is not the same captain who recruited her—has given up on tutoring her, but has at least not shut her out.

Astrid follows the platoon of her fellow trainees as they march for different training grounds, a place closer to Sienne, the heart and capital of Begnion. The purpose of the move is to concentrate their training with the most skilled captains, and for the trainees to learn how to act appropriately among the “fine people” (which is at least something Astrid already knows).

Even if Astrid wanted to return home (she doesn’t), there is no turning back after this. She hugs Curly to her chest, feeling a little bit less alone as she sleeps in the capital far, far away from anything she knows.

Part of her is frightened she will meet with Lekain here—as a Senator, he lives in the capital. But if she does, at least they will meet through the distance of a drawn bow.

* * *

One day, there are pegasi in the sky. Astrid does her archery drills with the dozen strangers she’s supposed to think of as her squad, and she cannot afford to focus on anything else, but the knights fluttering through the sky are difficult to ignore fully.

Astrid’s arm is a little bit stronger after a few months of harrowing archery, but her aim is not much better.

The pegasus riders laugh above her. Their uniform suggest they are Holy Guard Trainees, the pegasus knights meant to guard the Apostle’s person. Something that requires bravery, no doubt. Flying soldiers are vulnerable to the aim of an archer, that has been drilled into the archery trainees since their first day. But these pegasus riders are doing some kind of taunting-death-dance; they flutter over Astrid’s training ground, sometimes even sweeping down at the targets (but only when the archers are collecting their arrows).

Astrid doubts this is part of their training, but on the other hand, perhaps telling themselves they aren’t afraid of arrows will make them better at their job. Astrid would rather not think about it. Her focus needs to be on the target, or else she will slip—like the hand that’s holding the string—

The arrow whirls toward the crown of the tree above her target, before it weakly arcs toward the sky, only to fall down and get stuck in the treetops.

The pegasi are not particularly close to the matter, but close enough to cry out in surprise. Astrid can only watch their angry swarm with wide eyes knowing that she’s messed up beyond justification.

The angry swarm flies down toward her. The rest of Astrid’s squad give her glances of pity, but does not move to defend her, only scoots further away. Astrid hopes she would not do the same, then again, who could hope to stand up against the Holy Guard, trainees or not?

The swarm lands in a ring around her. Pegasi do not look much like horses, Astrid notices, they look wilder. Their nostrils flared, their feathered wings fanned out, the unnaturally blue eyes staring at her as their heads stretch proudly toward the sky.

“What was that for, huh?” one of the trainees yell at her.

“Don’t you know who we are?” another chimes in.

“What are you, an assassin?”

“You could have killed us!”

“What do you say, dumbass?”

Astrid cannot keep track of who is speaking. Her gaze darts around over their blurred faces, her heart beating out of her chest.

“I’m sorry—” she blurts, not knowing where she is directing her apology. She tries to bend her head like a lady should, but that earns her a poke in the back of her shoulder from the butt of a lance.

“Who are you sorry at, the ground?”

“Yeah, come on, apologize properly and we won’t have you jailed for your crimes!”

Astrid is shaking. She cannot think, her instincts taking over.

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please—I just—I’m so sorry!”

Something thwacks. It is the sound of wood against armor.

“What the hell’s going on here?” another voice cries.

Astrid blinks her teras away, but new ones take their place. A new pegasus rider in Holy Guard trainee uniform sails down into the circle. Her lance is drawn.

“Is this how you spend a free hour, being bumbling fools and bullying a girl?”

“She aimed to shoot us down,” another trainee defends herself.

“No,” Astrid protests, her voice shaking from all her tears. “No, I—I just missed the target once, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—"

“She could have killed us,” another one of them says.

“If you are all pissing yourself over one stray arrow,” the new trainee frizzles, “then what are you doing so close to the archery grounds, you know, where archery happens?”

“It’s none of your business, Marcia,” the first trainee says and raises her chin.

“That’s Senior Command Marcia to you,” hisses Astrid’s defender. “I have experience with handling fools, and you’re transparent as hell, Elinn. What do you figure Deputy Commander Tanith will say when she learns you’re disrupting the training of Her Holiness’ army recruits?”

The air changes immediately. The trainees start to babble over one another again, but this time not directed at Astrid.

“What—?”

“Don’t tell Commander!”

“That’s not fair—”

“We were just practicing—”

“Marcia, wait—"

They leave in a flurry of movement, feathers raining and landing in Astrid’s hair.

Astrid can only stare after them. She is too shocked to understand what happened, but as she watches them fly away, she sees her defender at the front, yelling over her shoulder. Her hair is bright as the sunset, standing out among the other trainees.

And while Astrid at the time was too confused to feel gratitude, she would never forget this.

Chapter Text

After two years, Astrid has left the Begnion army. She is a decent enough archer, and she feels very much at home on horseback. She laughs at jokes that her parents would faint if they heard, although she laughs quietly, inwardly. Her hands are coarser, rougher. Her heart beats nervously still, and she rarely speaks, but she is at least not caged in marriage.

If this is what freedom entails, she will stay.

She has been given a chance to return to her old life, the day after she ended her conscription. She meets her family on the streets of Sienne that day. Her father looks older. Her mother, sadder. She did not expect them to acknowledge her, but her father recognizes her, stops the escort they were travelling with, and looks her in the eye.

“Astrid,” he says, disbelieving. Then, of course, his mouth stiffens. “Have you had a change of heart?”

“I have not, father.”

“Well,” her father says, his cheeks flushed a little from the publicity of their greeting and the curious onlookers that scry them for interesting gossip. “Most of our noble friends say this is a necessary phase… and soon, you will come home. Are they right?”

“I don’t know, father.”

Her father clears his throat, then gestures for her to come with them, which she does.

“Your actions may have lost us face with many,” her father continues. “Because denounced or not, you are still our blood. Were you to be killed in this foolish endeavour of yours, it would reflect much worse on us. It would be simply unacceptable.“

Astrid bows her head, as she is taught. Two years of military training does not take a way eighteen years of nobility. But she will not go back.

“Hence,” her father continues. “I will do something impulsive. Sometimes, it is within a noble’s duty to gamble. I shall buy you a fine bodyguard, to make sure that your death may never sully the family name.”

Astrid is too confused to do anything but accept this. “Thank you, father.”

This is how she meets Gatrie, a mercenary once part of a Crimean guild. He is confident and has a handsome smile, and, most importantly, he seems very keen on defending every virtue of ‘her ladyship’, which is what convinces her father to buy his services.

When she leaves the capital, she looks over her shoulder as her parents disappear in the crowd, to do what they came there to do. No one would look at their encounter and call it heart-warming, but to Astrid, it is at least better than how they left one another two years ago.

Thanks to Gatrie, she is now a mercenary. Not a particularly desired one, but most of the time merchants and travelers take what they get. And she’s one of the cheaper kinds—she cannot charge anything more than she thinks she deserves, which isn’t much.

But it is enough, and it is nice. If only Gatrie would stop referring to himself as her bodyguard. She is not a noble in need of protection, but Gatrie’s stance on this matter is unchanged. And as the months pass, she no longer minds.

***

The ship the two of them have been assigned to guard is rumored to carry the Apostle herself, although Astrid has not seen her with her own eyes yet. Astrid and Gatrie are not hired by the Apostle by any means, but by the ship’s crew.

Because everyone knows it is dangerous to be a Begnion ship out in the waters. There are laguz pirates about. Bird laguz.

Astrid’s bow has been useful as a frightening tool for raven laguz once or twice before, but those ravens seem to have been too few to take on a ship of the size Astrid defended, anyway. More often than not, Astrid thinks that if they were unlucky enough to run into a flying pirate crew meaning serious business, her bow would not do much good.

She has heard that laguz are wild and evil creatures, with the herons allegedly murdering the last apostle and the hawks and ravens plundering the ships that dare venture into the southern waters near Phoenicis or Kilvas. Astrid has no other choice than to believe it, but in truth, she does not possess strong enough feelings to hate something. Not even Lekain, she supposes.

A lady simply is, and that mindset has stifled most of her ability to articulate what she’s feeling.

The purpose of this trip is secret, but no doubt important, for the Apostle to go into such dangerous waters. Crimea and Daein are at war, Gallia is involved, and everything is messy even in Begnion. Astrid knows the politics well, of course, but she does not think much about it. It is not her place. It never has been.

The ship halts outside the coast of northwestern Begnion. There is another ship in the distance… two other ships, by the looks of it. Three graceful pegasi dart off the ship Astrid is on and make way for a ship flying a Crimean flag.

Astrid does not think much of it. She waits, and spies out over the waves. There are black dots on the horizon. At least a dozen of them. That is not a good sign. And the second ship that does not fly the Crimean colors are sailing a bit too close—

“Gatrie,” Astrid says. “I believe we are in danger. Get everyone below deck.”

The remainder of the holy guard has noticed too, and they place themselves protectively around the cabin that allegedly houses the Apostle.

The black dots come closer. Raven laguz who cut mercilessly through the sky, together with human pirates throwing ropes and boarding planks over to their ship… This is no coincidence.

Astrid shoots one of the pirates down, so that he drops his rope. She should save her arrows for the ravens, but she does not think it will do her much good. Gatrie has run off toward the Holy Guard, and he jogs back toward her, his armor creaking.

“I told them they should put the apostle down below deck too,” he explains. “That way, we won’t need to defend two positions at once.”

“It would seem they appreciated your idea,” Astrid says and watches the three pegasus knights lead a small girl across the deck.

That is the apostle, then. Her cheeks are round and her robes too big for her, but her eyes are cold.

A lady simply is, but an apostle… they are everything. What a burden for such a small child to carry, Astrid thinks.

“Mercenaries?” one of the Holy Guard inquires, and Astrid nods.

“Very well,” another pegasus knight says. “I trust you will defend the Apostle with your lives!”

Astrid nods. This is far more important than anything she has done in her life, but she cannot shake the feeling that this is also how she will die. It cannot be a disgrace for her family if she dies defending the apostle, right?

“Lady Astrid,” Gatrie grins at her. “Allow me to serve as your shield!”

Astrid watches the ravens come closer, and the human pirates are near successful in their attempts to get their boarding material in place.

“I will allow it,” she says. “But Gatrie… I am sorry, for you being involved in this.”

“Oh, please!” Gatrie guffaws. “This is nothing. I'm fine! Before I was hired as your bodyguard, I was a top-notch mercenary! I can handle this many opponents all by myself. This is nothing.”

“If you say so,” Astrid smiles, although she is scared. For all her training, battles are not where she excels. But they must defend the apostle, and they do not have the luxury of choosing how to do so.

Gatrie stays true to his promise of shielding her, which is an effective strategy. Astrid is free to aim without worrying, that way. She is not skilled enough to kill—she’s seen archers nail every shot between the slits of armor plates and helmets, but that also means a failed shot misses completely. Astrid mostly hits her enemies where she can be sure, right in the chest, which at least knocks the wind out of them.

In the case of the ravens, she is potentially much more fatal, but the bird laguz only circle them, round and round. There are other bird laguz coming in from the north, and maybe that is what makes the ravens nervous. Astrid doesn’t know, but she is grateful to at least only focus on these human pirates. She pretends they are training dummies, because it is easier that way.

The Crimean ship has come closer to them. It docks against them, boarding planks and all, and the sailors shout nervously.

“Aaah, there are more of them? We’re doomed!”

“No,” another yells. “Don’t panic! We must protect the apostle, no matter what!” The brave sailor whirls around with his fisher’s knife drawn. “Listen up, scum, you may outnumber us, but we will not yield an inch!”

The people boarding them from the Crimean ship seem pretty calm to be pirates, Astrid thinks. Although they’re armed, they don’t look very threatening.

“Wait,” one of the Crimeans say. “Don’t get confused. We’re here to help you. Your Deputy Commander asked of us to. She’s on the way to fetch the rest of the Holy Guard.”

Gatrie seems startled by the sound of the Crimean’s voice, and turn his head. Then he grins wide.

“Hoo, look at that!” Gatrie yells. “It’s none other than our boy Ike! And Titania, and Mist—” He knocks a pirate with his lance, without budging his smile. “—look at how you’ve grown, huh? How have you been?”

“Oh, you know,” a girl of around fifteen answers, healing staff in one hand and a sword in the other. “Hanging in there. Nice to see you, Gatrie!”

Astrid has never understood the idea of small talk on a battlefield, but it is something mercenaries are fond of, so perhaps she should learn it. The Crimean Gatrie had called Ike joins their side with a rough parry, headband and cloak flailing in the ocean winds.

“Look at you, Ike,” Gatrie shouts happily. “I feel kind of bad for leaving you all when your dad died… Did you ever recover?”

“We managed just fine,” Ike answers. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Me?” Gatrie grins. “Oh, I'm on a vital mission. Absolutely critical, I am. You see, these men keep attacking this ship, and I am to continue driving them back!”

Ike knocks his cross-guard into the chest of his foe without moving a muscle in his face. “I see. Are you working for the Begnion Apostle?”

“Aye, after a fashion,” Gatrie answers and hollers a ‘nice shot!’ as Astrid picks a pirate off the boarding plank, before he turns back to Ike. “Judging by the look of things, you must be on Begnion's side, yes? I certainly hope so. I'd hate to have to slay you after all we've been through.”

“No, you’re right,” Ike says and rests his sword arm for a bit, letting the mages among the Crimeans take their turn at the pirates. “We’re here to defend the apostle.”

“Well, that's a relief!” Gatrie laughs. “There's nothing more awkward than having to kill a friend because of his poor taste in employers, I tell you. Still, I guess that's the hazard of life as a mercenary. It's good to see you, Ike. Let's finish this together!”

Ike nods. “We’re with you, Gatrie. If these ravens ever decide to attack, we’ll have trouble on our hands.”

Astrid looks up at the ravens. They have stopped circling, and swarms the pirate ship, now. One of the pirates are yelling things to one of the raves, the only one in his human shape (the rest are transformed into their more animal-like counterparts). They’re clearly disagreeing about something, and Astrid hopes they continue doing so. Ike is right that they will have far too much trouble with a whole crew of ravens diving down on their ship too.

They do have a few pegasus knights to counter a flying assault though, three of them, to be exact—the ones that were with the apostle.

But there is someone else too, a fourth pegasus knight. She isn’t dressed in the uniform of the Holy Guard, but her hair is bright as the sunset and Astrid could swear she has seen her somewhere before.

“Commander Ike,” the new pegasus knight shouts. “I saw the General and Deputy Commander to the east of us. We’ll just keep holding these bastards off, and we’re good!”

Lightning crackles. With mercenary mages on their side, Astrid can almost lower her bow, but she doesn’t. She keeps an arrow nocked, and the pegasus knight flings a javelin over to the other ship, hitting a pirate cleanly.

“I hope it doesn’t get awkward,” the pegasus knight continues. “Going into Begnion-business when I’ve defected, you know. You’ll vouch for me?”

“Of course,” Ike says without much of anything in the tone of his voice, but Astrid does not doubt his sincerity.

“Oh, so you’re a former Begnion knight? Pleasure to meet you!” A battle is messy, but Gatrie somehow always finds time to chat—especially with ladies his age he finds pretty. This pegasus knight checks that box, Astrid knew that the moment she saw her. Her hair is soft and cut to her shoulders, pink like spun sunlight, and her eyes have a certain movement to them, her arms strong—she definitely fits into the definition of pretty.

“I am Gatrie,” Gatrie introduces himself, lifting his chin. “And this here is my liege and employer!”

Astrid would rather be introduced as a fellow mercenary, but there is more truth to what Gatrie is saying than that.

“Astrid,” she says. “Of… House Damiell.”

The pegasus knight whistles through her teeth. “A blueblood, huh? And you’re not hiding yourself in a cabin?”

“I do no such thing,” Astrid answered politely, searching for a memory that would fit with this pegasus knight—because they had met before, hadn’t they? “I once trained with knights and cavaliers. I may be of noble birth… but I know something of battle. I can fight.” 

The pegasus knight smiled at her. “Well, as long as you make sure to miss me with that bow of yours, let’s work together! You all right with that?”

“More than I would be hiding belowdecks, certainly.”

“I like your spunk,” the pegasus knight grins.

Astrid is not sure she knows what that means, but she thinks she likes it, too.

Chapter Text

Astrid is dragged into a war. It happens quite effortlessly and simply, with Gatrie laughing and chatting with his old friends, with Astrid letting her sore palms be healed by Mist, by Titania complimenting her horse and Rolf (a boy Mist’s age) wishing for her to share ‘archery techniques’ from Begnion, by Boyd (Rolf’s brother) bursting out laughing when Astrid answers “aim and shoot”.

It happens by the pegasus knight introducing herself as Marcia, and a vague memory recalls Senior Marcia coming to her aid when Astrid was a green recruit. Astrid doesn’t mention this, not yet anyway. They talk about Begnion army life instead, and Marcia admits to defecting from the Holy Guard. Astrid doesn’t ask why.

With all this happening during their journey back to Begnion, Astrid feels like a part of their mercenary guild by the time they dock again in Sienne.

And she is a part of them, only by asking Ike once. That their current mission has taken them to Begnion in the Crimean princess’ employ doesn’t matter to Astrid—she feels hopeful over the fact that they one day will leave Begnion altogether. Far away from the politics she knows and despises, with people she could even technically call her friends.

She’s never really had friends before, except for Gatrie, perhaps. Curly doesn’t count, as she’s a doll, but it is sadly the closest thing she’s known from her childhood days.

So the war, the mending of relations between herons and Begnion, the presence of hawk and beast laguz in their army and the magical restoration of a forest is all secondary, really. Astrid listens and reflects silently over just how much of what she’s been taught has been downright wrong, but the fact that she sits among a large group of people all somewhat keen to include her in their conversations is the real motivation. And even as the novelty around Astrid’s company wears off, Marcia still waits for her, goes for runs with her and shares meals with her.

Marcia says it is because they’re friends, because Astrid can understand a lot of Begnion jokes that would only leave the Crimeans staring at her blankly, because Astrid knows the layout of Sienne, because Astrid has lived part of her life surrounded by similar people. Friends by association, in a way.

Astrid tries to make sense of her feelings on the matter. Her wants.

She’s realized she cannot approach the whole friend-thing by being passive and bowing her head, as that only makes a ‘shadow of a person’ according to Marcia. Having opinions and thoughts are as important as breathing, Marcia says, and Astrid understands that, in theory. But no one has ever asked that of her before, so it isn’t as easily adapted—bowing down is far, far easier.

When they leave Begnion to march on Daein, Astrid watches Marcia in the sky, together with her former Commander Tanith. It is strange to still not know why Marcia would choose to leave her job seeing how good she is at being a pegasus knight.

Astrid still hasn’t asked.

***

It turns out Marcia has a brother. Which, according to Marica, is unfortunate.

He is everything Marcia isn’t—carefree and aloof and self-indulgent. If it wasn’t for their similar hair color, Astrid would never have guessed. On the other hand, they share features that makes Marcia pretty. Which also means that her brother is handsome.

Strange things to think about in a war, but Astrid likes to linger on the thought. At least for the first time she sees him, and sees Marcia let go of all her tension in relief.

“Oh, there he is,” Marcia sighs, and Astrid smiles. A family reunion, finally. Marcia has not said very much about her brother, other than finally revealing that she deserted her position in the Holy Guard out of worry for him, which seems just like Marcia to do.

Then, just as quickly, the peace shatters. Marcia’s brother looks like he’s thinking about running away, his eyes wide, fumbling with his lance as Marcia bolts to the sky and down toward him.

Astrid’s first guess is that there are enemies hiding in the shadows—they are fighting a corrupted merchant’s army now, after all—so Astrid gallops after her, her bow ready.

“Heyyy sis,” she hears Marcia’s brother say in greeting—none of them look relieved anymore. “Heh... Hey, long time, huh? Good timing, though! I was just thinking about paying you a visit.”

“Long time?” Marcia repeats, her voice going shrill. “Long time?! Makalov, you dungheel! Where in the name of heaven have you been? You racked up all that debt and then ran away? You're such an irresponsible skunk! Thanks to your worthless hide, I had to leave the sacred pegasus knights!”

Astrid blinks, just as confused as her brother seems to be in that moment.

“Huh,” he states. “But, uh… why?”

“Because there were a bunch of debt collectors hanging around the barracks!” Marcia shouts, red in the face. “That's why!

“Oh, that's... That's a shame.” Makalov glances over his shoulder, clearing this throat then looking back.  “Listen, I was trying to increase the money I borrowed and pay off the original, but it, um...vanished. And I swear that just kept happening! I'd almost get enough and then...poof! Gone! Ha ha! Ha? Hmm...”

“You rat. You cheese-eating rat!” If Marcia raises her voice any more, every single foe on the dock will know where they are—which doesn’t seem to matter to her. “You haven't changed at all...Let's go. You're coming with me.”

“With you?” Makalov glances at Astrid, clearly trying to figure out what the situation is, then back at Marcia. “…Where am I going? What am I going to do?”

“You’re joining my company,” Marcia decides, riding up beside him. Makalov’s horse is bigger than her pegasus, but he is shorter than she is, so they’re still equal in height.

Makalov raises his hands in objection. “No, wait... I'm working for these guys at the moment, and...Well, if I just up and joined with the other side, it might cause problems—"

So technically, Makalov is their foe. Astrid remembers something about what Gatrie said was the occupational hazard of being a mercenary, and she feels worried for how Marcia would react if they had to fight. Though that does not seem to be an option.

“STUFF IT, SPONGE-BRAIN!” Marica cries and yanks her brother by the arm. “No more lame excuses! FOLLOW ME. NOW!”

Makalov is too stunned to protest, so he just nods. “Sorry, sis! Sorry, I’m coming…”

He looks so distraught and confused. Astrid dips her head politely at him, to try and ease his uncertainty.

“Welcome,” she says. “My name is Astrid.”

She skips the part of being of House Damiell. She doesn’t think it is important to add, anyway.

Makalov just stares at her. “Uh… My pleasure?”

“Shut up,” Marcia whispers under her breath. “Astrid, don’t. He’s not worth it.”

***

Marcia seeks her out the same night her brother has joined with them. Astrid is in the middle of chewing through a piece of lamb—which takes a long while for her, considering she tries to avoid getting grease any other place than her mouth and lamb is a greasy thing to eat. She picks it apart into small pieces, alone in her endeavour.

And Marica sits down beside her, like she has done many times before. She has a certain closeness to her in a way Astrid’s parents never showed her to express herself.

Something is different this time, though. Marcia looks sullen, subdued.

“Are you… okay?” Astrid asks. Initiating conversation is something she is trained for in hostess situations, but this feels uncertain. It’s too important.

“Not really,” Marcia mumbles. “But thanks.”

“Do you want to, um… talk about it?”

Marcia sighs, deeply, like she’s aged a few years in just a few hours. “You saw my brother. You saw what he’s like. I feel like it was a mistake bringing him here. I should just let himself get killed, if that’s what he wants.”

Astrid pauses, hesitates. “You think he wants that?”

“That slog-for-brains doesn’t want anything other than the next mug of spirits,” Marcia mutters harshly. “He gets in trouble, all the time. I’m his younger sister, and I’ve had to drag him out of more messes than I can count. I’ve broken the kneecaps of brigand-looking dudes since I was yay-high!”

“But you looked so happy when you saw him,” Astrid comments, and Marcia shakes her head.

“’Course I did. He’s my brother, and I almost believed him to be dead.”

They’re silent for a bit. Astrid offers Marcia a piece of lamb, and she accepts, still without a word.

“They just started hovering, you know?” Marcia says suddenly. “A bunch of scary-looking people. Makalov had borrowed from three different loan-sharks—three—and vanished before paying them back. They got wind of me being his sister, and they hung around the barracks. At first it was a game, because me and my squad would hunt them down like they were spies, but they would always come back with more people. And they were not breaking any laws or anything, they were just… just on my case all the time. When I went to town, they followed me, threatened me. I threw my salary and savings away on one of them, and that was apparently less than half of what he owed to one of the three loan-sharks.”

Astrid puts her lamb down. Marcia curls her knees to her chest. “It’s just… when you can’t be home without feeling safe… what’s the point? I left a note explaining things to Deputy Commander, but I doubt it makes a difference. I deserted my holy duty. I betrayed the apostle and the holy kingdom and blah-blah…”

“It’s hard doing the thing you were always taught never to do,” Astrid agrees. “But maybe, it can be worth doing it anyway. You found your brother, after all?”

“Yeah,” Marcia says and rests her head on Astrid’s shoulder. “Yeah, I did. Thanks, Astrid. I don’t like talking about stuff like this. But you get it.”

Astrid can only nod. She feels warmer when Marcia is around, especially when she rests her head that way.

***

Astrid tries to put words to what she’s feeling. Maybe pride. She’s proud over how much her skills with the bow has improved, proud over her fellow mercenaries as their forces build into an army. Proud over the fact that despite the numerous people, Marcia still seems to want to be her friend.

It is not the right kind of pride for a lady, but Astrid doesn’t care about that. She has decided to never be a lady again.

She sits with Marcia beneath the stars. There is stillness around them. Guard duty is seldom eventful, but Astrid likes it. They are on their way to Crimea, to end the war. Her heart feels light by the thought of living like she does in peaceful times.

And she mentions this to Marcia, who grows a bit subdued by the topic.

“When there’s peace, there won’t be much need for mercenaries,” Marcia says. “And my brother will probably disappear again… And I can’t return to Begnion. I don’t know what to do, honestly. Do you know what to do, Astrid?”

The question surprises her. Astrid still hasn’t grasped the skill of wanting—it is an untameable demon raging wordlessly in her mind, never having been granted a shape before.

“No,” she answers. “I just… wanted to… continue, I suppose.”

“Continue doing what? Mercenary work?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, but you want it?”

Astrid inhales sharply through her nose, which is answer enough for Marcia.

“Astrid,” Marcia says, almost forcefully. “It is okay to want things! You are great, and you deserve to feel like you have a choice!”

Astrid feels a lump grow in her throat. The stars seem to taunt her, now. “It’s hard, Marcia.”

She expects Marcia to say ‘I know, I’m sorry’ because that is what Astrid would have done. But Marcia is different; she isn’t afraid of conflict or emotion.

“Wants are scary,” Marcia agrees, seriously. “Just look at my brother. But as much as I’m angry with him, I still get it, I still care. And without wants, we are all just shadows.”

Astrid nods. This is usually where their conversations stop, but Marcia doesn’t halt this time.

“So what do you want, Astrid? If you could do anything right now, what would it be?”

Astrid holds her breath. The untameable monster that is her desire writhes and flails, and she doesn’t understand it, apart from one simple thing.

She reaches out and takes Marcia’s hand. She can hear her breath halt, too. Warmth spreads in Astrid’s chest, and she says:

“I want nothing else but to stay here with you. Like this.”

She can’t really see Marcia’s face in the darkness, but they look at each other.

“You’re my best friend,” Astrid says. “And... I think I want to do whatever makes us stay like this when peace comes, too.”

Marcia nods. “Wow, okay.” She sounds like she’s about to compliment Astrid for finally managing to express her wants, but she doesn’t. And panic rises in Astrid’s chest.

“Maybe you don’t want that,” Astrid hurriedly says. “I mean, I—you asked, and I just—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Marcia says, and then hugs her.

It is an embrace that makes Astrid forget that they’re on guard duty, that they’re at war, that there is a future at all. Having a friend is simply the best thing that has ever happened to her.

“I want that too,” Marcia says then. “I’m very happy you told me that, Astrid.”

Astrid thinks that Marcia must be right—if you don’t know how to express your wants, you’re just a shadow. Astrid had been just that before, only now realizing just how dark, unsure and lost she’d been.

But now, she feels like the sun.

***

When the war is over, everything is quiet. There are plenty of goodbyes, so not quiet in a literal sense, but it is like the world itself has exhaled and is resting.

She spots princess Elincia of Crimea, even she parted from her duties for a moment of silence in the gardens outside the castle. And that is also where she sees her and Lucia embrace one another. It is gentle, poised, relieved, and beautiful.

Everything that ‘being in love’ is meant to be like. Allegedly, anyway. Astrid has not met any man that makes her feel that way, but she figures it is a matter of unlocking another caged darkness within her mind. Allowing herself to want is one thing, allowing herself to truly feel is another. She wants to know, but it isn’t so simple as all that.

She’s just glad she has Marcia. Everything makes more sense when she’s around. She dearly hopes what they spoke of will become truth, but she cannot know what the future holds.

Marcia frowns when they meet in the garden.

“Tanith offered to take me back.” Marcia sounds so serious when she says this. “I could… go back to Begnion.”

“That’s lovely,” Astrid says automatically.

Marcia looks at her, her mouth a thin line. “Is it?”

The question stiffens Astrid’s mind. How could it not be? Then she thinks about how her parents looked at her, and how locked she feels in Begnion, and how she would never want to go back, even if her parents asked her to. How she wants to stay with Marcia, and how complicated that might be if they go to Begnion.

“I mean, it is lovely to be forgiven,” Astrid corrects herself. “I think it is a fine gesture. But it is up to you what you want to do with it, of course.”

“Uh-huh,” Marcia says thoughtfully, then glances over at Elincia and Lucia. “…You know, I was thinking about asking Her Majesty to be allowed to stay here. Crimea needs some protection after all this mess, and since my brother can’t go back to Begnion, I thought if I could ask if they could take him on as a charity case, too.”

Astrid’s heart swells. “I would love that. I have had much the same thought. Dame Lucia mentioned to me in passing how I should be able to fit in with the bow cavalry of Crimea—I’d be a knight!”

Marcia smiles at her, then. “Did you say yes?”

“Not yet. I wanted to hear what you wanted to do, first.”

Marcia tuts, but she still smiles. “Well, I want to stay. I guess I’m gonna start calling myself a Crimean!”

Astrid smiles too, and this time, she initiates the hug. It feels wonderful. She hopes they can stay like this forever, and in that moment, it feels that way.

Chapter Text

‘Forever’ is wonderful and magical. but it is a dream.

Astrid has been a Crimean knight for a year, she is with Marcia almost every day. But she sees their friends coupling together, and that has awakened a fear within her.

When Marcia marries, how will they spend their time together? Will she eventually move away?

It is not something Astrid can ask her, either. Falling in love just happens (allegedly), and maybe that love is stronger than Marcia’s wish to be a pegasus knight, her wish to stay in Crimea.

Astrid has gotten more friends, but Marcia is special. The thought of her moving away is a terrible one, but as long as she’s happy, Astrid will be happy, too.

But when Astrid asks herself what she wants, the unintelligible gurgles of her desire can at least ascertain that she wants to be with Marcia for as long as possible. And for now, Marcia, Makalov and Astrid are all together. She sees Makalov in passing one day, and she thinks again of how handsome he is.

It dawns on her how perfect it would be. Her, falling for Makalov, marrying him—Marcia would be a part of her family. Astrid’s father had spoken of getting her a Good Man, and while irresponsible, Makalov is not nearly as terrible a choice as Senator Lekain. Maybe he just needs someone to guide him to a better path, watch over him so that Marcia can enjoy the company of her brother without worrying…

It just makes sense, doesn’t it?

***

Two more years pass. Astrid is tired, but she does not let it show.

She has established a relationship with Makalov (at least she thinks she has, he’s mostly shrugging whenever she brings it up). It was an easy thing to do, since their schedule as Crimean cavaliers match up pretty well, and his response was a stunned ‘uh, a date? Okay?’

Whenever they dine together, all three of them, Astrid is so happy. Marcia looks happy too, but she doesn’t talk as much as before. She looks like she’s shutting herself down, and eventually she starts to excuse herself.

Marcia has a flying mission, a critical business of some kind, a meeting with the queen about instructing new pegasus knights—every time, she reassures Astrid that she is so sorry she cannot make it to dinner, and that no, sorry, she’s already seen the play “Sea Winds and Travelers”, there’s no need to invite her—and so it goes on.

Maybe it is to not let herself get in the way of Makalov and Astrid. Or maybe she has found an interest in someone and would rather spend her time with this new person. Astrid doesn’t fear that. They have a routine, and once they’re all married, this routine will go on. And Makalov will learn that dinner with loved ones is a far better pastime than a night at Calil’s bar.

He will learn. Eventually. It has only been three years, after all.

Only three years.

Astrid usually goes to the moring drills of the Crimean Cavalry with a smile and hope in her heart. Even when General Geoffery asks her where Makalov is, she keeps smiling.

One day, he will learn to not squander his duties. To not throw his salary into the void of gambles. To not get in debt that Astrid or Marcia needs to step in to alleviate. And when that day comes, Astrid will not have to watch the people in the bar laugh at him as she drags him out of the door.

Astrid wants that day to come soon, because she really does enjoy the times he is sober and keeping her company, telling her wild stories from his life.

But even those stories make her grow tired when she asks how Makalov got out of those dangerous situations, and his answer always is the same.

“Marcia, I guess.”

Astrid thinks about how her name will probably become a part of those stories, as an afterthought. But that has always been her fate—to grow invisible and be happy with what she has.

You will sacrifice what you have for the happiness of your husband, old lessons tell her. There is nothing more important than his pleasure.

So she should not try to stop him from what he finds pleasing—only help him get out of things when it turns ugly. She merely hopes he will find less harrowing things pleasing in the near future. Three years is a long time, and she has yet to understand whether she feels love or not.

But she knows that she feels joy whenever Marcia does join them.

***

A war begins anew, and Makalov can still be found in whatever town taverns they pass. Astrid’s bow arm feels unsure and sloppy. She doesn’t sleep well, worrying over losing her fated husband in the heat of battle. In her dreams, a person with bright pink hair falls down, down, down, and Astrid cannot catch them. They slip out of her grasp.

 And yet, somehow she is more at ease now than she was before, because Marcia is there more often. They fall back into their old routine, in some ways. They talk beneath the stars, albeit for shorter durations. They sit together during mealtimes and ride alongside one another during marches.

And sometimes, Astrid forgets to keep her eye on Makalov. It is freeing in the moment, but damning when it happens. One night, she walks into his tent to wish him a good night, but finds it empty.

It leaves her chest feeling heavy, knowing that he is probably out there somewhere, having found himself a tavern of some fashion—but she doesn’t need to go out to find him, because Marcia drags him inside, his arm slung over her shoulders.

Makalov himself is half-asleep, one eye bruised.

“Marcia,” Astrid gasps. “I am so sorry! You shouldn’t have to—I was just on my way! I’m so sorry, I should have done this and let you rest! I’m sorry he did this, I should have kept a better eye on him!”

Marcia glowers at her and hoists her brother down on top of his blankets. He mutters something akin to ‘thanks’ before he starts snoring, and Marcia whirls around on the spot.

“What the heck are you apologizing for?” She sounds angry, and it breaks Astrid’s heart that she couldn’t rein Makalov in today either. She should be able to do limit the damages, relieve Marcia of some of her worries…

“Answer me, Astrid!”

Astrid only gapes at her. “Answer… what?”

“Why do you apologize for him?”

“Because it was my fault,” Astrid hurries to say. “I didn’t need to stay and talk to Tormond, I should have done what I could for Makalov instead.”

“Oh yeah, because Goddess forbid you have a life, Astrid.” Marcia clenches her fists. “Do you enjoy cleaning up his messes?”

The answer gets stuck in Astrid’s throat. “I mean… I… I think he will get better, one day.”

Marcia drags a hand through her hair, practically fuming. “He won’t. He won’t, Astrid, and you know it. It’s not about giving him a second chance—he’s gotten a thousand chances, a million, and he’s squandered every single one of them.”

“A person deserves as many chances as it takes,” Astrid argues, almost getting a little bit angry, too.

“And who cares if it destroys you in the process, right?” Marcia sighs through her nose, glaring down into the ground. “At one point, he needs to do the work himself, and he lacks that motivation. It doesn’t matter if it is me being rough with him or you babying him if he can’t understand why he needs that help to begin with.”

“So I’ll keep trying to make him understand,” Astrid insisted. “I care about him.”

“I care too, Astrid. I’m not judging you for that. I just… I just think you change yourself when you’re with him. All that Astrid-ness just disappears.”

Astrid isn’t sure what constitutes Astrid-ness, but she can agree that she is not the same as she was three years ago.

Marcia softens at her silence, and shrugs. She looks a little bit like her brother when she does that, but more graceful, somehow.

“Just… try to live a little bit for other things too,” she finishes. “Okay, Astrid?”

Astrid only nods. She misses feeling like the sun.

***

Astrid thinks about the argument she had with Marcia almost daily. Her stances shift almost as often. Marcia’s wrong. Astrid’s wrong. Makalov’s wrong.

It is exhausting to try to understand feelings in the middle of a war, to say the least. Even when the entire world meets on the battlefield and the goddess’ apocalypse is cast upon them, Astrid doesn’t know what she feels.

Narrowing it down, it certainly isn’t fear for her own life. It might be… a longing for a future she doesn’t see.

So maybe she feels ‘empty’, but thinking about it causes her heart to thunder in her head, so she shrinks away from the idea. Let’s the war take over her mind.

Once they join up with the Dawn Brigade, everything shifts. Laguz and beorc thunders onward toward a common enemy, and that enemy has become Begnion.

Even the Empress is a part of this fight, the remnants of her Holy Guard with her, her face blank and cold like before, but without the childish roundness to her cheeks. Those eyes spark of revolution and vengeance, and that makes it somehow easier to sympathize with her. She is a person beneath all that, and a person wronged by none other than Senator Lekain.

Astrid feels like she should have been able to discern his ambition from meeting him, but in all her subdued ladyness, she had only thought of not falling victim to those hungry eyes herself.

Now Astrid has at least deduced that she is furious with the thought of his betrayal of the Empress, his murder of laguz going so far as to genocide, his complete disregard for the empire he thinks himself good enough to govern. It is interesting for Astrid to have found anger before love, but she doesn’t ponder it too much. All she knows is that given the opportunity, she will shoot Lekain dead.

She is far from alone in that sentiment, though. She might never get the chance. She considers speaking to Makalov about it, but he is in the rear having a loud conversation with raven laguz (she hopes he isn’t gambling with them), and she can’t interrupt every conversation he has for fear of what he might do to himself.

Trust your husband, above all else, old lessons still echo within her. Don’t make him sour and sullen with your nagging.

Astrid won’t. She watches Marcia instead, sees the excitement in her eyes as they ride side by side.

“Who would’ve thought the Dawn Brigade were such neat people?” she says. “Wish we could have joined up with one another sooner! Glad I didn’t beat up their little myrmidon when I had the chance—see how chummy he is with that archer guy?”

“Leonardo, I believe,” Astrid nods.

“Yeah, him. He would have shot me twice-over if I so much as touched that little sword guy with my lance.”

“They seem like really good friends, yes. I would do the same for you.”

That has Marcia go red, and her eyes set on something in the distance. “Astrid, they introduces themselves as a couple. Maybe you should refer to them as partners, rather.”

“Oh,” Astrid says. She had not thought about that—she sometimes forgets such an option exists, but she is happy for them. Being in love is supposedly a wonderful feeling. She hopes it is that way for Edward and Leonardo, anyway.

“That’s nice, huh,” Marica says, her voice a little bit distant, still. “People finding each other even in the midst of a war, kinda poetic, right?”

“Yes,” Astrid agrees with a smile. “There are many fine men in this army, and I am glad to have found your brother.”

Marcia’s gaze darkens slightly, then she smiles and looks right at Astrid. “Is it a different feeling, to like men? I cannot imagine.”

Astrid isn’t sure what she means. “Don’t you… like men?”

“I didn’t like being perceived as one, back in the day, but other than that, I like them fine. They’re neat, I guess. Just not my thing.”

Astrid frowns. She’s bordering on a realization, but doesn’t know of what kind. And right then, Makalov shouts the way he does when he’s trying to deflect an argument.

Astrid turns her head immediately, and trots over to his side. She cannot have her beloved get in trouble.

The argument has stilled by the time she gets there, though, and Makalov gives her one of his confused gazes.

“Is everything all right?” Astrid asks.

“Sure, sure,” Makalov deflects and shrugs. “I lost a bet. It happens.”

One of the ravens looks really pleased with herself, playing with a gold coin that probably belonged to Makalov before.

Astrid stifles a sigh. All of a sudden, she’s tired again. Exhausted.  She looks over to where Marcia walked before, but she has taken to the sky and isn’t looking back.

***

Not even when the goddess has frozen the entire world is Astrid to keep track of Makalov’s misadventures. She has tried to discourage him from searching for indulgence in this post-apocalypse and instead perhaps make something nice for his sister, or go for a romantic walk with her.

Not to much success, but she cannot give up. His interest in her has never really extended beyond slight confusion, but he at least seems to appreciate her when she helps him out. That might be a sign of love.

But she has found that she no longer knows what she wants. She has retreated back into simply being, and doesn’t know what to do to make it stop.

It is a clear day when they are nearing Begnion’s borders. They have defeated parts of the corrupted Senate, but they have yet to face any significant foes. Like Lekain.

Astrid can still feel anger when thinking about that man, but mostly, she feels very little. She sits inside Makalov’s tent, mending his armor. She doesn’t know if Makalov is doing patrols as he said he would, and tries to plan out how she should comb through the camp most effectively to keep track of him—when the tent-flap is pushed aside.

She expects Makalov, but instead, it is Marcia looking back at her, sunlight in her hair like a sparkling halo. And Astrid feels a surge at the base of her chest, feels an urge to smile.

But Marcia doesn’t smile. Seeing Astrid only makes her eyes go even harder, before she gently takes hold of the armor in Astrid’s hands.

“Drop this,” she says. “Now.”

Astrid gets the sense that there’s some emergency to tend to, so she puts it aside without hesitation as is ready to stand up, but Marcia isn’t moving. She crouches down, instead.

“Uhm,” Astrid hesitates. “Are you looking for Makalov…? I don’t know where he is.”

“I was looking for him,” Marcia says. “But now I don’t care. Astrid, you look ill.”

Astrid looks at her, blearily, sleepily.

Distantly.

“I feel fine,” she says. It isn’t a lie, although ‘flat’ would be more akin to the truth.

Marcia only shakes her head. “I’ve seen the people the goddess made into statues look more alive than you do now. Have you looked in a mirror?”

Astrid frowns, and lifts Makalov’s breastplate that she has polished to a sheen. Her reflection stares back at her, shadows around her eyes and drooping eyelids, her hair unbrushed over a dispassionate expression.

“Astrid,” Marcia says and puts a hand on her knee, pleading. “You’re killing me, and I don’t get this. I don’t get this at all. You have no power over your heart and all that junk, but I don’t get this. Is this what you really want?”

Astrid opens her mouth, then closes it again. She wants to say that she is a shadow of a person, and she wants nothing. That Astrid who once felt like the sun was a dream, a fantasy. This flatness, this nothingness, that is real.

At least that is what her mind is telling her.

Her heart is saying something else. Something she doesn’t understand.

“I don’t know,” she answers.

Marcia sighs, bowing her head before looking up again. “Okay, rephrasing. Astrid, do you want to marry my brother?”

No, the writhing, unidentifiable something within Astrid shouts. No, I do not!

She can only shake her head.

“Then why?” Marcia asks, the rim of her eyes gleaming. “…Why?”

Astrid bristles. “How else can I stay close to you when you marry, Marcia?”

The tears disappear from Marcia’s eyes. She blinks, stares.

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

Astrid feels her hands tremble, her heart shaking with them. Shaking with a longing. Longing for something she has seen yet not really realized what they meant—that day Queen Elicia embraced her beloved, that day Edward spun Leonardo around in his arms—and she finally, finally understands.

“Because I love you,” Astrid whispers, stunned to realize that she has felt this for years, but never having been taught to recognize it, how could she have known? “I want to stay wherever you are, and not have anything separate us.”

Marcia gapes at her, still crouching by Astrid’s lap.

“If you love me that much,” Marcia finally says, “then could you not marry me instead of him?”

Like a curtain drawn away from a window, light reaches Astrid’s mind.

“I… I could do that? I mean, I knew other people could, but… could I?”

“Of course you can,” Marcia says. “I am a capable adult, so all you need to do is ask.”

“Ask… ask what?”

“If I feel the same way about you!”

Astrid has never gotten this far in her emotional journeys before, and the very idea of understanding the mysteries of her heart seems inscrutable. Impossible.

“Well…” She steels herself with a breath and places a hand close to Marcia’s. “Do you…? Do you feel the same?”

Marcia’s hand finds hers, and the tears have returned to her eyes.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, Astrid, I do. I saw you once, I spoke to you twice, and I have loved you since.”

Astrid has no fine speech to frame her feelings in, but she hugs Marcia’s hand, and her chest ignites.

Once again, she is the sun, and a shadow no longer.

***

In the outskirts of Sienne, they face Lekain’s final resistance. Astrid is not afraid. There is a light in the core of her, and it is called love.

She gallops forward, her bow wielded against the wicked defenders of a horrid man. And once she sees him, dressed in the same laguz-furs, the same brooch of dragonscale on his chest, she is furious again. But it is not an uncontrolled incomprehensible shadow—it is justice, it is motivation.

“Lord Lekain!” Astrid shouts. She keeps her bow drawn, but waits for his response as she slows down.

The Senator looks at her from beneath half-closed eyelids, lifting a brow. “Hm… You. You are from House Damiell…”

“Yes, I am.” Astrid keeps her aim, knows that if he tries to charge any magic at her, Marcia would plummet right into him and end it. “It’s been a while, but I didn’t think you’d forget me quite so easily.”

“If you believe your pathetic display of rebellion gave a lasting impression on anyone but your family, you are sorely mistaken.”

“My judgement is sound… I wasn’t sure at the time, but marrying you would have been the biggest mistake of my life!”

“Hah! Bold talk from a penniless mercenary!” Lekain laughs and charges his magic. Astrid lets go of her arrow, sees it disintegrate against his barriers. “You were never worthy of Lekain of Gaddos, head of the senators and chosen by the goddess herself!”

Marcia slams into him, completely unbothered by magic barriers and attacks. They both retreat after that, when enemy bow knights draw near, but Lekain cannot fight them all.

His life ends by one of the laguz, high above the Tower of Guidance. That tower, Begnion’s heart, bears witness to the death of the Senator that would bring it ruin.

And Astrid isn’t afraid. The world may still be frozen, but the future is filled with light.

Chapter Text

Crimea is beautiful when the sun sets, and more beautiful still when the sun reflects itself off the roof of Astrid’s new home.

Marcia, ever-vigilant in the sky, shadows the sun for the space of a breath, before she settles onto the packed gravel of the ground. Astrid’s horse whinnies in greeting, and Marcia’s pegasus whinnies back. Down on one of the busier streets, Astrid can hear the people bustle about, but here, outside this little house with a herbal garden and relatively large enclosure, everything is calm.

“Did you sweep the walkway?” Marcia asks as she dismounts. “That’s no way to spend your free day, Astrid!”

Astrid meets her in an embrace, a small peck on her neck in return. “I will grow restless if I don’t,” Astrid says. “Besides, this house needs some love after being rebuilt.”

“True, true,” Marcia laughs and looses the saddle and bridle off her pegasus.

This entire area of the city had been destroyed in the last war, with the rebellion stomping on everyone and everything—but it had been reborn into something beautiful. The houses now were something other than vacant ruins, with sleek wooden walls and symmetrical window-covers. They still had to tar the outside of the house a few more times, and move the furniture properly, and accessorize, but then it would be finished.

That was one of the most exciting parts of living together with someone she loved—no matter how much their tastes varied, it still found a way to meld together.

Marcia grins and takes a latter out of her saddlebag.

“I got this sent to me from Makalov! And it’s not a debt collection, go figure!”

“We’ll read it together,” Astrid smiles. “Did you manage to fetch your old Begnion gear? It would look great in the hall.”

“Yup! It’s so weird to have it reduced to decoration, but that way you can still do upkeep on it and not forget about it. I’m sure it will at least provide some questions for future historians or whatever. But yeah, it feels a bit weird to finalize it like this!”

“The Crimean colors flatter you as well, Marcia.”

“Smooth-talker.”

Marcia lifts her saddlebags, letting her pegasus trot freely in the enclosure before closing the gates.

They read the letter together as soon as Marcia has unloaded her saddlebags. Makalov has ventured onwards and found himself in Kilvas, where he apparently feels happy enough to stay. His handwriting looks organized, and he mentions finding many joys. And he ends with a thank you.

Marcia blinks tears out of her eyes. “The big dum-dum,” she whispers, but it is a loving statement, free from much of the harshness she has used in regards to her brother before.

There are still some hours until dinner, so Marcia arranges her armor in the hall, while Astrid unfolds carpets and hangs a few oil paintings she’s bought from amateur artists in the city.

Then she hears a knock on the bedroom door, just as she drags a footlocker in place by the bed. She looks up to find Marcia holding a doll with curled yarn as its hair and a soft smile embroidered into the fabric.

“I found this,” Marcia says.

“Curly!” Astrid gasps and gets to her feet, taking the doll in her hands.

Marcia smiles slightly at her. “She’s cute.”

“She’s seen me from the day I was born,” Astrid smiles back. “I mean, most of that time she looked down from atop the hearth, but it still feels… like she watched over me. Is that strange?”

“Not at all,” Marcia says.

Curly is pretty worn and a little bit dirty—her mother would never want this displayed on their hearth, but such things matters little to Astrid.

She places Curly on the footlocker, looking at that little smile of hers. Astrid is freer than the day she took this doll with her and left her home, freer than when she became part of a guild, freer than when she saw the world with Marcia without understanding just what that meant to her.

She backs away, placing an arm around Marcia’s back and feeling her arm around her shoulders. She leans her head against Marcia’s cheek.

She is free, truly so, because she has found herself and what she wants. The future is hers, and she will live it.