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Chapter Text

In the north of Gautier, where the howl of wind was more prevalent than the whispers of men, a village lay in seclusion. The modest cluster of homesteads was shadowed by Sreng’s Maw, but the towering mount held little mystique for those in residence. Culann was sleepy in the way of any small settlement, its only valued resource being the smithy that formed the pillar of their commerce. Two forges and two smiths; an oddity for a village of its size. The youngest of whom was a woman known only as Cassandra.

She came to them in a storm, accompanied by a foreigner who hailed from Brigid. And they were odd indeed. One towheaded and tall, with a body trained for war and a leg banded with scars; the other dark as a raven and just as sharp-eyed, yet with a gift for healing despite her severe countenance. Both were striking as they were intimidating, earning curiosity of all sorts. However, common knowledge held that the two were wedded in all but name, sharing the same bed and home with little care for censure.

Perhaps in the old days when a King sat the throne over an Emperor they might have taken exception with such a mystifying couple. But there was no room for suspicion in a town that had once been so desperate and ailing. In the end, the burgeoning smith and her quiet companion were welcomed among them. None had the desire to make them leave. How could they when both had proved their worth many times over? And as Cassandra departed the stalls that formed their quaint market, she was greeted by friendly passersby. To them, she was a valued neighbor and tradesman. To her, the village was a chance to be born anew.

“Ser Cassandra!”

Cassandra halted, momentarily thrown by the title. Her pulse sped briefly but calmed the moment she saw the man hailing her. It was the local cobbler, a scruffy yet equable fellow. Bernard, if she recalled correctly. Cassandra gave him a quick smile as he approached.

“Never thought I’d hear someone call me ‘Ser’,” she began companionably. “Do I look like nobility to you?”

“My apologies.” Bernard shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve never known any knights or soldiers. I just assumed…”

“That all horses were stallions? I’m flattered you think so highly of me, but I can’t say I’ve earned a knighting.” Cassandra smirked, enjoying his nervous shuffle, before taking pity. “Did that old door of yours finally cave? You know I would help you set another for a pittance.”

“It’s nothing like that. Although, it’s kind of you to offer.” Bernard shook his mop of dark curls before staring sheepishly at his feet. “Yet I do have a request if you don’t mind.”

“Depends on what it is,” Cassandra answered honestly. “What do you need?”

“Leid and I were thinking of holding a proper naming ceremony for our daughter. It’ll be a small affair, just us and a few of our neighbors,” the man explained. “We thought it would only be right to have Lady Shay in attendance. I know she’s declined any sort of reward, but my wife is insistent.”

“A wife’s pestering is no small ordeal.” Cassandra chuckled, folding her arms. “Not sure why you’re approaching me about this. If you want Shay there, just ask her yourself. I hardly hold her reins.”

“We’ve tried. But each time we broach the subject, she hurries off before we can finish. Shay’s a busy woman, of course. I can hardly blame her haste. However, we were hoping to hold this ceremony before the thaw.” Bernard scratched his cheek with an awkward little shrug. “Perhaps you might ask her for us? I imagine she’ll be more amenable if you’re the one asking. And about our earlier offer as well…?”

“No guarantees, but I’ll give it an earnest try.” The smith smiled, toothy and amused. “She might grumble, but Shay has a soft spot for children. I think I can guilt her into attending at the very least.”

“You do know her best. I shall leave it in your competent hands.” Bernard bobbed his head before departing with a wave. “Fair day to you both! Should you need any boots mended don’t hesitate to visit.”

“Can do.” Cassandra watched him leave, bemused by the entire exchange. Her lady love oft ignored her on principle, but Cassandra would keep her word. It didn’t surprise the smith to hear of Shay’s elusive behavior. Her lover was skilled at avoiding things that discomforted her. And the cobbler’s family unnerved the younger woman for many reasons. The foremost of which was their doe-eyed admiration. If there was one thing Shay was ill-equipped for, it was unabashed praise.

Cassandra grinned to herself as she hefted a bundle of supplies beneath an arm, steps sure and even. Every so often she checked her footing and the strength of her scarred leg, Save for a slight stiffness of the knee, it was firm beneath her. The war might have left its mark upon her, but Cassandra had healed all the same. What were a few scars, anyhow? The smith was well aware of how fortunate she was to survive. She hummed a jaunty song from her youth as she waded through the snow.

The sun was setting through the trees, a thick blanket of orange painting her footsteps. A gentle wind carried the scent of pine and frost. She breathed deeply, enjoying the air’s biting edge. This life wasn’t something Cassandra ever envisioned for herself. Before, she had thought her destiny lay upon the field – buried beneath blood and steel. The Goddess’ plans were mysterious, as were Her whims. Yet Cassandra had faith that this was where she was meant to be. Once, there had been a time for war and glory. But that age had long passed, and she had readily traded sword for hammer. Her steps slowed as Cassandra came upon a modest homestead.

It was a cozy and well-loved abode, with more than enough room for the two of them. Her partner was a practical woman of little fuss. Were it not for the growing pile of medical journals – assuredly borrowed from their nun friend – Cassandra could hardly tell Shay lived there. Yet in the past few weeks, she's noticed her lover carefully filling out the sparse shelves with various trinkets and wares. Among them were hemp, thread, and other objects Shay used daily. However, there were personal effects as well – a newly bought brush, an inkwell for writing, and a rack of spices. Slowly, she was making the house a home.

Eagerly, Cassandra strode inside and knocked the snow from her boots. Her cheeks warmed as she spotted Shay resting by the fire pit. The dark-haired woman was reading something intently, brow creased in thought. She scoffed at something unknown before flipping the page. For a time, Cassandra just observed her. There were few things she enjoyed as much as seeing her partner so at ease. The other woman was often too intense for her own good, relaxing her guard sparingly. However, on scant occasions Shay allowed her dry humor to reveal itself were welcome. During the war, there was very little levity to be found. But that side of her lover was slowly coming back to life.

Fondness bloomed as Shay’s mouth lifted into a smile. The fire cast a warm glow over her features, shadow convening in the intimate alcove of pale chest and neck. The light reflected off the dark blanket of her hair and dusted along her skin. She was striking as she was hers; a concept that had seemed so impossible once upon a time. Yet it was wonderfully true. Cassandra never loved anyone or anything more. Before, the very notion would have been blasphemy. But not here... Not now.

“Struck dull in the doorway, I see.”

Cassandra blinked at the wry question. Violet eyes, shrewd and alert, were focused upon the smith. Shay shut the journal with a snap of her wrist.

“Has the cold finally left you speechless? I always knew it would blacken your tongue – quick as you are to wag it.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t bemoan the loss,” Cassandra said at last. She stirred from her idle staring and swaggered to the resting woman. Her eyebrows danced suggestively as she sat beside Shay, tossing aside her bundle of goods. “We both know it’s your favorite thing about me. Second only to my talented hands.”

"Talented is a bit of a misnomer. If you know how to make a harp sing, it is by familiarity alone. As for your tongue…” The shorter woman’s attention fell to the side as she appeared to think. “I suppose I would mourn it more than other parts of you. Make of that what you will.”

“I think I shall. Feel free to correct me if I get the wrong idea.” Catherine wrapped an arm around her partner’s waist. She beamed as Shamir leaned into her touch. Suddenly, the mantle of Cassandra and Shay slipped away. All that remained were two women stripped of artifice. It was a relief to allow her thoughts to reflect the truth. Their deception was a necessary one, but it did not come without strain. Yet it wasn’t a complete lie. Cassandra was no longer a name she feared hearing, nor was it a falsehood. Not the whole of her identity, but still a vital part. Catherine blinked as she felt Shamir sigh.

“It feels as if you brought the winter inside with you. Your hands are ice.” Despite the complaint, Shamir did not shove her aside. She burrowed her hands beneath Catherine’s shirt, warm palms pressing to chilled skin. “Take off that wet coat and get yourself warm. I’m not in the mood to clutch a glacier.”

“I’ll warm up eventually.” Catherine smiled into Shamir’s hair as her partner huffed. She leaned back reluctantly. “...But if my lady wishes, I suppose I can oblige.”

“How gracious of you.” Shamir’s tone was bitingly wry. “If you gave any thought to what you were doing this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I can’t be blamed for something beyond my control. One look and I’m overcome by your beauty. Struck dull, as you said before.” Catherine shrugged off her coat before tossing it near the fire. She rolled her shoulders, shaking off the extra bits of frost. The shards of ice fell on Shamir and her partner glowered. Catherine tried for a charming grin. “When I’m with you, the rest of the world melts away.”

“Trite words. I know you can do better than that.” Shamir flipped open the journal once more, appearing to dismiss the smith entirely. “Sit there and be a good girl as I finish this. Perhaps you can come up with something clever to say in the meantime.”

“I’ll try to meet your high expectations of me,” Catherine quipped. The Dagdan woman refrained from replying, but the faint tug of her lips said plenty enough. She flipped a page as Catherine sidled close. There, the smith settled against her lover, both arms tugging Shamir against her frame. Catherine enjoyed the comfortable quiet between them and savored the crisp smell of smoke. Something softer lay beneath the acridity – clean and floral. No doubt the soap Shamir had procured from the market.

As her partner read in silence, Catherine sent a quick prayer of gratitude to the Goddess. She wasn’t sure what she had done to be so blessed, but Catherine would be eternally grateful for the opportunity. She had fared luckier than most, despite the many mistakes she made. Yet perhaps luck was the wrong word for it. After all, it wasn’t the Goddess who stole a maimed Knight away from Fhirdiad.

Catherine observed her partner’s expression, unspeakably reverent. Shamir’s nose had wrinkled, lips parted slightly. She was reading something she didn’t agree with, the smith recognized. Shamir often wore a similar face whenever someone – usually Catherine herself – said something particularly objectionable. Her brow was creased adorably, tongue lashing in unrest across her bottom lip. Then, Shamir flipped the page again with an agitated twirl of her fingers.

“What are you reading anyway?” Catherine asked. She smiled sheepishly as Shamir looked at her askance. “Sorry. I know you wanted silence, but you can’t blame me for being curious. What with you paying that book more attention than me…”

“Perhaps if you were just as interesting there would be nothing for you to complain about,” Shamir replied. She managed to sound both playful and completely serious. It was a sadistic talent of hers, but Catherine couldn’t say she minded. “It’s nothing important. Just the scribbles of a former church healer. The butcher sliced his palm the other day, but the wound refuses to mend evenly. I was hoping this journal could help me figure out the cause.”

“You’re quite dedicated. I’m impressed.”

“Is that sarcasm, Catherine?”

“Not at all,” Catherine said honestly. “I’m always in awe of you. You’ve taken to this much faster than I would have, and helped this village while barely batting an eye. You should be proud, just as I am in you.”

“Maybe…" Shamir averted her eyes. A splash of pink colored her cheeks, so faint Catherine nearly thought she imagined it. "I’m hardly going out of my way. Bothild still does most of the work.”

“And if I were to ask, I’m sure she would say otherwise. But I suppose you’ve always been reluctant to accept praise.” Catherine nuzzled her face against Shamir’s shoulder. Affection for her lover pulsed with every contented beat of her heart. “Speaking of… Our cobbler friend wanted me to talk to you.”

“So now he’s harassing you as well? Persistent fellow.” Shamir’s tone was clipped. She fell silent for a moment before she released a long breath. “I assumed they would stop pestering me. My lack of response should be enough of an answer.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to be their child’s namesake?” Catherine placed her lips against her partner’s neck and grinned. Shamir shifted slightly, clearly disgruntled by the mention. A few weeks ago, the couple revealed their plans to name their daughter after the Dagdan woman. Apparently, the cobbler’s wife believed Shamir had saved both her and her daughter during the difficult labor. Shamir denied it profusely, yet the couple was undeterred. Catherine had thought it all very amusing.

“I was content with them wishing to name the babe ‘Shay’. The use of my pseudonym doesn’t bother me.” Shamir tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “But then you decided to share your thoughts on the matter. Had you kept your mouth shut, I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Oh, lighten up. Shay’s a fine name, but it defeats the purpose of their gesture. Besides, my suggestion has a better ring to it.” Catherine chuckled, ignoring the venomous glare Shamir sent in response. “I say accept the honor gracefully and let them have this. You wouldn't want to disappoint your old granny Shami, would you?”

“You’re a terror. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“For my wonderful personality and good looks, I wager.” Catherine heard her partner snort faintly. Yet Shamir did not contest it. Her partner stayed where she was, seemingly at ease. Emboldened by this, Catherine continued. “And maybe… because you love me.”

“Hm. Perhaps I do,” Shamir said, tone neutral. However, the tiny twitch of her lips meant she was hiding a smile; her short exhale a sign of wordless agreement. Shamir might not have said it emphatically – grand declarations of love weren’t her way – but Catherine never doubted the strength of her feelings. Shamir stayed because of her. That alone was proof of her commitment. “Still, I don’t look forward to hearing that name wherever I turn. I heard it enough whenever my siblings were feeling cheeky.”

“I think it’s an adorable name. Maybe I should convince them to pick another and I’ll use it for when we’re in private––”

“Should you ever call me that, you’ll be sleeping in the snow. Don’t test me, Catherine.”

“Alright! Point taken.” Catherine chuckled and let the subject drop. “But you must admit it’ll be adorable to see a little girl waddling around with your name.”

“And I’m sure you’ll take great amusement from it every step of the way.”

“Naturally.” She grinned, thoroughly unrepentant. Shamir rolled her eyes, but the gesture seemed halfhearted.

“Fine. I’ll allow it and suffer the consequences of your idle tongue. There are worse names she could be saddled with.” Shamir looked to the side, eyes darting to the window. As if sensing her scrutiny, the wind rapped against the shutters. “A winter storm might be upon us. I wonder if the baron’s soldiers will stay until week’s end.”

“They’ve made this trip plenty of times. And I’m sure they’re tired of playing escort to some backwater village.” Catherine rested her cheek against her partner’s dark hair. The texture was softer than her own; silky rather than frazzled by wind and forge heat. She felt Shamir breathe evenly, her slighter frame fitting easily within the grooves of Catherine's. The smith crooked her arm tighter around a tapered waist and marveled over their differences. Shamir's body was no less dangerous or tempered by strife, yet in a different way to hers. Catherine embraced the urge to brush her fingers through the long strands.

“Be that as it may, I doubt their will to leave is greater than a coming storm. Ice and snow do not mix well with armor."

“Ha! A true Faerghian thrives in the cold. But I guess we’ll wait and see.”

The pair fell silent once more as Shamir refocused her attention upon the journal. Catherine refrained from commenting, content to watch her lover as she perused the yellowed pages. The steel bangle Shamir wore glinted beneath the fire’s glow, casting the patterned weld into relief. Every so often, she twisted the metal thoughtfully. Her thumb traced the striations with reverence. Catherine adopted a broad smile when she noticed this.

Many things had best be forgotten, but love was not one of them. The blade Shamir had carried in memory of another was just the same. Occasionally, Catherine wondered about the man who had earned Shamir’s affections. The Dagdan woman did not suffer fools nor amuse herself with fleeting affairs. Catherine presumed he must have been nothing short of exceptional. Her partner mentioned him sparingly, though she did make a startling comment one day as they watched Byleth spar.

‘She reminds me of him,’ Shamir said simply. Catherine hadn't known what to make of the wistful observation. Eventually, it only served to compound her intense dislike of the young professor. Lady Rhea’s esteem was one thing, but to catch Shamir’s eye as well? Spite and envy swiftly replaced any camaraderie Catherine might have felt. Yet it wasn’t Byleth nor a nameless man she never knew who sat beside Shamir now. And it wasn’t for them that Shamir wore the bangle on her wrist. It was Catherine – scarred and imperfect – who shaped the metal into something new and beloved. She allowed her fingers to brush against its curved profile.

Shamir stilled, saying nothing. After a time, she set the journal aside and peered up at Catherine. Her eyes glowed like embers. The heat within that violet stare was different than anger or frustration, but Catherine was no less familiar with its meaning. She brought Shamir’s hand to her lips. The bracelet hung between them, proof of a bond that refused to sever despite the odds. And if Catherine had any say, it never would.

She gazed at Shamir, trying to convey the depth of her feelings. Her partner just returned the look evenly. Shamir’s eyes were lidded as the fire painted her features. Then, she leaned forward and captured Catherine’s lips. Her mouth was warm and soft, wonderfully dissimilar to the sharp words she favored. Shamir always kissed her with an edge of possession, as if she were laying a claim. Perhaps a lingering specter of her own misplaced jealousy, but Catherine didn’t mind. After all, they belonged to each other.

She deepened the kiss, hands reaching beneath thick cloth. A draft raked across her spine as she slid off her shirt, yet the warmth of Shamir’s skin quickly chased the cold away. Catherine pressed her partner to the floorboards, swallowing the woman’s breathy sigh. Outside, a winter gale lashed against the roof. The home creaked mightily, windows rattling within its wooden bones. Catherine barely noticed, too enraptured in the feel of dexterous fingers winding through her hair. In these quiet moments, surrounded by everything they had built together, she felt at peace. And as she tasted Shamir’s skin and felt the fluttering beat of her heart, Catherine knew her partner felt the same.

This was a simple life – quiet and unassuming like flames burning neatly in a hearth – but it was also theirs.

* * *

Only the indolent and drunkards begrudged the sun for rising. Catherine was neither. She had always been a woman who took pride in her work and accepted the burden of honest labor in stride. It helped when one adored the field they found themselves in. Metal and flame had meant something different as a soldier. But presently, it meant change - renewal. It was only fitting she be drawn to the transformative nature of a forge when she had once been deprived of both.

Yet despite her love for the craft, Catherine had been reluctant to leave their bed. The welcoming heat of Shamir’s body was no small thing to ignore. Her partner slept deeper in the winter months, seemingly oblivious to Catherine’s scrutiny. She breathed evenly, lips parted and brow smooth. The dark spill of her hair poured over pillow and sheet, refracting the glow of dawn. Catherine watched her with a full heart, sorely tempted to stay. In the end, she rose with a beleaguered huff. Her duty to the village was too great to ignore.

However, Shamir was never far from her mind. Catherine continued these soft musings even as her arms strained beneath molten iron. She worked the metal beneath her hammer, a smile tugging at her lips. Catherine pulled the lever to her bellows idly. Only when the forge spat angry tongues of orange did she return to the present moment. Quickly, Catherine seized the length of iron she had been heating between her tongs. It split in twain beneath the pressure. She growled, cursing her inattentiveness.

“Sloppy work, girl. I taught you better than that,” a voice groused from the left. Catherine, familiar with the gravelly timbre, raised her head in recognition. The soot-stained visage of Weyland greeted her.

“Don’t go wasting good metal. No sense in making more work for us.” The older smith kicked his boot against a nearby crate. “This all you’ve done? Thought you’d have more by now.”

“Oh, calm yourself. That’s only what I managed to do this morning. The rest is around the front.” Catherine slid the hammer into her belt, wiping her hands with a rag. She grinned widely. “Not even going to tell me good morning? I feel so appreciated.”

“Don’t start. You’re the one who made this barmy deal in the first place.” Despite his sour words, the man mustered an amiable tilt of his lips. His dark eyes glittered with curiosity. “Been a while since you’ve made a mistake like that. Anything weighing on you?”

“I was just caught up in my head. You know how it is,” Catherine hedged. Had she admitted the reason for her distraction, she might never hear the end of it. It was one thing to be thoroughly enamored in private. However, publicly was another matter.

Catherine cleared her throat before changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with your own workload? That nasty cold did set you back for a few days.”

“I didn’t have time to be ill. Still don’t.” Weyland shrugged, bushy mustache curving downward with his frown. “Got a pile ready to be loaded. Just need your help in moving them into the damn wagon. Goddess knows those soldier lads are useless.”

“They won’t help you?” Catherine’s levity fell along with her smile. She straightened. “I can speak to them if you like.”

“Leave it, Cassandra. I don’t need a brawl to start on my behalf.” Weyland waved his hand dismissively. “Word will just travel back to that baron fellow, and I would hate to be the reason why he rescinded his help. Not with winter so close to an end.”

“Sure, but they’re under orders to heed our demands. Anything less would be going against their liege’s word.”

“Spoken like a true soldier, eh?” The older smith smiled thinly before clapping her shoulder. “You’re a good woman, and I appreciate the sentiment. But I insist you let sleeping dogs lie. I can hardly blame them for being young and impatient.”

“Alright, alright… I suppose I can empathize.” Catherine relaxed her posture. She glanced at the main road, spotting the roaming contingent of guards in the distance. The shine of their armor was stark against the muted colors of the village. She couldn't make out their faces but their rigid posture said plenty. They shuffled about with familiar agitation. “When I was younger, all I thought of was glory for my country and family. I assume it’s the same for them. Escorting a few wagons across the border leaves no room for heroics.”

“Aye. This winter has been hard even for the local vagabonds. I doubt they’ll see a lick of trouble on these roads. Fortunate for us, but not for a lad seeking advancement.” Weyland laughed hoarsely only to sputter into a hacking cough. He thumped his chest irritably. “Damn chill… I can’t wait for this wretched ice to melt. This season has long worn out its welcome.”

“We’re on the heels of spring. Soon, we won’t have to worry about the snow or grumbling soldiers.” Catherine gathered the various nails and hinges she had forged before dropping them into the crate. The work was numerous, but it wasn’t overbearing for two able craftsmen. She didn’t quite know what to make of Baron Friuch. His patronage was welcome, yet Catherine still wondered about his intentions. Shamir agreed his interest in Duke Blaiddyd’s whereabouts was suspect.

“It can’t come fast enough.” She heard Weyland sniff in agitation. The man rolled his shoulders with a grimace. “Guess we’ll just need to bear with it for another month or so. Anyway, mind helping me load this haul? It was a pain dragging these supplies and my arms are shot.”

“ You just want to use me for my youth, huh? I see how it is.”

“Don’t get smart with me, girl.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Catherine replied glibly. “How many did you manage to bring?”

“Six crates. But I have a few more waiting back at my workshop.” Weyland thumbed the ends of his mustache thoughtfully. “Couldn’t bring all of them. The weight would have collapsed my sled.”

“Are you still using that rickety thing? You should just give it to the chapel and build yourself another. It would save you some headache.”

“I just might once spring returns.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m not looking forward to making that trip again. My home is on a bit of an incline and the cold wears my joints. Had those idling fools been of any use it might not be a hassle, but…”

“You could always let me retrieve them for you,” Catherine offered. She flashed the older smith a grin as he looked at her skeptically. “I may have a weak leg but I also have a horse. All that nag is doing is growing fat on whatever Shay and those kids feed her. I can give her a ride to shake that winter weight.”

“More like you could use a break from your duties. And I assume you’ll pass by the church on this little ride of yours?”

“Well… It is on the way.”

“Right.” Weyland shook his head before glancing at the sky. The clouds hung over them in a dense shroud. “Then I’ll leave it to you. But be hasty. We may be in for some foul weather.”

“You think it’s another blizzard?”

“Could be. You never know what the Faerghus winds will bring.” The man raked a hand across his bristled pate, eyeing the guards in the distance. “Hurry now, Cassandra. The faster we get that wagon filled, the faster they’ll leave.”

“Ha! Spoken like a true hermit. It’s no wonder they don’t listen to you.” Catherine laughed brightly, enjoying the affronted scoff that burst from Weyland’s chest. Her smile widened as she snagged the bridle from her workbench. “Just rest that weary body of yours by the fire. Try not to start any fights without me, though. I would hate to miss a good brawl.”

* * *

The church of Culann lay on the outskirts of the village, far from any well-trod paths. When they first arrived, its isolation had seemed like an oddity. But it had also been their saving grace. Neither Catherine nor Shamir wanted prying eyes to notice something they shouldn’t. The imperial threat was not one to take lightly, and the actions of the Central Church hadn’t earned any positive sentiment. Yet it was different now. Recently, people were seen coming to and from the weathered building frequently. The damage done by Fhirdiad was no less remembered, but the town had warmed to the lone nun and her foreign assistant.

Catherine led her mount towards the chapel, noting the thin wisp of smoke hovering above. Bothild and Shamir must have completed their daily rounds within the village. She nudged the horse into a canter, eager to greet her lover. As she entered the chapel clearing, a familiar sound greeted her. Arrow fire. Catherine frowned, sitting straighter in her saddle. Before alarm could bloom fully, she spotted the distinct profile of her partner in the distance.

“Keep your eyes ahead. Stare at the target, not your hands," Shamir spoke. Curiously, the Dagdan woman was not the one who was armed. Two slighter figures stood a few paces away, both wielding practice bows. Catherine recognized them immediately as Aife and Connla; orphans who had been taken in by the lone chapel nun. The children were clumsily aiming at a far tree, the boy more enthusiastically than his sister. Catherine grinned at the sight.

“Ho! Is that a cluster of bandits I see?” she bellowed at them and watched as they collectively turned. Catherine raised a hand to her brow, pretending to inspect the children. “Rather small for ruffians, but one can never be too careful. Take all the gold you wish, but leave my horse.”

“We’re not bandits, Cassandra,” Connla protested mightily. The boy scowled, puffing out his chest. “We’re hunters!”

“That so?”

“Shay’s teaching us,” Aife informed. The girl frowned at the bow she carried, appearing none too pleased. “I’m not very good…”

“That’s ‘cause you keep looking at your feet. Just pretend that the tree is a bear or something!” her brother stretched his hands above his head theatrically. She blinked, clearly aghast.

“Why would I do that?”

“So you’ll shoot better, silly.”

“But I don’t want to hurt a bear. He didn’t do anything.”

“You don't need to pretend it's a bear." Shamir sighed, exasperated. "Connla, what works for you won’t work for your sister. Now straighten your back and focus on your aim. Aife, I want you to concentrate on your draw. You’re not putting enough pressure into the string. Cassandra, stop distracting them.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Catherine chuckled. She leaned against the saddle horn, observing as the children shuffled closer to their target. Her tone lowered, conscious of their young audience. “Didn't think I'd ever see you teaching archery again. Gonna whip these kids into mercenaries, after all?"

“Perhaps... If I thought they had the nerve for it.” Shamir glanced at her partner briefly, before she shifted her attention to the children. “But that’s not why I’m teaching them. When spring arrives, the village will need to support itself. The people can’t rely on Friuch’s generosity forever. In any event, hunting is a valuable life skill. Only noble idiots with little sense would refuse to learn it.”

“Is that a jab at me, Lady Shamir?”

“Take it as you will.” A smirk crossed the Dagdan woman’s lips, but it faded fast. “Why are you out riding? I assumed your work would keep you busy until dusk.”

“Weyland left some crates behind, so I offered to fetch it for him. It would be cruel to let an old man break his back over something I can do quicker.”

“What a helpful dog you are,” Shamir commented dryly. She ignored Catherine’s indignant huff and patted the horse’s muzzle. “Try not to tax Saloma. Her joints get just as worn out by this weather as us.”

“I’m sure she’s grateful for the chance to stretch her legs. Besides, it should be no trouble for a hardy beast like her.” Catherine stole a look at the chapel. The windows reflected the golden glow of firelight. “Is Bothild inside, cooking something up for a midday meal?”

“Sorry to disappoint but no. She was preoccupied grinding herbs for a poultice, last I heard. The leaves she needs have been hard to find and they spoil fast unless preserved properly.”

“Tell her to write a list and I’ll have it brought to the baron’s attention. The man will listen if he wants his iron.” Catherine clicked her tongue and directed Saloma towards the trees. “I’ll hurry up and get this errand sorted. I’m sure Weyland is already wondering where I am. See you tonight?”

“Of course. I would hardly be anywhere else.” Shamir’s answer did not come as a surprise, but it still warmed Catherine’s breast. The certainty of home was not a small thing to consider. Many things had happened to get to this point, and she would not change any of it. Catherine flashed her partner a smile before venturing into the woods. The sled trailed behind her; its worn runners groaned with strain. It was a miracle the damn thing hadn’t broken in two. Perhaps after this task was done she would work on building Weyland another. It was the least Catherine could do after everything he’d done for her.

The forest was still as she rode through the snowy thicket. Ice broke beneath hooves, the only noise to be heard. It was a preternatural quiet, neither wind nor birds stirring the treetops. Catherine thought little of it. Close as it was to spring, winter still held an icy grip over the north. The return of game would be gradual rather than immediate. Still, the calm could be unnerving when alone. Catherine drew her coat tighter around herself.

Weyland’s home was isolated from the rest of the village, closer to the mountains than any of them. She oft wondered whether he would eventually return to living within the village proper. For now, the smith appeared content with his lot. After a time, the narrow trees opened to reveal a clearing. His shack was nestled within the center, smoke still rising from where his forge was located. To her relief, the remaining crates were easily spotted.

Catherine dismounted and walked near. They lay against the facade of his workshop, lashed neatly together by twine. It would be a simple matter of placing them atop the sled. She sent a silent word of gratitude to the Goddess before gathering the crates within her arms. They were heavy, metal bits clanking against the wooden container, yet her grip held. Catherine leveraged them atop the sled with a heave. She breathed out in satisfaction, dipping her hands within the water troth. The liquid was chilled but not completely frozen. Weyland must have departed not long ago.

Then, in a fraction of an instant, Catherine saw a shadow glide across the water’s surface. She stilled, breath halting as she listened. There were many things the former Knight would never forget. The sound of a sword sliding from its scabbard was one of them. She reacted instinctively and leapt to the side. A blade cut past her face, just missing her ear. It embedded deeply into the troth, water spilling over the lip. The attacker recovered swiftly. He yanked the sword free and lunged after her.

There was no time to wonder who and why. There was only room to react. Catherine ducked to her knees as the man went for her head. The blade sailed above, and the assailant stumbled forward, off-balanced. Quickly, she dove for his torso and tackled him into the stones of the forge. His helmet clanked violently against it, causing him to pause. Catherine did not give him time to recover.

She wrapped her arms beneath his and twisted until he screamed. The sword fell from his limp grip into the frost-covered hay. The man muttered something unknown before swinging his head forward. The visor of his helmet clipped her cheek, but Catherine refused to give an inch. With a roar, she bashed his head against the stones again. And again, and again – until the polish of his visor ran red with blood and spittle. A gurgle erupted from beneath it.

Breathing heavily, Catherine allowed the man to fall to his knees. He clutched at his helm weakly, crimson speckling the snow. He keened something indecipherable; inflection strange and guttural. But the silver shine of his armor – that distinctive make... Catherine recognized it very well. A wave of great and terrible anger burned inside her chest, consuming her reason. She reached for the hammer on her belt, teeth gnashed and blood dripping down her chin.

She brought the hammer down upon him, arm strong and vicious with a smith’s practiced might. Armor and bone caved, flesh purpling to black. The thing that remained after she was done could no longer be called a man. And as for her? It was difficult to describe what Catherine felt. She stared at the body distantly, pulse thundering in her ears. The hammer lay heavy in her hands. A tool like this was not made to kill. And neither did she think there would ever be any cause to use it as such. The whistling howl of the wind interrupted her thoughts. Catherine wiped the blood from her face. Her eyes slid to the fallen blade.

He had meant to take her by surprise; sought her within this place only a few knew she visited. Or had he followed her, stalked her shadow until she was safely alone? Catherine could not say which possibility was more startling. As for the reason, many desired her dead but only one knew she still lived. Catherine shook her head and exhaled steadily. She plucked the sword from the snow, frowning over its curious construction. The blade was shorter than Kingdom standard, with a lobed pommel capping the end. Catherine had never seen its like before. Perhaps Shamir might know—

Catherine jerked her head towards the trees, terror slithering down her spine. This man would not have come alone. He was garbed for war, not for assassination. If he was brazen enough to attack her in the open, where might any others turn their attention? Catherine slid the sword into her belt, replacing her hammer. She dashed for Saloma, grateful the horse hadn’t run during the commotion. Catherine yanked the sled free before spurring her mount towards the chapel.

The wind burned the gash in her cheek as she raced through the forest. Shamir was clever and fast, but it would be difficult to protect both herself and the church residents. Catherine knew her partner would never abandon them to death. She clutched the reins, knuckles bleached white. Her horse strained beneath her, the beast's hooves cracking the air like thunder. Then, thicket gave way to the chapel path. Catherine saw them at once.

Two figures, tall and broad, hacked at the wooden doors. Another stood by the well, arm poised to cast a torch into the air. Catherine did not give him the chance to throw. She ran him down with her horse, hooves knocking him to the ice. Into the snow he tumbled, arms flying above him. Catherine leapt down and drew her stolen blade. The man scrambled to unsheathe his own, but it was too late. She pierced his throat in one clean movement. Then, Catherine tore the sword free before setting her eyes upon the others.

One of them was already upon her, axe brandished high. It was a woman with a scarlet braid – just as imposing as her fellows. She lacked plate, but the size of her bulk still posed considerable threat. The woman swung her axe in a savage lunge. Catherine used the flat of her sword to parry, arms locking from the force. Sword and haft locked together in a battle of wills. Her scarred leg ached, but she forced herself to stay standing.

With a yell, Catherine pushed against her opponent and forced the woman backward. She panted, throat rasped from the cold. The woman warrior recovered swifter than she had imagined, surefooted on the frozen field. Her attacker swung again, threatening in her might. Had a lesser fighter been her adversary, they would have assuredly fallen.

Yet Catherine was no ordinary swordsman. Rather than attempt a deflection, she weaved beneath the swing and rolled. Her sword arm twisted and swept into an upward slice. An arc of red splattered the ice and painted the well stones. The woman emitted a gruesome wail, knee severed partially at the joint. Catherine exploited her anguish to sheathe her blade between the warrior’s ribs. She heard the woman release a final watery gasp as her body slid from steel.

Catherine heard the pounding crunch of footsteps and whipped her head toward the noise. To her alarm, the last man was closer than she had assumed. She could smell the acrid odor of his breath as he prepared to strike. Catherine braced herself, unable to evade. But the blow never came. In an instant, a single arrow pierced through his jowls. He stumbled, rocking to a halt. Then, another arrow embedded deep into his temple. His body fell against a tree before sliding still. Catherine stared at the corpse, adrenaline speeding her pulse. After catching her breath, she turned her head and looked at the chapel.

The doors were still closed, but a lone shutter had been opened for an archer’s port. Shamir. Relief replaced her panic as she straightened. Catherine jogged to the ruined doors and banged against the splintered surface.

“Shamir! Bothild! It’s Cassandra,” she called. Catherine waited, breathless. After a painfully long silence, the doors trembled before opening. Shamir stood upon the threshold, bow slung over her shoulder. Thankfully, she did not appear injured. Catherine embraced her partner regardless.

“You're safe!" She breathed out shakily, taking solace from the solidity of Shamir’s frame. “I was so frightened. I didn’t know if...”

“We’re fine. The children are terrified but not injured. I noticed our audience long before they made their move.” Shamir pulled away to inspect Catherine’s face. Pale fingers reached for the jagged slice in her cheek. Suddenly, they sparked with the warm glow of healing magic. Catherine relaxed as her flesh mended. “I assume they ambushed you?”

“Only one. He attacked me just as I reached Weyland’s. Seemed like the bastard was waiting for me.” Catherine glanced over her head, searching the chapel. Her eyes caught on the stocky form of Bothild. The elderly woman was clutching her wards tight, expression grave. “You three should head to the attic. Barricade the hatch and lay low until we come back for you.”

“Where are you going?” Connla asked from behind the nun’s robes. “Don’t leave us!”

“They need to check on the rest of the village. Most cannot defend themselves." Bothild patted his hair soothingly. "Have faith, Connla. Both Shay and Cassandra were trained for combat.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Shamir said. Her voice was firm and uncompromising. “Do as she said and retreat to the attic. Even if they break inside, they will not find you there.”

Catherine watched as Shamir spun on her heel and strode down the chapel steps. She sent the children a tight smile, trying to reassure them. Then, she followed her partner out into the snow. The door shut behind her with a heavy click. They should be safe here for the moment. Their assailants likely believed the chapel would be easily captured. More would not come until they realized their initial assault had failed. Anger flooded through her at the thought. Catherine slid back into the saddle, clutching the reins until the leather creaked in her hold.

“Catherine,” she heard Shamir whisper as she joined her atop the horse. The Dagdan woman clutched at her back. “The sky… Smoke.”

Catherine stared at the clouds, only to realize that's not what they were at all. Smoke hovered in a thick smog above the village. As she feared, they were not the ones who had been targeted. Catherine clenched her teeth.

“I see it. We need to move fast.”

Together, they rode for the village. Catherine knew what they might find. Besides her and Shamir, the village did not house soldiers. Only the baron’s men were armed and there was no guarantee they could stand their ground against a sudden raid. It would be a slaughter. Catherine’s blood burned with rage as she envisioned the song of steel and a river of blood. She did not care who they were. She did not wonder why they came. The only thing that mattered was making them pay. A slumbering beast had awoken and they would soon feel its fangs.

* * *

The sting of winter was too great for flames to spread, but they still devoured any purchase they held. The iced thatch did not burn, yet the same could not be said for what lay inside. The affected homes raged with heat as they rode past. As for their residents, Catherine could only make dark speculation. A handful of people were running in varying directions ahead of them, many clutching their loved ones tight. She spotted the baron’s men protecting who they could. Several were locked in combat with heavily armored foes.

Catherine stiffened as she belatedly noticed an archer aim for them, but the man was quickly dispatched by Shamir. Her partner slid from their horse, readying another arrow. In a flurry of movement, Shamir loosed a barrage at those fighting the baron’s soldiers. They fell one by one until only a singular man was left. He had a shield raised as he pushed forward to confront the Dagdan woman. Catherine intercepted his path, tossing herself into his charging bulk.

The man was as large as an ox and just as strong. Yet his bulk made him slow. He pushed Catherine away, but could not move in time to avoid her blade. She slid it within the meat of his thigh. The big man doubled over in agony. He cursed something unknown – the same guttural language as the rest – before Catherine finished him off with a slice to the neck. He bled out, weakly clutching at her pant leg. She kicked him aside before focusing her attention on the cluster of soldiers.

Most were young, fresh-faced, and trembling with adrenaline. One rested against the wheel of the supply cart, cradling his wounded arm. His complexion was blanched, eyes wild. Many of them appeared just as frightened. The only composed one among them couldn’t have been much older than her. He stared at the pair grimly.

“The village smith, right? Or one of them. You have my gratitude,” the soldier said in a rasp. “We might have been overrun had you not arrived.”

“Save the words of praise for later. We still need to root out the rest.” Catherine scanned their surroundings, but could not do much from their position. “There are more homes towards the market. All of you, follow my lead and we can win this day.”

“We can't leave the cart unattended," another man said. He was hunched beside the injured boy, lance limp at his side. "Our duty is guarding the baron's property and transporting it to Itha. We can't risk our lives for—”

“If you don’t want to die, whether by their hands or mine, then you’ll hold your tongue.” Catherine straightened her shoulders, casting off the mantle of a simple smith. Once again, she would take the fetters of war and lead as she was trained to. “Don’t you yearn for glory? To prove your worth and bravery to your liege? Do so now by fighting with me. Help us save Culann!”

For a moment, Catherine feared her words had done nothing. The soldiers looked among themselves, uncertain. Then, they brandished their weapons and walked forward. The older man from before nodded his head.

“Direct us to the market. We won’t let this village fall.”

And indeed, they were true to their word. They followed after her and Shamir diligently. As a combined force, they stormed the village center and cut down any who stood in their way. Had their opponents been coordinated, perhaps they would not have been able to overcome them. Yet the enemy, while seemingly numerous, had little in the way of tactics. For someone who had once commanded an army of the faithful, it was a simple task of routing them like weeds.

With the baron’s men at her flank and Shamir to her back, Catherine held no fear. The only emotion she felt was a gnawing hunger. It was the same she had always felt when thrust onto the field of battle, but somehow sharper than it had ever been. Rather than flushed from blood lust, the need she experienced was cold. No thrill of conquest sped her heart. No sense of victory heated her veins. She did not howl with joy as her steel cut through flesh and bone. Instead, the storm of her rage was tempered by icy hatred.

How many months had passed with love on her tongue and happiness warming her belly? How much peace had she known since Thunderbrand was lost and her past accepted in full? Catherine had been reborn in this village – made better by Shamir’s patience and her own honesty. Yet now she must spill blood by the whims of these wretches. Mercy would not be granted for this injustice. Her sword was sharpened by this conviction, and she used it with deadly purpose. By the end, the ground ran red with the viscera of these invaders. Neither she nor Shamir granted them leniency.

Catherine hovered over the last of them; a particularly stubborn warrior who seemed in command. He gasped for breath as he crawled across the snow. Three arrow shafts had pierced his chest, yet he still refused to die. She might have respected such tenacity before. However, Catherine spared no admiration for a dog who preyed on the weak. She kicked his ribs, forcing the man to twist onto his back. Catherine pressed her sword to his neck. She saw a glimpse of his face through the visor he wore.

“Why did you attack us?” she demanded. The warrior said nothing. He appeared to glower from beneath his helmet. Catherine tried again. “Do you seek gold? Food and supplies? Answer me.”

When he maintained his silence, she pressed her blade deeper into his skin. The edge nicked the apple of his throat. Then, he muttered something. Catherine frowned, nearly asking him to repeat it, but halted as he raised his voice. This time, the language these invaders favored was peppered with Fodlanic.

“He speaks to the dark… Konungur án ríkis.”

“That tells me nothing. I repeat, why did you attack us?” She waited for him to respond, careful to keep an eye on his hands. The man was still a threat despite his position. She tensed as he reached upward, but bloodied fingers grasped only his helm. He tore it off before spitting onto the ice, saliva flecked with red. Unruly hair fell into his face; paler than even the fairest Faerghian.

“Gullhærð. Skuggahátalari. They sent us here.”

“For what purpose?”

“For the people of this place. He ordered death. We obeyed.” The man’s head tipped to his chest. He did not appear willing to reveal more than that. Catherine’s patience snapped. She thrust her blade deep into his skull. The light left his eyes as she pulled it free. Her breath came fast as she stared at the corpse. Her hands shook as the fervor of battle began to cool. Someone had orchestrated this. An unknown man— No. Catherine knew there was only one person it could be.

Rufus had sent them to kill her and Shamir. The destruction of an isolated village would not raise any alarm nor earn the Empire’s attention. Yet the Duke had miscalculated. He did not know of the deal she had brokered with Itha’s baron. Had they not been here, the two women would have been overwhelmed and the village razed. Catherine’s lips pulled over her teeth. She should have killed him the moment he stepped foot in Gautier. Shamir wanted to, but Catherine foolishly thought he would leave them be. It was bitter to recognize how wrong she had been.

What horrors were elicited because of her negligence?

Catherine stared at the surrounding chaos. Death clung to the air and stained the earth. Flames arched as smoke blended with the clouds. She had seen this before. Fhirdiad, the culmination of her mistakes. Her fist curled as she thought of a dragon’s echoing wail. Before she could lose herself in that train of thought, Catherine heard someone call her name.

She looked to the side, glimpsing her partner in the doorway of a home. Shamir met her eyes, expression grave. Catherine only recalled who owned the home a split second before she heard hacking sobs erupt from within.

“Bernard. Goddess, please don’t take him from us! Please…”

Shamir shut the door, cutting off the desperate plea. Her brow was deeply furrowed, shadows collecting within the veil of her hair. The Dagdan woman did not weep, but Catherine could read the tension in her posture. She averted her eyes.

The cobbler was dead, wasn’t he? A new father and a good man. Catherine had not known him well at all, but he was a familiar face. Innocent and harmless. Her throat tightened. Catherine walked away, unwilling to break under the guilt she felt. There was no time for such things. The village needed her to be strong, and Catherine would not sink into the same self-pitying hole she had once lived in.

Culann was wounded but did not fall. Despite Rufus’ machinations, Catherine and Shamir survived. He failed in his goals, yet there was no certainty he would again. A threat now lurked in these woods. She would not mistake the gleam of teeth for moonlight.

* * *

“The weld’s neat. Polished finish. Solid construction… This is high-quality steel.”

Catherine watched intently as Weyland inspected the breastplate she had brought. The armor had been gathered from the warrior she had spoken to. Her eye wasn’t practiced enough to glean anything herself but assumed her mentor might. The older smith had been determined to assist, even when frazzled and white with shock. Catherine was relieved the man had lived. He was made of sterner stuff than most, but no one was prepared to face what they did today.

“Flexible enough. No signs of stress. It appears to be properly heat-treated,” Weyland continued. He sat the breastplate down atop the table. “This wasn’t the work of a novice, I can tell you that much.”

“Any idea where the metal originated?” Catherine asked.

“Hard to say. Steel this refined suggests wealth. Simple raiders wouldn’t have the means. I suppose it could be stolen, but most of them were wearing it.” The smith stared hard at the plate, contemplative. "Perhaps they forged it themselves. However, I doubt they would know how to work the material."

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they're Srengian." His mouth tightened into a purse. "You heard them, right? They were speaking in that coarse tongue of theirs. Couldn't mistake it."

“Sreng…” Catherine mulled over this new information. It hadn’t occurred to her where their assailants hailed. She presumed the Duke had simply hired a band of foreign mercenaries to tend to his dirty work; perhaps Morfis or Albinea. But Sreng of all places? Catherine’s knowledge of Sreng was limited, but she never thought they would willingly obey a lord of Blaiddyd. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t they know how to craft steel arms?”

“Because their mountains don’t bleed it. The only ore they mine is copper, tin, and some iron. So they primarily craft bronze tools and weaponry.” Weyland scratched his jaw as he appeared to think. “I suppose those closest to the border might be learned, but they still wouldn’t have a reliable supply.”

Catherine mulled this over briefly. “This means they were outfitted by an outside source. Am I right?”

“Hard to imagine anyone would be giving those barbarians arms, but… it's the only sensible answer," he confirmed. The smith pushed away from the table with a shake of his head. “Madness. We're a town that was in its death throes only a few months past. We have nothing to offer. No claim nor figures of power. What would drive them to assault us?"

“People are often incomprehensible. It could be that they wished to wound Baron Friuch. Wealthy men always have enemies.” Catherine crossed her arms, the lie tripping off her tongue. A pang of guilt struck, but it was quickly muffled. The truth would only cause more problems, not solve them. “Thank you, Weyland. Do me a favor and gather the soldiers. We need to burn the corpses before they attract predators.”

“Aye. I’ll get it done.” The older smith nodded before striding towards the door. The boards were scored but not splintered. It was a small mercy to find their home still standing, though Catherine was sure this was because neither she nor Shamir had been inside. Their attackers had been focused on slaughter over mere vandalism. She sighed heavily, barely taking notice as her partner strode into the room.

Shamir didn’t greet her, instead choosing to stand by the window. Her gaze was dark as she stared outside. Catherine did not know the content of her thoughts but assumed they followed the same path as hers. She joined her, slow gait reflecting fatigue.

“How many?” Catherine asked softly. Shamir was silent for some time. Her shoulders were locked, chest barely rising with each breath.

“Less than I feared. Most of the casualties were soldiers.” The corner of Shamir’s mouth pinched. “However, there are countless injured among the villagers. We’ve done what we could for the worst of them. Time will tell whether it was enough.”

“What a mess..." Catherine ran a hand through her hair. "What about those without a home? Were they given shelter?"

“Bothild placed most of them in the empty dormitory. Some still distrust the church, but they'll not freeze to death because of it. Many have children to protect.”

They fell into a somber quiet. Shamir never looked away from the window, inscrutable as she had ever been. The Dagdan woman was not prone to airing her worries, and Catherine was hesitant to force her. But the present circumstances were beyond the pale.

“You know what this means,” she said eventually. “What they planned to do, and why. There can’t be another reason.”

“Yes.” Shamir’s brow knit. “Blaiddyd has made a nuisance of himself once again. I hadn’t expected him to be so bold. Perhaps I should have. Desperation can make tigers of even the smallest lemmings.”

“I thought we were rid of him. Does his hatred for me run so deep?” Catherine bristled, her anger returning thrice-fold. “Damn that pompous fuck! We allowed him to leave. Spoke not a word of his plans. This malice was purely for the sake of his pride.”

“A self-proclaimed revolutionary like him would not tolerate loose ends. The moment you rejected his offer, that’s what we became. His dislike of you just added incentive.” Shamir’s voice lowered, bitterness dripping from her words. “Blaiddyd knew the collapse of this town would not draw any undue attention. Yet he’s overplayed his hand. When the force he sent does not return…”

“He’ll know they failed.” A lance of unease pierced the smith’s heart. Catherine balled her hands until her knuckles ached. “I can ask for more soldiers from Friuch. Perhaps we can build an outer perimeter—”

“It won’t be enough, Catherine. Blaiddyd will just send more and more until there’s nothing left of us.” Violet eyes closed. “He won’t risk the Emperor catching wind of his plans. We can run, far from his reach, but the village will fall.”

“No. I won’t allow that.” Catherine looked out at the snow-covered roads and the people trying to rebuild what they had lost. She thought of a babe swaddled in linen who would never know her father, and a woman who grieved for her husband. She thought of a boy who thought she hung the moon and a girl who thought the same of Shamir. Finally, she thought of the wizened nun and ornery smith to whom they owed everything. Catherine refused to let them die because of one man’s paranoia. As a Knight, she had shied away from the uncomfortable realities that frightened her. She would not run again.

“...He plans to make his move against Edelgard soon. I can guess that much,” she said at last. “Before spring arrives, while the Empire stays in the south. But we won’t give him the opportunity.”

Shamir’s stare settled on her partner, expression analytical. Catherine peered at the frozen landscape once more.

“I’ll send word to Baron Friuch. The Emperor will take our claims seriously if it’s under his name. She’ll have no choice but to answer this threat directly.”

“Edelgard will need proof.”

“And she’ll have it.” Catherine gestured to the breastplate. “His men were besieged by heavily armored Sreng warriors in northern Gautier – the Duke’s name given as their commander perished. An exaggeration, but a necessary one. Edelgard won’t accept anything less than certainty.”

Her jaw clenched as she recalled the blood spilled. She had previously been content to ignore the Duke’s futile dream of liberation. If he sought a quick death at the hands of the Empire, she would not stand in his way. But that way of thinking had been short-sighted of her. Catherine straightened, already planning the missive she’ll send to the baron.

“Rufus wanted me involved in his foolish rebellion. So that’s what he’ll get.”

Next Chapter: The Specter of War

Chapter Text

The letter had sat atop her desk for weeks. It loomed in her periphery, demanding her attention despite its diminutive size. Eventually, Edelgard tucked it beneath a stack of books – dry things of little import that would shield the envelope from view. It was an inelegant solution. Infantile, in truth. Yet she was able to ignore its existence, if only for a brief moment. Then inevitably, the letter would spring to mind in the oddest moments. It gnawed at her whenever she found herself alone, in tiny vicious bites that slowly frayed her nerves. No, Edelgard could never completely forget the words that lay within, nor set aside the sentiment.

Damn you, Dorothea…

The Emperor rubbed the crease of her brow. She would likely carry a permanent wrinkle in the future. Stress aged a person just as easily as time. Edelgard exhaled slowly, regretting the momentary spite she felt. Dorothea meant well. She always did. Her recent correspondence was just another example of that. The other woman did not mean to offend nor did she intend any vexation. It was Edelgard alone who allowed those carefully written words to needle her.

... tell me again, honestly and truly, that you do not want to marry your dashing general and I will leave the matter be.

Fierce indignation had unfurled within her as she read. They had spoken of marriage at length before she departed Brigid – both over Dorothea's upcoming nuptials and the Emperor's own prospects. Of course, she wished to marry the woman she loved. It was hardly up for contention. However, a marriage for one such as her meant something very different than most. Had she not already explained her reasoning? Had she not properly expressed the dangers associated with a formal union?

Her rule was a tenuous thing made of carefully constructed parts. The dissolution of the Central Church and the Empire’s consequent reforms did not make her a popular figure. The commoners were leery of her and the former nobility were continually galled. Might and intimidation kept her in power, not love. Many were eager to do away with these changes and return to tradition. Should she marry, the regency would fall to her spouse. It would not take much for a bold faction to use Byleth as a piece in a grander game. Assassination would only be the beginning.

She knew her beloved wouldn’t be so gullible, but Byleth would also never accept her possible death. It was for these reasons Edelgard refrained from broaching the topic. After all, she was certain Byleth would decline for the same concerns the Emperor held. Marriage would not be in the cards for them so long as she reigned.

However, the more Edelgard stewed over Dorothea’s words the more she wanted. She had thought of Byleth as her equal long before their relationship deepened. They shared so much already. The thought of binding their lives together by law should not have been alluring. Yet it was. More than it had any right to be The Emperor scowled into her teacup, frustrated by her indecisiveness.

“–gard. Edelgard!”

She started, nearly chipping a tooth on the porcelain. The Emperor raised her head and winced at Lysithea’s scrutinizing look. The newly instated advisor had joined her some time ago for an afternoon break, but Edelgard only vaguely recalled what they had been conversing over. Something concerning Ordelia? Or was Lysithea commenting on the grain shortage in Gloucester? Abashed over her inattentiveness, Edelgard cleared her throat.

“Apologies, Lysithea. I was just… pondering the taste of this new blend. You mentioned your father is fond of it?”

“On the contrary, he foisted it upon me because he thought it repellent.” Lysithea sniffed, taking a pointed sip. “I am tempted to agree, but I wanted your opinion first. Unless I should excuse myself?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m sorry I gave you that impression.” The Emperor offered a contrite nod. “My mind was admittedly elsewhere. This past winter has been difficult and many settlements require relief. It's been a hurdle managing everything."

“This has been an unreasonably harsh season.” The severe cast to Lysithea’s face faded. She settled into her chair, seemingly appeased. “It actually snowed recently in Ordelia. A light dusting, according to my father, but still unheard of for our lands. I can only imagine what it must be like in the Kingdom—”

She paused, hesitating.

“Um, the northern Empire rather.”

“There’s no need to correct yourself. Admittedly, I still think of it as a separate country at times. Habits are hard to break.” Edelgard sipped gently. The tea had long cooled to tepid, and the faint herbal tang was not enough to earn it distinction. An odd aftertaste lingered on her tongue. She wrinkled her nose. “...This is horrid. How much did your father pay for this?”

“More than it deserves, I’m sure.” The younger woman set her cup down with a weighty clack before nibbling on a tea biscuit. “I’ll see if Ferdinand is interested. Maybe he’ll taste something we don’t.”

“A fine idea. You’ll need to wait until later, however. I believe he’s still wrangling those trade negotiations with Almyra.”

“Still? He’s been in talks with their ambassador for weeks.”

“The situation is irregular, from what Ferdinand has relayed.” Edelgard frowned. Almyra had never been particularly open to Fόdlan diplomacy, so she hadn’t expected anything worthwhile. Yet the country had not dismissed their attempts outright. It was peculiar, but Edelgard was not of a mind to prod an infamously hostile nation. “The trade agreements the Alliance held are open for revision, potentially in our favor. Ferdinand tells me they are reluctant to commit until their new king is crowned.”

“Hmph. That sounds more like an excuse to string us along. But I must admit, improved relations with Almyra would be preferable. I am curious why they are suddenly reopening negotiations.” Lysithea tilted her head, pondering. “Did you happen to catch the name of this king?”

“I can’t recall it clearly. Khan, perhaps. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I just thought...” Pink eyes flicked to the window before settling on the kettle. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ll try to catch Ferdinand another time.”

“Agreed. Someone should benefit from your father’s ill-fated purchase.” Edelgard swallowed the rest begrudgingly. “How is the good Count? Doing well, I assume?”

“Oh, he’s fine. A little overeager to prove himself to you, but otherwise the same.” Lysithea fluttered her fingers dismissively. “When I told him I intended to accept this post, he very nearly wept with joy. I think he’s under the impression it will help secure his position.”

“Tell him he has little to worry about. So long as his governance meets my standards, I bear no intention of stripping Ordelia from him. In any event, your father has a year to prove his capability.”

“I told him this, but I don’t think he completely understood.” The younger woman shrugged her shoulders, resigned. “I suppose we’ll see what happens when the inspection period begins.”

“I’ll be amazed if it goes smoothly.” The Emperor allowed a prolonged sigh to escape her. “Everyone is still adjusting and the reality that blood inheritance no longer takes precedence can be hard to swallow. I’m sure the rest of the former nobility feel the same.”

“They will acclimate. They must.” Lysithea raised her chin, eyes flashing. “Neither crests nor corrupt nobility shall rule our society. You made that promise to me, and I will aid in seeing that through to the end.”

“It’s a promise I intend to keep,” Edelgard confirmed. She favored her companion with a measured look, smile falling. “That reminds me… How is the situation at the border?”

“The same.” Tension etched its way across the pale planes of Lysithea’s face. Her upper lip curled. “These sporadic attacks continue to plague the northeast. The last was a small settlement within Edmund.”

“Were the circumstances the same?”

“Correct. What few survivors there were all share the same story. A keening bell in the night, followed by a terrible storm. Then, a sudden onslaught of banner-less knights.” Lysithea clicked her tongue. “It sounds too outlandish to be real. But it’s undeniable this rogue faction has done immense harm, be they bandit or otherwise. I can’t puzzle out the cause for it either. The places they assault are isolated, disconnected from trade, and lacking in resources.”

“Be that as it may, these attacks are too frequent to be a coincidence." Edelgard pressed her lips together until they formed a flat line. Her hand balled atop her knee. "I’ll send Leonie to address this matter when she returns from Varley. Her fliers will scour the east and purge these feral dogs from our lands. Whatever their aim, they will be brought to justice.”

“Well said.” Lysithea nodded, gaze still narrow and alert. She appeared so much older suddenly, and Edelgard felt a swell of pride for the brilliant woman her friend had become. “You shall have my House’s support as well. Leonie won’t lack for men or means.”

“Your support is always welcome, Lady Ordelia. Now, let us leave the grim and grey behind for a moment.” Edelgard refilled both their cups with steaming water. Her fingers were nimble and sure as she dipped a bag of bergamot within; an old yet trusted favorite. “Linhardt wrote me the other day to detail their progress on the academy. Both he and Hanneman believe they should be ready to reopen by the fall."

“Really?” Silvery brows arched high. “That’s wonderful! I assume Professor Hanneman will be resuming his post there. Oh, but… I guess it’s too late for me to rejoin.”

“Nonsense. They would be thrilled to have you. I can even put a word in if you wish.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” Lysithea sighed, and it was equal parts wistful and resigned. “I think it’s the fact I never finished that bothers me most. Besides, it wouldn’t be the same without you all. The halls would be familiar, but I lack the same purpose I once did. I was a child desperate to prove her intelligence and worth. And I’ve already done both, haven’t I?”

“Considering you are the foremost authority of the former Alliance, I fully agree.” Edelgard smiled wryly. “I look forward to your continued counsel of the Eastern Empire.”

The younger woman visibly preened at the words. Lysithea was not a stranger to pride, yet it didn’t hurt to stoke the flames. The praise wasn’t without merit. Edelgard knew her country well, but the same could not be said for the fallen territories of Leicester and Faerghus. She had relied heavily on Lysithea’s council since the war’s conclusion and would do so for the foreseeable future.

“It is my privilege and honor," Lysithea returned. “By the way, are you still planning to open the academy to the masses? How do you plan to gather funding?”

“The academy will be open to anyone seeking education. The Church’s monopoly on knowledge will not be perpetuated with us.” Edelgard dropped a sugar cube into her cup before stirring. She pressed her lips together as she pondered. “Funding will be needed, but the Empire won’t suffer should I use my own coffers. House Hevring has pledged a significant amount as well. From there, I’ll see if we can find a few willing patrons to keep the institution afloat.”

“Is that so? Then I imagine the academy will also be an institution dedicated to the pursuit of crest research.”

“Only a small but dedicated portion.” Edelgard smiled wryly. “It took considerable time to come up with something that would match Linhardt’s standards. I’m sure both he and Professor Hanneman will be an invaluable asset in the future.”

“Undoubtedly!” Lysithea looked ready to say more but fell quiet as the study door opened. Edelgard darted a glance, curious who would be seeking her so late in the day. She was surprised to see the straight-backed figure of Ingrid. The captain stood at attention, her expression neutral.

“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty,” Ingrid began. “I can return later should you desire.”

“Don’t be so formal, Ingrid. It’s just me and Lysithea here.” Edelgard beckoned the other woman forward. “Come here and chat with us for a spell. You can give me your report afterward.”

“At your command.” Ingrid hesitated briefly before stepping further into the room. She dipped her head towards Lysithea. “Congratulations, Lysithea. I heard the news. I look forward to hearing your input during cabinet meetings.”

“And I look forward to scolding whoever steps out of line. The alliance lords have gone without direct supervision since the war ended. I’ll be putting an end to that.” Lysithea sniffed, tossing her hair back. “Ferdinand and Edelgard are far too lenient with them. They need a firm hand to keep them in check.”

“Well… I’m sure Her Majesty did her best.” Ingrid shifted on her heels, glancing between the two of them. “Managing the Empire’s expansion has been a great undertaking.”

“There’s no need to defend me, Ingrid. Both Ferdinand and I did as we could, but Lysithea is correct.” Edelgard stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea. She favored Ingrid with a cursory look. “A shame I couldn’t convince Felix to stay. His candid insight on Faerghus would have been invaluable. Unless I can tempt you into serving as my advisor?”

“Me?” Ingrid blinked, clearly taken aback. Her composure returned swiftly, accompanied by a pensive twist of her lips. “I… don’t think I would be suited. If I may be frank, my time as a lady of Galatea was spent avoiding the nobility. Whenever a gaggle of them visited my father, I would hide in the stable. I was more familiar with their horses’ names than theirs.”

“A shame. I suppose I can ask Sylvain, but I would rather not suffer his idea of diplomacy. The last time I held a council, he flirted incessantly with all the ladies in attendance. I had to personally apologize to each offended husband and father who called for his head.”

“That sounds like Sylvain.” Ingrid’s voice was oddly strained as she said this. Her lips were pulled upward, but the expression was too tight to call it a proper smile. The Emperor observed her with no small amount of curiosity. She had assumed Ingrid would be desensitized to Sylvain’s antics by now. Across from her, Lysithea scoffed.

“He really has no shame. You would think he would learn after all these years.” She paused suddenly, craning her head towards the window. “I think it’s time I take my leave. I’ll pen both Leonie and my father in regards to that matter we discussed.”

“My thanks, Lysithea.” Edelgard watched as the younger woman swept from the room, nodding once to Ingrid upon her departure. The fair-haired captain returned the gesture sedately. All the while, the straight set to her spine never loosened. Ingrid could be aggravatingly formal, but she had never been this stiff before. It made Edelgard wonder what could be troubling her.

“She’ll serve you well, Your Majesty,” Ingrid commented after a time. “Her attention to detail is second to none, as is her loyalty.”

“Agreed. I dare say she is just as committed to these reforms as I am.” Edelgard sipped her tea, but her eyes stayed on Ingrid. She noted the captain's appearance, from her windswept hair to the dirt flecking her boots. Ingrid had flown before coming here. Yet the Emperor couldn’t recall sending her on a mission recently. “...Is there some issue I need to be aware of? You look as if you’ve just returned from the field.”

“What?” Ingrid frowned before glancing down at herself. Comprehension flitted across her features. “Ah, forgive me. It was only a quick flight, nothing to concern yourself over.”

“The dour look on your face says otherwise,” Edelgard remarked. Her suspicion deepened as green eyes darkened.

“Flying clears the mind. Recently, I’ve been plagued by thoughts I shouldn’t bear. Please, Your Majesty, I’m sure you have more pressing concerns than my petty complaints.”

“My concerns lie with the well-being of my soldiers. And also my friends.” Edelgard looked pointedly at the other woman. “Are you not both?”

“Point taken.” Ingrid’s features smoothed, a quick smile appearing upon her lips. After a moment of hesitation, she took the chair Lysithea had been sitting in. “Your Maj… Edelgard, what is required of me beyond commanding your pegasi?”

“That’s a broad question,” Edelgard stated. She leaned back in her chair, trying to read the expression Ingrid wore. The other woman’s eyes were bright with a rare intensity. “I suppose anything you are prepared to accept. I’ll hardly force you into anything. Are you unhappy serving as a captain?”

“To the contrary, I feel quite fulfilled." Ingrid shook her head, the wrinkle in her brow growing more pronounced. “But it's an odd thing to consider my desires. For the longest time, I've been held to everyone’s expectations of me. And now, I find myself caught once more on the question of what I truly want.”

“I assume you're not just referring to a career.”

“Not at all." Ingrid brought her gaze up to meet Edelgard's. There was something weary and sad lurking within the lines of her face. “...Sylvain proposed to me. Last night, right after patrol.”

Edelgard choked on a mouthful of tea. She resisted the urge to sputter incredulously, placing a napkin to her mouth. She hadn’t expected that; not even close. Her prior musings flared to life, brought forth by the sudden mention of marriage. She buried those unpleasant thoughts and cleared her throat.

“I didn’t know you two were courting,” Edelgard said flatly. Ingrid just looked at her, expression glum.

“That’s because we weren’t. I assure you, this proposal came as much of a shock to me as it did you.” She passed a hand over her face. The Emperor noted the hint of red that colored her cheeks. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I told you it was petty.”

“I’m not sure what to call it, but I don’t think ‘petty’ sufficiently describes the situation. Had my lifelong friend suddenly proposed to me, I would be just as baffled.” Edelgard pondered it shortly, bemused by the thought of Hubert attempting something similar. Although, it would be interesting to see Byleth and Ferdinand's reactions. Knowing her easy-going lover, Byleth would likely find it comical. As for Ferdinand, he just might challenge her to a duel over Hubert's hand. Edelgard cast those fanciful images aside and refocused her attention upon Ingrid.

“However, I never took Sylvain as someone eager to marry. I rather thought him allergic to commitment.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware.” Ingrid folded herself over the table, resting her chin atop a palm. Her dutiful composure was dashed to the wind as she grimaced. “Whenever he spurned some poor girl or earned her wroth, it would fall to me to smooth everything over. I’ve had my shoulder soaked in more tears than I care to remember. Even at the academy, my ears were constantly wringing from complaints.”

“I faintly recall stumbling upon a few such occasions. Eventually, I concluded that you must be rather popular yourself."

“Please don’t jest.” The blush on Ingrid’s face deepened. “My point is this isn’t something Sylvain has ever done. For all his carelessness, he’s never proposed to any of his past dalliances. And towards me of all people? It’s baffling.”

“Perchance he’s finally realized his feelings for you. Love can strike fast like that,” Edelgard reasoned. She watched, brow-ticking upward, as the captain balked.

“We have never traded anything resembling intimacy. The closest compliment he’s ever paid me was when he mentioned my grace while flying.” Ingrid’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Just the other day I caught him talking up one of my recruits. I had to chase him off with a switch before he left her alone. You can see why I’m skeptical.”

“Wrangling his antics seems exceptionally tiresome. I’m amazed at your patience.” Edelgard eyed the other woman, analyzing her expression. “Yet for all your aggravation and doubt, you didn’t refuse him outright. Am I correct?”

“No. I didn’t.” Ingrid’s gaze fell to the table, fingers scratching nervously at the embroidered cloth. “We’ve been friends for years, but we’re also all we have left. With His High... Dimitri gone and Felix wandering the continent, it’s a comfort to have him by my side.”

She paused as if gathering her thoughts. Edelgard waited patiently for Ingrid to continue. After a time, the captain raised her head.

“He looked so different when he proposed. Calm, serious, words carefully measured. I didn’t know what to think– I still don’t. But if Sylvain is genuine in his offer, shouldn’t I grant him the courtesy of considering it?”

“That’s fair to say. I don’t know him half as well as you do, but I doubt he would be disingenuous over something like marriage.” Edelgard crossed her legs as she considered her friend. “Can you think of a reason why he’s suddenly asked for this? Maybe an occasion where you expressed a wish for marriage?”

“Not at all. It’s completely out of character for him, and nothing we’ve spoken about.”

“How puzzling. I suppose all that's left is your feelings on the subject. Tell me, do you love him?”

Ingrid blinked at her. Her lips parted, yet no words spilled forth. Then, her throat trembled as she swallowed thickly.

“I…”

She didn’t get a chance to answer. Suddenly, the study doors flew open once again. The Emperor sighed, prepared to dismiss whoever interrupted them, but stilled as she recognized her lover’s dark frame. Byleth’s face was devoid of affect, her stare forbidding as an ocean storm.

“Forgive the interruption, but a letter has arrived from the north,” she stated, voice clear and steady.

“What news does it bear?” Edelgard straightened, sensing the tension within Byleth’s stance. Alarm sparked as the taller woman shook her head.

“It’s best we discuss this in the war room. Hubert and Ferdinand already await us.” The general favored Ingrid with a weighted look. “You should come as well. I’ve already sent for Sylvain.”

Ingrid darted to her feet, gripping the back of her chair. Trepidation was etched in every line of her body. Edelgard continued to stare at her general, but couldn’t read the expression she wore. Byleth was terrifyingly inscrutable at that moment, and she knew immediately something terrible had happened. The Emperor calmed her racing heart, preparing for the worst.

Whatever peril they faced now, she was determined to face it without flinching – as she had done before and as she always would. Her country deserved nothing less.

* * *

A sharp stab of nostalgia struck Edelgard as she stepped into the war room and saw the faces crowded within. Hubert and Ferdinand were talking in hushed voices, convened at the long table that filled the floor. The two men stood upon her entry but continued to trade covert looks among themselves. To the left, Lysithea scrawled atop a piece of parchment. Her mouth was harshly pursed. Across from her was the lackadaisical figure of Sylvain. The man rocked his chair backward, balancing the legs idly.

As Ingrid moved to join them, it struck Edelgard that it had been quite some time since her Eagles had gathered like this. Of course, several members were missing currently, but a pang of nostalgia filled her nonetheless. It was only a shame they were united by strife and not a lighter purpose. Edelgard took her place at the table’s head with Byleth trailing her shadow.

“If someone can politely fill me in, I would be much obliged,” the Emperor began. “You say grave news has arrived from the north. About what and from whom?”

“The letter was sent by one of my informants. It arrived just an hour ago,” Hubert explained. The towering minister adjusted the lower buttons of his vest. It was a nervous habit Edelgard recognized from their youth. That, more than anything, concerned her. Anxiety was not an emotion Hubert nurtured often. “Its contents are disturbing, to say the least. Once it was read, I knew it would only be wise to discuss the implications.”

“Implications?”

“Of rebellion, Your Majesty.” Hubert fell silent, allowing the statement to settle. Edelgard stared at him levelly. Rebellion. It was a word she had feared since uniting Fόdlan under Imperial rule. Still, she had been vigilant since the Central Church’s dissolution. Any whisper of a revolt was snuffed in its infancy, whether by diplomacy or otherwise.

“Are you sure this informant of yours can be trusted?” Ferdinand interjected. He wore his skepticism plain, searching the other man’s face. “How do we know this isn't a trap in itself?"

“Had the man in question been someone of established repute and lineage, I would be tempted to agree.” Hubert narrowed his eyes. “However, Baron Friuch’s rise within the Duke’s Court was by my design. We needed watchful eyes in Itha. And it would seem that gamble has been rewarded.”

“Gentlemen, if you would please refrain from talking in circles. Most of us are still ignorant to the matter you refer to." The Emperor tapped her index against the table, patience strained. “You mentioned a possible rebellion. I would like that clarified first.”

“Of course.” Hubert tipped his head apologetically. Suddenly, he procured a roll of parchment from beneath the table. He unrolled it with a flick of his wrist, revealing a map of Faerghus. His fingers danced casually along its length. “For the past few months, I had Baron Friuch keeping watch over the former Kingdom and its lords. As you are well aware, various rumors of them gathering into a hostile faction were recurrent after the war’s end. I suspected Rufus Blaiddyd to be at the head, or at least tempted to align with them.”

“Was there any legitimacy to this?” Ingrid stepped forward. “And is my father…?”

“Count Galatea was not a part of these rumors. As far as I know, he seems content to stew in his estate without conspiring against us. I wager your unwavering support for Her Majesty has him caught at an impasse.” Hubert favored the captain with a slow smile. Edelgard easily read the approval that lay within the expression. His sharp eyes returned to the Emperor. “In the end, I was proven correct. Rufus Blaiddyd has raised an army and fully intends to move against the Empire.”

“That’s quite the charge. Personally, I don’t buy it.” Sylvain canted his head in Hubert’s direction. “So some up-jumped baron tosses around a few claims of treason and we’re meant to come running? And I’m certain this Friuch will be eager to take the Duke’s place once we clap him in irons. This reeks of a power play.”

“Baron Friuch is an ambitious man. But he also knows his place. I can’t say the same for the last Blaiddyd.”

“Rufus is a lout and a hedonist. That’s never been in question. But planning a rebellion?” Sylvain scowled, not bothering to hide his incredulity. “The man I knew wasn’t capable of it. He’d be more likely to lick Edelgard’s boots than risk having his head taken.”

“Normally, I would agree with you. Yet many years have passed since his regency.” Ingrid glanced at her childhood friend. There was an unmistakable weight to her stare. "Dimitri’s death had to have affected him. I’m sure he must feel some responsibility for the Kingdom’s fall as well.”

“That is a line of thought I have also followed.” Hubert cupped his chin thoughtfully. “Say what you will about the Duke, his regency still held Faerghus together in a time of upheaval. There must be those who would throw their lot in with the last lord of Blaiddyd. And some still might cling fervently to the Church despite the atrocity of Fhirdiad. Taking that into account, a modest army would be within his means.”

“So we agree his involvement is feasible,” Edelgard stated. She pressed her palms to the table, the cold wood steadying her thoughts. Truthfully, she had believed the same as Sylvain. Dimitri’s uncle was a famously ineffectual regent. And a man concerned solely with baser pursuits, if the courtly murmurings over the years held water. She allowed him to keep his title for the simple reason that she had yet to find a suitable replacement. Faerghus' governance was still a delicate undertaking in the wake of her reforms and required a deft hand. But, despite his bloodline and possible grievance, the Emperor hadn’t thought Rufus brave enough to act against her.

“Is all this just postulation on the baron’s part, or does he have proof?” Edelgard searched Hubert’s face. “Dangerous as these accusations are, I don’t want to ignite conflict without conclusive evidence.”

“Now that is the most interesting part. According to Friuch, a small village was recently beset by Sreng raiders. A common–if regrettable–occurrence so near the border." Hubert placed his thumb along the mountainous ridge dividing Sreng and Gautier. “The baron’s men were able to fend them off, but not before they wrung the Duke’s name from their lips. As it turned out, they were not mere common thieves but under the employ of Rufus himself.”

“Sreng? I was under the impression they despised the Kingdom. Lambert did seize much of their territory.” Lysithea’s brow furrowed. “You would assume they would die before heeding a Blaiddyd’s orders.”

“Sreng is a vast and wild environment. Wholly unknown in many ways,” Hubert explained. “The people are much the same. While I have no doubt many despise the Kingdom, some clans might follow out of self-interest. After all, House Blaiddyd has never lacked coin or resources. Even deposed, Rufus remains a wealthy man.”

“Sreng has never been interested in gold. They don’t see the purpose of coin." Sylvain crossed his arms as he looked sidelong at the dark-haired man. "They're a subsistence culture. It's why trade and diplomacy have been so difficult in the past. If they are following Rufus, then it’s because he has something they want.”

“My guess would be land.” Ferdinand tidied his cravat, bottom lip snared between his teeth. One of his legs bounced nervously as he appeared to think. “Tales abound of the barren wastes that form the majority of Sreng – the soil more frost than earth. If even some of that is true, then I cannot blame them for their hostility.”

“King Lambert seized the pass and the lands surrounding it. Part of it was granted to House Gautier,” Ingrid commented. She stole a brief look at Sylvain before continuing. “A large swath was also cut north of the mountains, extending to the coast on either side. This is where the border forts were erected. Lambert’s invasion was a significant victory for the Kingdom, and a great loss for Sreng.”

“Interesting. Perhaps they believe Rufus will grant them the return of this land in exchange for service. A fair theory, in my opinion.” Lysithea nodded to herself, content with the explanation.

“There’s very little else that would entice them. However, I do wonder why Rufus went to the effort of raiding a small village. Save for Friuch’s patronage, they would have little to offer.” Hubert blinked slowly. The timbre of his voice deepened. “Another intriguing detail is why the baron’s men were there. Apparently, Friuch had struck a deal with the village’s blacksmith. They would provide him with ironwork to maintain his territory, while they would receive food and supplies. House Gautier must have fallen on hard times if these villagers needed to broach an up-jumped baron in Itha.”

“What are you implying?” Sylvain’s chair shrieked as he stood. “My House does what they can, but we’re not omniscient. Had my father known—”

“It is my understanding that the current Margrave is a shell of what he used to be,” Edelgard interrupted. She glowered at him, daring him to contradict her. “A man speaking in tongues and raving at the moon cannot make sound decisions. As his only son, the management of Gautier falls to you. I had thought this would be obvious.”

“My father might be addled but my mother…" Sylvain trailed off as if uncertain where to go from there. Frustration painted across his face. “I believed everything was settled. They were getting on fine before the war ended, weren’t they?”

“It was by your assurance that I allowed you to keep your ancestral seat. Your promise to me that Gautier would be safe under your protection.”

“And I have done my best!” Sylvain slammed his fist down, jaw clenched. “You think it’s easy to rule over people who despise you? Who believe you to be a traitor to your king and country? I have done all that they would allow. Both they and my family spurn me, all because I followed you."

Edelgard bristled, disappointment and ire roiling in her chest. She bit her tongue as she felt Byleth’s hand upon her back. The Emperor peered up at her lover’s impassive face.

“What’s done is done. There’s no sense in arguing over the past. What matters now is how we’ll move forward.” Byleth rested a hand atop the pommel of her sword. The meaning of the gesture wasn’t lost upon anyone present. “I suggest we take this threat seriously until an investigation can be made. It would be wise to check on the village in question and gather first-hand accounts.”

“Certainly better than mobilizing on a nobleman’s word alone.” Lysithea sniffed. “Still, it would be best if we assume it’s the truth for now. A march of imperial soldiers might be enough to dissuade any would-be attackers.”

“There is also the rumor of additional lords being involved.” Ferdinand ran an agitated hand through his hair. “It’s dismaying to think of our diplomatic efforts being undone by a handful of malcontents. If enough were to gather…”

“Fraldarius and Gaspard have been particularly troublesome. The death of their lords has not been easily swallowed. Rodrigue in particular.” Hubert tipped his head towards Edelgard. “Until the truth of this is revealed, I will do what I can to keep this quiet. We don’t need tales of insurrection spreading throughout the Empire.”

“That would be for the best. Keep an eye on the former alliance as well. The recent unrest there cannot be forgotten.” Edelgard straightened her spine, posture authoritative. Her eagles mimicked the alert stance, their attention unfaltering. She drew strength from their implicit faith in her. “I will raise Enbarr’s standing army and take a portion to Gautier. The High General will join me, as will Captain Ingrid and her fliers. I will expect the acting Margrave to follow as we visit this village. I’m sure both reparations and support will be needed.”

“By your leave, Your Majesty.” Ingrid placed a hand over her heart, chin dipped. Sylvain followed suit but avoided meeting her eyes. His jaw was taut with an unknown emotion. Edelgard would suspect it was anger, but she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at her or himself. Undoubtedly, she would find out as they set for Gautier.

“I will tend to imperial affairs while you march. Enbarr will be safe until your return.” Ferdinand bowed at the waist, deferring to his liege. Hubert followed suit, though not without a tinge of hesitation.

“It is a shame we cannot be there to assist you directly. I suppose I shall have to defer my duties to our dear High General.” Hubert gave Byleth a once-over, blatantly scrutinizing her form. “Hmm… You’ve kept up your training so I may put my worries to bed. Keep your sword sharp and your mind sharper. Should you allow Her Majesty to fall, I will bury you with her.”

“Thank you, Hubert. That would be lovely.” Byleth smiled, swift and winsome. Edelgard muffled the urge to squint at her. It was hard to tell whether her lover was joking or had merely missed the thinly veiled threat. In any event, Hubert’s answering smirk was more amused than anything. He bowed again, dark cloak swirling around his feet.

“Then I place my trust in you. But ride fast; if the Duke has indeed planned an uprising, we must act with haste.”

“And we shall.” The Emperor scanned the room, catching the stares of every person in attendance. She seized one of the game pieces atop the table, a remnant from a prior game with Byleth. Carefully, Edelgard placed it atop the map. Golden wings glittered beneath the light, nestled firmly within the boundaries of Gautier. “Fόdlan is finally united beneath one flag. I will not allow anything to ruin the peace we’ve bled for.”

“Hear, hear.” Lysithea nodded curtly. “And we will all do what we can to assist in that endeavor.”

“I’ll mobilize our troops in Enbarr and send word to the barracks along the border. We’ll convene as we press further north.” Byleth tipped her head in deference.

“Thank you, General. And see if you can call Caspar from Bergliez. I would prefer he reside in the capital until we return.”

“It shall be done, Your Majesty.”

“Then I believe we’re all in accord.” Edelgard looked around herself. “You all have your assignments. I trust you to act with the dignity of the Empire resting on your shoulders. Meeting adjourned.”

She waited until they collectively rose before she continued. “Ingrid and Sylvain, wait a moment. I require your counsel.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Ingrid bent at the waist. She did not look surprised in the slightest. As for Sylvain, the man pursed his lips but remained silent. The rest of her Eagles took their leave without further comment, though she caught the brief look Byleth sent. Edelgard was well aware of what the older woman would say.

She was fond of Sylvain, strange as it was to contemplate. Admittedly, Edelgard felt much the same. The man could be an incorrigible cad at times, but he had served her well. She would not enjoy enacting punishment for his negligence. But it would be hypocritical to decry the failure of lesser lords and ignore the gross mistakes of someone she held in esteem. Thankfully for him, she held little intention of discussing such matters. For the moment.

“As you know, the Empire has never dealt with Sreng to any great extent. Even before Faerghus was formed, there are few records of imperial encounters with the country. I have little in the way of reference, save for the tales passed down by frightened seafarers and small-folk.”

“What’s there to say? They’ve been a thorn in the Kingdom’s side for ages. Another enemy among many.” Despite the glib shrug Sylvain offered, the way he tensed was suspect. Edelgard did not miss the look of disapproval Ingrid wore.

“I’m quite aware of this.” The Emperor eyed him speculatively. “But surely you must have some insight into their culture. I would have thought such knowledge would be given to a son of House Gautier.”

“Sure, I have a passing familiarity. I can’t say I’ll be of any use, though. It’s been years since I was forced to think about Sreng.”

“Some knowledge is better than none.” Edelgard stared at the map atop the table. A sudden thought dawned as she scanned the jagged lines that composed Sreng’s border. “Do you think they would be open to diplomacy?”

“The Margrave is well-known for an aggressive stance on Sreng and its inhabitants,” Ingrid provided. "Not even Sreng tradesmen or merchants were welcome within the border. It was a zero-tolerance policy, considering their frequent raids on Kingdom settlements.”

“My father fought at King Lambert’s side when they pushed into Sreng. He said they were nothing more than animals, barely capable of intelligent thought or speech.” Sylvain appeared uncomfortable then, scratching the stubble along his jaw. “He didn’t believe diplomacy was possible. I’m not sure how far we’ll get if that’s your end goal. Their government is also… strange. Disorganized and primitive. They don’t have a central figurehead they adhere to.”

“That does make this situation more difficult. I had hoped we could avoid a conflict with a foreign nation. There is a possibility it won’t come to that, but would rather not err on assumptions.”

“I can provide reconnaissance once we reach Gautier.” Ingrid slid a finger across the map, pointing directly above the rugged mountains crowning Faerghus. "Should Sreng be involved, they'll do everything they can to capture the border forts. Hopefully, we'll only find the Margrave’s men.”

“That would be ideal, but let’s prepare for the worst. We’ll also need a contingent to head for Itha. Should Duke Blaiddyd be guilty of these accusations, I don’t want to give him a chance to flee." Edelgard straightened before dismissing them with a wave. “We’ll begin preparations in the morning. Be ready.”

They bowed in unison before departing. For a brief instant, it appeared as if Sylvain wanted to say something further. His mouth clicked shut as Ingrid shouldered him out the doors. It was just as well, the Emperor wasn’t of a mind to suffer his apologies or excuses. They would speak about what to do with Gautier at a later date.

Edelgard heaved a sigh, preparing herself for a long afternoon of paperwork and endless worrying. Organizing a long march north had not been in her plans for the day. And neither was mulling over the reality of a brewing rebellion. Doom and gloom seemed to be an inescapable fate for her. She wasn’t sure what to think of it all. Nevertheless, it seemed their brief time of peace was at an end.

* * *

The night was warmer than it had been since winter began. The Emperor relished it, knowing the days ahead would be filled with the harsh climate of the north. She tucked the bedding around herself into a makeshift cocoon and stared at Byleth’s slumbering figure. The older woman slept deep and with ease. Edelgard envied her, though she would never say it. Her own rest was rarely fast and readily disturbed; as if her body refused to embrace the dark on principle alone. Some nights, the slightest noise would wake her and she would lurch upright with a chill along her nape. On other occasions, her body would refuse to slip away, clinging stubbornly to reality.

Tonight was one such night. Edelgard huffed into the thick coverlet, begrudgingly conceding the fight. She stared hard at the ceiling, counting the tiles. It was difficult to believe they might be on the cusp of another war. They had fought long and hard against the Church. Once it ended, Edelgard firmly believed the most harrowing part was done. How could she not? She had unmasked Rhea for the monster she had been. Her cruelty, her madness – had the world not borne witness?

Yet some supported Rhea still. The crest-blooded nobility, she could understand. But they were not alone in their desire to keep the Church’s teachings. Rufus Blaiddyd. Perhaps countless other lords as well. She had been lenient with those who knelt, tolerant of their inherited claims and titles. Nearly a year had passed since then. She had given them ample enough time to demonstrate their ability to govern. For some, it was more than they deserved. Yet for that mercy, pests now stirred underfoot, seeking to regain the chains that bound them. The Emperor couldn’t make sense of it.

“Can’t sleep?” Byleth’s groggy voice broke the silence. Edelgard stiffened, surprised the woman wasn’t unconscious as she had assumed. She watched as Byleth turned onto her side, blue eyes opening.

“No…” Edelgard sighed, cheek pressed to her pillow. She gradually relaxed as her lover waited patiently for her to respond. “My thoughts are too cluttered. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“In all honesty, I think the draft woke me.” Byleth looked pointedly at the bundled comforter Edelgard monopolized. Her lips twitched. “Shall I fetch some blankets from the closet, El?”

“That won’t be necessary.” The younger woman released her hold on the cloth, faintly chagrined. She smoothed it over Byleth’s legs in apology. “It's a bit childish of me, isn't it? Huddling beneath the covers like a frightened little girl. Hardly becoming of an Emperor."

“I think it’s rather cute.” Byleth ducked as a throw pillow was tossed at her head. “So hostile. Tell me, do you treat all your generals this way?”

“Only the one sharing my bed.”

“Ah, I see. Then I am honored by your favoritism.” Byleth’s smile fled beneath the surrounding shadows. The gleam of her eyes pierced the dark, gaze sharp with inquiry. “What's on your mind?”

The Emperor nearly deflected the question but thought better of it. She knew her lover would see through the attempt. Byleth was far too keen to be misled, something she both appreciated and bemoaned.

“I was just pondering the situation in Faerghus,” she said eventually. “The various lords who still cling to tradition, Rufus Blaiddyd possibly among them… I can’t understand their motivations. They have little to gain from an uprising and so much to lose.”

“People can be incomprehensible. But it’s not too strange.” Byleth propped her head with her forearm. “It’s easier to accept a lie when it’s repeated at length. For the people who truly believed in the Archbishop’s words, proof to the contrary would only infuriate them.”

“Even when it’s to their benefit?” Edelgard frowned. “Rufus himself was a victim of crest inheritance. He was the eldest son of House Blaiddyd, passed over in favor to his younger brother. Of all people, I thought he would relish this chance.”

“I don’t know his character. But considering what Rufus lost, I doubt he would be thinking with his head.” Byleth looked away. “When my father died, I didn’t know how to process it. For years, he had been my only anchor to the world around me. Even as fractured and incomplete as I was, I still loved him. Just the same, Dimitri was all Rufus had left.”

“Then you believe it’s something so simple as revenge?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s likely a large part of it.”

“Well… I can’t say I’m entirely convinced, but it’s something to consider. Truthfully, a part of me hopes he isn’t involved,” Edelgard admitted. “I bear no fondness for the man, but neither do I wish to murder the last Blaiddyd. I imagine it would only fan the flames of Faerghus dissent. Still, I will not stay my hand should he raise arms against me.”

“And I will be there by your side, regardless of what’s to come.” Byleth fell back to the pillows. She flung her arm around her lover's waist. The warmth of her palm was soothing. "Whether our foe is Sreng or just a pack of resentful nobility, I have faith we'll prevail. After all, their rage can hardly compare to a dragon’s.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Edelgard hesitated, scanning Byleth’s placid features. The older woman had closed her eyes, breathing starting to deepen. She was beautiful like this, soft and relaxed as if the outside world was a distant worry. Edelgard brushed her fingers against a pale cheek. An unruly lock of teal curled around her ring finger. “Byleth, when all this is done… would you…?”

She couldn’t bear to finish. In the end, the Emperor drew away and smothered her hapless yearning. There would be time for selfish wants later. She sighed as the room fell into a solemn quiet. For a while, she lay in the stillness and counted Byleth’s whispering snores. Yet the whirling of her thoughts refused to cease. An hour on, Edelgard finally rose from their bed.

It was pointless to wait for sleep to steal upon her. Perhaps something warm would soothe her nerves. She padded to the door, careful not to disturb her lover’s slumber. Then, she ducked into the hall before heading for the kitchen. The towering windows of the palace illuminated her path, scant shadows nipping at her heels. When she arrived, Edelgard caught a faint burst of orange within her periphery.

She wasn’t the only occupant within the pantry, much to her surprise. A shock of white hair glowed beneath candlelight. Lysithea was hunched over a small table, drinking out of a wooden cup. Coral eyes flicked up as Edelgard approached.

“I see you had the same idea as I,” Lysithea said. She raised a brow. “Unless Hubert told you to shoo me away. If so, tell him to keep his nose out of it.”

“The former. Sleep has proved elusive.” Edelgard joined her at the table. She took stock of the sheaf of paper stacked neatly in front of them. “There are better places to compose letters. Is there something wrong with the office I provided?”

“Oh, it’s perfectly fine. It’s only lacking in one respect.” Lysithea wagged a lone tart at the Emperor. “I think I deserve this after the day we’ve had. Hubert’s grim news aside, matters in the east are yet unresolved. I thought I would take care of any necessary correspondence before we head for Faerghus.”

“We?” Edelgard drew back, searching Lysithea’s expression. “I was under the impression you were headed for Ordelia. I never gave you the order to join us.”

“I’m aware. However, I feel my talents will be sorely needed. One can always use a skilled mage.” Lysithea nibbled on the treat she held, but her stare never left the older woman. Her gaze was oddly stern. “Besides, I have my own suspicions of who might be lurking in the north. That village Hubert mentioned, doesn’t the circumstances sound strikingly similar to what’s been happening in Leicester?”

“Well…” Edelgard thought on the possibility for a moment. “It does feel like too much of a coincidence. But while the Alliance was an offshoot of Faerghus, they’re not sworn to House Blaiddyd. Rufus shouldn’t hold any authority there.”

“That’s not why I mention it.” Lysithea’s voice sharpened, but not with rebuke. Her pallor turned ashen. "We've never spoken of it plainly, you and I – the nightmare we both share. Do not think I was oblivious to the whispers you would trade with Hubert and the Professor. When the war ended, did you think your sudden inquiry into the Hyrm mountains would go unnoticed? And did you think no one would wonder why you returned in a lather?”

“You’re treading on dangerous ground.” The Emperor’s teeth set on edge. “It’s best not to push this. Had anything of worth been discovered there, I would have shared it.”

“I know this. I knew it then as well, which is why I never pressed.” The harsh edge to Lysithea’s tone faded. “We know they’re out there, lying in wait. Who is to say this is not one of their machinations? Who is to say the attacks in Leicester are unrelated? I will not be content until these fears of mine are assuaged. For that alone, I insist on joining you.”

“This is exceedingly reckless. If anything should happen—”

“While in the company of the greatest army Fόdlan has ever seen? Somehow, I think we’ll be fine,” Lysithea scoffed. “Both you and the Professor will be leading us. Even if my suspicions are true, I doubt we’ll face much trouble.”

“You have that much confidence in me?” Edelgard asked, heartened despite her reservations. Lysithea rolled her eyes.

“Come now, Edelgard. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. And I know I’m not alone.” She spoke as if it were an irrevocable fact, unable to be refuted. And perhaps it was, though it was humbling to think of her friends holding her in such high regard. The Emperor knew Byleth believed in her – the woman had proven it time and time again – but she often wondered if the others shared that unfaltering faith. Maybe she was the one who needed to have more trust in them.

“Then I have no objections to your assistance. I must admit, it does fill me with confidence to have a talented mage on hand.” Edelgard sent the other woman a welcoming smile. As Lysithea dipped her head, scribbling attentively upon her parchment, the smile fell. The Emperor stared past the dark walls of the pantry. She was surprised by Lysithea’s insistence, but it was her reasoning that unnerved Edelgard most. She had not given any thought to Thales or his brood in a long while.

It had been too easy to push aside their threat when they had made themselves so scarce. Neither she nor Hubert found any trace of them. As for what was found in Hyrm, Edelgard hadn’t lied. The fortress they found bore little evidence of activity and gave no answers as to where Thales had gone. A dead-end, as everything else had been. Yet she knew they would not remain inactive forever. Thales was a far too persistent creature to leave her be. Sooner or later, Those Who Slither would reveal themselves once again.

A fierce chill scraped along her spine. Edelgard gritted her teeth, determined to name the emotion thrumming in her veins as anticipation and not fear.

Next chapter - The Winter Forge

Chapter Text

At the cusp of twilight, a hunter crept through the weald that divided mountain and valley. She held her bow low, knees bent as she waded between frosted brambles. Just a few paces away lay her quarry; a lone hare, coat a shade shy from the bark it scraped against. Its ears flicked as it gnawed, oblivious to the hunter’s draw. In a blink, crimson dotted the snow and the hare fell still.

A breath whispered from the woman’s lips, clouding the air. She rose and collected the animal. It had been the third found in six hours of tracking. It was disheartening, but not an unexpected outcome. Scarcity was unavoidable this far north, yet it annoyed her regardless. Shamir sighed as she tied the hare to her belt. There was a lake to the far south, but the journey was far too long and the weather growing ever-harsher. Despite being within the dying months of winter, the snows were coming just as fast and fierce as the start. The rest of the week would be lean until the baron’s supplies arrived, if they did at all.

Shamir trudged deeper into the forest, anchoring her steps using the trees. The slope was steeper this far from the village – a belly-curve that wound into the valley before meeting the major roads of Gautier. As she came upon a steep drop, Shamir leveraged herself atop an overhanging branch. The limb held her weight firm as she peered over the land. There was no movement at first glance. She scowled, ready to settle in for a long wait when a brush of black sliced through the stark expanse - plumes of smoke glimpsed through the birch.

Shamir tensed and climbed higher. She stood at the tree’s apex, scanning the sky. For a brief instant, she feared another attack but quickly concluded otherwise. Countless dark wisps spiraled into the overhanging clouds, originating far in the distance. More precisely, from the direction of Fhirdiad. Imperial campfires. Shamir bit her cheek as she considered them. The Empire would be here sooner than she had anticipated. Whether Edelgard would be among them was unknown, but Shamir thought it probable. The girl she remembered did not suffer threats lightly.

It was hard to say what the Emperor would do when she saw them. But the danger was undeniably greater for Catherine than Shamir. A fierce, yawning ache pried at her ribs. She had done her best to keep them away from the Empire. Now, all that hard work was rendered moot because one miserable man decided to wage war.

הייתי צריך להרוג אותך כשחשפת שיניים. But Catherine stayed my hand. Shamir slipped down and landed neatly in the snow. This was not the time to ponder the past. Rufus needed to be dealt with by the only person who could. She didn’t anticipate their little reunion going well, but Shamir could only wait for the inevitable. She cast one final look at the sky before returning whence she came.

Her steps were quick and sure as she strode into the village. Culann was still in the midst of recovery, its inhabitants licking their wounds and reeling from loss. Many bobbed their heads in greeting as she passed but dared not accost her. To her dismay, both she and Catherine seemed to be regarded with awe since the assault. Shamir assumed it would stay that way for some time yet. People had long memories in small settlements like theirs.

The most annoying part was Catherine’s insistence on leading the rebuilding effort. Part of it was out of guilt, Shamir knew. Her lover held herself responsible for Rufus’ actions. The sentiment wasn’t misplaced, but she wished Catherine would allow someone else to step into a leadership role. She had enough on her shoulders without adding the burden of the entire village. Yet Catherine was infuriatingly dogged in her desire to make amends.

‘I’ll not let this town become another Fhirdiad,’ she had said. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’

And Shamir did, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. She shook off the frost lining her coat as she entered their home. The warm air was a revelation upon her cold-drenched frame. The rabbits she gathered had been given to the church. Hardly enough for the countless with empty bellies, but she trusted them to ration. Hopefully, the scant hunters who lived there would bring something more substantial.

“Good hunt?”

Shamir raised her head and spotted Catherine standing beside the fire pit. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, shaggy hair pulled into a tight tail. Shamir noted the soot dusting her forearms. She had been in the forge today, though Shamir was certain it was more at the village’s behest than Friuch’s. The Dagdan woman shook her head curtly.

“Large game continues to be elusive. Only rabbits and squirrels to be found.” She wandered over to her partner before hovering near the fire. Her fingers flexed within her gloves as they absorbed heat. “We’ll be in a tight spot if the baron’s wagons are delayed. It doesn’t help that his men eat like starving wolves.”

“I know, and I’ve already spoken with their commander. They’ll have to settle for half-portions until we get more food. He wasn’t happy, but I don’t think any of them are pleased about catering to backwater villagers.” Catherine barked a laugh, but it sounded more tired than amused. “Goddess… Not quite sure what we’re going to do. Friuch does what he can, but it isn’t enough. We’ll be in dire straits if the Empire doesn’t arrive soon.”

“They will,” Shamir stated firmly. She elaborated as Catherine sent her a searching glance. “I spotted their fires on the horizon. From the distance, I wager they’re at the edge of the Blaiddyd forest. It'll only take them a couple of days until they reach Gautier."

“Good. That’s good.” Catherine stared into the fire, arms crossed and jaw rigid. The flames painted her face with gaunt shadows. Shamir could guess what path her thoughts had taken. No matter what the woman told herself, there were only a few ways a confrontation with Edelgard would proceed. At best, the Emperor would believe their story and allow them to continue as they were. At worst… Shamir didn’t want to consider it. She reached for her partner’s arm.

“Edelgard doesn’t need to know you live. To her, Thunder Catherine perished in the ashes of Fhirdiad. And I assume your sister never corrected her.” Shamir tightened her grip until blue eyes met hers. “Let me speak with them. If Byleth is in command, I’m sure I can convince her to listen.”

“And what will you say? That Rufus sought a Dagdan mercenary to help him in his mad scheme? They won’t believe you.” Catherine's smile was bleak. "No. It needs to be me."

“I’m a better liar than you give me credit for.” Shamir narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring in offense. Her irritation cooled as a warm palm settled against her back.

“It needs to be me, Shamir. I want it to be me,” Catherine responded gently. Blue eyes glazed with melancholy. “Say an imperial patrol catches wind of a woman with Thunder Catherine’s face. Say they attack me or you with the intent to earn gold and glory. What will we do then?”

“Kill them and go elsewhere.”

“Ha! And what a bloody path that would lead.” Catherine heaved a ragged sigh. “I’m tired of always running. We can’t leap at shadows for the rest of our lives either. Call me sentimental, but I rather enjoy leading a quiet life with you.”

“You've become maudlin in your old age." Shamir exhaled in disapproval but conceded the matter. "I see your point. Fine, we’ll do it your way. But if they try to harm you, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“So long as it isn’t the Emperor or her hound. Goddess only knows what would happen to Fódlan then.” The smith stepped towards her. She tore the tie from her hair, wild flaxen strands brushing against her shoulders. When she grinned, her eyes creased in a way that had become deeply familiar. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together. As we always have. Trust in that, if nothing else.”

“Yes…” Shamir held herself still as Catherine kissed her. The touch was fleeting as it was soft. Her heart ached in response. “I just worry we won’t be given a choice. Edelgard–”

“Her Imperial Highness isn’t a fool,” Catherine interrupted. “I might not like her, but I know this much. She won’t pay us any mind so long as there’s a greater threat afoot.”

“That’s surprisingly level-headed of you.” Shamir craned her head as she peered at the taller woman. It wasn’t like Catherine to focus on the greater picture, but the situation was far from the norm. She dissected her lover’s expression and found only a quiet resolve.

“I’m just taking a page out of your book. You’re a wonderful influence on me.” Catherine leaned away to stretch, joints popping from the strain. A throaty groan spilled from her throat. “I’m going to wash up before retiring for the night. The day has been far too long and stressful. Join me?”

“In a bit.” Shamir watched her amble away, memorizing every line and contour. Catherine was so different from the bloodthirsty zealot she had been. From the way she walked, even to the strength of her smile. But would Edelgard understand that? There was a chance the Emperor only see the Knight who set Fhirdiad aflame – incapable of reason and beyond saving. For a time, Shamir had thought that too.

Her stare fell to the fire as she recalled Catherine’s words. It needed to be her, she insisted. An earnest enough declaration, but Shamir read the true meaning behind it. Guilt was a powerful motivator, just as loyalty was. And the events of Fhirdiad had spawned from one and birthed the other. Shamir wondered how long that night would haunt them both.

Your madness continues to plague us, Rhea. Be glad death has already claimed you.

* * *

A stiff wind raced across the rolling hillside of Gautier as they crossed the border. For Edelgard, born and fostered beneath the Imperial sun, it felt like the breath of winter itself. Harsh, gusting, tipped with ice from the fanged mountains of Sreng – no sane person could call this home. She braced herself against her horse as the wind refused to cease. Something bitingly cold sliced past her cheek. The Emperor glowered at the sky as snow began to fall.

“Careful, El. Glare too hard and the clouds might think it a challenge.” Byleth chimed over the wind. Her horse trotted closer to Edelgard’s. “But perhaps that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Do you think you could win in a brawl with nature?”

“Don’t be absurd.” Edelgard straightened, sniffing imperiously. “Of course I would.”

Byleth laughed and the sound brought forth a burst of warmth.

“Well, then I’ll place my bet on you when the time comes.” Her attention shifted ahead of them. "In all seriousness, I believe we'll reach the Gautier estate soon. Sylvain said it’s nestled between two great rivers. We crossed one of them already.”

“Sylvain says many things,” Edelgard grumbled. “‘It’ll be a short ride from the capital’, ‘the snow starts to melt this time of year’. Bah!”

“He did recommend wearing more layers.”

“And be practically immobile if we’re attacked? I think not.” She wiped her face with a sigh and swept her cloak tighter around her midsection. “I didn’t realize how difficult this terrain would be to traverse. For the average traveler, it would be nearly impossible. And that’s not considering the various dangers. Perhaps we should build way-stations for merchants.”

“Most people bunk down for the winter. Yet I agree it would be handy for the odd craftsman or trader.” Byleth tilted her head, appearing to think. “If only travel as a whole were simpler. Isn’t there transportation magic?”

“Yes, but not on a massive scale. It’s also exceedingly unpleasant in my experience. It’s not quite as simple as moving from one place to the other. Consider it a magical tethering of yourself to where you wish to be and separation from where you are.” The Emperor furrowed her brow as she thought of the creature who taught her. Thales and his ilk used such magic without noticeable strain. She never understood how they were so unaffected while she suffered nausea and frazzled wits. Yet another difference between them and humanity.

“That’s more complicated than I had assumed. Not for the average layman, then?”

“Sadly not. Worst-case scenario, you find yourself splitting in two. Quite literally.”

Byleth blinked. She bobbed her head after a moment, looking faintly impressed. “I think I’ll avoid such a fate myself. But now I’m curious why you don’t travel that way now. You don’t need to trudge through the cold for my sake, El.”

“Don’t be silly. I can hardly transport myself to a place I’ve never been.” Edelgard paused, looking away from her lover briefly. “...And I enjoy riding with you. I always have. Besides, it’s unseemly for an Emperor to abandon their troops just for convenience. Soldiers respect a leader that stands among them.”

“Oh.” Byleth’s eyes widened. Her next words were soft with appreciation. “There are times I forget just how kind you really are.”

“Please.” The Emperor cleared her throat, desperate to ignore the flush creeping up her cheeks. “Anyway, I hope you’re right and we reach the estate soon. I grow weary of all this frozen nonsense.”

Byleth smiled and said nothing more. Mirth appeared to dance across her face but perhaps that was just the glimmer of snow. The ensuing silence was comfortable. For a time, Edelgard could almost believe this was a simple ride across the hillside. When all this was over, maybe they could take a similar ride across the plains of Adrestia. Without the harrowing weather conditions, of course. And maybe…

She banished those girlish thoughts from her head. There was no time to consider such flights of fancy with a possible rebellion looming over her rule. Edelgard collected her thoughts just as Sylvain rode into view. The man had ventured ahead an hour ago to scout the area. From his placid expression, she assumed all was well. He pulled his horse alongside hers.

“The road is clear and the central town appears maintained,” Sylvain relayed. “We can bed our troops on the outskirts before we head for the estate. There’s a lake just a brief ride from here, so food won’t be an issue.”

“Isn’t it frozen?” Byleth asked.

“Naturally, but ice-fishing is an old Faerghian past-time. I’m sure the locals won’t mind showing you southerners how it’s done.” Sylvain flashed a roguish smirk. Byleth’s face brightened at the mention.

“Ice-fishing…” Her lips formed over the words with reverence. The Emperor allowed herself a covert smile. Some things never changed. She cleared her throat to regain their attention.

“Then the Gautier villages won’t need to worry about providing for us. Our stores are heavily stocked, but dried meats and tack won’t last us if the worst occurs.” Edelgard relaxed, one worry assuaged. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Nothing too important.” Sylvain glanced down before meeting her stare. “Actually, Your Majesty... do you mind if I speak to you in private?”

Edelgard quirked a brow but gave her assent. She traded a quick look with Byleth. “Very well. Byleth, would you mind checking on Lysithea? Her disposition disagrees with the cold even more than mine.”

“Of course.” Byleth broke away, sparing Sylvain an inquisitive glance. Then, she trotted through the armored line of cavalry and headed for the covered wagons. Once she was gone, Edelgard set her full attention upon Sylvain.

“You say nothing is amiss, yet insist on privacy. Should I be worried?”

“Depends.” Sylvain chuckled into the ruff of his coat. The sound held an atypically sharp edge. “Look, I’ve been meaning to apologize about my behavior before. You were right to scold me. Gautier has always been my responsibility. Personal feelings be damned.”

“What a lovely speech. Did Ingrid write it for you?”

“Hey now, I’m being serious!” He breathed out a snort. “Okay, maybe she helped with one or two words. But I swear I’m being genuine. I just needed some help to gather my thoughts.”

“That’s fine and all, but I don’t need pithy words of apology. Our deeds make us, Sylvain. And you’ve already failed your people enough.” Edelgard stared at him levelly. “I can only tolerate so much before I deem it necessary to strip your House of its land and titles. Do not force my hand.”

“I won’t. I swear to you.” To his credit, she could not sense any deceit from him. His features were pulled into a contrite mask. “Still, it won't be easy for me to wrest full control from my family. They’re a stubborn bunch. I’ll be honest with you; don’t expect a warm welcome. My House only knelt because I gave them no other choice. Many resent me for it. Beyond that, my father isn’t half the man he once was.”

“So I’ve heard. What of your mother?”

“She’s…” Auburn brows sloped downward as Sylvain struggled for words. “Severe. Tough as old leather and set in her ways. She loves Father, though. Both his illness and the war took their toll on her. Truthfully, it’s a miracle my House still holds Gautier with her at its head.”

“Was she not prepared to govern? Learned in any way?”

“Never. Didn’t have the desire nor patience for ‘lordly concerns’, as she put it.” Sylvain noticed Edelgard’s confusion and swiftly explained. “She’s common as can be. There was a minor uproar over it back in the day, but King Lambert blessed the union himself so none could contest it. Funny to think about after all these years…”

“I didn’t realize.” The Emperor’s mouth parted, taken aback. “It’s surprising to hear Lambert supported them. The Kingdom has always been rather insistent upon strict breeding.”

“Not really. The King’s second wife was only a minor noble and a fierce advocate for commoner rights. A champion of the people, they called her. You probably would have gotten along famously.”

Edelgard stiffened, jerking her head towards him sharply. She scrutinized his features but found only bland interest. She forced her nerves to calm. Sylvain had meant nothing by it, yet the mere mention of her mother still proved unsettling.

“Perhaps so,” she said, non-committal. “From what I’ve heard of Lady Patricia, she seemed a kind woman.”

“Dimitri adored her as she did him. It made all of us jealous, even Felix. Neither he nor Ingrid remembers their mother clearly." Sylvain blinked rapidly as something appeared to occur to him. “Hey, aren’t you related to her? She was a noble of House Arundel, after all.”

“Many people in the Empire are distantly affiliated with the Hresvelgs.”

“Sure, but your uncle—”

“I did not know her, Sylvain. Leave it at that.” Her reply was curt, brokering no exception. Sylvain did not press the matter, likely hearing the warning in her tone. Not wishing for the topic to linger, Edelgard continued. “Regarding your mother, do you think she’ll deny us?”

“Maybe. I can’t say for sure. She’s always been hard to predict, and I’ve known her all my life.” Sylvain rubbed his jaw, expression pensive. “If push comes to shove, I’ll have to appeal to our banners. They might be leery of me since the war, but I’m still the crest-blooded heir of Gautier. That means more to those old fogies than they’ll admit.”

“Bloodlines and crests…” Edelgard sniffed, thoroughly disgusted. “I’ll be glad when such things are long forgotten.”

“Believe it or not, I agree.” Sylvain’s head shot upward. His posture straightened on the saddle. “We’re nearing the Gautier estate. See that fork up ahead? That leads to the lake I mentioned. We can cross the ice and set tents along the northern bank.”

“And you’re certain it’ll hold.”

“Cold as it is? It’ll be steady as stone.” The man flashed her a rakish grin, his characteristic flirtatiousness returning. “I may play the fool when it suits me, but I know a few things of value. You just rest your pretty head and leave it up to me.”

His words didn’t inspire confidence, but Edelgard wasn’t of a mind to argue. It was far too cold for such things. She readjusted her cloak again, regarding the blanched landscape warily. This far north, the land shifted from comfortable familiarity to something starkly alien. She hated the unknown nature of it all, but her lack of reference meant the point was moot. They would all be at the mercy of this harsh land and all of its mysteries. Edelgard squinted past the trees, eyes catching on the flutter of pegasi above.

Ingrid and her squad soared low, keeping pace with the march. The edge of their wings fit neatly against the sky. Beyond them, the blanket of white split into towering peaks. Soon, they would be in the shadow of granite behemoths and tread paths only a few knew existed. She felt very small suddenly; a feeling that only grew as the mountains crept ever closer.

* * *

Edelgard didn’t know what to expect from the Lady of Gautier. Sylvain’s words had been a broad descriptor, and – uncharitable as the thought was – a woman who raised such a shameless philanderer couldn’t have been impressive. However, as she rode up to the estate and spotted the lady-in-question, she quickly reassessed that assumption.

Delphine Gautier was unmistakable by her appearance alone. Just as tall and scarlet-crowned as her son, she cut a striking figure amid the drab palette of winter. Tellingly, she did not move to greet them. Edelgard noted the tight purse of the woman’s lips as Sylvain dismounted.

“Mother.” Sylvain greeted. He opened his arms, expectant. Lady Delphine stared at him for an uncomfortably long while before shifting her attention to the Emperor.

“You’re the queen of the south, aren’t you? Adelaide something or other.” Her voice was deeper than expected and lacked the high lilt of nobility. The accent was hard to define, but Edelgard wasn’t familiar with the various dialects of Faerghus.

“Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor to the Adrestian Empire.” She expected some reaction to this, but the woman’s face remained unaffected.

“Is that any different from a queen?” the woman asked bluntly.

“Perhaps not in a practical sense, but—”

“The practical is all I care to understand. Having multiple ways of saying the same thing is wasteful.” To her chagrin, Lady Delphine appeared to dismiss Edelgard entirely before glancing behind them. “I don’t see an army. Where are your men?”

“We left them at Lake Danu,” Sylvain replied. His arms fell along with his smile. “Mother, we need to alert the banners. Rufus Blaiddyd may be planning a rebellion.”

“Your letter said as much. And you’re sure of this?”

“We’ve already searched Itha and confirmed his absence. It’s far from solid confirmation. But considering the circumstances, it’s all we can assume.” Edelgard favored the older woman with a long look. She waved her hand, gesturing to the surrounding lands. “Do I have the support of House Gautier as we investigate this claim? Or will you stand in our way? Think carefully before answering.”

“I’m no fool.” Lady Delphine’s expression soured momentarily. “Do what you wish. I can’t stop you. Even if I did put up a fuss, it wouldn’t amount to anything. My son is yours and so is Gautier.”

“Mother, it isn’t—” Sylvain bit his tongue as the woman raised her hand.

“Your father will want to hear of your arrival. He’s got enough sense in that head of his to recognize you. Visit him before you leave.” The woman returned her gaze to the Emperor. Her eyes were lighter than her son’s, but it was clear which parent Sylvain favored. “Will I need to set another place at our table for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m heading northward to assess the raided village” Edelgard took her reins in hand. She sent Sylvain a quick look. “Settle your affairs here before rejoining us at Danu. We’ll wait for Ingrid to return from the border before discussing our options.”

“Right.” The man sighed, raking a hand through his unruly hair. He stole a glance at his mother, but the woman had already turned her back to them. She strode into the manor house without comment, as if she’d already forgotten them. “This isn’t how I imagined this to go. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but still… Damn it.”

“She strikes me as rather stubborn, but I’ve dealt with worse. Petra’s grandfather was downright apoplectic.” Edelgard considered him for a time before sighing in sympathy. “Spend time with your family; mend bridges if you can. There are times I regret not doing the same with mine.”

“Your father?”

“For the most part.” She looked away briefly, certain memories rising to the surface. There was entirely too much to unpack when it came to her regrets. “Family isn’t something you have forever, no matter what poems insist otherwise. You never know how much time you have left.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I doubt I’ll get the chance. Stubborn doesn’t do my mother justice.” Sylvain snorted, bitter and sharp. “Ridiculous. She acts as if I had any choice. I never did. He didn’t…”

He shut his mouth with a click before spinning on his heel.

“Forget it. I’ll convene with our banners and speak with my father. When everything is sorted, I’ll return to camp. Until then, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard watched him leave, mildly concerned by his obvious agitation. Still, she trusted him to keep a level head for the most part. The last thing they needed was for the north to splinter even more than it already had. She departed with one final glance at the estate. The day was proceeding fast and they would need to hurry if they wanted to reach Culann before nightfall. With a tap of her heel, Edelgard spurred her horse into the snow.

Byleth waited for her at the end of the path. The general was staring up at the clouds in idle contemplation, mind probably turning with dozy ambitions of fishing along the ice. She perked as the Emperor neared.

“Everything went well, I take it.” Byleth smiled in greeting. “Or are we to rescue Sylvain from his family?”

“Nothing so extraordinary, though I’ll admit things could have gone better. Lady Delphine is more formidable than I expected.” Edelgard sighed, bemoaning her lack of knowledge. Information was surprisingly sparse in the north, despite Hubert's best efforts. The Alliance nobility wasn't half this troublesome to deal with. "Alas, we have no other options here. Sylvain will be squaring away matters here for the time being. The military support of his holding will be sorely needed if our suspicions are true.”

“I had hoped we would find the Duke sequestered in Itha,” Byleth admitted. She patted the neck of her mare fondly as she fed the animal a carrot. It mouthed her sleeve instead, but she didn’t seem to mind. “I suppose it would have been too easy had this been a simple misunderstanding.”

“Quite. With the vacancy of his castle and barracks, it’s hard to believe him innocent of any wrongdoing. At the very least, he’s up to something he shouldn’t.”

“A pity. Kin-slaying is a terrible business. I'm sorry you've had to do it so often." Byleth slipped atop her horse, seemingly oblivious to the younger woman’s balking.

“I wouldn’t call Rufus my kin,” Edelgard groused. “The ties between our families have long been severed. I doubt he’s even aware they existed!”

“Had things been different, you could have been family. A proper one.” Byleth nodded to herself thoughtfully. “There’s enough there to mourn, if only for the lost possibilities of it all. I would consider that a tragedy.”

“I can’t afford to look back and wonder at the past. I have enough misery without mulling over roads I never traveled.” Edelgard took a measured breath and held it. The cold air blistered her lungs and caused her teeth to ache. “Let’s be off. The sooner we finish this, the closer we become to the truth. All this conjecture gives me a headache.”

“As you will, El. As you will.”

* * *

The journey from the temperate reaches of the Empire to northern Faerghus had been a trial alone. However, there was safety in numbers and a collective sense of perseverance despite it all. The Emperor did not ever feel alone amid the cluster of marching soldiers. Yet currently, enclosed by trees that seemed to kiss the sun and yawning shadows that bloomed in their wake, she could feel the natural isolation of this land.

The forest appeared vacant of life, and it was an unnerving sort of stillness. The kind that brought to mind tales of giants and creatures birthed from ice. Fanciful and too absurd to believe, but somehow disconcerting all the same. And she knew real danger lurked behind the tales; starving predators both beast and not who preyed upon the unwary. Despite herself, the Emperor rode closer to her companion. For her part, Byleth seemed to be enjoying herself. Cornflower blue eyes flicked to and fro, absorbing everything that passed.

They spoke little as they traveled, the general only uttering idle observations when she deemed it fitting to share them. Edelgard knew it was mostly for her benefit. Her lover was keenly attuned to her moods. It was possible she sensed the anxiety Edelgard refused to acknowledge was there. Eventually, as they rode higher up the valley slope, she spotted signs of habitation. Footsteps lay in the snow, only lightly dusted with fresh powder. Someone had trekked here recently.

Edelgard stood atop the stirrups, trying to see over the trees. And sure enough, trails of smoke could be seen to the west. She beckoned Byleth to follow as she nudged her horse into a canter. It wasn’t long before the forest ceded to rocky slopes and the path wound sharply upward. Their mounts heaved beneath the strain as they climbed. But eventually, the incline evened and two roads could be discerned. One crept higher up the cliff, undoubtedly leading to the mountain pass. The other swerved towards the smoke she had seen, and she knew Culann had been found.

“This place is certainly remote,” Byleth commented. “I wonder why they were targeted. They can't hold anything of value to a lord or otherwise."

“I agree it’s curious. Even if the goal was to simply mislead us, there are larger settlements that would cause a stir. Without Hubert’s informant, we wouldn’t have known about it at all.” Edelgard scowled, baring her teeth. “I can’t see the purpose behind the raid. If this was Blaiddyd’s doing, then I’m mystified by his intentions.”

“The villagers must have some idea. However, I'm sure they won't be too pleased to have a couple of strangers poking into their business. Should we reveal ourselves immediately?"

“Not yet. If this is some ruse, it would be reckless to rush in carelessly.” She shrugged on her hood, careful to gather her hair beneath. There were very few people who had such distinctive coloring. “From here on, we’re Elise and Belle – imperial scouts at the behest of General Byleth. Does that sound convincing?”

“I think so. Allow me to concoct a backstory to match. Perhaps I’m an immigrant from Leicester who once dreamed of sailing the golden coast of Brigid. But woe befell my family and thus I needed to sell my sword for coin. Long did I travel the various cities of Fódlan until I stumbled upon a fair maiden within Her Majesty’s service. Dearest Elise – with hair fine as silk and a bewitching stare – claimed my heart in a glimpse—”

“Byleth, spare the theatrics, please. This is a serious matter."

“I was being quite serious. Dorothea once told me mastering a role lay in the smallest of details. But I shall keep it simple at your behest.” The older woman’s features cleared of emotion. “Lead on.”

With their cover established, they rode for the village. It did not take long before the trees opened to reveal a modest cluster of buildings. To the Emperor's surprise, a perimeter of wooden barricades greeted them. Lightly armored soldiers watched their approach but did not stop them from entering. Edelgard did not know if it was because of the imperial colors she and Byleth wore or merely because they did not pose any immediate danger. Hopefully, it was the latter. As they journeyed deep into the settlement's heart, Edelgard took in the full scope of Culann.

In all honesty, she had expected the worst; a mere charred and bloodied husk of what was once a thriving community. Yet that wasn't quite what they found. It had been unmistakably ransacked, but there were also signs of recovery. Thatched homes were in the midst of repair, people bustling about with tools of every kind. Not many, mind, but enough for the Emperor to be impressed. They had faced adversity and triumphed despite it all. The human spirit truly was remarkable.

Of course, there were also signs of the struggles they still faced. Many seemed injured, wrapped in slings and bandages to varying degrees. Their eyes collectively tracked their guests with the same distrustful stares of beaten dogs. Edelgard did not miss the brave few who held their tools aggressively. It was inevitable, considering what had happened. Still, it would be inconvenient if none of the villagers were willing to speak civilly with them.

“We should find their headman. Gain a clear idea of what transpired that day," Edelgard declared once they reached the village center. She eyed the nearby buildings but did not find one that might house the town's leader. "We should find the village smith as well. According to Hubert, they are the ones who’ve been in contact with Friuch."

“I’m beginning to think that’s easier said than done.” Byleth looked around, attention never settling in one place. “None of them seem open to chatting. Do you see a smithy about?”

“No, but this is a small area. I’m sure we’ll stumble upon it soon.” Edelgard craned her head as she spotted someone of interest. A dark-haired woman was walking steadily to the communal well, a bucket slung over her elbow. A babe, small and pink, was swaddled beneath her free arm. The mother stopped beside the well and appeared to struggle with where to set the child. Seeing her dilemma, Edelgard called out to her.

“Allow us to assist you. Belle, if you would?”

“Naturally.” Byleth leapt from her mount and hurried to aid the woman. She flashed a quick smile before lowering the bucket into the well. Edelgard joined them, observing as the woman blinked, startled.

“Thank you…” she said softly. Edelgard caught the faint trace of an Adrestian accent. “I don’t recognize you. Are you two with the baron’s men?”

“To the contrary, we're here at the Emperor's inquiry. The High General currently rests in Gautier and sent us to gain some insight. She would like to hear the full account of the attack you suffered.” Edelgard made a show of scanning the village. “It must have been a harrowing ordeal, by the looks of it. Your assailants were from Sreng, correct?”

“I wouldn’t know about any of that. I don’t… I’m from the Empire myself, you see. Enbarr.” The woman shrugged plaintively. “But that’s what they say, so I accept it.”

“I see. What of your husband? Is he from here?”

“He was, yes." She looked down at her feet. "We… lost him in the attack. He tried to defend me and our daughter. They cut him down for it.”

“Beasts.” Edelgard bristled. Banditry was one thing, but attempting to murder unarmed women and children was another. If Rufus was indeed the one who ordered this, there was no excusing such savagery. “He was a brave man, then. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He would have enjoyed hearing that. Most people thought him a coward.” The young mother offered a tremulous smile. “I’m just one of many, though. Everyone lost so much…”

“Loss doesn’t need to be measured for it to be felt,” Byleth spoke as she tugged on the well-rope. Her hands were quick and sure as she leveraged the bucket to the surface. “Would you like us to bring this home for you?”

“You’re kind, but I’ve taken enough of your time already.” The woman tipped her head in gratitude as she took the proffered bucket. Her grip was steady on both it and her child. “If you’re looking for information, you should head for the chapel. Lady Shay, one of our healers, was in the thick of it all. Her partner too. We wouldn’t have been able to drive off the raiders without them.”

“Partner? In healing?” Edelgard raised a brow, unfamiliar with such a colloquialism. Her confusion deepened when the woman shook her head.

“No. As in spouse, even if Lady Shay denies it. They’re quite insistent upon the term. I think it’s sweet.” Suddenly, the villager kissed her daughter’s head. “The good lady helped me give birth to this one. A hard labor, but Shay pulled us both through. I can’t thank her enough.”

“A healer… And you say she helped fend off your attackers?”

“Yes, deftly too. Her partner was a soldier in the Kingdom army, so I imagine Shay might have been as well.” She fell quiet for a time as she appeared to consider something. "Perhaps you should seek out Lady Cassandra instead. Lady Shay might be too busy tending to the wounded, but her partner may be available to answer any questions.”

“Very well. Where might we find her?” Edelgard asked.

“Just a short walk east of here. You can find it easily enough from the forge smoke. She’s one of our smiths.”

“Then we’ll settle two goals in one visit.” Byleth dipped her head cordially before waving to the baby. The girl just blinked in response. Then she raised a tiny fist before nuzzling into her blanket. “Adorable. Babies are a bit like kittens with less hair. El, how do you feel about children?”

“This isn’t the time, Belle.” Edelgard forced her voice to remain even. She loved Byleth dearly, but her darling general still didn’t have the best grasp on social acumen. Admittedly, most of the time she found it charming which only encouraged the woman further. “We’ll take our findings to the General at once. I’m sure she would be eager to assist any who require aid. Thank you for the guidance, Miss…?”

“Leid. And it was the least I could offer soldiers of Her Majesty. It’s good to see the Emperor taking interest in the ills of small villages like this.” Leid bowed as best as she could before setting off. Edelgard watched her for a time, mulling over everything she had said. It was a harsh fate to raise a child alone. How many other children were robbed of their parents? How many might have been slain themselves? Even one was far too much. That number would only grow if they did nothing.

“Rufus or not, we won’t allow this to continue." Edelgard turned her head, meeting Byleth's eyes. Her words were glass-sharp. "This country has suffered enough. Whoever is behind this will pay dearly.”

“Agreed.” Byleth’s hand curled atop her sword’s pommel. “I don’t relish the thought of war, but one must do what they must. At times, blood is the only language people understand. Now, shall we find this smith?”

“Rather that than visit the church. I might tolerate their continued existence but that doesn’t mean I’m keen to speak with them.” Edelgard resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose. “Still, a former Kingdom soldier isn’t the best option either. This is proving trickier than I imagined it would be.”

She took a step in the direction Leid had gestured but stopped after a moment. Edelgard tensed, an abrupt sense of disquiet plaguing her. She cast an eye around the village but found nothing amiss. Yet despite that, a faint impression of danger lingered. A cold dread skittered up her nape; baseless yet pervasive. She heard Byleth walk a step closer.

“Something wrong, El?”

“It’s nothing. I just thought…” Edelgard trailed off, unable to place her unease. There were many eyes upon them, but she had known it would be like that from the start. After speaking with one of their inhabitants, the intensity of the town’s suspicion seemed to lessen. Other than a few cautious stares, the people didn’t pay them any great mind. So why did she feel like a rabbit within a snare? Perhaps exhaustion was contributing to this paranoia. “Nevermind. The cold must be getting to me. To the local smithy we go.”

True to Leid’s word, they reached their destination without a fuss. And just as she foretold, the smith's home and workshop were easily discerned. It was set a bit away from the central hub, hidden from the road and shaded by a hardy maple. Edelgard observed the structure and noted its near-pristine facade. The buildings closest to the cliff-side path had borne the brunt of the damage. Had the raid begun from the south, the opposite would be true. Edelgard pursed her lips in realization. The village’s assailants had come down from the mountain, not up.

Suddenly, Sreng’s involvement became the only conclusion she could draw. It was a point in favor of the baron’s claim, as with everything else they had seen. Hardly enough to be definitive, but she had a feeling the smith’s testimony would be a step in the same direction. Edelgard stirred from her musings with a grimace. She didn’t know enough about the nation to plan for contingency. But going from their well-known taste for raiding and pillaging, it was assumed diplomacy would be near-impossible. Sylvain and Ingrid had alluded to as much. Edelgard had been fool enough to hope for otherwise.

There wasn't a sign or stall to denote the area, but the sound of clashing metal could not be mistaken. Smoke rose heavily over the house before curling against the maple's branches. Edelgard circled to the back, Byleth following dutifully. She gave a brief thought to whether this smith might recognize them. Had she fought for Dimitri on the Tailtean, or perhaps Lord Rodrigue at Arianrhod? The Emperor straightened and pulled her hood lower.

She saw the forge before its master. Red and orange embers rumbled pleasantly amid a circular pit. A metal grate lay atop the flaming maw, bordered by several slabs of rock. The fire’s glow reached long yellow fingers across the snow. It was a makeshift structure as if newly put together. Functional but far from the extravagant armories of Enbarr. To the right of the forge, a tall figure worked diligently upon an anvil.

Edelgard could not make out their face; shadowed beneath the workshop walls, their form was indistinct. Suddenly, their arm ceased pounding against the anvil. They straightened and the forge light lit the person’s shoulders and back. From their height and musculature, she would have assumed they were male. Maybe this was an apprentice of some sort.

“I assume you’re the village smith. Lady Cassandra, as they call you.” Edelgard waited for a response. She narrowed her eyes when none was forthcoming. “Hello? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you fine,” a woman’s voice spoke from the dark. There was something familiar within her inflection, but the Emperor couldn’t quite name why. “Cassandra is my name. No need to add ‘lady’ before it.”

“I’ll take note of that. Would you mind answering some questions for us?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“We’re scouts in Her Majesty’s army, under the command of General Byleth,” she answered quickly. “Her Majesty was recently contacted by Baron Friuch, a nobleman in Itha. We were told he’s a patron of yours.”

“Patron is stretching it. But sure, that sums our relationship neatly.” The smith snorted before turning to face them. Her face was still drenched in shadow, but the majority of her torso was revealed. Fair hair dusted her collar; a shade paler than gold. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“The details of the assault, for one. How it started, why the baron is certain Rufus Blaiddyd is involved, and anything else you can provide.” Edelgard crossed her arms, keen to hear everything the smith had to say. She could feel Byleth’s mounting interest as well. The prospect of finally gaining answers was heady.

“To the point, then. Guess I should have expected that.” The smith raised a hand and appeared to scratch her neck. She shifted her weight, as if unsure what to do next. Then, with a ragged exhale, she walked fully into the light. The woman was several heads taller than the Emperor, blonde and blue-eyed as many Faerghian people were. But that wasn’t what startled her and caused a knife of incredulity to lodge in her gut. Edelgard flinched, stepping backward in reflex.

A ghost stood before them. Thunder Catherine, Knight of Seiros. For a long moment, Edelgard did not believe her eyes. The woman should have been long dead, charred to ash among the ruins of Fhirdiad. Yet here she was, very much alive and well. She could not be mistaken for a pale imitation or delusion brought on by frost. The deep bronze of her skin and the ice of her stare were too identifiable.

“You’re no mere smith,” Edelgard found herself saying. Catherine grinned tightly.

“And you’re no mere scouts. I wasn’t sure you’d come directly, but here we are.”

The Emperor didn’t know how to react, but the same couldn’t be said for Byleth. The older woman drew her sword in a flash and stood between her and Catherine. The former Knight just frowned.

“Do I look armed to you?”

Byleth didn’t relax her blade, staring Catherine down. After a tense silence, the blonde woman shifted her gaze to Edelgard.

“Call off your dog, Your Majesty. I don’t intend to start a fight,” she said. Edelgard stared at her, skeptical.

“And I how do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“I know better than to test my luck again.” Catherine tapped the side of her leg with the hammer. “I haven’t forgotten what happened last we met. Besides, there are more important things to discuss than old grievances."

The Emperor was surprised to hear her say that. The Knight she knew had been a seething avatar of malice and vengeance by the end, desperate to follow Rhea and blind to the Church’s poison. In that last moment – just before Catherine was left behind to be swallowed by flames – Edelgard had only felt pity. It occurred to her that she didn’t know what to expect from her now. Hesitantly, she gestured for Byleth to sheathe.

“El…” Her general looked at her askance. “What if she tries something?”

“Then we kill her.” Edelgard didn’t take her eyes off Catherine. The former Knight waited patiently for them to finish, appearing completely disinterested. “Until then, I would like to hear what she has to say.”

“…By your leave.” Byleth slid her sword slowly into its scabbard. Blue eyes flicked to the taller woman. Catherine smiled, but it was an unpleasant thing with too many teeth.

“Since we have that settled, we can get to why you’re here.” The smith slung her hammer atop a nearby workbench. Her knuckles were blanched white, and Edelgard knew the woman wasn't half as composed as she seemed. Catherine strode closer to her home, careful to keep a friendly distance between them. “We can talk inside. I’ll get a fire started.”

“Are you offering us hospitality?” Edelgard asked carefully. She observed, distrustful, as Catherine opened the rear door.

“Better than freezing in the cold. Chattering teeth makes for poor conversation.” The older woman gave a pointed look at their snow-damp leathers. “You can either suffer out here or hear me out in the warmth of a hearth. Up to you.”

Edelgard tensed, trying to read Catherine’s posture and words for any deception. There was none that she saw, but her knowledge of the former Knight was disjointed at best. She turned to Byleth. Her lover was abnormally still. The blade at her hip was sheathed but her fingers remained coiled around the hilt. Edelgard wasn’t sure what thoughts were running through her head. However, she knew Byleth would follow her lead without complaint. Their trust in each other was absolute. The Emperor calmed, breathing in deeply. Then, she nodded once.

“We’ll listen. But take care not to lie to us. I’ll know.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Catherine remarked simply. She shot a glance at Byleth, momentary spite crossing her face. The emotion passed fast enough that Edelgard nearly thought she imagined it. “Knock off your boots before you walk in. I don’t want to clean up a trail of slush later.”

* * *

Of all the ways this day could have gone, Edelgard hadn’t imagined it proceeding like this. Finding a former enemy alive was already beyond consideration. Yet sitting beside a roaring fire as said woman played host? The Emperor could have mistaken it for a fever dream. She watched, somewhat dazed, as Catherine stoked the hearth and prepared warm water for them. Edelgard sniffed at the drink once it was placed into her hands. Nothing seemed off, but one never knew. She sipped at it tentatively.

The water was heavy with minerals, likely a product of the mountains, but otherwise perfectly fine. She drank the rest and savored the warmth curling in her belly. Beside her, Byleth was rigid in her seat. Her dark stare never wavered from Catherine, like a wolf eyeing prey. If Catherine was bothered by the scrutiny she didn’t let on. The former Knight stoked the fire before pulling up another chair. She sat within it heavily, boots propped near the flames.

“I think it’s been about six years since we last shared a room like this. Without trying to kill each other, that is.” Catherine chuckled. Her eyes were directed towards the ceiling, but Edelgard got the impression she was mostly speaking to Byleth. “I think you had invited Shamir to share a meal. I overheard and decided to invite myself along.”

“I remember.” Byleth blinked at length. “You did that on multiple occasions. Shamir was very cross with you.”

“Yes, well, she was always mad about something when it came to me.” Catherine’s expression softened a bit. That swiftly changed as she addressed Edelgard. “How about you, Emperor? When was the last time we shared a civil conversation?”

“I don’t see the point in reminiscing. We’re not old friends sharing tales of the years gone by.” Edelgard pursed her lips, thoroughly unamused. “Let’s stick to the reason why we came – the attack on Culann and your supposed evidence of Duke Blaiddyd’s involvement. I’m also interested in how you survived Fhirdiad.”

“The latter isn’t important. You’re here about Rufus, not me.”

“You say that, yet it’s clear to me that both pertain to this village. I had wondered about why such a remote place would be attacked, but perhaps he merely intended to bring a wanton murderer to justice.”

“You can’t be serious.” Catherine stiffened, growing visibly incensed. “You think all this was done in the name of justice? Innocent people died. Homes were set aflame—”

“That does sound familiar, doesn’t it?”

The woman reeled as if struck. An angry bloom of red raced up Catherine’s neck. Edelgard fully expected her to lash out with rage. Yet the moment passed, and Catherine only worked her jaw.

“I can’t deny the hypocrisy. Fhirdiad is my greatest shame. I told myself it was the Goddess’ will, but that was a lie.” She looked away from the fire and folded her arms. “Punish me as you see fit, but only after hearing my story. That’s all I ask.”

“Then begin by answering my questions honestly and fully. How did you survive? You were in no condition to walk, let alone run away from the flames.”

“I crawled myself to the stables, stole a horse, and found myself here.”

“Impossible.” Edelgard scoffed. “I recall how we left you vividly. You expect me to believe you crawled to the stables with a sword in your leg? Even if you had pulled it free, you would have passed out in moments.”

“You were already grievously wounded as I recall,” Byleth commented. She appeared to be thinking over the events, expression strangely wistful. “I thought about ending it for you. It seemed excessive to let you burn.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” Catherine glowered at the dark-haired woman before returning her attention to Edelgard. “Fine. One of the church soldiers helped me escape. That settle it for you?"

“How fortuitous. Though I struggle to think of anyone who would have risked their life for you.”

“I can think of one.” Byleth tilted her head. “Shamir saved you, didn’t she?”

Catherine didn’t appear eager to answer. Her mouth curled into a snarl but she did not deny it. Edelgard felt it was as good a confirmation as any, but the logistics of it all confused her. Shamir had fled long before the siege began, or so she believed. Unless the Dagdan woman had a change of heart for whatever reason. A realization ensued as Edelgard recalled the conversation they held with the villager earlier. Only one person would insist on calling Catherine her partner.

“She’s here with you,” the Emperor said slowly. The same nagging feeling from before returned, but this time she knew the nature of it. A predator’s regard was a terrifying thing. And Shamir’s could be particularly unnerving. “I’m willing to wager she’s watching us now. Observing, to see what we’ll do. Tell her to join us, lest we conclude our conversation here.”

“You can ask her yourself. I don’t control her.” Catherine rolled her eyes. "Have you known Shamir to obey anything I say?"

“Her independence was always something to be admired,” Byleth mused. “I had wondered why she stayed with the church. Perhaps I shouldn’t have.”

Catherine frowned, annoyed. Edelgard wasn’t certain why the woman was so peeved every time Byleth spoke. She had assumed the bulk of her ire would be reserved for the Emperor alone. After all, Byleth wasn’t the one who crumbled the foundation of her faith. Regardless, Edelgard ignored their exchange in favor of addressing the shadows.

“Will you join us, Shamir? I don’t enjoy being stalked like an animal.” She crossed her legs as she waited for the mercenary to reveal herself. For a long time, all was still. Then, as if materializing from nothing, Shamir stepped into view. She looked – to Edelgard’s immense surprise – quite different than before. Catherine had been mostly the same, hair only a few inches less than years prior. But Shamir was almost unrecognizable. Her hair had grown to reach past her shoulders, tight clothing traded for a healer's robe.

Yet the archer still walked with the same cat-like grace and eyed the Emperor in the vigilant way she was prone. Soundlessly, Shamir strode behind Catherine’s chair and placed a possessive hand along her partner’s shoulder. Edelgard raised a brow at this. Much had changed since they parted ways. Next to her, Byleth smiled in pleasant surprise.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Shamir.” She paused. Her face fell. “Leonie mentioned crossing you in Charon. You knocked her head into a tree."

“I did,” Shamir admitted. She offered nothing else, but Edelgard didn’t expect much more. Shamir was only chatty when she felt like being so, and that was a rare occasion. Still, it aggravated her how carelessly the woman mentioned assaulting one of her strike force.

“Care to explain yourself?” Edelgard asked stiffly. Shamir granted her a perfunctory glance.

“She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's it.”

“So you attacked her for nothing?”

“I did what I needed to.” Violet eyes flickered but Edelgard couldn’t say with what emotion. “The Lord of Charon had something of mine. I went to retrieve it. Leonie was just a byproduct of circumstance.”

The Emperor's hands balled atop her lap, frustrated by the vague explanation. Before she could demand more information, Catherine interjected.

“We’re getting off-track, Emperor. The incident with Leonie and Shamir is in the past. We have bigger issues to deal with now.” She leaned forward, tone sharpening. “You heard how I survived. Anything else is just fluff you don’t need to know. Get on with the rest of your questions.”

“I’ll allow your impertinence for the moment.” Edelgard’s eyes thinned. “So you escaped with Shamir’s help. How did you end up here, and why?”

“It wasn’t premeditated. We merely sought to escape imperial scrutiny. The townspeople didn’t pry into our affairs so long as we pulled our weight.” Catherine shrugged. She feigned nonchalance, but Edelgard saw through it. “I took up smithing out of boredom and found that I liked it; not much else to say. But then the winter came. With the war, this small village was already suffering. They would have starved or worse without intervention. That’s when I decided to seek aid.”

“So you helped them out of the good of your heart? I find that difficult to believe.”

“Think what you will.” Catherine drummed her fingers atop a thigh. Her expression turned flinty, eyes appearing all the colder for their hue. “We struck a deal with Baron Friuch, as you know. However, my presence in Itha was noticed by one of the Duke’s soldiers. She spoke to Rufus and led him straight to this village.”

“And he attacked you unprompted?”

“Not then. At first, Rufus only wanted to speak with me.” The former Knight fell silent. Edelgard got the distinct impression she was thinking of how to phrase her next words. There was something cautious about the way she looked at them. “I know you might not believe what I have to say next. However, I need you to listen. Promise me you will.”

“I promise only to reserve judgment until the end,” Edelgard replied honestly. “Say your piece.”

“Good enough.” Catherine stole a look at Shamir before wetting her lips. “Rufus intends to usurp the Empire from Faerghus. He claims it’s for the sake of his son. Supposedly, the boy holds the major crest of Blaiddyd.”

Major Crest? Edelgard froze. Ice slithered down her spine.

“Impossible…” she breathed out in a strangle. “The royal family hasn’t seen that crest in well over a century. Major crests don’t just appear from nothing.”

Unless it was implanted, she thought silently. It seemed Lysithea’s concerns were well-founded. The discovery elicited a mingled surge of anger and trepidation. Thales would be apt to incite a rebellion. He knew she hunted them and would not rest until they were slain. This was likely his attempt at doing away with her for good. Edelgard refused to give him the opportunity.

“I don't understand it either, but he insisted it was true." Catherine continued, unaware of the Emperor's turmoil. "The fool thinks it’s destiny or some such – that the Goddess chose his son to be the next king. I won’t lie, there are those out there who would be swayed by the sentiment.”

“A babe for a king? No self-respecting lord would follow such a sham.” Edelgard swallowed her brief discomfort and steadied herself. She cleared her throat. “But it’s undeniable there are many who might just to be rid of me. I imagine they would refrain from declaring fealty until victory was assured. However, I’m curious how you were meant to fit into his plans.”

“He wanted me to press my claim on Charon. Offered me soldiers and resources to force the matter. According to him, my sister’s rule is tenuous enough that our banners would kneel should I reveal myself.” Catherine lifted her head higher, jaw tense. “I declined, and here we are.”

“Why would he seek to displace your sister?” Byleth blinked, puzzled.

“For the same reason your Emperor had my brother and father murdered. Our mines.” Catherine stared at Edelgard long and hard. The intensity behind it was an inferno of buried enmity. She had been wrong before. The rage Catherine held for her was alive and well, just compacted into something less obvious. She lashed her tongue over the sharp edge of her teeth. “Charon also effectively controls the eastern border and much of the south. Our House’s name alone is enough to inspire loyalty.”

“It’s plain he intended to use you. But it sounds as if you had much to gain as well. Why deny him?” Byleth pressed, voice thick with frank curiosity. Catherine’s frown resurfaced.

“I’m not an idiot, though I’m sure Her Majesty over there would disagree. I’ve seen my fair share of conflict, all spurred by imbeciles with more ambition than brains. Rufus’ little rebellion will end the same way – in misery and tears.” She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Besides, I don’t care to obey a man that’s hated me for a decade. Nor do I intend to hail his runt as my king. Cassandra or Catherine, I’ve always had my pride.”

“That’s almost admirable of you. Almost.” Edelgard inspected her for a time, weighing what had been said. She wasn't sure whether it was wise to trust Catherine at her word but knew the woman had very little to gain from deceit. By all appearances, it seemed both she and Shamir had settled into a relatively normal life. The Emperor was… envious, if only slightly. “Where does Sreng fit into it all?”

“Hell if I know. They must have brokered some deal with Rufus, but he didn’t mention any of that when he visited. I just know they attacked us without warning, garbed in Kingdom steel.”

“Most of the villagers confirmed they were speaking Srengian,” Shamir provided. “After the battle, I mapped their tracks up the mountain.”

“Supplying a foreign army couldn't have gone without notice. How did this happen beneath the eye of the border forts?" Edelgard asked, baffled.

“Months before, we spotted caravans heading in the direction of the Sreng border. We assumed they were imperial, but it’s obvious to me this was Rufus outfitting his new army. As for the border…” Shamir sent the Emperor a sharp look. “I think we can safely say they’re no longer under Gautier occupation.”

“If that’s true, Ingrid will be in grave danger.” Byleth stood up quickly. “We can send more fliers for retrieval. Provide backup in case they’re attacked.”

“She would have already reached the central fort by now.” Edelgard bit her lip as she weighed their options. Leaving Ingrid in the heart of enemy territory did not sit well with her, but they could do nothing without risking more of their fliers. Still, Ingrid was strong and fast. She would not perish so easily. “It would be too late even if we rode straight for Danu. For now, all we can do is wait and hope for her swift return.”

“El…” Byleth didn’t appear convinced, but she dipped her head in acceptance. “I trust your judgment. What should we do in the meantime?”

“The army will need to be mobilized. House Gautier and their banners as well.” Edelgard rose to her feet. Her mind spun with countless plans for the coming days. Their brief rest was officially at an end. “Rufus cannot be allowed to run amuck, nor can we overlook the threat of Sreng invasion. He will be found and crushed for his audacity.”

“Loathe as I am to say it, I hope you’re victorious,” Catherine said. She stretched before standing, only to find Edelgard shaking her head.

“You say that as if you’re not a part of this. Until we find the man himself, you’re my closest lead to Blaiddyd’s whereabouts.” The Emperor smiled without humor. “There’s also the matter of Fhirdiad to be settled, and your partner’s actions against an imperial officer.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Whyever not? Intentions aside, you’re complicit in this until I believe otherwise.” Edelgard adjusted her gloves without looking away from Catherine. “Didn’t you say I could punish you as I see fit?”

“I know what I said," the blonde woman gritted out.

“Then we have an understanding. Think of it like this; the more cooperative you are with me, the more I'll be inclined to show mercy." Edelgard switched her focus to Shamir to gauge the Dagdan woman’s reaction. Violet eyes were narrow, but also attentive. She, at least, seemed to realize the hidden meaning behind her words. “Submit yourselves into my service. I won’t ask for fealty, but I do demand obedience. Once this mess with Rufus is dealt with, I’ll decide what to do with you two.”

“You’re asking for a lot, Emperor,” Catherine huffed. She scowled mightily, looking as if she might object further. Then, Shamir traced a hand against her neck and the former Knight calmed. “But I know better than to think this is a request. We’ll play along… for now.”

“Her Majesty excels at giving commands. I quite enjoy heeding them.” Byleth nodded affably, but her hand still hovered over her weapon with deadly promise. She beheld the older women for a time before smiling. “I look forward to working with both of you. By the way, Catherine, do you know anything about ice-fishing?”

Next Chapter: By Cloud and Sea

Chapter Text

From the first moment she took flight, Ingrid knew she was born to soar. The cool cut of wind across her brow. The pooling of exhilaration in her gut during ascension. The flutter of her heart as man and beast dove sharply to the earth. All of it was unlike anything she had ever known. Nothing could compare to touching the heavens and breathing in the sheer vastness of the world. Surely, this was only a brilliant fraction of what the Goddess saw, Ingrid had thought then.

As the years passed, her reverence for the sky only grew. It became a haven for her; a way to escape the mortal troubles of her life and drink the same sanctified calm the Goddess must feel. Even now, chest heavy with the possibility of war, Ingrid found peace within the clouds. The bitter disappointment of her father could not trouble her here, nor could the expectant stares of a man who sought more than she could give.

Ingrid muffled the grimace that wanted to work its way across her face. She cast a furtive eye at her squadron, but they flew on without pause. They had not noticed her lapse in concentration, granting their commander a wide berth as she led them north. Ingrid exhaled, relieved, and allowed herself to sink into menial concerns.

It was unkind to think of Sylvain as a mere nuisance. He was more than that. And, proposal or no, he always would be. Yet Ingrid couldn’t stop the anxious lurch in her belly as she recalled his solemn plea. At that moment, Sylvain had looked nothing like the carefree hedonist he usually feigned. For the first time, she had taken him in and saw a man standing before her.

“I don’t require an answer now,” he had said. Then Sylvain knelt, taking her palm in between his larger hands. “Just say you’ll consider it. That’ll be enough.”

Ingrid hadn’t known what to do. She still didn’t. Avoiding him was effortless, better than facing the inevitable answer required of her; better than dodging his prodding questions and well-meant grins. Shamefully, she found it easier to fly away from her problems than overcome this hurdle. So when her liege bid her to the border, Ingrid departed with nary a glance in Sylvain’s direction. The sky did not bear expectations of her. It wanted nothing, save to exist as it was. Ingrid wished she could say the same.

Of want and wanting. But what did that truly mean? Before, marriage was merely a contractual obligation she would need to suffer. An unavoidable fact due to her crest and familial duty. Even the thought of wedding Glenn, handsome and honorable as he had been, primarily inspired resignation. She mourned him deeply, but Ingrid couldn’t deny that a part of her had felt relieved. Her father was the one who brokered their betrothal, not her. She did not spend her days in breathy anticipation of being Ingrid Fraldarius. Some would say she had simply been too young for such things. However, Ingrid was doubtful her feelings on the matter would have changed.

She hadn’t wanted Glenn. Not in the same way she saw Edelgard want a woman thought lost for years. Not in the same coquettish interest Dorothea once showed before her attentions gradually changed to Petra. And certainly not in the way of Ferdinand and Hubert, who traded flirtations in between playful insults. Yet what of Sylvain? How did she view him beyond their shared childhood?

Ingrid loved him. Wholeheartedly and truly. As she loved Felix and many of the men she called friends. But was there something deeper that she had yet to discover? She didn’t know. She never had, so how could she? Ingrid balled her fingers within the reins. She despised being uncertain. It called to mind the same dread she felt at the academy with each letter her father sent. Just like then, a man she loved desired an unequivocal answer.

Expectation was a beast with grisly hunger, and she knew its bite intimately.

“Captain, the central border approaches!”, the voice of one of her bellowed above the wind. The young woman soared beside her, arm outstretched. Ingrid followed the gesture and spied the exterior walls of Fort Cernunnos. The towering structure had been erected at the onset of Lambert’s campaign and stood in solemn defense of the primary route to Faerghus. Decades later, the fort had become a stone monolith embodying Faerghian conquest.

Ingrid had only heard tales of Cernunnos; passed along to her by a young Sylvain as he bemoaned the prospect of being its keeper. To her understanding, the task of occupying the border should have fallen to Miklan had things been different. Disinherited or no, the man could have served his brother as a commander. It wasn’t the same as a lordship, but it would have been an honorable undertaking nonetheless. Yet he chose banditry and attempted fratricide instead. She considered it a pity, if only for Sylvain’s sake.

As the fort crawled into view, Ingrid marveled at its encompassing structure. The walls unfurled in a sweeping arc at the mouth of a canyon, stretching far to the north like a spearhead. Countless barricades lined its perimeter at carefully measured paces. From above, they appeared like the horns of a stag. A necessary countermeasure, she knew, against constant Sreng assault. Cernunnos was the grandest of the Kingdom's northern fortresses for a reason. No Sreng band had ever breached its walls since its establishment, though many tried.

Within the center of the fort, a smattering of towers rose from the snow and stood in alignment with the arching cliffs. Soldiers, glittering in their armor, could be seen manning the frost-laden parapets. Ingrid observed them, directing her mount to fly low. The men in attendance were not wearing the colors of House Gautier, only the steel plate of the former Kingdom. And neither did their flags bear the distinctive crest of their lord. She frowned. Suddenly, the soldiers looked to the sky.

Ingrid raised a hand in greeting. Her suspicion strengthened as they ducked into the tower. She curled her fingers into a fist. On command, her squadron drew to a halt and hovered above the rear walls of Cernunnos. She heard a brief murmuring of confusion before one of her sergeants called to her.

“Is everything alright, Captain?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. Ingrid trained her eyes on the fort’s walls. No movement could be gleaned from within. It was an unnerving stillness, broken only by the shadows of passing clouds. “We should retreat to the pass, observe from afar before contacting them.”

“But why? It’s just the Margrave’s men. They don't seem to be scrapping with anyone either.” A recent recruit swerved below her, head tilted towards the fort. “Look! They’re lighting fires for us.”

Fire? Ingrid straightened, alarmed. Below them, the walls of Cernunnos filled with light. Large braziers across each corner burst into flame and lapped at the stone walls. A wretched, mechanical whine pierced the air. Ingrid recognized it belatedly.

“Ballistae!” She yelled. “Fall—“

A bolt struck the recruit, sinking through her abdomen with ease. She choked, flung from her pegasus to the rocks below. Ingrid stared, horrified, but there was no time to mourn. The mechanism churned once more, but it wasn't alone. Archers, previously unseen, fired a barrage of arrows. Ingrid swerved to avoid them and urged her mount to ascend. Her squadron tried to follow but were forced to veer away as several bolts rushed past. Ingrid’s breath caught, fearing for their safety.

One girl, young and untried, attempted to rush a nearby cluster of archers. She screamed in rage, only a wing-beat from reaching her targets. Then, a bolt sank into her mount’s chest. The beast wailed before plummeting, sending its rider crashing against the walls of Cernunnos. Ingrid looked away from her mangled body. With a gnash of her teeth, she raced along the mountain peaks and headed for her frazzled soldiers.

The senior commanders were attempting to keep the group together, but youth and inexperience meant several were flying alone. Like flies, they were plucked from the sky, rent by arrow or bolt. The task undertaken had been meant for reconnaissance, not battle. Many of them had never seen the face of war. Ingrid cursed herself for not anticipating this outcome, even as impossible as it might have been. Her anger burned hot, but her hand was steady as she took Lúin in hand.

In the corner of her eye, she spotted a figure standing atop the southernmost tower. They appeared to be giving commands, hair golden as the sun. Could it be Rufus? Ingrid burned with fervor, tempted to strike him down now and be done with it. Then, the person turned and appeared to fix their attention upon her. No, that wasn’t the Duke’s profile. It was far too slight to be Rufus, but it was clear from the flag waving proudly to their back that they served him – the Crest of Blaiddyd etched in white on a field of deep blue. Next to it, another flag waved with the griffon of the former Kingdom. It was a blatant statement of rebellion. Ingrid discarded her anger, the truth of their situation dawning.

This wasn’t a fight they could win. Cernunnos was lost, and nothing could be done to regain it without reinforcements. But Ingrid would be damned before she allowed these wretches to claim the rest of her girls. With a deep breath, she called upon the power of her crest. Heat twinged beneath her breast before spreading throughout her body. Lúin sparked to life, its edge tipped in crimson. She flew in parallel with the mountain peaks and sliced a searing path into the snow. Steam rose in a billowing cloud as it was cleaved from the rocks. Like a veil, it obscured the pegasi from view.

“Through the pass!” Ingrid beckoned her squadron with a vehement wave. “The bend ahead will shield us!”

Faces ashen, they rushed to escape the onslaught. Ingrid chanced a look at the fort, heart racing with every moment that passed. The ballistae had ceased firing, as did the archers. But the steam was slowly clearing and soon they would be in the open once more. Ingrid watched, praying for their passage to be swift enough. To her dismay, a lone rider sat inert in her saddle. The girl was staring at the towering fortress, her freckled face blanched of color. Ingrid called out to her, but it didn’t appear to register.

“I said fall back to the pass!” She obstructed the girl’s line of sight, forcing their eyes to meet. “We can’t stay here. They’ve halted for now, but it won’t last forever.”

“I—Captain…” The young woman swallowed hard. “They… Lydia, she was...”

The name sparked recognition. She had been the first to fall. Ingrid steeled her expression.

“She died in noble service to Her Majesty. Lydia will be mourned, but not here.” She pointed Lúin towards the fleeing line of pegasi. “Now go! We don’t have time—”

The whirring crank of ballistae stole the words from her mouth. Ingrid spurred Llamrei to dive, narrowly escaping impalement. Twin bolts embedded into the canyon wall, horrifically close to the girl’s head. With a frightened gasp, she finally followed the others. Ingrid sighed, but her relief soon changed to panic as a salvo of arrows encroached. Tipped with flames, they scored a trail of scarlet into the heavens. Ingrid could do nothing but evade.

Hands clenched, she headed for the pass. Llamrei heaved below her as he strained to heed her commands. She tensed as arrows whistled past her ear. Several clipped her mount’s wings, but he remained aloft despite the pain. Ingrid swooped higher, hoping to evake, when agony bloomed in her shoulder. She bit her tongue hard, hand flying to the limb. The arrowhead nicked her fingers, slicking them in blood. The metal burned with molten heat, and the hiss of cauterized flesh caused her head to spin.

You cannot fall here. You will not. Ingrid set her jaw, ignoring the coppery tang of blood. With a furious arc of her arm, she scored into the cliffs with her relic. Rocks collapsed in her wake, a chain reaction that resulted in the pass collapsing. Ingrid watched grimly, safe now with the wall of sediment shielding her from Cernunnos. Llamrei touched the ground with a weary snort, hide trembling. She smoothed a hand over his stained mane. They had survived, yet the major route connecting Faerghus to Sreng was gone. She wasn’t sure whether this action had cost her Emperor dearly.

Ingrid twisted the arrowhead until it broke from the shaft. She ignored the throbbing pain and stared at the steel in her palm. Then, it slipped between her fingers before sinking into the snow. She was barely cognizant of the wooden length still lodged under her skin. At the very least, Ingrid had confirmed one thing. The border was no longer under the rule of House Gautier. Sreng belonged entirely to the enemy.

* * *

Past grievances aside, the Emperor could not begrudge a harmless request from her new allies. Even if it originated from someone like Catherine. So when the pair of former Knights asked to say their goodbyes, Edelgard agreed readily. She was not made of stone nor blind to their love for this village. It was evident in everything they did. From the fond looks Catherine sent to every person she bade farewell, to the embraces Shamir tolerated from earnest well-wishers. It was obvious they had endeared themselves here.

Edelgard boggled as Catherine wrapped an elderly man in a firm embrace before stooping to do the same for the two children tugging at her legs. They giggled in her arms, overseen by the smiling nun who appeared to shelter them. Shamir observed quietly, but the affection in her stare could not be mistaken. All of them were so comfortable with her. Edelgard doubted their affection would remain had they known the truth.

Thunder Catherine had killed many throughout her service. Fhirdiad had just been the only time faith did not pardon her bloody deeds. Even before the war, Edelgard’s only thoughts of the woman were that she was an excellent swordsman but also a vainglorious dullard with questionable judgment. Still, there must have been something Shamir saw in her. The mercenary wouldn’t have stayed otherwise.

“Do you trust them?”

Edelgard glanced at her lover. Byleth was watching the gathering with great interest, arms folded behind her. The Emperor considered the question for a moment.

“Somewhat,” she said eventually. “Shamir more than Catherine, certainly. I’ve never been comfortable with zealots. It’s also undeniable that Catherine’s adoration for the archbishop transcended mere fealty.”

“True. It’s a wonder she denied Duke Blaiddyd. To think, we could have had a proper rematch.” Byleth favored the oblivious smith with a thoughtful look. “We’re both without a relic, so the playing field would be level. Oh, but that old wound of hers would tip things in my favor…”

“Perhaps you should set aside such musings. Barring any disruptive behavior, Catherine is meant to be our ally. Contemplating killing her would put a strain on things.” Edelgard eyed the distant pair once more. “As for Shamir, I bear no ill against her. However, I suspect she’ll defer to whatever Catherine desires. It’s best to keep a sharp eye on both as we travel.”

“And I shall. Hubert would expect nothing less.” Byleth tipped her head, possibly thinking of the man in question. “A shame he couldn’t be here. His skill in interrogation far exceeds mine. I don’t think Catherine was all that cowed yesterday.”

“I wonder why,” Edelgard remarked dryly. True to her blithesome nature, Byleth didn’t waste any time pressing Catherine over whatever popped into her head. Ice-fishing, naturally, but also the logistics of smithing and other menial topics. At one juncture, Byleth had asked if Catherine realized the irony of her trade considering her family's mines. The smith had been less than amused. Thankfully, Shamir had the good sense to steal her partner away from a potential scrap. Both women retired for the evening, allowing Edelgard to relax at last. Such happenings were liable to be frequent during their temporary alliance.

“Me too.” Byleth sighed, treating the rhetorical statement seriously. “I’m afraid I might be losing my bite. Once, I could have scared a man stiff with a passing glance. Yet now I’m a thoroughly domesticated creature. It’s all your fault, El.”

“I quite like this development, so I will bear your condemnation gladly.” The Emperor managed a small smile for her general before collecting herself. Catherine and Shamir were heading toward them, presumably ready to leave. A handsome destrier trotted dutifully behind the latter. “I see they've brought a horse. Beautiful mare; no doubt the one they stole all those months ago. Perhaps we should add petty thievery to the debt owed.”

“I think it’s nice they kept her. They could have sold her off for coin.” Byleth paused, eyes darting to the side. “You seem disgruntled. Are you not pleased they’re coming along? It was your idea.”

“I’m aware. I just don’t like surprises. Catherine’s survival has me on edge.” Edelgard breathed in, holding it for a moment. “If she lived, who else might still be lurking? The certainty I once held has been tested by this development. At any moment, will a foe I believed long dead rise from the ashes?”

“Rhea’s gone, El.” Byleth’s voice cut through the bud of worry that had nestled within her heart. The general’s eyes were soft with understanding. “We both saw it. Both felt it. Had she not, I suspect I would still be as I once was.”

“Yes… I believe you’re right. Forgive my lapse.” Edelgard straightened fully as the former Knights joined them. She begrudgingly craned her head upward to meet Catherine’s stare. What did they feed people in Faerghus to grow them so tall? At least Ingrid was at a reasonable height.

“Everything is settled on our end,” Catherine said. She looked at the Emperor expectantly. “What about you? Can we trust you’ll make good on your promise?”

“Your people will be taken care of. Food, building materials, and plenty of soldiers to fortify the perimeter. They will want for nothing.” Edelgard set a hand along her hip, eyebrow raised. “Does this satisfy you?”

“It’s a start. Send a few healers for good measure. They’ll need it.” Shamir led their horse forward. Her appearance was closer now to the solitary mercenary Edelgard had known. She doffed the robe from the previous night in exchange for leathers, long strands collected neatly to the side. Standing beside her partner, Edelgard could admit they made a striking pair. It was peculiar they had flown so below the Empire’s notice.

“It will be done. However, keep in mind this assistance doesn’t come without strings.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll be collared and chained to do your bidding. No different than this one.” Catherine jerked her head towards Byleth. Edelgard bristled at the implication. “Not sure why you’re pulling me along though. Shamir, I get. She’s a hell of an archer and clever besides. But me? I can’t fight like before. And I doubt any imperial troops would ever follow my lead.”

“I don’t expect you to take the field. Still, you are a veteran commander of no small acclaim. We could use your insight, both for battle and Rufus himself.” The Emperor waved a hand, dismissing any further objections. She climbed atop her horse, chin raised. “Smiths are also invaluable during wartime. But if you insist, I could always clap you in irons now and shove you into a cell?”

“I like my freedom, thanks." Catherine glared at her shortly. With an irritated snort, she climbed into the saddle. Shamir followed, silent as ever. "Lead on, Your Majesty.”

The title dripped from her like tar, slow and unpleasant. The Emperor narrowed her eyes but chose to keep things civil. Catherine’s agitation was to be expected. The war was over, however, that did not put to rest the blood mutually spilled. Nevertheless, she had been honest in her expectations for them. They might never kneel, but perhaps an understanding could be reached.

Their journey to Danu was spent primarily in silence. Occasionally, Byleth attempted to spark conversation. Shamir humored her a couple of times, but only with one-word utterances. Catherine, on the other hand, seemed to be trying her best to ignore the general’s existence. Edelgard was not oblivious to the hostility Catherine harbored. Her ire seemed only to increase with every word Byleth spoke. Had she been in her prime, it was very likely they would have come to blows. Edelgard assumed the feeling derived from Fhirdiad; when the Sword of the Creator carved her leg to ribbons. It had been a ghastly wound to witness. To suffer it? The prospect was harrowing.

Many had feared that relic for a reason. And while its power was undeniable, Edelgard had been glad to see the blade laid to rest. There was no need for such monstrous strength in the world she would make. Despite this, it would be an exaggeration to say Edelgard sympathized with Catherine. The cause she fought for was enough to snuff any such feelings. Yet she could still understand her loss. Hopefully, the woman’s patience would hold throughout her stay.

“What’s Dagda like, Shamir?”

“Arid in some parts. Temperate in most." Shamir shrugged carelessly. In front of her, Catherine eyed Byleth with a sudden frown. The general continued, blissfully unmindful.

“Do many of your people become mercenaries?”

“A good number, yes.”

“And were they all just as capable as yourself?”

Catherine loosed a strangled growl. Byleth glanced at her curiously, plainly unaware of the reason for her reaction. Edelgard sighed, already regretting her snap decision.

“Byleth.”

“Yes, El?” Her lover perked, appearing for all the world like a puppy come to heel.

“How about we discuss something beyond our guests? I’m sure they must be tired of all our questioning.”

“Ah.” Byleth bobbed her head before gliding a finger across her lips. “Understood. Then shall we discuss the upcoming march? I assume we’ll be headed for the pass once Ingrid returns.”

“Indeed. Regrettably, we can only sit on our hands and wait. Yet I suppose there’s nothing to be done.” Edelgard worried a lip between her teeth as she thought of their friend. “The state of the border is still unknown. I have confidence in her, of course. But…”

“It’s been a day since her departure. Perhaps she’ll be waiting for us on arrival,” Byleth offered.

“I’ll just have to hope that’s the case.”

“You talking about the Galatea girl?" Catherine cut in. Her head raised in apparent interest, the first time since their journey began. "I didn't realize she was still serving you personally. I had thought all those kids would be too preoccupied wrangling their Houses.”

“Many have decided to defer governance in favor of remaining in my service. Ingrid is one of them,” Edelgard explained. She regarded the older woman with some reserve, unsure why this had earned her attention.

“Doesn’t surprise me. I recall she was enamored more with becoming a noble knight than anything else. And yet she joined the Empire, forever dashing that dream. A bit ironic.” Catherine scratched her jaw, brow furrowed. “Old man Galatea was in a snit. All his family had was the Daphnel crest, and his daughter chose to spit on it entirely.”

“Why shouldn't she? He was the one who placed its burden upon her. Ingrid cannot be faulted for choosing a life of her own making."

“Settle down. I agree with you.”

Edelgard pursed her lips, genuinely taken by surprise. She had expected a wholehearted defense of the Kingdom and its practices. Catherine shrugged, averting her stare. She looked uncomfortable suddenly.

“Don’t look at me like that. Knight of Seiros though I might have been, I was never blind to the pains of bearing a crest. Caused more than its fair share of headaches when I was younger. I don’t blame the girl for running from that.”

“Are you expressing support for Ingrid’s defection?”

“I’m merely saying I can empathize. My father was just as insistent on a match. All of them were men I'd never look twice at. Had I the opportunity to escape and choose for myself…” Catherine fell silent for a time, lost to reverie. A pale hand curled along her belly. She looked over her shoulder, meeting Shamir’s eyes. They shared a private look before Catherine breathed out a sigh. “Look, you’ve done a lot of things I don’t agree with. But crests? I can admit the world would be better off once they’re gone.”

“I… didn’t think you would support crest dissolution.” The Emperor cleared her throat. “Regardless, you protected the institution keeping them in power. The church was just as culpable as the nobility.”

“Months ago, I would have argued to the contrary. But I don’t have skin in that game anymore, Emperor.” Catherine tugged on the reins, allowing her horse to slow in cadence. Before she and Shamir slid out of view, Edelgard caught the jaded expression the woman wore. It made her keenly aware of the many years Catherine must have served – both as a vassal to the crown and a Knight. “We all must pay for our mistakes. And I have more than most. If this is to be my penance, then so be it.”

Edelgard frowned but said nothing further. The brief conversation hadn’t gone the way she thought it would. In her periphery, she spotted Byleth gauging her reaction. She nodded to signal everything was well, but couldn’t quite silence the many thoughts twisting in her head. Truthfully, she had not believed Catherine capable of self-reflection. At the academy, the woman gave off the impression of having less depth than a puddle. Her loyalty to Rhea and subsequent actions beneath her yoke had proven this. Or so she had believed.

Edelgard was tempted to ascribe this change to Shamir’s influence. She doubted Catherine would have altered her perspective otherwise, bullish as she had been. It was unknown whether this mindset would last throughout their brittle alliance. Yet Edelgard was willing to let the woman prove herself. After all, that was the point of this whole exercise.

The latter half of their journey passed quicker than the first. Once the narrow ridge of the mountains gave way to open plains, the road to the center of Gautier was easily crossed. In a blink, the outskirts of Lake Danu stretched before them. Byleth’s mien swiftly hardened, the small smile she wore cast aside. Her horse kept a careful distance from Edelgard’s.

They all had their roles to play, and it wasn’t prudent for the High General to be acting familiarly with the Emperor. Open secret as their relationship was, certain decorum needed observing. However, in this particular instance, Edelgard felt a pang of annoyance. The feeling strengthened as she noted Shamir whispering to Catherine. The pair traded wicked smirks, blind to the envy they elicited. She did her best to ignore them, blaming her momentary resentment on the dipping temperature.

As they came upon the westernmost tip of the lake, far from the numerous tents and fires dotting the northern edge, the war tent slowly revealed itself. It was closest to the Gautier manor for ease of travel and nestled within a dense cluster of trees for privacy. Edelgard had expected to see Sylvain possibly coordinating with his subordinates or even Lady Delphine waiting to seek an audience. However, that wasn't what she saw. Some distance from the tent were Sylvain and Lysithea, seemingly wrapped in a heated conversation. The man was shaking his head at something the diminutive woman was saying. Lysithea threw up her hands in obvious exasperation.

“Are you saying you’ll do nothing?”

“How many times must I repeat myself? I can’t.”

“She’s your mother, idiot. Man up.”

“Hey! I’ve tried alright? She wants nothing to do with me. If I go barging in there, swinging my—”

“Think twice before airing such crassness around me.”

“Calm down. I was just going to say authority.” Sylvain snorted. He stiffened as his eyes landed on the approaching group. Lysithea turned to see what snared the man’s attention and a satisfied smile pulled at her lips.

“Your Majesty! We were just discussing when you might return.” She paused to glare heatedly up at Sylvain. He returned the gesture petulantly. “And also debating whether our future Margrave is a gelding.”

“A riveting topic.” Edelgard dismounted warily, chancing fleeting looks between her two friends. Neither appeared eager to cede any ground, though Sylvain eventually averted his eyes to the ground as his liege neared. “Care to explain what she’s going on about, Lord Gautier?”

“It can wait until later,” he said quickly. “I would hate to waste your time on something insignificant.”

Lysithea scoffed, unimpressed. Edelgard just raised a brow at him but accepted the prevarication.

“Very well. But I’ll be most displeased should it be anything important.” The Emperor shook off the hood of her coat, relieved to be in the safety of their camp. "Has anything happened while we were away? Any news of Ingrid?”

“Yeah…” Sylvain’s voice lost its strength as his gaze drifted to the side. “They were attacked at the central fortress; Cernunnos. Ingrid got away with a minor wound but several of her squadron weren’t so lucky. Most of the fallen were recruits.”

“Ingrid confirmed they control the entire fortress,” Lysithea revealed. “All of them were flying the standard of House Blaiddyd. Since Cernunnos was the largest and most heavily guarded of the border forts, it’s a safe assumption to consider the others similarly lost.”

“Then our suspicions were correct.” Edelgard pressed her lips together tight. She was relieved to hear of Ingrid’s survival, but the journey still cost them greatly. For someone who cared so deeply about those under her command, Ingrid must have been gutted by the loss. Edelgard yearned to speak with her but knew her captain would need time. It would be prudent to let the poor woman rest before gathering further details. "We'll hold a ceremony for the dead before setting off. How safe is the pass? Do you think we can retake Cernunnos from there?”

Her frown deepened as Sylvain shook his head. “It collapsed during Ingrid’s escape. Even if we were to dig it clear, I don’t think that would the wisest route. They would see us coming with ease.”

“We can’t very well attack it head-on. The fort was designed to withstand Sreng invasion. Barricades to the front, ballistae to the back, and towering walls on every side. How do you suggest we get through them?” Lysithea tapped her foot with mounting impatience.

“You already said it,” Byleth chimed in abruptly. The general gave Lysithea a lop-sided smile. “Something built with a specific function in mind is prone to grievous error. This fortress might be impenetrable from Srengian onslaught, but not Imperial.”

“That’s a pedantic argument if I’ve ever heard one.” Lysithea waved her hand in agitation. Yet Byleth maintained her smile, unblinking.

“Am I wrong?”

“If it leads to our army getting decimated, I should say so!”

“The idea holds water,” Sylvain mumbled. He held up his hands as Lysithea’s stare snapped to him. “It does! The fort may look intimidating at first glance, but the exterior defenses were designed with Sreng bands in mind. They’ve never had to withstand sophisticated siege equipment or an organized military. As I see it, we can dig and pray our forces overwhelm them or sail to the west and press inward.”

“When so neatly put, I have to agree.” Edelgard folded her arms, deftly ignoring the betrayed expression Lysithea wore. “Our options are limited, and I would rather not sit on our hands while the enemy gathers strength. It would take time and resources, but heading westward is our best hope of retaking Cernunnos. We can more accurately assess the situation once we’ve landed in Sreng.”

“I don’t like the uncertainty of this little plan, but I’ll admit you all make a convincing argument.” Lysithea uncoiled her shoulders, nodding once. “Fine, we sail to the west. There’s a fort near the water too, isn’t there?”

“The smallest of them, Port Taranis,” Sylvain confirmed. “The shore is rocky, hard to tread. But once we capture it, we’ll have a foothold. It’ll be a difficult goal, but not impossible with our fleet.”

“Yet another hurdle. Joy…” Lysithea’s eyes narrowed, catching on something over Edelgard’s shoulder. “Should we be discussing all this in front of strangers?”

“I was wondering that myself. But I’m not complaining. Any lovely ladies are fine by me.” Sylvain peered around Byleth’s head, blatantly perusing their newly acquired guests. “The blonde one looks familiar… Have we met?”

“You’ll stay those roving eyes if you want to keep them, milord.” Catherine chuckled, allowing Shamir to slip from the saddle. She joined her partner on the ground, walking a few paces closer. “I’m hurt my cousin doesn’t recognize me. Distant as we are, I thought our matching crests would answer any lingering questions.”

“Catherine!” Lysithea balked, stepping backward. Her face leeched of color. “You… we saw you— How?! Edelgard, she's…!"

“I’m aware. It was startling to me as well.” The Emperor placed a pacifying hand against her advisor’s back. She couldn’t tell if it was shock or fear that darkened Lysithea’s eyes. An impatient exhale rushed from her as Sylvain reached for his lance. “Steady yourselves. They will be joining us as we forge into Sreng. So please think of them as comrades, of a sort.”

“We’re to break bread with the woman who set Fhirdiad aflame? You can’t be serious.” Sylvain approached the former Knight aggressively. He stared Catherine down for a time, unflinching. “She betrayed her countrymen on a madwoman’s word alone. We can’t place our faith in her. Shamir, perhaps, but not her.”

“That’s a laugh. You’re the same lecher who pants after any skirt he sees. Isn’t that why you knelt?” Catherine leaned in, flashing an acerbic grin. “Which pair of thighs did you hope to part? The Emperor you obey so readily, or your beloved professor?”

“Catherine.” Shamir’s voice was sharp, slicing through the tension. She had not moved, but the stillness of her body betrayed another kind of danger. Her violet stare was hard as it settled on the taller woman. “Don't provoke him. That’s not why we’re here.”

Catherine’s frame remained tense, weight shifted low like a cat preparing to leap. After a breathless silence, she retreated and strode to Shamir’s side. The air slowly drained of imminent danger, yet Edelgard still did not relax her guard. She eyed Catherine carefully before addressing Sylvain.

“I understand her crimes quite well, which is why I did not simply send them on their merry way. However, I also recognize that without their interference we would be ignorant of Rufus' aims. It was they who sent word to Baron Friuch and who faced the initial brunt of the Duke's anger. For this, I am willing to grant them clemency so long as they obey."

“Catherine isn’t the only person at fault here,” Lysithea spoke slowly. Her expression was forbidding. “Shamir nearly killed Leonie. She abused her trust for no discernible reason. Where is the justice for her?”

“Had I wanted her dead, she would be.” Shamir did not bother to rile at the accusation. Her gaze stayed neutral, but Edelgard had the impression something turbulent lay beneath the surface. “We’ve already discussed everything with the Emperor. You want answers, seek them from her.”

“Well said. I tire of repeating myself, so listen close. We’re here because Rufus threatens us all. Like it or not, we know the Empire is the only force strong enough to cut him at the knees.” Catherine braced an arm around her partner's waist. She looked displeased to be saying this, but whatever personal feelings she held did not stop her short. “I’ll do whatever you ask, play whatever role you want, and suffer whatever punishment lies at the end. All I care about is protecting my home.”

“It’s an admirable goal. Enough to settle any old bitterness, I think,” Byleth mused airily. Sylvain and Lysithea blinked at her in unison. The general just returned their incredulity with a smile. “Don’t worry. El’s already given me explicit instructions to keep them in check. They are to be under my custody until further notice, so you may rest easy.”

“Honestly, Professor, that doesn’t fill me with confidence.” Sylvain scratched at his head. “I won’t argue further. You want to bring two vipers along for the ride, then suit yourself. But if things go tits up, I won’t be surprised.”

“Your concerns are noted but unnecessary.” It was probably too soon for such an assertion, but Edelgard was learning to be optimistic. Byleth seemed to accept their reasons at face value. Her lover had a knack for people, despite her eccentricities. If she believed them, then Edelgard would try to as well.

“The audacity to appoint me as your advisor and not listen to a single thing I say. I see how it is.” Lysithea huffed, sparing the former Knights a sour look. She bundled up her robes before stalking off towards the lake. “Do what you want! I’ll be checking on Ingrid in the meantime. At least she takes me seriously.”

“She hasn’t changed,” Catherine remarked after Lysithea faded from view. “Still quick to burn and stubborn as a sieve. She has more Charon blood than she realizes.”

“I assumed it was just an unfortunate quirk of her crest. It would certainly explain your mutual obstinate nature.” Edelgard rolled her eyes, returning her focus to Sylvain. The man was sending the war tent surreptitious glances and it was worrying her. “We’ll need to muster the fleet to the northwest. Can we be mobilized on the ‘morrow?”

“We can. Gathering the banners hasn’t been difficult, but they refuse to treat with imperial soldiers. Including me.” Sylvain kicked at the snow in frustration. “My mother insists on dealing with them herself. She still won’t accept me sticking my head into Gautier’s affairs, and the lords rally beneath her. They came here to check our scope, but trailed after her like flies. I never thought I’d see the day when they embrace her warmly. I suppose decrying a traitor brings people together.”

“So we’ll have little martial support. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“That's the gist. They'll protect their territories and relinquish their ships, but they won’t spare any men.” He raised his head to give the Emperor an apologetic look. “I’ve tried to convince my mother to ask for more, but it didn’t end well.”

“And that’s why Lysithea called you a gelding?”

Sylvain winced. The expression vanished in favor of a scowl as Catherine laughed.

“Ha! She’s got the right of it too. Never thought you’d be at the whims of your lady mother, Lord Gautier. No wonder you’ve got such a weakness for women.”

“And what of you?” the man asked defensively. “Didn’t you torch a city out of weakness for a woman?”

Catherine's eyes flashed, smile wiped clean.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, boy.”

“I know plenty.”

“Let’s keep this civil, children,” Edelgard interrupted. She waded between the two but grew annoyed as her frame barely obstructed their line of sight. Faerghians… “Save the aggression for when we reach Sreng. I’m sure it’ll be sorely needed.”

“Understood.” Sylvain backed away, expelling a long breath. His shoulders trembled from the weight of it. “I can attempt to talk to Mother alone, but I have a feeling nothing will change. I’ll see if I can convince her to renegotiate.”

He gave the Emperor a quick bow before heading for the war tent. His spine was stooped miserably, as if awaiting a noose. Perhaps to him, there was little difference. She wasn’t unsympathetic, but Lysithea had been correct. Sylvain would need to step up if he ever expected to shoulder the burden of a Margrave.

“Well then…” Byleth swept nimble fingers through her wild hair before humming. “That could have gone better. I don’t have any experience with mothers myself, but I hear they can be cumbersome to deal with. Shall we corner these lords and force them to follow?”

“Loathe as I am to tolerate these tantrums, I can’t command them to battle by force. That would only estrange Sylvain further from his people and do little to garner respect. They must come into the fold willingly.” Edelgard rubbed at the crease of her brow. She would have a pounding migraine later, she was sure of it.

“And to think, we feared you incompetent lot.” Catherine’s smile was bright with sunlight and derision as the Emperor glared at her. The smith’s smug countenance evaporated when Shamir elbowed her stomach. “I mean, glory to the Empire...?”

* * *

Catherine glowered balefully at the bars of her cell, hackles rising with every stiff breeze that rushed past. The draft was one thing, but the water currently slicking her boots was another. Ships were miserable affairs even in the summer. In the northern sea, at the tail of winter? The conditions were unbearable. Catherine snarled mightily before flopping onto the damp cot. She rubbed her arms, trying to muster some warmth. Had she known this would happen, Catherine would have donned something insulated; wool or some such. But then again, the smith hadn’t expected to be unceremoniously thrown into a brig upon reaching port.

Yet here she was—hapless and drenched in seawater. With an indignant snort, she tossed an arm over her eyes. It wouldn’t be so bad had they thrown Shamir in with her. They could have made their own entertainment, dreary and wet as their conditions were. However, it seemed the good Emperor commanded only Catherine to suffer. Wherever they stored her partner, it had to be better than this. Her frustrated musings were interrupted as she heard the creak of a door. Footsteps followed, clicking against the wood in a well-known pattern. Catherine darted upward as Shamir’s figure sidled into view.

“This looks familiar,” the Dagdan woman said. She paced the length of the bars, fingertips grazing the metal. “You seem to have a habit of getting yourself caged.”

“Very funny.” Catherine crossed her arms tight over her chest. She inspected her partner but found nothing out of place. "They appear to be treating you well. I gather your quarters are a sight better than mine?”

“A bit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You only have yourself to blame.” Shamir leaned against the ship’s wall, sending her a crisp look. “Sniping with the Emperor, needling her generals, growling when they request anything of you… What else is there to do with a feral dog?”

“I haven’t been that bad! Mostly.” Catherine frowned. “It’s a tense situation. And I obey easily enough. I just don’t see the need to kowtow or pretend I enjoy being here.”

“Maybe you should learn to bite your tongue and nod your head. Obedience will get us further than pride.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll try to contain my immense displeasure from here on.” Catherine rocked to her feet, stretching. She eyed Shamir askance. “You here to spring me? I’ll be honest, I think our options are limited if you’re planning an escape. I don’t trust those rowboats a lick.”

“I’d rather not be riddled with arrows. Once was enough.” Her partner stared up at the boards above them. They whined with periodic strain as feet tread across the upper decks. “Do you think they have enough men to capture both forts?”

“Probably. Even without the army of Gautier, there are enough bodies to conquer the whole of Sreng. The real question is whether they'll fight half as well in winter. Imperial soldiers aren’t trained for these conditions.” Catherine blew out a sharp breath, ruffling her bangs. “For our sake, let’s hope strategy triumphs circumstance. It’ll be hell should the Empire fall to Rufus.”

“Conflict would ignite all across Fódlan.” Shamir fell silent, appearing lost in thought. “The village… Do you think they’ll be fine without us?”

“Well, they have enough food and supplies to last firmly through spring. The workload should be less now with the Empire helping to rebuild. Weyland might not be happy, but he won’t run off able hands.” Catherine padded to the cell bars before bracing herself against them. “Still, it felt awful to leave them like that. I didn’t know what to say, either. Do you think we should have told them the truth?”

“No. Had they known, it would have only caused unnecessary tension between them and the Empire. It’s best they think we’re merely assisting the baron."

“...You’re right. Can’t say I’m any happier about it though.” She peered through the bars, trying to catch her partner’s eyes. Yet the dim lighting made it hard to piece her features together. "Think you can pick that lock?”

“And here I thought you were content to stay under Edelgard’s thumb.”

“That’s not what I meant. We can't leave, but maybe you can join me?”

The shadows framing Shamir’s face did not break, but Catherine thought she could see the edge of a smile.

“Maybe. If you ask nicely,” the other woman responded evenly. Knowing she’d won, Catherine allowed herself a grin. She arched away from the bars, keen to hold Shamir in her arms, but didn’t get the chance to ask. The brig door opened again, a scant amount of sunlight shining through the crack. Shamir straightened, casual posture changing sharply. Annoyance and exasperation seared Catherine like a brand. The day really was turning out to be a pisser.

Her vexation grew the moment she glimpsed a mop of teal hair. It was none other than Byleth, of all damnable people. She was dressed more ostentatiously than before, decorated in the black and gold of the Emperor’s cabinet. The general stopped short as her eyes fell on Shamir, head tilted to the side. After a long silence, her stare cut to Catherine.

“I see you’ve found each other. Very good. That’ll save us all some time.” Byleth looked around the cell curiously. “A bit homier than the accommodations in Brigid. Damper, of course, but the bed looks comfortable enough. Were you able to rest?”

“Oh sure, had loads of it during the eight hours I’ve been down here.”

“Only five. I’ve been keeping count since we left shore.” Byleth didn’t seem affected by her sarcasm, expression painfully steady. Catherine watched the general move closer with suspicion. Yet Byleth merely sat atop a nearby crate, legs crossed as if joining them for tea. “I trust the escorts I assigned to you are still alive? I would hate to explain why they weren’t to Her Majesty.”

It took Catherine a moment to understand the woman was addressing Shamir. She looked at her partner for a reaction, but Shamir seemed almost bored. Only the slight work of her jaw gave away her true feelings.

“They’re alive. I wouldn’t have slipped their notice had they brought me to Catherine as I requested.”

“The Emperor is paranoid as always, eh?” Catherine snorted, amused. “I’m not surprised. Guess it was too much to expect for her to take us at our word. But I’m not sure what tossing me here is meant to accomplish.”

“You’re mistaken,” Byleth interjected. “It wasn’t El who commanded you here. It was me. She's on another ship entirely, in fact. My actions are completely my own.”

Catherine barely processed that information before Shamir responded.

“And the guards tailing me?” she demanded. “Was that also your doing?”

“Escorting. They were under no order to detain, merely to observe. I wanted to see how you would respond should you be separated at length. Forgive the deception.” To the woman’s credit, Byleth appeared genuinely contrite. But it could be hard to tell with her. Catherine bristled at the revelation, regardless.

“And what purpose does caging me serve? Did you want to see if we’d run?”

“Partly. I also wanted to interrogate you while your wits were frazzled. Anger causes the tongue to loosen, or so Hubert once told me.” Byleth folded her hands atop a knee. The general’s demeanor was far too pleasant; nearly cloying. It set Catherine’s teeth on edge. “He entrusted me with his duties before we left. To put it simply, I am only doing what he would do in this situation.”

“Interrogation doesn’t work if you take great pains to explain your methods,” Shamir said. Byleth looked to her, surprised. Then she chuckled.

“I didn’t say I was very good at it. He makes it look so easy… Like an art form. Sadly, he couldn’t be here to attend to these matters. Thus, it falls to me.”

“Lucky us.” Catherine retook her former position atop the cot, already exhausted by the conversation. She didn’t recall the younger woman having such a trying personality or much of one at all. The professor-come-general had been unnervingly quiet, even more than Shamir was back in the day. But all of them had changed by various means. Perhaps the war had taken whatever stick had been lodged up her ass.

“You mentioned we’re to be in your custody. What does that entail?” Shamir pushed off the wall to face the general. She had a familiar look in her eyes, the same as when they were cornered by a dangerous foe. Catherine didn’t blame her. Byleth might play at being harmless now, but her notoriety was well-earned. The twisting scars along her leg throbbed.

“For now, it just means you’ll do as I bid. You’re an archer of no small prowess. However, I feel your talents are best used for scouting. We’ll be assaulting Taranis directly, so I doubt there will be time for reconnaissance. But Cernunnos will require careful observation. Perhaps I can have you train our infantry too.” Byleth’s eyes returned to the imprisoned woman. The color had returned to its dark oceanic color, starkly different from the piercing green of those last few months. Though she wouldn't admit it, Catherine felt relieved. She had looked entirely too much like Lady Rhea.

“As for Catherine,” Byleth continued quickly. “She can remain as a smith and join our other metalworkers. Siege equipment will need to be constructed if we’re to retake the central pass. Our armories will also require constant maintenance."

“I'm a blacksmith, not a weaponsmith or armorer. I've dealt with some steel, but nothing elaborate."

“Then you’ll learn. Consider it an opportunity to hone your craft.” Byleth stood, brushing herself off. She was infuriatingly collected in that pressed uniform of hers. “Other than that, I’m sure I’ll have some miscellaneous duties for you both. We’ll see what happens when we reach Sreng.”

“Does the Emperor have a plan to smoke Rufus out?” Catherine sucked on her teeth, impatient. “She needs to act fast. Once he gets wind of the Empire breaking Sreng’s shore, he’ll dig himself as far into the country as needed. He’s like a rat that way.”

“El is confident he’s giving orders from Cernunnos. It would be logical, considering what we already know. But if not, regaining the forts will still deal a grave blow to his plans.”

“And are you ready to pursue him should he flee?” Catherine pressed.

“We’ll cross that hurdle should we come to it,” Byleth stated with a shrug. Her nonchalance towards everything was more grating than soothing. Catherine clenched her jaw to keep herself from flying into an outburst. It would likely only gain her more time in this swampy pit.

“Other than detailing our responsibilities and determining our sincerity, is there any other point to this ruse?” Shamir’s stare thinned as she regarded the general warily. Byleth beheld her just the same, but the twist of her lips was still firmly jovial. It was odd, as if the woman smiled for the sake of it.

“Only one more. While it’s true I believe you, I wanted to hear your intentions plainly. For my peace of mind, if nothing else.” The general laid her hand atop the guard of her sword. The blade shone beneath her hands like it was coming to life. Its brilliance sparked incredulous recognition. The Sword of Saint Seiros. So this was where it had ended up, dangling on the belt of the Lady’s murderer. Catherine struggled with this knowledge as Byleth spoke again.

“I need you to tell me, honestly and without deceit, that you would never harm Edelgard. Say that you will never seek vengeance for Rhea or the Church. Say you have set aside the past and will protect her as we all do. If you can, freedom will be yours.”

“Edelgard has nothing to fear from me,” Shamir replied easily. “I never begrudged her for Rhea’s passing, nor the fall of the church.”

“I’m relieved to hear this. However, I expected as much from you.” Byleth craned her head in Catherine’s direction. Her stare was prodding. “Catherine…?”

The smith knew what answer she sought; an unequivocal declaration the Emperor would be safe from her. Months ago she would have spit on Byleth’s feet and recoiled against the very thought. Even now, as the Lady’s sword hung from the general’s hip, Catherine recalled the unending rage that roiled beneath her skin. It had seemed as if it would never die. And she had little intention of letting it.

Merely pointing the Empire’s blades in the right direction was not the same as swearing an oath. Not of fealty, but it was close enough to give pause. Was she prepared to protect the very woman who sent Fódlan spiraling into chaos? Good reasons or no, many had died in pursuit of her grand ideals. Was the past fully buried with all its sordidness? Catherine wasn't sure. She looked at Shamir. Her partner’s attention had not strayed from Byleth, but she could see the gnarled clench of her fist. Shamir was waiting for the answer, too.

When Catherine looked within herself, she found barely a hint of those previous embers. The anger she felt had been tempered into something bearable. Looking upon Edelgard still ignited distrust and a keen sense of loss, but Catherine did not feel her death would bring any sort of justice to the world. So as she met Byleth’s gaze, the words that flew from her mouth were only a truth she had borne for months.

“Vengeance isn’t what I desire. Not anymore. My wrath is for Rufus Blaiddyd alone, and no other.

“Very well. And do you swear to defend Her Majesty, should the occasion arise?”

“I swear.” The declaration slipped off her tongue with great malaise but was given nonetheless. Catherine muffled the instinctive urge to grimace and was rewarded with a faint incline of Byleth's head.

“I’m glad we could come to an understanding. Bloodshed at sea would bode ill for the days to come. I’m told it’s a terrible omen.” The woman fished out a ring of keys, spinning it around on her thumb. Then she unlocked Catherine’s cell with a flick of her wrist. “Would you care for a towel or two? Perhaps a warming salve?”

“I can take it from here,” Shamir said wryly. She tugged Catherine over the cell threshold and wiped at the drops of water draping her brow. “I’m sure I can warm her up somehow.”

“Then I leave it in your hands. Should you need anything I’ll be in the cabin furthest from the stairs.” The general bowed before departing out the door. Catherine’s brow furrowed as her steps faded beneath the sound of the sea. She glanced at her lover, puzzled.

“She’s… different from what I remember. Was she always like that?”

“I don’t recall her being so whimsical, no. Only intense and occasionally brooding.” Shamir appeared on the cusp of a smirk. She cupped the taller woman’s cheek fondly. “It suits her. There were times even I was uncomfortable with her lingering silences.”

“Not sure I agree, but there seems to be more bark to her bite these days.” Catherine sighed, body unwinding beneath Shamir’s touch. “The Emperor… I don’t know if I can make good on that promise. I meant it in the moment, but I’m not the best at keeping a level head. Do you think I have it in me?”

“You do. I’ve seen it.” Shamir sounded so certain then, incapable of entertaining otherwise. Catherine wanted to deserve that faith. For now, it was enough that Shamir believed in her. Knowing this soothed any lingering doubt. Catherine might not know what trouble awaited them in Sreng, but she was content to face it all with Shamir by her side. Even the thought of surrendering herself to Edelgard’s whims did not make her falter. She would rather take a thousand of her ilk than suffer the existence of Rufus Blaiddyd.

Next Chapter: A Ravenous Squall

Chapter Text

There were many things they purposefully did not discuss. Edelgard’s time in captivity. The restless nights where she leapt at every passing shadow. The circumstances of Jeralt’s death, and the unknowable ambitions Rhea once held. None of it was necessary for them to continue on as they were. Had there been an insurmountable hurdle to cross, Edelgard trusted her lover to say it plain. They had learned well from their trip to Brigid. Secrets, even well-meant ones, would only serve to divide them.

For this reason, they shared with discernment and kept certain topics unexplored. Not every gritty detail needed to be harked, and not every thought be voiced. Yet the Emperor could admit that perhaps she feared the unspoken musings Byleth held. In the academy, she found the older woman’s silences compelling. She had considered Byleth an attractive mystery for her alone to unravel. Or so she fancied. As an adult and committed woman to another, Edelgard just found it stress-inducing.

The present moment was one such occasion. She eyed Byleth from the periphery. The general was happily trotting by her side as they crossed the palace garden, humming something unknown beneath her breath. Soon they would depart for Gautier, marching towards another blooming conflict. But for now, they simply enjoyed the sun. Free from the prying eyes of the court, they both shed any pretense of liege and subject. Byleth was more enlivened in these moments, smiling fast and easy. However, a smile could be just as mysterious as the lack of one.

Perhaps it was the directness of her stare; unyielding and sharp as a needle. Perhaps it was the frequent moments when she would slip into mute reflection, appearing to analyze Edelgard’s person. She didn’t know what Byleth saw or what conclusions she drew. Maybe that was the most unnerving part. The Emperor feared no one’s judgment, not even the Goddess. Yet she held Byleth’s opinion with rare regard.

Then there were the occasions when the former mercenary beheld the horizon with something akin to nostalgia. What was she thinking as blue eyes roved the clouds? What caused her lips to tilt with such pensive reverie? Did Byleth ponder the decisions she had made; roads of what was and might have been?

Did she regret any of it?

Edelgard slid closer to the older woman. Byleth only tilted her head before flashing one of her simple grins. It was warm and filled with love. She knew this for certain; could feel it in every word and look. And she also knew Byleth would marry her immediately should Edelgard wish it. It was a tempting notion to contemplate. But a thread of worry remained. Her lover was loyal and kind, willing to set aside everything if it meant her happiness. Still, would she stare at the distant horizon with the same yearning?

Because for all the Emperor’s fretting over politics, it wasn’t the heart of her concern. Not in the least. What Edelgard most feared was not love’s decay but the blossoming of resentment. Byleth – who knew only the freedoms of a mercenary – could find the life of an Empress suffocating. Perchance she already found her days within the Empire stagnate and joyless. Once, she wandered the wilderness with her father, beholden only to herself. Those days had long since passed.

Was it unfair— cruel —to saddle her with the chains of a title and throne? Byleth would undoubtedly disagree if prodded. She might even laugh before proposing to her on principle. Yet the fear lingered, leading the Emperor to wonder what truly was the best choice. Edelgard was accustomed to denying her own wants. It was a timeworn habit, easy as breathing. However, Byleth need not make the same sacrifice.

“—for a sail, one day. But the weather… El?”

Edelgard looked up at her lover. Byleth stared at her patiently, an arm resting over the garden balustrade.

“You didn’t hear anything I said just now. Did you?” She smiled, wry and affectionate. Edelgard blinked before shielding her embarrassment with a cough.

“Forgive my lapse. The day has been long and arduous. Preparations for the coming march, wrangling the questions of the ministers… It’s been a tiring endeavor.”

“An Emperor’s work never ends.” Byleth nodded in understanding. Her eyes darted somewhere in the distance, over the sprawling works of men and towards the sloping hillside. "I’ve enjoyed the respite, but it’ll be nice to be on the road again. A pity the circumstances are so dire.”

“Do you find the city stifling?” Edelgard asked quietly. She watched, antsy, as Byleth considered the question.

“I’m not sure that’s the correct word. Perhaps unaccustomed would be more apt. Enbarr is very different from the rest of Fódlan.” That odd, wistful look painted across her features. “I just need to adjust. In the meantime, it’ll be nice to stretch our legs and breathe the northern air. We were in a hurry after the war ended, so there was no time to scour Faerghus extensively.”

“The north isn’t much different from the south. Only colder and more traditional.” Edelgard chanced a smile but it felt too artificial to maintain. She watched the smoke rise from the residential district instead. “I didn't realize you wanted to explore. Had you asked, I would have happily obliged."

“There was too much to do once the war ended. I couldn’t ask you to stay on my whim alone. Yet it matters little since we'll be returning there soon.”

“I suppose.” Edelgard gnawed on her bottom lip anxiously. “Byleth, would you mind answering a question for me?”

“Anything you wish.”

“If you could do anything, go anywhere... what would you choose?”

“Anything?” Byleth’s brows drew together with puzzlement. Her stare drifted to a nearby bush of hydrangeas as she thought. “Assuming there are no limits, any exotic location would be fine. So long as it's a place I've never been, I would be happy."

“Why?”

Cornflower blue eyes blinked at her owlishly. “Whyever not? The world is so grand and we’re so infinitesimally small. Even Fódlan is vastly unknown to me. It would be a dream to map the world and see everything it had to offer. I’ve never had any worthwhile ambitions before, never gave it any thought really, but…”

Byleth smiled, glorious and dreaded.

“I think our trip to Brigid ignited something in me. Sothis – the Goddess rather – supposedly crafted the world as we know it. Yet Brigid has their own beliefs and gods. What might other countries believe; where do they send their prayers and are they ever answered? I would like to know.”

“I didn’t think you would be so interested in theology,” Edelgard said. The words rasped out of her throat like dust. “You could go if you wanted."

“I could.” Byleth sent her a cursory look before dipping her head. She kissed the side of Edelgard’s cheek, the touch soft as a feather stroke. “Not any time soon though. For now, my place is here and I’m perfectly content with that.”

Content but not happy? It was a question the Emperor wanted to ask but didn't have the strength to voice. She burrowed herself within her lover’s arms and clutched at the firm expanse of the woman’s back. Byleth smelled of pine and earth, but beneath that was the salt of the sea. She loved to fish the Enbarr docks at dawn, and the briny odor would follow her for hours. It would fade soon when they departed for the north. Normally, Edelgard adored the scent; a wonderful reminder of life and triumph over adversity. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder, like the sea salt flecking her hair, if this too was only temporary.

* * *

Edelgard gazed at the horizon. It appeared simultaneously near and far when surrounded by water, the two intersecting into one endless tapestry. There was a certain mystery to it all. No one truly knew how far the world crawled, nor whether there was an edge to be found. She couldn’t blame Byleth for her fascination. It was that child-like wonder Edelgard found endearing. The woman wouldn’t be herself without it.

How did that old saying go? You could take a fish from the sea but it would always yearn to swim. Something to that effect. The Emperor rubbed the sleep from her eyes with a sigh. The night before had been miserable. She was well accustomed to the warmth of her lover permeating the sheets. Without her, the night hours were long and fraught with restless dreams. Edelgard didn’t know how she slept before Byleth. Yet now, it was completely unbearable.

Even more galling was the fact her beloved general had requested they sail apart. 'To gauge Catherine and Shamir's sincerity,' she had said. Whatever that meant. However, Edelgard had allowed it and boarded a different vessel as requested. The Emperor supposed it would be wise to keep some distance between the former knights and herself. Shamir was a non-issue as far as she was concerned, but Catherine was a great unknown. It had been the only sensible option. She could hardly blame her lover for recognizing the need.

But as was the nature of emotions, what the heart desired did not account for logic. Edelgard whirled from the bow and strode across the deck moodily. It wasn’t seemly for the Emperor to be seen sulking. There were more pressing concerns she could be attending to rather than stewing in solitude. Just as Edelgard was about to head below deck, she caught sight of Ingrid. The captain appeared to be lost in thought as she gazed over the open water. One hand was clutching the taffrail intensely. The concern Edelgard felt from this spurred her to approach.

“Enjoying the fair weather, Ingrid?” she asked. The Faerghian woman startled, pensive expression fleeing. Once their eyes met, she swept into a formal bow.

“Your Majesty. I didn’t realize you were up here... Forgive my inattentiveness.”

“Nonsense. You need not perpetually attend to me.” Edelgard sidled next to her. There was a brief silence as they mutually stared over the sea. The Emperor waited until the surprise had fled Ingrid’s face before speaking again. “You look well. Has your wound fully mended?”

“Yes. Lysithea and the rest made sure of it. She truly is a blessing.” Ingrid stretched out an arm, curling it in demonstration. Yet despite the warm praise, her face reflected only melancholy. “It was a miracle I only suffered a minor wound. Many were not so lucky.”

“A grave loss. I only wish I could have done more for them, but I will make sure their families are generously compensated. Tell me, how are you faring?”

“I can return to the field whenever you need. As I said, my wound is—”

“I don’t mean physically, Ingrid,” Edelgard clarified gently. She hovered a hand over her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t think I’ve been oblivious to your sorrow. There’s no shame in grieving.”

“Shame? You mistake me, Your Majesty.” Ingrid’s features crumpled. She bent over the rail, hiding her eyes. “My grief cannot compare to my guilt. I knew the possible dangers, and still, I took the greenest girls and assumed everything would be well. It was negligence and complacency at its height. I shouldn’t have…”

“You couldn't have known." The Emperor frowned. "It could have just as easily been Sylvain scouting in your stead or even Byleth. No one knew Cernunnos was already lost."

“I acted rashly; hastily. Worst of all, my mind was clouded with trivial matters. I was selfish. Plain and simple.” A ragged exhale escaped the captain’s lips before she straightened. Ingrid caught her tears with a thumb before they fell. “It won’t happen again. I refuse the possibility.”

“Don’t be so quick to burden yourself with more than you can carry. Omniscience is a trick none of us have mastered.” Edelgard hesitated. She pursed her lips as certain memories arose from the ether. “Do you recall the village of Erd?”

“I could never forget.” Ingrid stiffened, green eyes flashing. “Casualties of an isolated group’s wroth, and the assailants themselves victims of a great injustice spurred by the Western Church’s exodus. A long and terrible sequence of events.”

“Quite. However, I was the one who set them on that bloody course. I underestimated the Church’s desperation and Erd paid the price for my ignorance.” Edelgard breathed deeply, steadying herself. The scent of the ocean pushed aside the acridity of charred flesh. It faded into the past where it belonged. “Manuela told me I couldn’t take the blame for their actions, but even now I struggle. Did you think less of me when you saw the devastation?”

“Never. You made a decision you thought was for the best.”

“I did. And so did you.” She drew to her full height and held Ingrid’s somber stare. “To lead is to acknowledge fallibility and carry on despite it. Should you balk, the sacrifices of the fallen would be for naught. Honor their memory by securing the future they died for.”

“...I understand.” Ingrid looked at her oddly then; a mix of admiration and revelation. “You carry a great burden, Your Majesty. I don’t think I truly understood how much until now.”

“No more than any other Emperor.” Edelgard waved off the other woman’s assessment before halting. She quickly reconsidered her words. “Well, perhaps more than the average. Certainly on par with Wilhelm the First. It has been a great while since the continent was under one banner.”

“You need not be modest. The unification of Fódlan will echo throughout the ages. Rightfully so.” The fierce line wrinkling Ingrid’s brow smoothed as did the knot of her jaw. She appeared collected once more, marked with quiet resolve. “This campaign too will be writ in history. Rufus Blaiddyd has wounded us, but not intractably. We’ll prove it to him by retaking the border.”

“Well spoken.” The Emperor smiled, relieved. She turned her focus to the sea, ready for the conversation shift to lighter concerns when her attention was caught by a nearby galleon. Atop the deck, leaning against the starboard railing, was none other than Catherine. Much to her chagrin, the former Knight seemed to spot her as well. Catherine brandished a cloying grin and saluted mockingly. Edelgard resisted the urge to sneer. She would rather not betray how much the other woman bothered her.

“Nonetheless, some decisions will continue to needle us.” Edelgard sniffed in agitation. Ingrid blinked before her eyes roved to her fellow Faerghian in comprehension.

“It still throws me to see her alive. Of all the people we could ally with, the late Ser Catherine was never an option. Yet there she is.”

“I know the feeling.” The Emperor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m not sure what possessed me to show mercy. She’s been nothing but an obnoxious thorn. Perhaps curiosity got the better of my good sense.”

“Maybe so. I’m more shocked we found Shamir with her. There had always been rumors, but I thought them baseless. I wonder...” Ingrid trailed off as the aforementioned woman slid from the rigging. Shamir dropped beside her partner with enviable grace. Edelgard could feel the heat of Shamir’s violet stare as she observed from afar.

“Audacious of her to keep tabs on us when it should be the reverse.” She nodded curtly in the Dagdan woman’s direction. Shamir held still for a prolonged instant. Edelgard dared not blink. “They’re dedicated to each other, I’ll grant them that. Why Shamir is attracted to such a boor is anyone’s guess.”

“Well, Catherine is an impressive figure. You might think me silly for saying this, Your Majesty.” Ingrid's tone lowered. She sounded sheepish. “But a part of me is relieved by her survival. I once held Ser Catherine in high esteem. The girl who felt that way has long matured, but I’ll admit some lingering awe remains.”

“Do me a favor and never tell her that. She’ll be even more insufferable to deal with.” Edelgard reluctantly looked away from the other ship to peer at her companion. “Still, I am surprised by this. You never mentioned anything of the sort.”

“She was an enemy then. I didn’t feel it necessary to air my youthful dreams of squiring beneath a legendary knight.” The captain curled her fingers over the sun-scored rail. It was hard to define the emotions flickering in green eyes. “I thought of her as everything I wanted to be. Loyal, bold, prestigious. Most of all, fearless and beholden only to her liege. I was convinced she could teach me to be the same. Did you know I asked whether I could be her squire?”

“Let me guess. She was all too happy to let you clean her boots or polish her armor.” Edelgard rolled her eyes but paused as Ingrid only smiled.

“All she did was spar with me and question my resolve. I believe Catherine wanted me to understand what it meant to be a knight. It was very educational, just not in the way I anticipated.” Ingrid swept a lock of hair behind her ear, expression thoughtful. “The way she described knighthood was nothing like I had pictured. Her words were… bleak; pragmatic. I got the sense that behind her pride and laudable service was a woman who bore great regret. I didn’t recognize it then, but I do now.”

“Are you saying there’s more beneath that thick skull than an empty pit?” Edelgard asked, unconvinced.

“Only the possibility. Nothing more.”

“Then this will be a golden opportunity for her to prove it.” She eyed the two older women askance. They were chatting among themselves, Shamir pressed tight to her partner’s frame. Catherine laughed at something, the deep bellow echoing across the water. “However, I do share your amazement Shamir remained in Fódlan. I never imagined she would stay with the Church, nor did I foresee her saving anyone. I assumed Shamir to be a wanderer at heart.”

“She does give that impression. But I guess even wandering souls can find a reason to stay,” Ingrid commented. Something about the explanation was unsatisfying, but Edelgard couldn’t quite place why. It just seemed too lackluster considering what she knew of Shamir. Yet she seemed committed enough from the home they shared. And even if she did leave, Catherine would surely follow. Unlike her and Byleth, there was little standing in the way of their happiness. Loathsome as the impulse was, Edelgard spared a moment wishing she was just as free.

Mood souring once more, she searched the other ship for any sign of her lover. Byleth was nowhere to be found. She was likely preoccupied with prepping for the imminent assault. Port Taranis was small and not easily defensible from the sea, or so Sylvain insisted. However, that didn’t mean they could afford carelessness. It would be another day before they reached shore, and perhaps even longer before they could steal a moment for themselves.

When did I become so pathetic? Edelgard huffed, annoyed at herself. “In any case, we should be vigilant. Catherine claims she's lamed but survived the attack on her village unscathed. Many things are still far from settled between us.”

“Have no fear, Your Majesty. Regardless of my lingering respect for her, I will not allow any harm to befall you.” Ingrid bowed deeply, hand clasped over her chest. When she rose, the shadow of a roving cloud fell over her brow. “Neither shall Sreng or Rufus Blai—”

Unexpectedly, the ship lurched in a violent twist of wood and sea. Edelgard scrambled for the rail, clutching it to her chest as the planks beneath her feet groaned. Ingrid steadied her, face twisting with alarm. The Emperor was frightened the ship would tip but it eventually leveled after a brief moment.

“What was that?” she breathed out. “A rogue wave or…?”

“I’m not sure.” Ingrid snapped her head to the sky just as a flutter of wings was heard over the wind. “Your Majesty, pegasi!”

Edelgard stiffened, dread unfurling in her chest. She looked up and saw a scatter of clouds, only to realize that’s not what they were. A congregation of pegasi hovered in the distance. They appeared like a quilt of white and silver above the imperial fleet, armed to the neck in steel. A few spread their arms, a mass of writhing magic pulsing between. Valkyries. Edelgard tugged Ingrid to the planks with a piercing shout.

“Brace!”

A mere second passed before the ship lurched mightily once again. Together, the women clung to the rail and struggled to keep themselves from spiraling into the churning water. Edelgard felt the agonized tremble of their vessel as it narrowly escaped the magical blast. An icy spray doused her face, blinding her temporarily. She blinked through the sting, her heart racing with panic. Yet despite this, her mind frantically searched for a solution.

They were unarmed and at a disadvantage unless they mobilized their archers. As for their own pegasi, the animals were trapped in the hold with no simple way to free them. Edelgard clenched her jaw, riled by Rufus’ surprising cleverness. He had gambled, assuming she would try for the port foremost, and taken her unaware. Unacceptable.

Edelgard’s lip curled as she crawled to her feet. Ingrid helpfully kept her legs stable as she recovered. She stared at the looming threat, spiteful and unafraid, before analyzing the situation. Around them, other ships were being similarly besieged. Sailors and soldiers alike were tossed into the resulting waves, sinking beneath the black tide. She could spare no thought for them now. What mattered most was survival.

“Captain,” the Emperor bit out. “Muster the infantry. We'll snipe these winged curs from the heavens and feed the sharks.”

“But what of you?”

“I’ll coordinate from above deck. Hurry now, before they draw close.” Edelgard pushed Ingrid firmly towards the steps. Then, she ran for the bridge and bellowed to the helmsman and boatswain. “Steer hard to port! We’ll not give them easy prey. And get your cannoneers to their stations. I want the sky painted in lead and blood!”

* * *

There were often days Shamir wondered whether she was cursed with terrible fortune. It would explain her ability to become embroiled in matters that shouldn’t concern her; from the previous war to the current dismal events. Yet perhaps she was mistaken and it wasn’t her who attracted ill luck. Ever since the start, Catherine – the beautiful fool – had been a lightning rod for trouble. Shamir wouldn’t be surprised to learn her crest did more than sour the weather.

She took cover behind a barrel as a javelin whistled by. Reacting fast, Shamir darted up and sent three arrows in quick succession at her assailants. Two found their targets with precision, sinking into the skulls of their mounts. The enemy riders fell from the clouds to be consumed by thrashing waves. However, the last arrow glanced off benignly. In a flash, the valkyrie readied a blistering missile before hurling it towards her. Shamir had little choice other than to toss herself out of its radius.

“Shamir!” she heard Catherine shout above the din of splintering wood and metal. The Dagdan woman breathed hard, pulse heightened, but quickly regained composure as she noticed her partner. Catherine was standing above her prone body, an imperial shield arched over them protectively. Steam emanated from its burnished surface. Gnashing her teeth, Catherine tossed a javelin. It cut through the air before finding savage purchase within the valkyrie’s chest. The corpse fell without ceremony, leaving its mount to escape in a panicked flutter.

“Ha… Close one, that. Almost like old times, eh?” Catherine laughed breathlessly. She helped Shamir climb to her feet, blue eyes aglow with familiar fire. “You, picking off the unwary. And me, saving you from certain doom.”

“More like the other way around.” Shamir pushed against her partner’s chest, forcing her to duck. An arrow sank within the ship wall, just a foot from her head. Catherine blinked. Without pause or comment, Shamir sniped the offender deftly. “There. Now you can feel properly nostalgic.”

“You and your semantics.” Catherine knelt to root through a nearby body. It was their helmsman by the looks of him, undoubtedly killed amidst the panic. “Fucking nothing. You would think he’d have some vulneraries at least. Can’t the Empire supply their men?”

“I doubt any of them expected to be accosted by hostile pegasi,” Shamir said. She kept a keen eye on the clouds. “Rufus is savvier than I assumed. He must have sent them after his men encountered Galatea. It’ll be for naught. They can’t expect to sink the entire fleet.”

“Yeah? Well, they’re sure as hell giving it an earnest try.” Catherine scowled, placing her fist on the wall as the boat rocked beneath them. In the distance, the shrill hiss of magical discharge continued. “We need to commandeer this ship and head for shore. I’m not eager to get blown to pieces by flying rats.”

“Byleth is in charge of this ship. She won’t let us flee.” Shamir looked around briefly, taking in their present situation. For now, the fliers appeared preoccupied with the rest of the fleet. One of them in particular appeared to be the focus of their assault. Shamir narrowed her eyes, recognizing it as the flagship Edelgard occupied. Suddenly, it became all too obvious what the true purpose of this attack was. “We need to find her. She must be near the stern.”

“Must we?” Catherine huffed displeased. She changed her tune quickly enough once Shamir glared at her. “Fine, fine! We’ll find her. Can’t be too hard with that rat’s nest she calls a haircut.”

Then, as if in response to the catty commentary, something large and massive fell to the planks. A pegasus groaned once before falling still atop its deceased rider. Reflexively, Shamir looked above. Her gaze hooked on the panting form of Adrestia’s High General. Byleth descended from the rigging gingerly, uniform askew and sweat adorning her collar.

“Shamir. Catherine.” The woman took a moment to look them over before nodding, sheathing her sword. “Terrible weather at the moment. One is never prepared for a storm of steel and magic. I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So are we.” Catherine snorted. “Why were you fooling around up there anyway?”

“Untangling the mizzen lines. We need them to completely unfurl the sails. Speed will be our grace here if we want to live.”

“Huh… Surprised you know anything about sailing.”

“Oh, it’s a lovely story really. You see the Emperor commissioned a ship—”

“Skip the pleasantries,” Shamir interjected curtly. She gestured towards the Emperor’s flagship currently fleeing from its pursuers. “Edelgard needs us. They’re targeting her fast and hard. I’m sure felling her here was the entire point of this attack.”

“El…” In an instant, the bland expression Byleth wore twisted. Her features sharpened with somber intensity. Then she ran up to the navigation deck and took the helm in a white-knuckled grip. “Shamir, I need you in the nest as we move in. We’ll not let them harass the Emperor any longer. Catherine, how skilled are you at archery?”

“Better than you, I wager,” Shamir heard her partner snap. Byleth either didn’t recognize the jibe or ignored it. She spun the wheel to starboard, heading for the fleeing flagship.

“Good. Direct the crew to their posts, then grab a bow and take point. You’ll need to cover Shamir as she clears the sky. Can you do that?”

“She’s my partner, Eisner. Don’t be a fool.” Catherine traded a quick look with the Dagdan woman. “I would die before I let her fall. If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that.”

“Encouraging.” Byleth seemed to dismiss them both as her stare fixed on the water. Though she hid it well, Shamir could feel the agitation roiling beneath her skin. Her jaw was bunched, back rigid and straight. It was the most affected she had ever seen the woman. “Consider this your first test. Should you fail, I’ll not hesitate to cut you down.”

Catherine glared but deferred any objections in favor of hurrying across the quarterdeck. Shamir eyed the general for a moment before ascending, headed for the crow’s nest. She knew better than to be skeptical of the threat, despite how placidly it had been given. Byleth, like her, was not a person who spoke frivolously. Should Edelgard perish, Shamir suspected nothing would sate the general’s wrath.

* * *

“ Haul out the stunsails! Heed the rocks to starboard! ”

The boatswain’s orders rang in the Emperor’s ears, but she barely paid them mind. She stared intently at the pegasi giving chase, heart beating hard in her ears. The crew was working hard to evade the projectiles launched in their path, but they could only do so much. If this continued, Edelgard feared sinking was inevitable. For now, cannon fire kept them at bay as did their archers.

“Brace up aft! Haul out the spanker! ”

Yet for every pursuer they felled, another took their place. It was all too evident what their goals were. Rufus had loosed them on her to stop her here and now. Ingrid was coordinating their archers vigilantly, but their shots went askew as the ship frequently changed course.

Could they do nothing? Edelgard clawed at the railing, disdaining how helpless she felt. Below, Sylvain assisted the cannoneers, frantic to shake off the pegasi. So far, nothing had culled them. The Emperor pushed away, pacing along the stern. Her thoughts were as turbulent as the sea. They couldn’t just avoid them forever. But what other options did they have? She had commanded countless battles, yet none were ever in open waters. Her inexperience was crippling.

“Away with you beasts!” Lysithea’s voice rose above the howling wind. Edelgard cut her eyes to the younger woman just as she fired a salvo of miasma. The dark mass barely lapped at the sky before dissipating. “Ugh…”

“Save your strength, Lysithea," Edelgard commanded. "They’re moving too fast and while your magic is great, I suspect it would do little against them.”

“Are you saying I should ignore them?!”

“I’m merely stating a fact. Anything we do will be countered, whether by ward or simple evasion.”

“They’re still made of flesh and blood.” Lysithea’s lips pursed. "But you’re right. Even if they were unprotected, my magic can’t reach from here.”

Edelgard cut her eyes to the sky, silently agreeing. While powerful, dark magic was sadly limited in its applications. Wind would serve them well, but again, any wards would prove troublesome. Rufus had seemingly accounted for any contingency. The man was a crafty pest; she’d give him that much. In her periphery, she saw a nearby mage ready a crackling bolt. Yet they were woefully cut short by a javelin, magic discharging across the water in hissing sparks. A stray bolt arced close to a pegasus’ wings.

Like lightning during a storm… A plan clicked together with furious excitement.

“Lysithea, gather the mages and cast thunder on the waves.”

“What?” The adviser paled, aghast. “Are you mad? The magic will conduct in every direction. It might strike them down sure, but it could just as easily turn against us.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t.” Edelgard stared at her levelly. “We’re at a disadvantage, but so are they. They’re wreathed in metal while we’re insulated by wood. As far as odds go, I’m willing to place them in our favor.”

“I wish I didn’t find sense in that argument.” With a lengthy exhale, Lysithea scampered towards her fellow mages. “If this ends in our demise, I’ll be very cross with you. Just remember that!”

Truthfully, Edelgard wasn’t quite as confident in the gambit as she portrayed. However, they had run out of alternatives. It was either this or waiting for a slow demise. And impatience was a vice she admitted to readily. She held her breath as the gathering of mages prepared to cast. Sparks flew from their fingertips and spread chaotically in the air – nature’s power weaponized for war. Then, in unison, they sent the magic spiraling across the sea. It undulated, hovering like a cloud, before sparking into chaos.

Edelgard shielded her eyes as a cacophony of white lightning arced in every direction. It danced along the waves like the teeth of an invisible beast before devouring the hostile pegasi. She shut her eyes, blinded by the lights. The sheer power raised the hairs on her nape and thickened the air with its weight. For a terrifying moment, Edelgard feared the magic would claim them as well. Yet it abated after a breathless pause.

The smell of burnt flesh and ozone choked her briefly before she regained her composure. Edelgard lowered her arms and saw countless bodies sinking into the depths. A few fliers had escaped the tumult, but they kept a wary distance. The Emperor took a moment to catch her breath, relieved. It had worked. Regrettably, she wasn’t allowed to enjoy the triumph for long. The pegasi appeared to grow wise to her plan and remained at an elevated distance. She tensed as they concentrated, the incandescence of their magic eclipsing the sun.

And then, as if summoned by sheer force of will, a flurry of arrows struck the valkyries. They scattered, most dropping from their lofty perch. Another ship careened into view, a galleon with a dark-haired figure standing atop the mainmast. Edelgard squinted, easily recognizing Shamir. She didn't know how to feel about this turn of events but decided gratitude was sufficient. At least it wasn’t Catherine. The woman would milk the incident for all it was worth. When the smaller ship drew near, she spotted Byleth manning the helm and smiled.

The Emperor raised her arm to hail them but stopped short. A searing light had appeared in the sky, originating from directly above. It seemed a few had escaped the barrage and set their sights upon her. She stepped backward instinctively, but there was no avoiding what came next. A beam of concentrated magic lanced downward.

Edelgard yelled for the helmsman to turn, yet the ship could not avoid it entirely. The magic carved a significant train into the flagship’s starboard edge, causing the vessel to heave from the force. The deck turned from beneath her heels and the Emperor slid against the railing. She tried to anchor herself, but an ensuing wave of water washed her from the planks. It was bitingly cold and dark as tar. She couldn’t make sense of what was up or down, panic consuming her as she slowly sank deeper.

Edelgard flailed her arms and legs in an effort, but it proved in vain. Her lungs already burned with the need for air and she clawed at the water. The armored dress she wore hindered her movements, only serving to hasten her descent. She tried to free herself from the garment, yet its removal would do little to save her now. Only a strong swimmer could propel themselves to the surface, and she had never learned.

Was this how she would meet her end? Alone, lost to a watery grave?

And the dark… the cold, deep dark...

She closed her eyes, chest throbbing painfully as she struggled to not inhale. Her lungs felt as if they would burst within moments. It seemed like an eternity had passed before she felt something curling around her waist. A sudden jerk swiftly ensued, accompanied by the dizzying sensation of being hurtled through the sea. And then, her head broke the surface. She gasped frantically, drawing in as much air as possible. Edelgard shook her soaked head, blinking past the salt water and black spots in her vision.

“You’re safe now,” Byleth’s voice rasped in her ear. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

She believed her. Blearily, Edelgard registered her lover’s strong arms around her frame. A rope was coiled around Byleth’s arm and torso, slowly dragging them to the other ship. Her heart calmed its manic pace as the terror slowly drained away. She was safe now. The darkness would not take her. A few moments later and the two women were hauled to the deck. Edelgard rested against the wood for a time, enjoying the comforting solidity. Then she looked up and met Catherine’s hard stare.

The former Knight was clutching the rope with both hands. It was evident she was the one who dragged them aboard. Her eyes were icy, just like the ocean the Emperor had nearly been consumed by. Edelgard stilled, unsure what the woman could be thinking. Catherine retreated after a pause, and she breathed a bit easier. She felt Byleth place a chilled hand atop her brow. Edelgard shivered.

“El, are you well? Should I get anything?”

“She needs warmth. A fire, preferably.” Shamir’s boots hit the deck, firm and sure. “Both of you do. Waters like this can mean certain death.”

“I’m f-fine.” Edelgard grimaced, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “The valkyries. Where…?"

“Dead. Most of them are.”

“Most?” She raised her head in time to see Shamir shrug.

“A few survived, but they’re keeping their distance. Your little trick frightened them.”

“Seems like their commander called them off,” Catherine interjected. She strode behind her partner, arms crossed casually. Catherine motioned towards the clouds with her chin. “See there? The bitch is just watching us. She seemed the type to order rather than act.”

“D-Do you know her?” Edelgard climbed to her feet with Byleth’s assistance. She bit back a wince as her joints creaked from the cold. Catherine seemed to take her measure for a time before answering.

“She was the one who informed Rufus of my whereabouts. Even from afar, I can tell it’s the same person.”

As the Emperor processed this information, she suddenly heard the patter of feet across the planks.

“Your Majesty!”

Lysithea bounded across the gangplank, Sylvain and Ingrid on her heels. They must have pulled the flagship alongside the galleon. Edelgard blinked as Lysithea seized her arms before analyzing her person. The younger woman was paler than usual, features drawn with fright.

“Oh, thank goodness... You have no idea how panicked we all were. That was far too close for my liking.” Her hands alighted with faith magic. It brought forth a rush of heat that Edelgard savored greedily.

“I second that," Sylvain commented quickly. He scratched his head in amazement. “Their magic should have done more than give you a spill overboard – missed you only by a hair. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Right, Ingrid?”

“Yes.” A gust of air escaped from the captain’s chest. Ingrid smiled tremulously. “When you went beneath the water… I scarcely knew how to react. I nearly dove in after you, but Byleth was quicker. The Goddess has blessed you both this day.”

“Nonsense. It’ll take more than that to kill me.” Though she kept her words from shaking apart, Edelgard could not say the same for her body. Even despite the brief flash of heat from Lysithea’s magic and the warm press of Byleth’s body, the chill was incessant. It muddled her already strained wits.

“A small but welcome mercy.” Lysithea leaned away, squinting darkly at the distant pegasi. “...They’ve retreated. It seems our cleverness keeps them from pressing onward. What should we do?”

“I say we continue to Taranis. We’ve proven they won’t get the better of us and they’re down to only a handful of men.” Sylvain thumped his chest with pride. “Our furthest ships have taken guard and formed an impregnable line. If they press on, they won’t stand a chance.”

“We should go ashore. The flagship is in dire need of repair as are many others in the fleet.” Byleth’s arm curled tighter around Edelgard’s waist. “We can’t risk further harm to Her Majesty. For now, we should cease fire and begin mending the damage."

The Emperor nearly objected to this assertion, loathe to admit to any weakness. Yet the condition of her body couldn’t be denied. Winter was a feared season for a reason and the salt-water was barely warmer than ice. As it was, she was barely holding herself together.

“But if we do that, we’ll be vulnerable,” Sylvain argued. “Rufus must know where we’re headed. We can’t just sit on our hands as he gathers strength.”

“I agree with the General,” Ingrid spoke abruptly. She glanced at Sylvain, but Edelgard did not miss the distant quality of her gaze. Then, she avoided Sylvain’s prying stare in favor of the idle pegasi. They stayed where they were for a moment longer before dipping higher into the clouds – finally retreating at last. “They’ll fly faster than we can sail. It’ll only take them a handful of hours while it takes us the rest of the night. As I see it, the point has long been rendered moot.”

“I… Damn it. You make a fine point.” Sylvain’s confidence drained, leaving him slouched and haggard. “Is there no way to regain the advantage?"

“Simple. All we need to do is rid the sky of these ne'er-do-wells before they can report to Blaiddyd.” Lysithea widened her stance, fingers sparking. “We can chase them away with renewed cannon-fire and gather our archers for one last—”

“No!”

Edelgard flinched at the outburst, but it was who said it that stunned her most. Ingrid appeared just as thrown by what tore from her lips. She swallowed thickly, stare darting across the gathering.

“There’s no need. We shouldn’t risk further damage to our ships or numbers. Her Majesty needs time to recover as well.” A green stare blinked rapidly at the heavens before falling to the planks. “They’re already departing. No sense in chasing an enemy quitting the field. No honor in it either.”

The Emperor thought she heard Catherine scoff somewhere behind her, but she wasn't quite sure. Admittedly, her thoughts were no longer on strategy. Instead, they were directed purely on the cold numbing her limbs. She tried to covertly rub the warmth back into her arms.

“Then it's settled. We bed down on the shore and rest.” Edelgard cleared her throat, hoping they couldn’t hear the faint tremor of her tongue. “Not quite how I imagined our arrival in Sreng to go, but there’s nothing to be done.”

“Indeed. Now that we’re in accord, I have something to take care of.” In an unexpected sweep, Byleth stole the legs out from under her liege. Then she spirited her away below deck, hold solid as steel. The Emperor balked, but her skin was too chilled to flush. She settled for pulling on Byleth’s hair.

“Unhand me! I’m perfectly able to walk.”

“Perhaps, but a general must serve her Emperor. Hubert was quite thorough in his expectations for me.”

“I doubt he covered this exact scenario,” Edelgard groused. She kept up the pretense of fussing, steadfastly refusing to peer at the others. It was undignified for an Emperor to be seen in such a manner. However, she couldn’t ignore the pleasant heat of Byleth’s arms. Edelgard shut her eyes, intending to rest them briefly. Perchance, even if only for a time, she could allow herself to unravel. They were all alive and well, after all. The danger had passed, the enemy long gone. And her body just felt so heavy. Cold and leaden...

“Stay awake, El.” she heard Byleth say. “Don’t drift away. Hold on, just for a bit.”

Edelgard didn’t know why such a thing would be important. Shouldn’t her body sleep after such a stressful event? Yet she obeyed as best she could, choosing to stare up at Byleth’s face instead. The water had stained her hair darker, slicking the strands with a fine sheen. She looked like something from the old tales; a creature of the sea stealing her away, never to be seen again. Edelgard found the idea strangely compelling. She placed the back of her hand against Byleth’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she said. “For… saving me.”

Blue eyes blinked before hooding. The grip securing her tightened.

“Always, El. Always.”

* * *

The simple joy of a hot bath could not be understated. When one is doused in miserably cold water, that happiness increased exponentially. Edelgard sighed as she sank against the tub wall. The wood was warm and sturdy against her back; a far cry from the abyss she had nearly drowned within. It was a shame the tub was too small for Byleth to join her.

“Are you sure you wish to wait?” Edelgard called to the older woman. Byleth had stripped them both from their sodden clothes, but she must have been freezing. As the general bustled about the cabin, Edelgard eyed her in concern. Her lover’s complexion was blanched, but she otherwise did not betray any discomfort. That meant very little, however. “We can have another tub brought in. You need not suffer for my sake.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m mostly dry and warm.”

“Byleth, you were in that freezing water alongside me. I know how unbearably cold it was. A scant hour can’t be enough time to recover.”

“Perhaps.” Byleth busied herself with a kettle, preparing a setting for two. It was obvious she did not intend to listen, much to the Emperor’s chagrin. “You were in far longer than I. And my constitution has always been rather robust. My father’s doing, I suspect. However, I haven’t noticed the same for you.”

“Are you suggesting I’m delicate?”

“Not exactly.” Byleth smiled but it was small and vanished fast. She continued to prepare the tea without looking at Edelgard. “Only that your health is more important than mine. I guarantee you everyone on this ship would agree.”

“Hardly everyone. I can think of at least one person here who might happily see me dead.” Edelgard scoffed. She cupped a handful of water before splashing her face. So engrossed with the warmth provided, she was barely aware of Byleth’s close proximity.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Catherine did assist us without complaint.” The older woman leaned against the tub lip, two wooden cups in hand. “From what I’ve observed, she deems Rufus’ demise a worthier goal—enough for her to set aside any former animosity. If nothing else, she’ll wait until he’s dealt with.”

“I’ll take your word for it. It's small comfort to know she's hungrier for his death than mine. But comforting nonetheless.” Edelgard dunked her head, trying to scrub out the sea. Once she surfaced, Byleth handed her one of the cups. She clasped it gratefully and took a long sip. “My favorite. You're spoiling me tonight."

“More of an apology, if I’m honest.” Byleth fell quiet. For the first time that eve, Edelgard took note of the tight pinch of her brow. Her eyes were dark and direct. “...I nearly didn’t see you. There was so much smoke and light. It was nothing more than an impulse to scan the water; only a brief flash of red before you were swallowed whole. Had I not—”

“But you did,” Edelgard cut in. “Don’t think for a moment there was anything either of us could have done. Rufus slowed us, as was his intent, but we’ll show him the folly of standing against me.”

“I know. Yet a part of me refuses to forget the momentary emptiness I felt. I can’t stomach a world where you die and I live on.” Byleth sidled near and embraced the smaller woman from behind. Her clasp was as firm as it had been in the roiling ocean. Edelgard stilled, hearing her lover take a shuddering breath. “You were the one who brought me to life. Because of you, I became more person than tool. More woman than beast. What would I do without you? What would I become?”

“Byleth, you would be fine. Everyone—”

“They are not you.” She felt the curve of a frown against her nape. “Had this been it— If I had been too late and you drowned… I shudder to think of my reaction. I fear I would not be content with mere victory.”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard tried to turn within the woman’s arms, yet Byleth wouldn’t allow it. Her grip wasn’t quite painful, but the press of her fingers remained insistent.

“Savagery would not be beyond me. Although I maintain civility, it isn’t what I was born from. Warfare was the teat I grew upon and blood my milk. I would make sure Blaiddyd knew what that meant. And if this country served him, so would they.”

“You wouldn’t be cruel. I know you.”

“I fear I wouldn’t recognize the difference.” Long fingers traced her collarbone, slow and contemplative. “These aren’t the sweet nothings you deserve. My apologies.”

“I would rather hear your honesty than honeyed lies. I get enough of those from the court.” Edelgard stole Byleth’s hand and kissed her palm. “I’ve told you before, haven’t I? You don’t need to shield yourself from me. Even the grislier details are ones I treasure.”

“So do I. We’re quite the pair.” Byleth placed her lips to a fluttering pulse. Her hand trailed downward before resting over a steadily beating heart. Edelgard enjoyed her touch. This wasn’t quite the quiet moment she had sought, but welcome regardless. “I didn’t understand the Archbishop before. Even after reading her private notes, many things confused me. But I could see in her words a great pain. When I think of losing you, I can understand her a little better.”

“I prefer not to think about her reasons. Sympathizing with a monster like Rhea leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Edelgard heard Byleth hum before loosening her hold. She kissed the crown of her head and retreated to the bed. “One day, I would like to take you sailing without the context of war. We can bask in warm waters, and I can teach you to swim.”

“As we did in Brigid?”

“Perhaps there or somewhere like it. Doesn’t matter where so long as we’re together.” Byleth sighed and it was a heavy thing that caved her chest. She looked painfully strained suddenly. “Still, I know that won’t come to pass just yet. Matters in the Empire won’t be settled for some time. But it’ll be something to look forward to.”

“Yes…” Edelgard averted her eyes to the water. Guilt burned in her throat and belly like a fire. She rose from the tub, unable to bear the heat suddenly. “I’m done. The tub is yours.”

Edelgard strode to the vanity where Byleth had folded her fresh garments. She touched them, all too aware of how much love was put into the simple act. As with everything, Byleth had placed her well-being above hers. As Emperor, was she capable of doing the same? The answer, she knew, couldn’t be anything other than no. Her life and subsequent death would affect countless, while Byleth's only a personal few. Edelgard had never considered the inequality of that before.

Nothing would solve this neatly. She picked up the ring Byleth had given her. She had taken to wearing it on her left hand; an iron-clad promise for the lack of a ceremony. Edelgard slid it on her right. It didn’t feel earned at the moment. Maybe when she could return Byleth’s dedication in full…

Edelgard breathed in deeply, forcing herself to let go of her prior yearning. A choice had been made and she would not stray from it now.

* * *

Ingrid stalked the main deck, pacing its length with clipped steps. She eyed the sky, yet the hostile pegasi didn’t reappear. The sky was cloudless that night; the moon full and bright. It hid nothing save for an endless blanket of stars. She remained alert nonetheless. Her fingers wrapped around Lúin anxiously. The heavy clank of armored steps sounded from behind her.

“Come on, Ingrid. You should get some rest,” Sylvain said gently. She paid him no heed.

“I can’t. Someone needs to keep watch.”

“And there's plenty of other ships who are. Look, we're safely anchored behind some rocks. Even if they do spot us, they'll have a ready fleet to contend with. They won't take us unaware twice."

“I would prefer to stay awake.”

“Ingrid—”

“I don’t have time for you, Sylvain,” she snapped. Regret flooded her instantly as Ingrid noticed his hurt expression. “I… I’m sorry. Just leave me be, please. I would like time to think.”

“Right.” He stared at her hesitantly. “If something is bothering you, just know you can tell me. I haven't been the most trustworthy friend, but I wouldn't do anything to harm you.”

“I know. I do.” Ingrid swallowed, uncomfortable. She turned her back to him. “I’ll go to bed in a bit. I promise. Good night, Sylvain.”

There was a prolonged silence between them before the sound of his steps returned. They faded after a time, and Ingrid released the breath she had been holding. She had feared he might press the matter. Her friend could be infuriatingly persistent, as many women could attest. A flicker of guilt accompanied the thought. Sylvain was only worried for her. He did not deserve her venom. Ingrid looked at the sky once more.

“Well, that was painful," an unexpected voice chimed in. Ingrid flinched, whirling to face her unexpected audience. Ser Catherine leaned against the starboard railing, her distinctive frame clad in shadow. She didn't look up to mischief, but her sudden appearance was disturbing. Had she been spying on them? As if sensing her line of thought, the older woman laughed.

“Relax. I just came from the galley and wanted to stretch my legs.” Catherine straightened before swaggering closer. A bemused grin sat upon her lips. “Then I saw my would-be squire wearing a hole in the planks. Something nagging at you?”

“If I wouldn’t tell Sylvain, what makes you think I’d confide in you?” Ingrid crossed her arms. Lingering reverence aside, she was the Emperor’s soldier foremost. Until Catherine proved otherwise, she could only be regarded as an enemy. Perhaps a begrudging collaborator at most.

“I don’t know. Womanly solidarity?” Catherine shrugged. “Shamir’s better at this than I am. Doesn’t look it, but she can turn a pretty phrase occasionally. My idea of comfort is just drinking until you don’t remember.”

“I’m not sure that’s the sort of help I need.” Ingrid sighed raggedly. Yet despite the dismissal, she found herself wondering if Catherine could help her. Even if just a little. She glanced at the moon. Momentarily, she envied its solitary nature aloft the heavens. “Catherine… how did you settle things with your family?”

“My family?” The former Knight frowned, clearly taken aback. “That’s an odd question. But the truth is, I didn’t. For years, I avoided them as best I could. Tried my hardest to never step foot in Charon again.”

“Were you happy with that?”

“No, but I didn’t care. My service wasn’t about happiness or whatever my family thought.” An odd emotion colored Catherine’s face. It could have been shame or regret, but Ingrid wasn’t sure. “Is your old man still harassing you? Audacious of him. But also miserably pointless considering the Emperor’s reforms. I would ignore him.”

“He’s only a part of it.” Ingrid shook her head. She shouldn’t be humoring Catherine like this, but she found the older woman oddly easy to talk to. Perhaps it was because she reminded her of…

It had only been a glimpse, a shimmering reflection within the water. Ingrid raised her hand, ready to command a volley to be shot above. But then she stilled, recognizing the grey flank of the pegasus. The rider was clad in blue and silver, hair fair as her own. The woman did not share her indecision. A brief exchange passed between her and the valkyries to her back. Then, a vicious light carved into the ocean.

Her hesitation had nearly resulted in the Emperor’s death. Ingrid would never forgive herself for her carelessness, nor could she ever reveal the truth. And yet a part of her was certain it had been a mistake; a trick of the light or the haze of battle. But what if it wasn’t? What if she was proven right and the person was who she assumed? She met Catherine’s inquisitive gaze.

“How do you decide what’s most important between personal responsibility and family?”

Catherine seemed to consider the words briefly. “I suppose whatever holds the most weight on your conscience. To me, it wasn't a choice I had to think about. It was either dying with honor or living with shame. I chose the latter, yet I'm not sure if either can be recommended. But it’s an inherently self-aggrandizing issue, right?”

“What do you mean?” Ingrid blinked, confused. Catherine waved a hand dismissively.

“You’ll understand when you live a little more. For now, don’t sweat over the inconsequential. If you’re dead, none of it will matter anyway.”

There was truth to that, admittedly. Ingrid relaxed her grip on Lúin, but could not quite put her worries to bed. For her, the divide between personal desires and duty to her family was a constant struggle. Ingrid had chosen the Empire to find a better path for herself, yet the selfishness of it went against everything she had been raised to believe. And now… another hurdle had appeared. In the past war, she had not been forced to raise arms against kin. It seemed this time she would not be so fortunate.

Next Chapter: The Broken Shore

Chapter Text

Below the earth, beyond the sun’s reach, there was only the dark. An endless and cold nothing, as formless as it was encompassing. However, within the nothing was them. Sharp knives like fangs, hungry to devour what little flesh she offered. Ever carving, ever taking. Forever inescapable.

She was not allowed to see the others; her family. Were they still waiting for her? Were they just as trapped in this impenetrable void? She knew nothing. There was only the dark. And occasionally... there was him. A familiar face to cling to, but the eyes were wrong. Reptilian and awful in its regard. He looked at her like an animal to observe, filled with dark curiosity. She could not understand what he wanted, did not fathom his purpose.

But he was all she had of the world above. The only reminder there was something beyond the cold cell in which she resided. His face was a pleasant memory from before, even twisted now with alien emotion. He did not approach in these small moments — only watched with snake eyes and unnerving stillness. She hated him with every breath, but there was also a sickening comfort. If he was alone, that meant a reprieve from the pain. A lapse in suffering from invasive cuts and distant, screaming echoes.

He was her anchor within the choking dark. A brief pause in the drowning terror, but enough to keep her sane. Yet inevitably, he would leave, and she was thrown back into isolation. She huddled into herself, gnawing on the cracked skin of her lips. The dark pressed upon her like stone, and as the hours passed she felt it constricting her chest. Because this was her grave. And she would die here, frozen and alone.

Never to see the light of dawn again.

When Edelgard woke, she found herself curled against the firm planes of their storage chest. From the looks of it, she had huddled into the tent's corner, sheets tangled through her legs. She rose, neck stiff and heart pounding unevenly. It had been a long while since she dreamt of those days. Was it the cold climate that inspired such terrors? Or her harrowing dip into the sea? She shook her head, not wishing for those thoughts to linger.

“I tried to wake you.” Byleth’s voice broke the silence. Edelgard looked up, spotting her lover grinding the edge of her blade. Byleth stared at her carefully, brow pinched with tension. “However, you flailed whenever I got near. I called your name, but I don’t think you heard.”

“No… I didn’t.” She hadn’t heard anything. But of course, that was the oppressive nature of darkness. Edelgard inhaled until her lungs burned from the strain. The pain cleared her mind and steadied her shaking hands. “What time is it?”

“The cusp of dawn. The sun has yet to rouse, along with everyone else.” Byleth peered at her a moment longer. Her gaze was dark with unknown thoughts. “What did you dream of?”

“I can’t fully recall,” Edelgard hedged. She disentangled herself from the sheets. “Stress tends to dredge up unpleasant memories. Perhaps I dreamt of the war. I suffered countless nightmares during those years.”

“I wish I could have been there for you. Realizing you all grew up without me was a bitter piece to swallow.” Byleth drew a rag across the sword’s edge, features pensive. The intensity of her gaze did not lessen. "Are you sure you dreamt of the war?”

“What else could it have been?” Edelgard responded sharply. They held each other’s eyes, neither submitting. It reminded the Emperor of the board games they played at the academy. Byleth was a clever player as she recalled—measured at first, but quick to catch weakness. Just like then, Edelgard could feel the woman searching her features. After a tense pause, Byleth averted her stare.

“You’re right. My mistake, El.” She finished cleaning the sword and set it aside. When Byleth looked up again, her lips had pulled into a smile. “It’s not my place to pry. I won’t ask again.”

“No, it is your place… I didn’t mean to be curt with you.” The Emperor sighed, chagrined by her own sensitivity. “I love that you fret over me. It shows me how much you care. I suppose I’m just uncomfortable baring my vulnerabilities.”

“I would never judge you. For anything,” Byleth avowed. She knelt atop their bedding, movements slow. She did not reach for the younger woman, granting her ample space. Edelgard’s conviction waned at the gesture.

“In my heart, I know this to be true. It’s my head I have trouble convincing. Unfortunately, I’m not yet accustomed to people who care to understand my fears, rather than abuse them.” She held up her hands to the light. The silvery scars winding across her skin were a cruel reminder of the past. Edelgard traced the deepest of them with her index—a half-moon curve, slicing deep into the palm.

“I dreamt of the endless dark. Not death, for death would be kinder. I speak of icy cells and malevolent purpose; chains rasping against my bones and suffocating solitude. As I drifted below the water, I was reminded of that primal fear. The long, horrific nothing before they might return.” Edelgard shuddered, despising her instinctual reaction. “I hate that it affects me so deeply still. I should be beyond this. Beyond them.”

“You suffered for years, experiencing the same terror without any promise of an end. I would be more concerned if you claimed indifference.” Byleth leaned forward, taking pale fingers between her own. She kissed the Emperor’s palm reverently. “They can’t reach you here. I won’t allow it.”

“When you say such things, I almost believe you.” Edelgard cupped her lover’s cheek. But I know better, she wanted to say. A time will arrive when they come for me. Perhaps they’ve already begun. Instead, the Emperor swept her thumb along Byleth’s jaw before retreating. “We should get dressed. There are still several preparations to complete before we assault Taranis.”

“I don’t think the army will mind if you rest a bit more. We’ll need the morning light to take stock of our ships.”

“While true, I don’t think I can sleep even if I tried.” She stood, rubbing the raised lines along her wrists. The marks burned, as if fresh, within the cold air. Her ministrations ceased as Byleth tugged her onto the cot. “...What do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving you the comfort and rest you refuse to ask for.” Byleth’s chest pressed flush against her back, arms draping around the Emperor’s middle. “It wouldn't be prudent for our beloved liege to collapse from exhaustion. Hubert would be beside himself.”

“On the contrary, I feel quite rested.”

“The bags beneath your eyes beg to differ.”

Edelgard’s jaw dropped, stunned by her lover’s gall. She struggled to find the response before conceding with a huff. “You've become too cheeky lately. What happened to my beloved teacher who agreed with everything I said?"

“She learned your angry face is just as fetching as your happy one.” Byleth fell backward, dragging Edelgard with her. She swiftly settled the sheet around their legs before holding the smaller woman tight. “A few more hours won’t hurt us. Close your eyes and dream of the coming dawn.”

“That sounds counterproductive. Why should I dream of something I can easily see when awake?”

“That’s an excellent question. Answer me this, why should anyone dream at all?” Edelgard could not see Byleth’s face from her current position, but she could hear the smile in her voice. “The best kind of dreams are those we know will come true. When you think of it that way, the certainty of dawn is rather comforting.”

“Careful, Professor Eisner,” Edelgard commented wryly. “You sound awfully close to a lecture.”

“Well, you always were my stubbornest student. If I don’t say it firmly enough, you might never believe me.” Byleth chuckled beside her ear. The warmth of her breath drove away the persistent chill. Despite her lingering doubt, Edelgard found herself humoring the older woman. She closed her eyes, breaths falling into pace with Byleth’s. Suddenly, the weariness she refrained from acknowledging returned with a vengeance. Her body felt heavy, yet more pleasantly than before. Neither chained nor drowning; merely adrift.

“Perhaps just an hour. No more,” she said in a whisper. She felt something touch her brow, soft and gentle like butterfly wings.

“Of course, El…”

* * *

Of all the fates Catherine had imagined for herself, swinging a hammer for the Empire was not one of them. Perhaps in pursuit of bludgeoning a hapless imperial, but not in servitude. She remained undecided whether to begrudge this turn of events. The smith stoked the meager fire provided. They had cobbled together a workspace for her hastily, barely granting the necessities. Though not alone in her work, she appeared to be the only smith they purposefully kept under-supplied. She eyed the chisel of a fellow craftsman from afar.

Catherine didn’t understand the point. If she wanted anyone dead, they would be. Did they honestly believe she wasn’t capable of harm with her bare hands? She had beaten many slack-jawed idiots without smithing tools of all things. Catherine grunted unhappily, concentrating on flattening a mound of steel. The metal had noticeably less give than iron, but at least she could vent her frustrations without ruining the material. The crunch of snow underfoot halted her hammer.

“We need a crate of arrowheads, and two for horseshoes posthaste.” Lysithea unraveled a scroll of parchment. She laid it flat across the smith’s workbench, baring delicate lines of ink. The younger woman’s jaw was set stubbornly as she spoke, tone not brokering exception. “When you’re finished, continue down the list. I’ll be checking on you periodically so don’t try anything funny.”

“I'm not of a mind to run if that's your concern. Dying in a frozen wasteland holds little appeal.” Catherine stretched out her arms, referring to their barren surroundings. The imperial army had mostly vacated the fleet for repairs, stationing themselves along the inhospitable ice and volcanic rock of Sreng's shore. With the ever-present snowfall, an unbroken quilt of white stretched into the horizon. “Nothing but death out here. Don’t worry, should I go mad from frostbite I’ll just leap into the nearest furnace.”

“Hmph. Your assurance is dubious at best. But I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Lysithea sniffed, nose pointed high. “Don’t go wandering around camp. Should you need anything, have it brought to my attention. Her Majesty is far too preoccupied to trifle with you.”

“I’ll try to remember,” Catherine said with a snort. She leaned against the bench, eyeing the younger woman sidelong. “Why are you playing my minder today? Is the esteemed General Byleth too busy warming the Emperor’s bedroll?”

“Don’t be so crass!” Lysithea bristled, small shoulders rising with the ruff of her scarf. She looked akin to a cat rubbed the wrong way. "With a battle to be won and soldiers to gather, both are hard at work making sure everything runs smoothly. Taranis won’t be a simple undertaking considering the circumstances.”

“Rufus might have some tricks up his sleeve, but he’s no Lambert. This war was won the moment he got the fool idea to start it.”

“Don’t be so sure. The Empire’s resources are vast, but we’re in unfamiliar territory. There’s no telling what surprises await us.” Pink eyes narrowed with sudden reserve. Lysithea moved back a step. “Just do your work without complaint and there won’t be any trouble. Surely you can handle that much.”

“You keep looking at me as if I’ll bite.” Catherine frowned, a bit thrown by the woman’s scathing words. She could understand Lysithea’s caution, but this hostility felt unwarranted. They had left things on amicable terms at the academy. “Look, while I’m not enthused over how the war ended, I won’t risk tossing Fódlan into another one. Your Emperor is safe from me.”

“Safe? I would say she’s anything but, so long as you stalk around camp.”

“Hey now, I hardly stalk. That’s Shamir’s realm of expertise.” Catherine tried for a grin, but Lysithea was distinctly unmoved. “Do you want an apology from me? A writ of assurance? All I have is my word. For what it’s worth, I never begrudged your choice.”

“How reassuring. Tell me something, Catherine. Had we encountered each other on the field, what would you have done?” The younger woman rose to her full height, chin raised and jaw locked. With the wind whipping through her silvery hair, she could have passed for the Emperor’s twin.

“...I won’t lie and say I would have spared you. Had we met as enemies, I would have dealt with you as one.” Catherine rubbed her neck, feeling suddenly off-kilter. “It was war. I could spare no pity or sorrow for those who moved against us. But the war is over and I’m no longer a Knight of Seiros.”

“Yet your deeds remain. Wicked and proud; willing and misguided. I care not for the distinction between war and peace. You were capable of it then, and you are capable of it now.”

The condemnation struck like an axe swing. Catherine flinched, wounded, and unable to retaliate. She averted her eyes to the forge, swallowing thickly. After a time, she heard Lysithea continue.

“I was in the Emperor’s vanguard when we pushed into Fhirdiad. I saw the desolation first-hand; the pain, the terror… I can never forget it.” Her voice became saturated with feeling. She warbled on the next few words. “I didn’t believe you would be complicit, let alone kindle the flames. It didn’t fit the noble image I held of you. I have never been more devastated to be wrong.”

Lysithea stomped away, fists balled at her side. Catherine allowed her to leave without comment. There wasn’t anything she could say that could mend this. With an aggrieved exhale, she dragged a hand across her face. The fire at her back felt too hot suddenly, even with the surrounding frost.

“Give her time,” she heard Shamir say. Catherine looked up as her partner walked beneath the tarpaulin. Shamir’s stare fixed on Lysithea’s departing figure before cutting to the smith. “She’ll cool off eventually. Just ignore it until then.”

“I don’t think so. You didn’t see the way she looked at me.”

“Anger is easier to deal with than apathy. At least she’s speaking to you.”

“Maybe.” A stiff breeze whipped past, tossing a few embers from the pit. Catherine watched as they sizzled atop the ice. “It might be for the best if she doesn’t forgive. Nothing she said was false.”

“Yet neither was it true. I’ve seen for myself how far you’ve come. Don’t ignore the progress gained in favor of old habits.”

She felt the soothing slide of leather against her neck and peered at Shamir’s face. Violet eyes searched her features. “You always look for absolution in the wrong places. Bear their scorn, but don’t let it become you. Understood?”

“Yeah… I think so.” Catherine mustered a smile. Not for the first time, she felt a rush of gratitude for her partner. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she would be lost without the other woman. “Enough about me. What have you been up to? Nothing too treacherous, I hope.”

“I was scouting the coast. We’re still in Faerghus-controlled land, or so the maps claim. But I don’t see any evidence of this.” Shamir leaned away, appearing faintly disgruntled. “No signs of trade or nearby settlements. There’s only ice and more ice.”

“Really? We're not too far from the port so you would think there must be signs of life."

“And you would be right.” Shamir gestured discreetly to the west. In the distance, nestled between a rocky outcrop, was the glow of a fire. Smoke and steam drifted upward. “They’ve been watching us since we arrived.”

“Blaiddyd’s scouts?” Catherine tensed, clenching her hammer. “We should take this to the Emperor. Crush the rats before they scurry to their master.”

“Not scouts. I’m certain of it. They’re unarmored, laden with supplies, careful to keep distance but not out of sight...” The Dagdan woman paused, a reflective slant to her mouth. “It’s odd. They don’t seem headed for the fort, so where are they going?”

“You muse over the smallest things. So long as they stay out of our way, that’s good enough for me.”

“Hmm…” Shamir didn’t seem convinced. She twisted the bangle on her wrist idly. “They remind me of those last days in Dagda. Countless refugees ran from the fighting, some hoping to find passage across the sea. It was common to see them hiding in fishing huts or following the coast until they reached the next city.”

“Then you think they’re similar? But the fighting hasn’t even begun yet. There isn’t cause for them to flee.”

“No, there isn’t. Yet here they are.”

Catherine stared at her partner, mulling over the logic. Then, she turned an eye to the cluster of figures barely glimpsed through the snow. There weren’t many of them, she noticed. Perhaps around five or so; a small and irregular number. Why were they scrambling around the shore instead of safely wrapped in their homes? They could be hunters, but there would have been no reason to look for game this far from the woodlands.

The more she thought about it, the more the notion nagged. People didn’t flee without cause. And if it wasn’t the Empire… What were they running from? Catherine didn’t care to explore this question. They had enough troubles without adding whatever lurked in the wilds of Sreng. Yet as she lifted her hammer and strode to the forge, Catherine kept an eye to the snow. Dark shadows crept across the pale surface in twisting patterns, thrown by passing clouds. From the periphery, they appeared as beasts of winter.

* * *

“We’re prepared to move on Taranis.”

Edelgard tilted her head towards Sylvain. The man was sturdy and tall in his armor; draped in the colors of the Empire. Merely a scion of House Gautier no more, but a trusted voice in the Emperor’s service. He held her eyes with rare severity.

“The damage was minimal, our loses few,” he went on. “We’ve done all we can and our morale has never been higher. It’s time we take this fight to Rufus.”

She considered his words, turning her attention to the horizon. The sea was calm; the weather sedate. It was still early in the morning hours, possibly before most in the port roused. They would be given no greater opportunity than this. Her blood ran hot at the thought of Ingrid’s ambush and the previous day’s events. Sylvain was right. It was time to bring the fight to the straw king.

“I agree. Have our army mobilized and returned to their ships. Station our archers aboard and point the artillery toward the bow. We’ll charge them head-on.”

“With respect, Your Majesty. I think it’s best we keep the bulk on land.” Sylvain gestured behind him to where their mounts were held. “Our riders can’t join the fighting while aboard a ship. We saw that much yesterday. Our pegasi were useless.”

“We have plenty of infantry.” Yet even as she spoke, Edelgard knew he had a point. Their fliers and cavalry were best utilized on land and air than trapped in the hold. “...However, it’s true we should use our forces to their best effect. Can your men make the ride?”

“Most of them are Faerghian. Give us hail or a blizzard, and we’ll cut through it all without batting an eye.” While his words were firm and level, Sylvain’s expression did not lighten. Russet eyes burned with something unknown. “Word never reached my House of Blaiddyd’s actions. Good men were posted in those forts; each one sworn to protect Faerghus from invasion. Yet they’re all gone now. It was my fault this happened. It should be me who takes the first step to make it right.”

Edelgard was not surprised by the sentiment, but his intensity took her aback. Sylvain, while stalwart, rarely dropped the careless demeanor he favored. It was clear the man felt strongly about this. Even if she was of a mind to deny him, Edelgard had little doubt he would act regardless.

“It’s undeniable we’ve already lost the element of surprise. I’m certain his pegasi have already relayed our approach.” She scowled before tossing a look towards the silent form of Ingrid. The captain had been uncommonly quiet since they reached shore. Briefly, the Emperor wondered if she was still brooding over the recruits she lost. “Ingrid, are you recovered enough to join Sylvain? If not, we can have your second lead the flanking party to Taranis.”

“That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.” Ingrid straightened, stirring from thought. “I can make the journey so long as the weather holds.”

“Very well. I trust your judgment.”

“We should focus on an overwhelming offensive,” Byleth said from behind them. The general was standing at the water’s edge, facing their fleet. She cupped her jaw and eyed the sky thoughtfully. “I suggest striking from the east to divert their attention from our cavalry. Once their soldiers are pulled inland, we’ll approach with our ships.”

“We’ll hit them hard and fast from below as our pegasi dive from above,” Sylvain agreed. “It’s as thorough an assault as there can be. No matter what tricks Rufus has planned, they won’t stop us.”

“Then we have our strategy.” Byleth clapped her hands together. She looked inordinately pleased. “Lysithea and I will command our mages and infantry during the assault. With luck, we’ll only need to mop up any lingering resistance before securing the port.”

“Knowing our lot, it won’t be that simple. But we can dream.” Sylvain bowed, signaling his departure. Then he trekked up the frosted incline towards the horses. "My men and I will ride ahead. When the attack begins, we’ll light a fire to call the fleet. Happy sailing, Your Majesty.”

“Ride swift, Lord Gautier.” When he was out of sight, Edelgard turned her head to Ingrid. “You should mount up as well. I've heard tales of how unpredictable winds can be this far north. Who knows when a storm might strike next."

“I’ll round up my girls and speed for Taranis. We’ll likely be the first to enter the fray, so only our veterans will take part.” A muscle in Ingrid’s cheek rippled, tension easily discerned. For a split second, she looked on the cusp of saying something further. Yet the moment passed as her eyes fell to the snow. “Your Majesty… might I make a request?”

“As a friend or an Emperor?” Edelgard asked. Her tone was more teasing than anything, but Ingrid did not respond in kind. The captain's eyes were dark and lidded.

“Both, perhaps. Should we encounter those fliers again, I wish to be the first to make contact. I know it might be unavoidable, but all the same, I ask you to leave them to me.”

How odd. Edelgard searched Ingrid’s face, puzzled by the woman’s determination. Yet there were so few things Ingrid asked of her. She couldn’t find it within herself to deny her friend this one thing.

“I cannot say which way the tides of battle might turn,” she said bluntly. “But if they reappear, then I will leave it within your capable hands.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Ingrid's shoulders shook before falling. A great breath escaped her chest, earning the Emperor’s suspicion. She departed with another deferential bow, leaving the shore to follow Sylvain. Edelgard observed her departure, brows pinched in thought.

“Byleth, have you noticed anything off with Ingrid?" she asked.

“She’s been rather reserved.” Byleth stepped away from the water, glancing at the aforementioned woman. “I have noticed her staring at the clouds on occasion. She could simply be concerned over the recent attack.”

“Maybe so. It’s still uncharacteristic, but I can’t blame her for being rattled. This brewing conflict has not gone the way any of us planned.” Edelgard placed a hand to her brow, frustrated. “We need a victory. I will not settle for scraps nor be cowed by Rufus Blaiddyd.”

“The eagle has two heads,” Byleth said suddenly. Her gaze grew distant, fingers tracing the hilt of Sieros’ blade. “Might and dominion be their names. They will know the meaning of that today.”

Edelgard blinked, surprised by the words. It was an ancient expression, spoken by Emperors throughout the history of Adrestia. A warning and a promise both; heeded by enemies and allies alike. It had fallen out of use since the Empire began its decline. Most notably, since Loog defeated her ancestor upon the Tailtean. She had not thought Byleth would know such an old, forgotten phrase. Yet to hear her lover speak it, filled Edelgard with fierce certainty.

The day was theirs for the taking. First, Taranis. Then Cernunnos and whatever lay in the depths of Sreng. She would not bend beneath the demands of another nor break under the horrors of war. Such was her will.

* * *

In the annals of history—when pen bled ink and scored this story into permanence—they would insist it was Port Taranis where the Emperor first landed Sreng. There would be no mention of their prior struggles; no allusion to the losses already marked. Such things would sour the story and leave room for criticism. Yet perhaps it should have been known if only to frame the Empire's voracity in the proper context.

From the barren and glaciated plains, Lord Gautier and his riders descended. Through the fog they bellowed, lances high and hooves cracking ice. Within an instant, the tumult of man and beast crossed the sea-stained gates of Taranis, taking the guards unaware. And lo! The Srengian horde could do little to stem the mighty tide. Their men were trapped upon the shore, awaiting ships, not cavalry. Within the confusion, they scrambled along the snow-flecked rocks, and Lord Gautier had his due.

Outfitted in Kingdom steel yet barren of organized leadership, they succumbed to lance and sword upon the frozen soil. Red spilled upon the snow, reflected endlessly by expansive frost. By the time the Srengian soldiers gathered their wits, they were beset from the east by a new threat. A flock of pegasi encroached, bearing arrow and javelin alike. They swarmed their prey in unison, giving no quarter; swift as the north wind and yearning for retribution.

Of all those who took flight, Galatea was the hungriest for triumph. She weaved through the clouds; golden and resplendent with Lúin in hand. Akin to lightning she struck, lance cleaving in an elegant arc before she rose high once more. And when the archers along the water finally grew wise, they wandered from their posts to pursue the winged assailants weaving betwixt the towers of stone. Only then, tasting victory upon his tongue, did Lord Gautier signal his liege.

A pyre was lit upon the broken shore, motes of smoke spiraling into the heavens to call for the awaiting fleet. From the morning mists they broke, water parting in their wake. Within moments, they forded the gap and swept along the grim-toothed rocks with ease. Plank and ship hold lowered and soon a tide of imperial black consumed the mouth of Port Taranis.

It was here where the Emperor officially declared war upon the treacherous Rufus Blaiddyd and his Srengian legion. Crimson and gold were her colors as she swept the icy field with her men. All the while, the waters of Taranis surged in endless coils, lapping at black and silver both. Edelgard von Hresvelg bared her teeth to the masses, face wet and cold from winter waves. At her back, General Eisner served as her shield; quick to cut down any who might encroach.

The pair were vehement and decisive as they moved deeper unto Sreng’s soil. What might the enemy have seen as they neared? Edelgard, purple eyes aglow with ferocious purpose; the deceptive might of her frame and the unflinching swing of her axe? And in her shadow would lurk Byleth; armed with holy flamberge and emotions still as winter. Together they cleared a glorious path from the uneven sediment arching along the banks to the winding slope that climbed deep into Sreng’s heart.

All the while, Galatea and Gautier refused to cease their onslaught. In totality, they left a brilliant gash across the shore of Sreng. Unwilling to stay inert, their ships spat cannon-fire in an endless barrage, accompanied by arcane flames. It was a thorough savagery – without hesitation or remorse.

What frail resistance remained was quickly snuffed. And whatever aims the former Duke of Itha might have held for Taranis, were resoundingly crushed. Blaiddyd had lost the port in nary a blink, but as the fervor of battle quelled, the Emperor could find little joy in it. For in the trail of their success, a swathe of corpses was left—nestled between the divide of land and sea, and to the cluster of buildings which flew the rebellious standard of House Blaiddyd. Most were not of their land, features foreign to them as surely they were in kind.

Yet the Emperor could mourn for the waste of it, and for the misplaced reasons why. And so she did, privately and fiercely.

* * *

Edelgard wrenched her axe free from her opponent. The man stumbled backward, red hair drenched with snow and chest spewing crimson. When he fell, she exhaled slowly. These warriors had fought hard, paltry though their forces were in comparison. None of them turned to flee, even as they were overwhelmed and the tide of battle swung against their favor. The Emperor respected their unwavering determination, regrettable as the situation was.

She shook out her hair, wind and war tumbling the strands from their ties. It was wet to the touch, drenched from snow. Her cheeks felt raw from the cold, but she did not allow these mortal faults to sway her attention. Around her, the aftermath of the battle progressed. Most of the fighting had concluded, only brief pockets of resistance holding as buildings and storehouses were invaded. The port was primarily home to a shipyard, but remnants of Gautier occupation were visible.

Sreng had converted most into barracks, but shaken families clothed in leather and fur also stumbled into view. They submitted beneath imperial swords, cowering in confusion. The discovery was baffling. What did Rufus intend for this port? To cleanse the area of House Gautier’s influence assuredly. Yet these people were not combatants. She saw a couple break away from the crowd and run for the plain. Her soldiers motioned to give chase but the Emperor stopped them.

There was no sense in pursuit. So long as they did not turn weapons against the Empire, she would allow their escape. After all, they came here to reclaim, not conquer. However, Edelgard was aware the difference might be moot to Sreng. The reasons for bloodshed were never quite as felt compared to the loss of life. For that reason, she had commanded the waiting soldiers to treat their hostages gently. Perhaps one of them could serve as their interpreter in this foreign land.

“The surrounding area is secured,” Byleth said as she wandered near. The general’s expression was distant, blood staining her figure in erratic swathes. “I sent Ingrid to sweep the outskirts for any pegasi patrols. That foreign squadron never appeared, but they could be observing from afar.”

“Possibly. I’m surprised Blaiddyd didn’t provide their soldiers with reinforcements. I fully expected to be inundated with a hail of hostile magic.”

“As did I. Yet no pegasi were within their ranks. I wonder why?”

Edelgard couldn’t find a satisfactory explanation for it either. It was reasonable to assume Blaiddyd’s valkyries were smarting from the previous battle. Or he was saving them for the inevitable siege of Cernunnos. If so, it illustrated prudence she didn’t think him capable of.

“Whatever Blaiddyd’s intent,” Edelgard began. “We’ve dealt him a significant blow. Port Taranis is ours, halting his operations in western Sreng. I call that a victory.”

“I had no doubt we’d succeed.” Byleth’s features smoothed slightly. “The odds were hardly against us, but the unwelcome surprises encountered thus far made me leery. It was a relief to surmount a straightforward obstacle.”

“Save the masturbatory speeches for your quarters.” Catherine, the aggravating pest, swaggered up the slope. Shamir followed languidly, tossing furtive looks around herself. Both women seemed no worse for wear, though Edelgard imagined they strained to avoid combat. She couldn’t see either of them willfully taking part unless ordered.

“The port looks small; barely inhabited,” Catherine continued. “No greater than conquering an anthill. Cernunnos will be the real trial. Rufus knows that.”

“He wouldn’t waste resources to keep the west. Not when the central pass is so crucial.” Shamir bent to survey a corpse by her feet. “Cheeks gaunt. Limbs thin. They weren’t given a steady supply of food.”

“Interesting.” Byleth joined the Dagdan woman’s scrutiny, peering over her shoulder. “The storehouses are noticeably threadbare, but I assumed supplies were transported before our arrival. They must have been rationing.”

“Are both of you suggesting Rufus starved these men?” The Emperor frowned deeply.

“More negligence than anything.” Catherine’s nose wrinkled as if she scented a foul wind. She turned her head away from the corpse with a scowl. “People struggle to find food this far north. Even Rufus wouldn’t be able to solve that problem, gold or no. My guess is he’s saving the bulk of his supply for Cernunnos and leaving the exterior forts to fend for themselves.”

“That only begs the question of why they continue to serve. But I suppose opportunity is a neat enough excuse.” Edelgard looked upward where a banner of House Blaiddyd waved defiantly. She would have them all burned before the sun fell. “Seeing this… I can understand their motivations more. The promise of arable land is not an easy thing to overlook.”

“Blaiddyd is abusing their desperation for his benefit.” Shamir had always been a reserved woman, but the rampant disgust bleeding from her sneer was tangible. A rush of incomprehensible words poured from her lips. It wasn’t evident whether Catherine understood, but she squeezed her partner's shoulder in comfort.

“That does appear to be what’s happening.” Byleth straightened, favoring the Emperor with a significant glance. “With Taranis under our control, we can send more ships from Gautier. These people will no longer go hungry—barring any further resistance. By the way, would both of you be so kind as to scout the coastline?”

“That an order, General?” Catherine snapped her teeth together, ever surly. She stumbled along the ice as her partner pushed from behind. Shamir's expression was unamused

“We’ll do it now. Come along, Catherine.”

The smith grumbled to herself but wisely stilled her tongue. Edelgard relaxed once they ventured a lengthy distance. Being within reach of a former enemy required an adjustment period. It was vastly unlikely Catherine would try anything, but the woman had surprised her before.

“We should try to gain answers,” Byleth spoke after a moment. “Figure out how this port fits into Blaiddyd’s plans. Perhaps we can gain a potential ally among them.”

Blue eyes flicked to the Srengian dockhands kneeling in the snow. They had surrendered without much fuss, though a few glowered from beneath bedraggled hair. One of them appeared to have a broken nose, collar stained deep maroon. Lysithea hovered nearby, features painted with frustration. Edelgard approached them cautiously.

“Have you learned anything?" she asked the younger woman. Lysithea sighed, breath clouding the air.

“Nothing. They refuse to acknowledge me, no matter how many times I prod. You’re free to try, but I doubt you’ll have better luck. I would be tempted to think they’re deaf had I not seen them whisper to each other.”

“There must be some way to gain their attention,” Edelgard replied. She paced in parallel to the gathered workers, tone even and authoritative. “Does anyone here speak Fódlanic?”

No reaction. The workers kept their heads bowed, avoiding her eyes. She tried again. “Can you understand me at all? I swear no harm will come to you. We require an interpreter for our people to determine the truth of what happened here.”

The fellow with the bloodied nose dared to glare as she passed. He snarled, spittle flying to the ice near her feet, before standing. An aggressive outpouring of foreign words ripped from him. It was too fast for her to try and make sense of it, but the quick step he took in her direction seemed to indicate the meaning. Without comment, a soldier kicked the man’s knees out from under him. A lance pressed against his throat.

“Hold!” Sylvain appeared in a whirl of black and red, Ingrid upon his heel. He pulled the soldier away before standing between the Emperor and prostrate Srengian. Edelgard narrowed her eyes, uncertain why he intervened. She did not wish to cause undue harm, but neither would she chance an attack. Yet rather than address her, Sylvain faced the man instead.

“Þú ert veikburða og sveltandi; ekkert vopn í hendi. Guðirnir munu ekki heiðra þig hér.” It was guttural, as the Srengian's speech had been, yet flowed like water from his lips. Sylvain did not pause or struggle as he continued. “Ekki neyða mig til að senda þig til myrkursins mikla.”

The fallen man appeared to ponder him for time. His throat convulsed, shuddering with the long tendrils of his beard. Then he visibly deflated and curled his arms around his knees. Edelgard barely registered the interaction. Her mind whirled endlessly with the implications of this new knowledge.

“You can speak Srengian,” she said blandly. Sylvain’s arms crossed, shoulders pulling inward. She did not miss the way he avoided her gaze.

“A little. Someone taught me when I was young. Never thought I’d have to use it until…” He cleared his throat, scratching at the stubble lining his jaw. “Anyway, I’m fluent enough to prevent any misunderstandings. Besides, you’re unlikely to find anyone who knows Fódlanic this far from the border.”

“Does House Gautier teach all their heirs Srengian?” Byleth asked, interested.

“There wouldn’t have been much point before Lambert’s invasion. The old border was further south from where it is now. There was little interaction between our nations before then.” Sylvain’s discomfort seemed to grow the longer they lingered on the topic. “Look, don’t be too concerned with the whys and hows. Just know I can communicate with them and leave it there. We have greater things to worry over.”

It was true enough, yet the Emperor couldn't quite set aside her skepticism. Had it been as simple as he made it seem Sylvain wouldn’t be so reticent. Behind the man, Edelgard caught Ingrid’s solemn face. The captain discreetly shook her head, wordlessly requesting the matter to drop. The Emperor wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she relented regardless. The internal politics between House Gautier and Sreng would need to be explored at another date. Blaiddyd was the pressing matter at hand.

“Ask them what purpose Taranis served for Blaiddyd,” she commanded. Sylvain obeyed, swiftly communicating in her stead. The gathered workers traded a look, as if seeking approval to respond. One of them crawled forward, posture carefully meek. They traded a flurry of words, Sylvain’s brow creased in concentration.

“He says they were to provide him with ships. Building, repairing. In exchange, he would outfit them with weaponry and horses. Once the ships were complete, they were to raid the coast of Faerghus. They could keep whatever spoils they claimed.”

“So he promised them free reign of the Faerghian shore? Detestable.” Lysithea seethed, color rising to her cheeks. “To think, he was the presiding regent for years. I’m not surprised the Kingdom was in such shambles.”

“There were other factors at hand,” Ingrid said quietly. “But his rule was… tepid at best.”

“Everyone thought Faerghus would regain its glory once Dimitri assumed the throne—even my father. I always thought the notion ridiculous. No one person can bear an undertaking so large.” Sylvain scratched his jaw before glancing at Edelgard. “Best to start from scratch. Less room for problems you forgot to fix.”

“I’ll take that as a ringing endorsement. Is there anything else he can tell us?”

Sylvain knelt to address the worker on an equal plane. The rest squirmed, uncomfortable, but they watched him with less reserve than they had Edelgard or Lysithea. The familiarity with their language must have soothed, if only somewhat.

“How odd and terrible we must seem,” Byleth said. Her voice was but a whisper beside Edelgard’s ear. “Speaking a language they cannot comprehend, bringing swift death. Do we come to them as mere avengers or conquerors?”

“I wondered that as well. But there’s nothing to be done now.” Edelgard waited for Sylvain to complete his questioning, yet spared a moment to pity Sreng for its involvement in Blaiddyd’s machinations. They were brought into her sights by the will of another. None of them could have understood the power and resources she commanded. Still, the Emperor refused to show mercy to anyone who threatened her country.

“Doesn’t sound like he knows much else.” Sylvain stood, ambling to her and Byleth. “He did make it clear Rufus never visited the port in person. Instead, he would send an intermediary; usually his general. From the description given, she seems to be the same one who attacked us.”

“You mean the commander of those valkyries.” Edelgard paused, stare catching on Ingrid. The fair-haired woman had blanched at the mention. Her hands, slick with frost and blood, squeaked upon Lúin.

“Did they mention a name?” Ingrid rasped out. Sylvain eyed her at length, appearing reluctant to answer.

“Ingrid...”

“What did he say? I need to know if…” Her voice lost strength, fading among the tumbling wind. Sylvain’s expression pulled with sudden clarity.

“They were never given a name. She had interpreters in her employ, but even they only referred to her as Gullna Vængur. Golden wing.” He placed a hesitant hand along her arm. “Ingrid, do you think—”

“I don’t wish to discuss it, Sylvain. Not until I know for sure.” Ingrid cast a surreptitious look in the Emperor’s direction. She shrugged off his hand. As for Edelgard, she was quickly growing tired of the secrecy. She eyed the two of them, patience thin.

“Enough of this. I will not have you speaking in circles around me. Do you know her or not?”

“I…” Ingrid’s posture slumped, shame replacing reluctance. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to offend. The subject is difficult for me to discuss freely. And in truth, it’s possible my fretting is pointless and I’m grievously mistaken.”

“About her identity?”

“Yes.” The blonde woman hesitated. “My father’s youngest sister, Estrid, was pledged to House Blaiddyd. When King Dimitri fell and Rufus knelt, I assumed she would retire to Galatea with my father. I cannot say for certain it’s her, but… I also cannot deny her involvement.”

“Pardon?” Edelgard stiffened. Abruptly, the reason for Ingrid’s reaction became crystal clear. “So you’re saying a daughter of House Galatea rides for Blaiddyd. Do you believe your father might…?”

“I don’t know. They’ve been estranged for quite some time. I want to believe he wouldn’t take part in a coup, even at the behest of family. But I’m uncertain.” Ingrid stared at the ground, morose. “I don’t want to think her capable of it either. She was loyal, yes, but…”

“It would make sense,” Sylvain interjected gently. “She was renowned for her riding. Taught you too, didn’t she?”

Ingrid didn’t respond. Her face crumpled, yet not a sound escaped. While it wasn’t said, Edelgard could read the answer within her pain.

“Edelgard,” a voice called in the distance. Distracted, the Emperor belatedly recognized it as Shamir’s. Her exasperation building, she turned to look at the older woman and prepared a quick dismissal. Yet the dark expression Shamir wore stopped her short.

“You’ll want to see this.” Violet eyes hovered over the gathering of imperial officers before settling definitively on Edelgard. Somehow, the lack of Catherine’s presence proved disquieting. “All of you.”

* * *

There is a horror that cannot be spoken, not for the absurdity of its premise, but merely for the intrinsic way it is understood. Marrow-deep and yawning like the primal fear of the unknown—the vast nothingness of possibility, where all ancient terrors gather. There is safety in certainty, even when it concerns death. Yet the mind is crueler without a foundation. Left to its devices, it whirs and groans with restless potential; ever-changing in its amorphous abscess of thought.

And she had known that horror with acute intensity. There had been no words to phrase it then, only the bleak emotions evoked. Yet in the light, free from chains and callous eyes, Edelgard had dared to think herself beyond such fear. It was she who dedicated her existence to smiting the ancient evils of this world. What cause did she have to return to that whimpering creature flinching from the dark?

A short distance to the northwest, where the coast rose into a black ridge of stone, there lay a ravine. It carved deep and stretched long, from the water’s edge to where it bisected the land in stacks of dark sediment. Catherine knelt along the lip, uncommonly still. She kept her stare upon the gaping maw even as the Emperor approached. Edelgard did not wait for Shamir to direct her attention. She looked over the ravine’s edge, keen to see what had captured their interest.

As Edelgard peered into the shadows, she experienced a brief moment of incomprehension. Surely, she was mistaken, Edelgard thought numbly. Surely this was not as gruesome a picture as first assumed. So she looked closer, trying to make sense of the twisted shapes draped along rock and ice. Yet as the sun crept closer to the horizon, the shadows gave way to a horrific truth.

A bed of corpses lay in the trench, skin pallid as the encapsulating ice. Carelessly arranged they were, thrown without regard to rot amid the crashing waves. The number was innumerable; simply recognized as vast for the towering piles arching against the ravine walls. Edelgard could stare at them no longer. She closed her eyes, throat tightening with dread.

“Explains the smell,” she heard Sylvain mutter. Despite the glib observation, his face was pinched. The apple of his throat bobbed with the tide. A startled noise keened from Lysithea’s throat as she joined them. Ingrid's reaction was less apparent, yet subtly observed from her wan pallor.

"So this is what they did with the Gautier soldiers." Byleth did not visibly recoil at the field of bodies. Her gaze was unfocused as if staring beyond them. "I suppose they had to dispose of them somehow. Though it's puzzling why they didn't simply burn the corpses."

“It’s more than soldiers,” Catherine corrected, rising to her full height. She was civil for once as she addressed the general. “Many are unarmored, dressed plain and rudimentary. Leathers, furs; things the men of Gautier would have no reason to wear.”

“Srengian, in other words,” Shamir clarified. “Their features are in line with the assailants we’ve faced and the inhabitants of Taranis.”

"What purpose is there in massacring their people?" Lysithea demanded, tone reedy and edged with panic.

That’s the question, isn’t it? Edelgard grit her teeth until it caused her jaw to ache and temple to throb. From the periphery, she saw Byleth wade into the ravine. She crawled along the frost-laden edifice of stacked stone until she reached a modest ledge. A corpse had fallen upon it, not quite as bloated from sea-water nor encased in ice.

“There are several scars on this one,” Byleth said as she inspected it thoroughly. The Emperor tensed, knowing immediately what it implied. She heard Lysithea inhale sharply.

“Don’t you mean wounds?” Sylvain asked. Byleth looked at him levelly.

“No. These are old marks, healing long before they died. These circular lacerations near the wrist are indicative of captivity. This person was bound at length.” She leaned away from the body, eyes finding Edelgard. “El…”

I know, Edelgard wanted to say. However, she couldn’t find the strength to speak. An ancient terror chilled her blood, stealing the warmth from her skin. For a frightful instant, she was returned to the dark—trapped as if she never left—with only snake-like eyes for company. That long, unfathomable fear of infinite unknowns stole her breath as she beheld the mountain of dead. The world spun, and she half-feared she would fall into the ravine. Then, Edelgard felt a small hand wrap firmly around her own. Lysithea, fingers bloodless, held onto her in solidarity. It was not fear Edelgard sensed from her, but rather anger. A powerful and vicious thing which curled lips above teeth and dug nails beneath skin.

Within that rage, Edelgard found her footing once more. Anger was safer than fear; steadying. She refused to quake because of a memory. This proof of their involvement, if that’s indeed what it was, only caused resolve to burn through her veins. The heat overwhelmed any prior chill, keeping her tethered to the present.

Blaiddyd, Those Who Slither, Sreng, or Galatea. It mattered not who they were. Monstrous deeds required monstrous retribution.

* * *

At the cusp of sunset, far from the endless wrath of the Emperor, a lone pegasus landed atop the walls of Fort Cernunnos. And later, armor and hair flecked with ice, its rider awaited entry to the quarters of her liege. The door was ajar, cracked only a sliver. Two masculine voices poured from the gap, accompanied by the flickering shadows of candlelight.

“She’s come for me,” her liege breathed out. “As you knew she would.”

“Edelgard is predictable. Had Rhea and your nephew bothered to understand that, Faerghus would have never lost the war.”

“Still… this is moving faster than I would have liked. Are you certain forfeiting Taranis was wise?”

“It would have been folly depleting your forces to hold a small port. We’ve lost a shipyard, but nothing that can’t be regained.” The creak of a chair was heard before the drip of wine. "However, it is a shame we could not keep her oblivious. Was your small act of vengeance worth kicking the eagle’s nest?”

“How was I meant to know? It was but a small village of no importance. I didn’t think—”

“No. You didn’t. And now we have greater concerns than a disgraced Knight of Seiros. Regardless, perhaps I can work this to our advantage.”

“You have a plan?”

“I always do, Lord Blaiddyd. Do not fret. For now, focus on the glorious destiny your son has in store. The king who won a war in his infancy. The stories they will tell of him, and of you; the man who restored Faerghus and avenged King Dimitri.”

“As the Goddess wills it, so it shall be.”

Estrid of Galatea made her presence known then. She nudged the door open with her knuckles, helmet beneath an arm. The room unfurled before her eyes. Rufus was seated near the fire, drinking deep from the goblet he held. His throat looked too small for the weight it carried, apple more prominent than it should have been. And staring at him, clothed dark in robe and shadow, was Lord Arundel. The tall man’s frame seemed to consume the light, purple eyes rapt upon the fragile neck of her liege.

Estrid did not care for his predatory gaze but dared not speak in objection. Neither man would have been moved. She walked further in, purposefully knocking her heels against the stones. Rufus stirred from his cup, surprise brightening his face momentarily.

“Estrid. I didn’t expect you until sunset. Is something amiss?”

“No. However, the sun has set so here I am.” She glanced dispassionately at Lord Arundel. “Your niece has planted her flag in Taranis. They’ve already begun establishing a base of operations. It’s only a matter of time before they march for Cernunnos.”

“The expected outcome. Allow her to revel in this victory. She won’t gain another.” A flash of hunger crossed the lord’s angular features. It faded quickly, but the voracious impression remained. “A pleasant night to you both; Lord Blaiddyd, Ser Galatea.”

Arundel departed in a glide of robes. Estrid did not take her eyes off him until the door latched closed. Rufus rose from his chair, and she struggled not to comment upon the loose drape of his shirt. He had not been eating again.

“A shame she didn’t perish at sea. It would have solved the problem without much strain on our part.” Rufus tossed another log onto the fire. It glowed brightly with renewed strength. "Yet this may be for the better. Dimitri’s death must be answered with an equal end for the Emperor. I hope he weeps with joy.”

“The dead cannot weep. Nothing reaches them now.”

Rufus appeared not to hear her, but she anticipated as much. He was deaf to all, save for the purring influence of Lord Arundel. Dark blue eyes were hazy as he refilled his goblet. “We’ll avenge my nephew soon. And after, when the whole of Fódlan hails my son as king, I will know Lambert’s forgiveness.”

“Perhaps,” Estrid replied, noncommittal. She stared at the flames. Their spindly, grasping fingers reminded her of Lord Arundel. Briefly, she wondered if the Emperor had inherited that same devouring expression. “Is it wise to collaborate with him? Lord Arundel is the last of the Emperor’s family. He might willfully mislead you.”

“Arundel has little love for his murderous niece. Her tyrannical actions went against the vast majority of the Adrestian nobility. Once she’s gone, the world will return to its natural order.” Rufus spoke as if it were certainty. And in his mind, it likely was. The Goddess’ will, he would often say. The man had never been so unerringly faithful before his son’s birth, yet grief was a powerful emotion. And nothing had hit Rufus so acutely than King Dimitri’s passing.

“What of Taranis?” Estrid asked. “Those were not normal actions of the pious or sane.”

“The ends justify everything, Estrid. I believe the Goddess is working through us both. She must be. His methods, while grisly, might prove our salvation in this war.” Rufus waved a hand, dismissing her concern. He collapsed into his chair. “These people are not of our kind. Even Lambert knew this. What does it matter if they are given to a greater purpose? When Fódlan is freed, the vast majority will survive in lands warmer than they had ever known. I do not call this cruelty."

“As you insist, my lord.” Estrid raised her head, trying to glimpse the cradle in the adjoining room. It was silent for the moment. “How is the prince? His color was pale the last I saw him.”

“He’s fine. The wetnurse fed him without struggle. You worry entirely too much, Estrid.” The man’s voice hardened. He seemed offended she would ask. “Concern yourself with the war at hand. Don’t forget your place, nor lose sight of our purpose.”

“Never, my lord.”

“Then leave it there and cease your prattle. I care not for those who deny the fate written for them. First that traitorous Charon, and now Hresvelg. It’s fitting they will be slain together.” He paused, lips smeared with wine and eyes betraying his fervency. “I was denied the crest of my family, but it was all in the name of a greater destiny. Rejoice, Estrid. We will be rewarded for our patience soon.”

Estrid bowed, taking her leave. Yet inside the discontent she harbored grew. She did not share his unwavering belief; refused to rely on unreliable things such as destiny to guide her hand. However, her vows were unambiguous. She would continue on this path for the good of her king. A knight could do no less.

Next Chapter: An Interlude of Shadow and Ice

Chapter Text

Loyalty was not unknown to her. It was a familiar and beloved habit, nurtured from birth and perpetuated by Faerghian tradition. Ingrid had long admired those who embodied it. From Kyphon to Lord Rodrigue, she was weaned on tales of their devotion and aspired to be the same. For a knight was nothing without their unshakable fealty. Every child of Faerghus knew this well. So when the gates of Fhirdiad were broken and the last holy knights refused to bend, Ingrid wasn’t surprised. Edelgard had expressed confusion then, lamenting their refusal to see reason.

But the truth of the matter was that no matter of logic would sway their blades or faith. That wasn’t the cloth they were cut from. A knight, whether of the church or otherwise, only answered to duty. And it was their duty to die for Rhea. Edelgard, raised with Adrestian values and secular ideals, couldn’t possibly understand why they continued to fight. Yet even as Fhirdiad burned, Ingrid could not blame Ser Catherine for being true to her liege. Such was the unconscionable realities of knighthood.

Though Ingrid lacked the title, those ideals remained. She was older now and saw the dangers therein. After everything she had witnessed, Ingrid was very aware of loyalty’s duality. However, she could not entirely let the dreams of her youth die. She carried them with her now — the title adjusted to fit the Empire’s standard, but the purpose unchanged. Ingrid would serve her liege with all the pride and fidelity of a knight. So too would the woman who taught her these grand ideals.

Ingrid swallowed down her anxiety, burying it deep where all her pain lived. If they should face each other on the field, Estrid Galatea would seek to kill. Rufus Blaiddyd demanded no less, as did Edelgard. Certainly, her aunt would not flinch or balk upon their confrontation. Ingrid needed to follow her example to survive. Yet she couldn’t quite muster the resolve required of her.

For years, Ingrid had yearned to be glorious and honorable—a knight in deed if not in name. Regardless of the paths she took or allegiance given, she had held onto this pursuit. No one ever said how much she would need to sacrifice in return. Ingrid ducked from her tent, sliding Lúin within its holster. The cold weight of the relic burned as it kissed her spine.

There was no use delaying the inevitable. Ingrid had her duty and the assault on Cernunnos required careful planning. Scouting the fortress perimeter would be vital before mobilizing their troops. And if she should cross the other woman… then so be it. She struggled not to picture her family’s horror as she trudged through the snow. Maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe I can convince her to...

“Ingrid.” Sylvain’s voice sounded from the left. She blinked, facing him begrudgingly. There were many things yet unresolved between them, but Ingrid wasn’t of a mind to converse. She was disturbed enough already. However, Sylvain didn’t share her unease and approached without hesitation.

“Sun’s only just risen,” he said. Sylvain's russet stare was steady as he studied her. “Already off to Cernunnos? You should eat first. It’s still a long ride, pegasus or no.”

“I have rations tucked away in my saddlebag. I'll eat a proper meal once I return." Ingrid strained to keep her expression neutral as she turned to leave. Sylvain didn’t allow her to retreat. He impeded the path, stance rigid and uncompromising.

“Hold your wings there, Captain.” The man frowned as the title left his lips. “We all admire your dedication, but don’t you think you’re acting too hasty? We might have gained ground, but after what happened in the pass—”

“I can take care of myself. My injury is healed and I won't be making the same mistakes."

“Sure, but you’re a senior commander with plenty of eager underlings. Just have the scouts do their job and leave it alone.” Sylvain sighed, his breath clouding the morning air. “Humor me for a bit? We haven’t talked in a while, and I’ve been worried. Feels like you’re avoiding me lately.”

“That isn't…” Ingrid fell silent, unable to complete the lie. She looked away from him, abashed. "I just found it easier to focus on the war than anything personal."

“I don’t blame you. But let me in once in a while, alright? Since Felix left, you’re all I've got.” Sylvain smiled tightly, a pale mimicry of his usual roguish smirk. Shadows collected beneath his eyes in garish stains of exhaustion. The sentiment was one she shared, but Ingrid found herself reluctant to listen. His own insurmountable expectations of her could not be forgotten. She swallowed as he continued. “You don’t need to do everything yourself. Hell, that’s something Edelgard could learn too.”

“Her Majesty understands there are some duties that can’t be foisted upon others,” Ingrid replied curtly. The ice in her tone seemed to cut Sylvain to the quick and she felt a flicker of regret. “I know you mean well. But this is my task and mine alone. I want to see for myself if our suspicions are true.”

“Right. Estrid.” Sylvain ran a nervous hand through his snow-matted hair. The gesture was a familiar tick, arising whenever her friend struggled for words. “How are you holding up? I know you two were close once upon a time. It can’t be easy hearing she might be involved.”

“No… it isn’t. After what we saw, I find it hard to make peace with the possibility. She was always so kind, so honorable.” Ingrid shook away the pain blooming within her chest. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever the truth, I will face it without flinching.”

“You always were strong. Maybe the strongest of us.” Sylvain blinked at her slowly, face suddenly unreadable. His throat bobbed. “Had I a tenth of your resolve… I don’t know. Perhaps all of this could have been avoided.”

“What do you mean?” Ingrid’s brow furrowed as she stared at her friend.

“Rufus wouldn’t be running amuck in Sreng if it weren’t for me. Had I been courageous, the sort of Lord my people deserved, none of this would be necessary.” Sylvain crossed his arms, fists clenched. “I was so afraid of my family’s censure, I buried my head in the snow and prayed it would pass. And even now, I’m terrified.”

“I heard Lady Delphine has been hard on you." Ingrid softened, sympathy bleeding into her words. “Truthfully, I was surprised by her resistance to the Empire. I thought she, of all people, would gladly support us. She bore little regard for the royal family.”

“It isn’t the Empire’s rule she opposes. Not entirely.” Something pained and uncomfortable washed over the man’s features. He cleared his throat. “You know, Mother always loved you. Constantly sang your praises whenever you visited. And you weren’t there when…”

“When what?” Ingrid stiffened, unnerved by the change of topic. The quick flash of guilt seen upon Sylvain’s face faded beneath a hopeful grin.

“Nothing. I only meant you could speak to her; convince her to cede the seat of Gautier to me. She doesn’t listen to me anymore, but she might if you were by my side. I know I said you could think about marriage for as long as you need, but if Mother heard we were to be wed—”

“Are you really pressuring me into accepting your proposal, all to please your mother?”

“Well, yes, but it would help you too. Your father might be appeased if he got wind of this. He's been hinting for a union between our Houses for years. We could solve two problems with one marriage.”

“I…” Ingrid’s head spun. She had found his sudden leap to commitment suspicious, but she didn’t think this was why he proposed. For a moment, Ingrid wasn’t sure how she should feel. Eventually, her confusion vanished beneath a deep, abiding rage. “Of all the callous and inconsiderate things you’ve done, this just might be the worst. Did you not stop to think of my feelings? How I would respond?”

“Of course.” Sylvain’s expression fell. “But I assumed you’d see the logic behind it. Pragmatism is something that comes naturally to you, so I figured this would be no different.”

“There’s a firm line between what I do in the name of duty and my personal feelings. A marriage, no matter how beneficial, is not a burden I’m willing to bear.” She inhaled steadily, willing her anger to calm. However, the undercurrent of hurt and betrayal remained. “I thought you knew that. Were you oblivious to my anxiety whenever my father wrote? Edelgard and Dorothea saw my plight, yet you’re pulling the same stunt as that noble who nearly ransomed me.”

“The circumstances are entirely different! I’m leagues above that louse.” Sylvain’s eyes flashed with offense. “And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and we get on famously. Marriage just seems inevitable, so why not hurry things along? You’d be the perfect Lady of Gautier.”

“For who? Your mother or the people?”

“Both!" The man threw up his hands, exasperated. "I don’t know why we’re arguing about this. I only… Look, do you want me to promise fidelity? I’ll do it. You’re a wonderful friend, and I know you’ll make a great wife. I won’t force you to stop fighting or serving Edelgard. Nothing needs to change. We’ll just be married.”

“Married by purpose, not love. Exactly as it was when the Kingdom ruled.” Ingrid stared hard at the sky, unable to look at him. “Casting aside my dreams and ceding my independence to pacify my father. Shaving away the rebellious edges of my soul to fit the mold of the perfect lady. I tire of it, Sylvain. I tire of these loathsome constraints when all I want to do is fly.”

Sylvain appeared at a loss, lips parted in mute befuddlement. His surprise was expected, but frustrating all the same. Ingrid knew exactly what he had anticipated. She always played the role of the conscientious and steadfast friend who others relied upon. Sylvain, most of all. Cleaning up his messes and making apologies on his behalf had been a time-worn habit. And Ingrid did it for years without complaint. In his mind, this was a natural task for her to undertake. However, she was tired of lifting him up when he couldn’t bear to stand. It wasn’t her place, nor was it right for him to ask.

“The morning is passing fast,” Ingrid continued after a brief pause. “We can discuss this further at a later date, but I don’t have the patience for it right now. You’ll be in command of our fliers until I return.”

Briefly, Sylvain looked ready to protest. Yet her strained expressions must have deterred him. In the end, he simply nodded. “...Understood. Are you at least taking people you trust?”

“For the most part. Shamir will be tagging along at Her Majesty’s behest.” Ingrid sighed as the man’s cheeks pulled with distaste. “Catherine is staying here, so I doubt she’ll try to flee. Shamir might be dangerous, but she seems genuine in her intentions.”

“Dangerous is an understatement. Still, I trust Edelgard’s judgment. Just be careful. Alright?”

“I’ll try,” she conceded softly. Ingrid moved past him, not daring to look at his face. The defeat and disappointment she glimpsed were more than enough. Ingrid loathed upsetting the people she loved, yet that mentality crippled her in ways she was only beginning to recognize. In the past, it was easier to go with the flow rather than rail against those who sought to control her. She had thought the exercise pointless.

However, Edelgard had shown her the folly of believing something impossible. Duty did not need to be a cage made of broken dreams and bitter sacrifice. The cold bone of Lúin encouraged her onward as she strode through the wailing gusts of Sreng. Ingrid would not return to the soft, helpless girl who feared her ambitions. She wanted to move forward without shame, proud of who she was becoming — knight or no.

* * *

“—We know from Ingrid’s initial confrontation the rear of Cernunnos is impassable. The front will be heavily guarded; barricades and towering walls only prelude to its defenses. The ballistae are also a significant danger to… Edelgard, are you paying attention?”

The Emperor stirred from her turbulent thoughts. She straightened within her chair before glancing at her advisor. Lysithea frowned from her corner of the repurposed refectory, brow knitted.

“Forgive my inattentiveness.” Edelgard folded her hands atop the table, blinking wearily. “You were saying something about ballistae...?”

“Quite. However, I would rather we continue this conversation when you’re of a mind to listen.” Lysithea snapped her journal of notes shut, sliding into an adjacent seat. Pink eyes ran over the Emperor’s form with intense scrutiny. “Pardon my cheek, but I’ve seen cadavers with less enervation. You appear on the brink of collapse. Did you not sleep?”

“I did,” Edelgard said defensively. Lysithea stared at her levelly, gaze flat and unmoved. Eventually, the Emperor’s posture slumped. “Poorly, perhaps. I managed to get a few hours in before sunrise, so stop looking at me like that. You’re worse than Byleth.”

“The good General is too enamored to treat you harshly. I don’t harbor the same rosy sentiments, and can therefore say you look positively dreadful. Like a puddle of milk that had been left to curdle.”

“Enchanting imagery. Thank you, Lysithea.” With another aggrieved exhale, Edelgard shielded her eyes with a palm. “The nights have been… hard of late. These insufferable short northern days do not help. More often than not, I find myself leaping at shadows and mistaking the wind for distant screams.”

“Ah.” Lysithea’s face shifted from dispassionate observation to empathy. Pale fingers tapped the journal cover in a nervous flutter. “I understand. What we saw would affect anyone. It's not a horror easily forgotten."

“Not just that, but yes. The sight of that frozen field of corpses was rattling. I didn’t expect to find something so atrocious in the aftermath of our victory.” Edelgard rubbed the deep furrow in her brow. Dorothea often jested stress would wrinkle her before age got the chance. She was starting to think the songstress had a point. “Perhaps I'm worrying too much over the hypothetical. Nothing is proven yet, and the reason for such vile deeds might not be what we think."

“Edelgard.” Lysithea hesitated, conflict pinching her features. She seemed to struggle for a time before continuing, her voice strained. “I do not err on rash assumptions. Nor do I take a hypothesis as fact without weighing each possibility. However, we might not have the time or opportunity to confirm every fear. You are not the only one who has had a rash of sleepless nights.”

“Then you wear it better than I,” Edelgard remarked. It was meant to be a casual comment, but it cut the air sourly. Thankfully, Lysithea did not appear to begrudge her.

“Hardly. It’s simply become habitual after everything going on in the east. From what we know, the likelihood of the two events correlating seems certain. You haven’t had time to make peace with their involvement as I have.”

“The east… I had nearly forgotten.” Edelgard pressed her lips together in thought. “You truly believe they're connected?"

“It would provide a sensible motive. After all, were it not for Catherine and Shamir we would be oblivious to the happenings here.” Lysithea bobbed her head confidently. “I think we can safely conclude those sporadic attacks in Leicester were meant to distract us until the spring. With our forces divided—”

“Rufus could have secured Faerghus without cohesive resistance. Armed with a crest-blooded child and an army, the northern lords would have happily knelt to the last of House Blaiddyd.” A hot pulse of anger and frustration coursed through the Emperor. Her hands gripped the table until they ached. “And I would have been none the wiser. We could have lost everything. Why didn’t I anticipate this?”

“You’re not omniscient. No one is,” Lysithea said plainly. The look she wore then was a curious mix of scolding and commiserative. “It’s done now, and the true danger has revealed itself. I’m tempted to send a letter to Leonie. We could use her here rather than keeping her in Ordelia.”

“It’s unwise to assume the east is safe from invasion. It might be for the best if she remains there until we capture the main fortress. Though it’s tempting to raise every standing army in Adrestia should the worst come to pass.” Edelgard glanced away, lost in the dreaded possibilities. She long assumed felling the Church to be her greatest hurdle. Yet facing the Archbishop had not inspired the same looming sense of dread. Even at her most melancholy, Edelgard was certain of the Empire’s eventual triumph.

Now, soft with love and hope, she had allowed her fangs to blunt. The vulnerabilities she buried were closer to the surface than they once were—all too eager to tear her asunder. Her pervasive fear, the bone-deep helplessness, and the ever-cloying thought that she would never escape the dark. Weakness. Why couldn’t she be free of them? Nothing soothed the feral ache in her soul, hungry for an end to the terror.

There is only one end I will accept, she thought with a snarl. I am no longer a caged bird beneath your thumb, Thales. Show yourself to me, and I’ll claw away your facade until all that remains is bone.

Edelgard carefully composed her expression before meeting Lysithea’s shrewd stare. The younger woman was watching her warily, though not without a knowing frown. Lysithea was the only person who could even begin to understand her struggle. Hubert and Byleth tried mightily, but they only knew what she was willing to admit.

Yet, similar as they were, Lysithea only knew the pain she experienced herself. In return, to say Edelgard understood the other woman’s suffering would be disingenuous. Still there remained a kinship between them, and it was because of this that Edelgard knew better than to press for details. The same could be said for Lysithea. True to this brief musing, her advisor refrained from any intrusive inquiry. She merely stood before tucking her journal beneath an arm.

“I suppose we should wait until Ingrid returns before committing to a strategy. So far, we only have Sylvain’s murky recollections to rely upon. While helpful, they’re also a decade old so hardly the best of resources. I’ll see what I can find in the archives and have Sylvain interrogate our Srengian guests.”

“Treat them kindly, if you can. I don’t want to deepen the animosity between us.” Edelgard shifted, uncomfortably reminded of the biggest victims of Rufus’ ambition. She wasn’t sure what to do with them, or even whether they would accept charity. Sylvain did what he could to maintain peace, but the Srengians were cautious of their new captors. It would take time before trust formed. Lysithea bowed before heading for the door.

“Words only, I assure you. That sort of barbarism is above me.” The younger woman paused over the threshold, glancing pointedly at the Emperor. “Do attempt to get some sleep. No one would think poorly of you for taking a few hours to rest. All of us prefer you alert and conscious rather than passing out mid-meeting.”

“That’s Linhardt’s domain, not mine. But… I’ll do what I can,” Edelgard conceded reluctantly. Seemingly content, Lysithea left in a swirl of purple and white. Her departure meant the Emperor could safely slump atop the table without censure. She took advantage of the opportunity readily, face pressed to cold wood and stone. Not the most graceful of poses, yet Edelgard wasn’t of a mind to care. The exhaustion tugging at her body made thinking a daunting task.

An Emperor’s work is never done, she recalled her father saying once. It was doubtful he could have imagined something like this for her rule, let alone weather these events himself. Regardless, the sentiment proved the truest thing he ever said. Edelgard shut her eyes, planning only to soothe the piercing ache in her temple. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, limp as a babe. However, as she felt the jarring sensation of heat against her fingers, the Emperor opened her eyes and found the refectory cloaked in shadow.

Edelgard stiffened, half-thinking she had fallen into a nightmare. The warm amber light emanating from the room’s corners dispelled that notion. Her restless dreams were never filled with something so welcoming. She straightened, only to pause as something slipped from her shoulders. A fur blanket. How long had she…? The sound of footsteps caught her attention.

Only a few paces from her position, was Byleth. The woman had her back turned, walking slowly along the refectory walls with a torch in hand. It was clear she was lighting the sconces for them, ever-conscious of her lover's fear. Edelgard glanced blearily at the nearby window, discovering the red beams of sunset coloring the pane.

“You’ve only been asleep for a few hours,” she heard Byleth say. Edelgard blinked, turning as her lover strode near. The general smiled, but it failed to reach her eyes. She stared at the Emperor with an odd intensity. "Don’t worry. I entered after Lysithea left, so no one saw you. I made it clear you weren’t to be disturbed.”

“Thank you, Byleth.” A tension Edelgard didn’t know she carried slid from her frame. It wasn’t like her to be so publicly undone. She would have to be more careful in the future. “Did I miss anything important or…?”

“Not really. Lysithea came by again to update you on the archives. Something about a concerning rumor regarding Blaiddyd. Sylvain corroborates this, but all of that can wait for tomorrow." Byleth perched atop the table, appearing to search Edelgard’s features. “You still look tired. Come, let’s retire for today. I’ll fetch something to eat for you once you’re settled.”

“No, no… I’m fine.” Edelgard smoothed her hair down before rising. “Any time wasted will benefit Rufus in the long run. We won't know the scope of his forces until Ingrid and Shamir return, but there's no room for indolence.”

“I don’t consider taking care of yourself indolence.” Byleth’s words were uncommonly sharp, taking the Emperor by surprise. “Lysithea told me you nearly passed out during the meeting. I knew you were having trouble sleeping, but this goes beyond a few hours of insomnia.”

“Lysithea exaggerates. I’m perfectly rested now and eager to continue planning our strategy. Call her and Sylvain here and we can—”

“No. I will not.” A flash of something foreign passed over Byleth's face. It was too soft for anger, but Edelgard couldn't quite describe it as mere concern. "Maybe if this had just been an isolated incident, I could ignore this. However, you’ve been upset for days with no reprieve in sight.”

“I’ll get over it, Byleth. I always do eventually,” Edelgard said, attempting to placate. Her lover wasn’t convinced.

“I don’t think you do. At least, not entirely.” Byleth averted her gaze to the floor. She looked conflicted for a time, which was startling to witness. The older woman rarely fought for words, quiet and contemplative nature aside. “It’s only natural for you to feel disturbed by what we found, considering your past. But this isn’t the first time in recent memory you’ve seemed unsettled by something. Truthfully, I’ve been worried about you for weeks.”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard leaned away, genuinely baffled.

“At the palace. You had been acting strange—missing meals, locking yourself in the study, and starting conversations only to stop short. I couldn’t make sense of it. Eventually, I assumed you would open up to me about what was troubling you. But you never did."

“That was—" She stopped, unable to explain her prior behavior without giving away her foolish yearning for marriage. It was embarrassing to recall how preoccupied she had been, especially with a rebellion stirring under her nose. "This is an entirely different matter."

“Maybe so, but you can’t deny you’ve become just as reticent.” Byleth peered at her somberly. “In Brigid, you helped me come to terms with my nature; the feelings I once lacked, and the deep attachments I’ve made since. You grounded me in a way nothing ever has. Is it wrong that I want to do the same for you?”

“Byleth…” Edelgard stared at her lover, unsure of how best to handle this. She knew Byleth wanted to ease her pain, but it wasn’t something any singular person could fix. The fear of impenetrable darkness, the agony of callous knives; only Edelgard understood these things. All Byleth could see was a pale shadow of the horrors she had faced. And honestly, she would prefer the woman never knew the full picture.

“You can't help me," Edelgard spoke. Her voice was firm if tinged with regret. "No one can. This is something only I must overcome.”

“I don’t accept that. Not when it’s affecting you so deeply. El, you don’t have to shoulder this burden alone. Talk to me. Trust in me.”

“I don’t wish to rehash the past right now. Not even for you.”

“But El—”

“We are not the same, Byleth. Neither are our struggles. It would be useless of you to try.”

Byleth flinched as if struck, blue eyes glittering with hurt. Too late, Edelgard realized how cold that came across. She reached for her, but Byleth was already retreating for the door.

“Forgive me, Edelgard. I assumed far too much. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Byleth, wait—!” Yet the call fell upon deaf ears, and Byleth vanished into the night. Edelgard gripped the table’s edge, nails biting through her gloves. She fell back into her chair, alone with her fatigue and remorse. Not for the first time, she loathed the callous swiftness of her tongue. It served well with people she didn’t particularly care for, but not with those she loved. Byleth, of all people, deserved better from her. She would set this right tomorrow but for now, they needed space to collect their thoughts.

As she sat there, surrounded by flickering dark and the faint howl of a gale, Edelgard felt the painful weight of her memories. The lonely echoes of a girl trapped in iron, the torchlight of an unwelcome visitor, and the oily gaze of a creature that looked like a man but wasn’t. Only she knew the truth of these things. Only she could bring the horror to a definitive end.

Edelgard glanced outside where an oppressive quilt of snow and shadow lay. A land of cold, isolation, and despair… It was only fitting for Thales to take shelter here. She huddled within the blanket Byleth had brought for her, and resolved to rid the world of slithering evils for good.

* * *

In the steep valley where the snow-swept plains kissed the pale rocks of Sreng’s maw, an archer crouched among bramble and shadow. Her steps were light and fast as she ventured deeper within the grounds of Fort Cernunnos. Shamir watched intently, counting each cluster of armed soldiers and noting the staggered wall of barricades. The structure was a sight to behold; a testament to the Faerghian crown's former prosperity and control over the mountains.

Shamir, apathetic as she was to Fódlan culture, could admit the towering walls inspired a healthy amount of awe. They were nearly as high as the mountain face and encompassed the mouth of the pass. The full perimeter extended several kilometers on either side, assuredly guarded by archers aplenty. With the ballistae crowning each corner of the fort, penetrating Cernunnos seemed impossible. Yet a similar belief had been held for Arianrhod, and Edelgard had been victorious.

The girl always seemed to rise where others fell, but there was no guarantee her luck would hold. Her triumph was necessary to prevent Blaiddyd from taking Fódlan. And Shamir would do anything to stop that cretin from gaining power. The Dagdan woman waited, positioned carefully from view as she treaded the outskirts of Cernunnos.

After an hour passed with night slowly taking hold, she settled atop a nearby outcropping to scan the parapets. From afar, the ballistae gleamed like eyes of steel. Suddenly, a piercing whistle broke the silence. It could have easily been mistaken for a bird, but Shamir knew better. She turned to see Captain Galatea approach with her pegasus.

“There’s more soldiers manning the walls than I remember,” the blonde woman revealed. She looked worried, brow pinched. “The patrols have been worryingly frequent too. It’s been hard gaining the lay of the land unnoticed.”

“Blaiddyd knows Edelgard wants the pass.” Shamir eyed the imposing walls with distaste. “Seizing it is vital to control the northern border. He’d be a fool not to do everything he can to keep it from her.”

“It’s a mystery how Rufus conquered Cernunnos in the first place.”

“Don’t give him any unearned credit. He used his wealth and influence to open the gates, then allowed a foreign army to do the rest. ‘Conquered’ is a far too generous description.”

The captain paused, searching Shamir’s face. “You hate him. Is that why you’ve been so cooperative?”

“No to both. I despise him fiercely, but hatred involves passion I refuse to grant the man. As for the latter, I’m here because I see an opportunity.” The Dagdan woman adjusted her gloves, feigning nonchalance. “Edelgard is pragmatic. If she knows we’re not a threat then there’s no reason to hunt us. Playing at fealty is better than allowing Catherine be put to the sword.”

“I don’t think anyone would mistake you for harmless. Yet I do see your point. Her Majesty wouldn’t waste a possible ally on old grievances.” Galatea patted the muzzle of her mount thoughtfully. “Do you think she would be merciful if someone defected from Rufus?”

“You would know better than I.”

“I suppose.” Green eyes swiveled to the billowing flags lining the fortress towers. “She’s always been gracious to those who knelt. I’ve never known her to be unfair or tyrannical, but this situation is irregular.”

“Hmm.” Shamir inspected the other woman, reading the anxiety she thinly veiled. “Why does this concern you?”

For a moment, it seemed as if Galatea wouldn't respond. Then she hunched her shoulders before speaking hesitantly. “...Someone I loved and respected still serves Rufus. My aunt. I know it’s a naive and childish thought, but I wonder whether I can convince her to surrender. And if she does, would Edelgard be willing to spare her?”

“Taking part in a rebellion is hard to forgive.”

“But she's only following her oath as a knight! I know most people don't understand, not even Her Majesty." Galatea’s expression crumpled, golden hair whipped by the wind. “You must, though. At least a little. You were a Knight of Seiros just like Catherine."

“You’re wrong. I never troubled myself over the incomprehensible codes and ethics knights were so partial to. Catherine can attest.” Shamir sighed. “I didn’t understand until much later why she obeyed Rhea without fail. And even then, I barely made sense of it. An individual’s will should not bend to arbitrary definitions of authority. Corruption will not change unless you scour the slate clean.

“You sound like Her Majesty.” Galatea deflated, yet her voice was colored with more than just resignation. Admiration, perhaps. “You and her are strong in ways we were never taught. For us, honor through sacrifice is the highest aspiration to achieve. I'm… not sure I think that anymore. However, I believe my aunt does."

“Then you won’t convince her of anything. It won’t end happily if you ignore that.”

“I know. It’s just hard for me to accept.” The captain swallowed thickly. “I’ve distracted us. We should return to scouting before we're spotted."

“Fine with me.” Shamir shrugged, but couldn’t quite forget the momentary agony upon Galatea’s face. It reminded her of Catherine just before Fhirdiad was set aflame — an instantaneous and consuming terror of a knight who couldn’t bear the duty they had been given. Shamir wondered if Catherine wore a similar look every day she served the Church.

Better that it’s ashes now. Better that such misery is singular and not lauded as noble.

“Do you think we can take the main gate?” Galatea asked. “Those barricades are a nuisance but maybe we can have our mages cut through.”

“Doubtful.” Shamir leaned over the rocks, squinting at the gate in question. “They would be slaughtered by the archers before they cleared them. It’s unlikely any hastily cobbled siege equipment will do much against those walls.”

“It does feel impossible at the moment. But then again, I was never one for strategy.”

“You don’t need to be. It’s more helpful to think like a thief than a soldier. For example…” Shamir pointed to the piles of pristine ice, just beyond the barricade line. “The snow is level with the surrounding area in front of the gate. A fortress of this size must have a formidable storehouse, so supplies must be continuously replenished. Yet how is that possible when no wagons have passed through?”

“Oh! Then there must be an entrance hidden somewhere. Possibly throughout the mountain?”

“That would be my guess.” She took the younger woman’s measure silently. “Do you think you can circle the range without being spotted?”

“I can.” Galatea sounded firm then, confident in her ability. Her spine straightened, bringing the captain to her full height. “If there’s a passageway to be found, I’ll find it. What will you do in the meantime?”

“The same as you, but below instead of above. It wouldn't surprise me if the fortress was home to substantial catacombs or sewage tunnels. Garreg Mach was similar in that regard." Shamir smirked faintly, unable to resist ruffling a few feathers. “It was how we escaped Edelgard’s initial assault. Come to think of it, I dimly recall you nearly piercing me with a javelin.”

“I… um—”

“Don’t worry. It’s all forgotten, and we fight for the same cause now.” She shouldered her bow before striding towards the fortress. “I promise not to clip your wings, Captain. On purpose anyway.”

* * *

Catherine wasn’t happy; an unavoidable state of affairs whenever Shamir left her side. They hadn’t been apart in months, and Catherine was all the antsier because of the danger. Shamir was a strong and clever woman, but she wasn’t invulnerable. Hopefully, Galatea had enough sense in her head to keep the both of them safe. Yet the current reason for her grievance went beyond simply missing her partner.

“...Excuse me?” Catherine scoffed, glaring balefully at the expectant face of Adrestia’s High General. She wasn’t forced to abide Eisner’s presence until now. The teal-haired sop had made herself scarce the past few days, preoccupied as she was with imperial affairs and strengthening their hold on Taranis. Catherine had been relieved by her absence, though the little Ordelia was no slouch when it came to scrutinizing the smith’s every movement. Yet here was the dozy-eyed cur, knocking down the barracks and requesting something ludicrous. “Fishing…? You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t ask idle questions.” Byleth paused, appearing to weigh what she just said. “Well I do, but there’s always a purpose behind it. Case in point, asking you to come with me. I require your expertise.”

“I’m not an expert. Besides, most Faerghian kids have a go of it. Why don’t you ask that lordling of yours?”

“Sylvain is busy assisting Lysithea and the Srengian populace. I can hardly drag him away on a small whim.”

“But wasting my time is fine? You do know I’m helping forge your precious siege equipment.”

“Well, you are a prisoner,” the general said without pause. “I’m merely putting you to use as I see fit. You agreed to those terms, as I recall."

“...And you’re a pain in the ass.” Catherine crossed her arms, wishing she was tucked into her bedroll and not suffering Byleth Eisner. “Why do you suddenly have a bug in your breeches over this? Fishing isn’t exactly what I call a necessary activity for a war effort.”

Byleth looked away, weight shifting to her heels. A myriad of emotions passed over the woman's normally inscrutable expression. "I need something to distract me. Fishing clears my head from the noise. It’s meditative.”

“Distract from what?” Catherine waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. The general appeared uneasy suddenly, as if she might bolt. Then the tumult upon her features eased and she straightened.

“That’s irrelevant. I just want to think and possibly gain a new skill. Will you help me?” Byleth held the smith’s glower without blinking.

“Hmph.” Catherine scowled but found she couldn't deny her outright. Not when Byleth appeared so genuine in her request. She might not like the woman, but she had always respected sincerity. It was one of the reasons why she adored Shamir… and Christophe. “You’re gonna have to wait until morning. If you force me out into the ice right now, I’ll be far too tempted to drown you.”

“But you will take me.” The shorter woman perked visibly.

“Sure. Not all morning, though. I don’t think either of us would come back alive.” Catherine exhaled with a heave, scratching through her hair. “Bring a spade and a solid branch or two. A sword as well. There are more savage things in the wilds than Rufus’ men. We don’t want to scrap with a bear over a few fish.”

“A spade? Branches…?”

Catherine waved her hand flippantly. “You’ll see why once we get out there. Just do it.”

“By morning’s light then. I’ll be ready.” Byleth’s face was comically serious, but she had an inkling the woman didn’t realize how ridiculous she came across. Catherine rolled her eyes as she waded back into the warmth of the barracks. She was going to regret this, Catherine could already feel it.

That sentiment deepened exponentially as Byleth dragged her into the frost before the first rays of dawn spilled over the hills. It was, as ever, face-blisteringly cold. But the general seemed undaunted. Byleth was annoyingly bushy-tailed as they tread through wind and snow. She had apparently already scoped a location for this venture; a small inlet where the ocean waters collected into a pool of ice. Catherine doubted there would be any fish beneath, but she knew any complaints would be ignored. She held up an arm as they reached the water’s edge. Byleth halted obediently.

“Give me the spade and your sword.” Catherine gestured with her fingers, beckoning. Suspicion darkened her companion’s expression. “Don’t look at me like that. You want to ice-fish or not?”

“I didn’t realize that required handing over my weapon.”

“If I wanted to gut you, I wouldn’t do it while Shamir’s gallivanting across Sreng and I’m stuck with you and Her Imperial Prissiness.”

Strangely enough, Byleth looked convinced by the reasoning. She handed over the spade before unsheathing her sword with only slight reluctance. Catherine took both in hand brusquely, whittling notches in inch-long increments along the spade shaft.

“What exactly is the purpose of this exercise?” Byleth asked.

“Measuring depth and ice thickness. Taking a watery plummet this far from shelter might be a death sentence.” Catherine paused to inspect her handiwork. Once satisfied, she returned the blade without looking at the other woman. “Stay behind me and don’t stray from where I step. If you hear the ice crack or see water, retreat calmly. Panicking won’t help anything.”

“Noted.”

Catherine glanced behind her, gauging whether Byleth was being flippant. She looked earnest enough, but the truth would reveal itself in time. It wasn’t Catherine’s responsibility if the fool got herself killed. Although, Edelgard might just execute me on principle.

Catherine huffed before stepping firmly onto the ice. The water was hazy and dusted thickly with snow; a good indicator of its age. She struck the spade’s tip a handful of steps ahead, watching to see if water bubbled to the surface. Catherine pressed onward, confidence growing with each strike. Only shards of ice followed in her wake as she forged a path to the middle of the inlet. Byleth was fortunately silent, allowing the smith to work unimpeded. She trailed after the taller woman diligently. Catherine stopped when she was satisfied with the area, tossing the general a triumphant look.

“I got us here, so you do the next part.” She shoved the spade against Byleth’s chest, motioning towards the ice. “Chisel out a fishing hole; small and efficient. Too much daylight spooks the fish.”

“Oh?” Byleth blinked at her, eyes wide. “Fascinating… Do you know why that is?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. Seemed to be true, so might as well stick to what works. You brought fishing line and hooks, right?”

“I never leave without them.” She sounded solemn, expression lacking in levity. Had it been anyone else, Catherine would have assumed the statement to be hyperbole. With Byleth, Catherine fully believed it. Not for the first time – and undoubtedly not for the last – she questioned the Emperor’s attraction to this loon. Then again, cracked eggs often stuck together.

“Now get to digging,” Catherine ordered. “The quicker we are about this the better.”

“So chipping speed affects the ice... Or are we racing against the sunlight?”

“Neither. I just don’t want to be trapped with you all morning.”

“Ah. Fair enough.” Byleth nodded to herself sagely before chipping at the ice. “You denied any expertise, yet you knew exactly what to do. Is this a tradition for Faerghian children? Perhaps a rite of passage.”

“More like an activity for bored noble children when throwing snow loses its appeal. But I guess that’s only relevant for me. I’m sure most ice-fishermen do it to survive the winter.” Catherine wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t the best at ice fishing; too impatient. Still, I remember how it’s done.”

“How about your siblings? Were they better?”

“My brother was. The only thing besides magic he bested me at. He would lord it over me every time we…” Catherine shut her mouth, teeth clicking together. She stared at Byleth sidelong. “Focus on the hole. We came here to fish, not jaw on about my family.”

“My apologies.” Byleth focused her full attention below her. A square recess was taking shape, at least a hand’s length in depth. With a swift thrust, she pierced the ice completely. Water bubbled inside the recess, spilling over the frozen plane until it evened to a languid trickle. She widened the gap until it was a uniform shape. “Will this do?”

“Good enough.” Catherine nodded, begrudging. “Go ahead and measure depth with those notches I cut. Should be over three inches to be safe.”

“Hmm… Looks to be at least five. Do we fish now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tie off a good length of line for the both of us and get those branches from your pack. Fishing with a traditional pole allows too much light; we need to mitigate this by hovering over the water.” Catherine laid flat on the ice, propping herself with her elbows. She shimmied to the hole before holding out a hand to Byleth, keeping her shadow positioned over the lip. “I’ll show you how it’s done first.”

“Thank you, Catherine.”

“Don’t bother with gratitude. I’m only doing this so you don’t harass me later.” Catherine wound the line around the thin branch, then carefully let the hook fall into the water. She held the branch above the hole horizontally in a pointed demonstration. "Keep watch over the line from above, and use your body to shield from the sun. Not much else to do save for jangling the bait when you see a fish.”

“Surprisingly simple. Shall I give it a go?” Byleth knelt across from the smith, clearly eager to try for herself. Catherine just considered her for a time before shaking her head.

“It’s not the only thing simple around here, but sure.” She frowned, watching intently as the woman copied her actions and settled atop the ice. Normally, Catherine would be content to ignore Byleth entirely, but something about this entire ordeal felt odd. “...Why did you want to come out here anyway? I don’t know her well, but Edelgard doesn’t strike me as the type of person who encourages idle hobbies during war. Shouldn’t you be organizing the army or cooking up strategy?”

“I will. Later.” Byleth’s features smoothed, still as the surrounding ice. She kept her gaze to the dark water. “El—Her Majesty can handle it until I return. Our plans are on hold for now anyway. We won’t know the situation with Cernunnos until Ingrid reports back.”

“So you choose to spend your day lazing about. About what I expected.” Catherine snorted, not bothering to hide her ridicule. It seemed to bounce off that dense mop anyway.

“You’re implying a lack of initiative on my part. However, that’s far from the truth. I have too much of it, and directed in entirely the wrong manner.” Byleth tugged half-heartedly on her line. "I said something shouldn’t have and assumed even more than that. I think I upset her.”

Spare me the lovelorn antics of the Emperor and her dog. Catherine grimaced, catching onto her meaning with ease. She didn’t plan to be in the midst of whatever silly squabble the royal couple held. Suddenly, Catherine wished she had turned the woman away the night before. Byleth didn’t appear to notice her immense disinterest as she continued.

“I only meant to help, but it’s true I’m ignorant of the horrors she suffered. The barest of details hardly paint a complete picture. I was arrogant to think otherwise.”

“I’m not gonna pretend I understand anything you’re saying.” Catherine sighed, resigned to her fate. “But if you’re sorry, then go say it to her. Telling me is a waste.”

“Maybe,” Byleth conceded. “But I can count on you to be impartial. You don’t care for me, so your honesty will be more useful than delicately spoken sentiments. El… she gives too much of herself to make me happy. I don’t want to burden her further.”

“Honesty, huh? Is that why you dragged me out here and not your pet Gautier?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to compromise Sylvain’s loyalties.” The teal-haired woman tilted her head, appearing to think. “Even so, I didn’t lie. He’s too preoccupied with everything to spare time for a jaunt."

“Leaving me to be your unwitting confidant. Joy.” Catherine tucked the branch beneath her arm, settling in for a long morning of this nonsense. “You want my honesty? Don’t go making things more complicated than necessary. If you screwed up, then go make up for it.”

“I want to, but I’m not sure whether my desire to stay by her side means I accept her suffering as immutable fact.” Byleth looked pitiably morose when she next spoke. “She keeps her secrets where no one else can reach, locking them away behind an iron mask. How am I meant to ease her pain when she refuses to let me see?”

“You say that as if it’s your duty. Whatever demons she carries, they aren’t for you to slay.” Catherine softened as she thought of a distant night spent with Shamir. Her partner had been brutally candid when the shameful details of Catherine’s past were discussed. She needed to hear the incisive judgment Shamir offered; too buried in her shame and self-pity to see the truth. In the end, it wasn't the Dagdan woman who dragged Catherine to the surface.

She asked me to be brave. So that's what I did. “She needs to confront them herself to be at peace. You can lend your support if asked, but she’s the one who needs to fight. Not you.”

“So what am I to do then? How can I help if I’m not allowed?” A fleeting expression of agony stole over the general. “During the war, my assistance was middling. I returned too late to make a true difference. Useless, in the grand scheme of things. I’ve tried to do right by her ever since; loved her to the best of my ability. Yet it hasn’t been enough.”

“Did Edelgard tell you that?”

“She didn’t need to. I know my faults better than anyone.” The general rested her chin atop a hand, gaze distant. “Before the academy—before her and all of my Eagles—I was a creature who lived without purpose. A half-living thing that only breathed and fought. No joy, no passion, no fear, no misery. A blank page. Yet she spilled ink upon me, filling in the missing pieces to make me something real. Slowly, I felt myself waking from the endless dream of my life, becoming alive in a way I had never been. And I don’t want to return to the dream. I refuse to go back.”

“Is that why…?” Catherine trailed off, unsure where she was going with the line of thought. She didn’t quite understand everything Byleth was saying, but vividly recalled the stone-faced woman who stalked the halls of Garreg Mach. Her impassiveness had been legendary, surpassing even Shamir. She still saw glimmers of that stoic mien, but these days Byleth seemed more approachable; more human.

“I still struggle to understand how a normal person should behave,” Byleth said softly. “I flail like any newborn, feeling my way through a world who expects more from me. It’s often easier to simply smile and pretend I know what I’m doing. And if my inane curiosity and perpetual confusion disturb people, at least I can pretend it's intentional.”

“You… are absolutely depressing. It’s shocking how much.” Catherine boggled at the other woman, aghast. “At least now I know why the Emperor likes you. You’re both uncomfortably dramatic. I'll give you credit though. I just thought you had a giant stick up your ass.”

“I’m not sure how that correlates. Or works.” Byleth cocked her head, confused. She seemed to shake it off after a moment. “Regardless, I do what I can to maintain a facade of competence. Edelgard placed her trust in me, so I must strive to reach her standards—both as a general and as a lover. I can’t afford to fail her, unworthy as I am of her affections.”

“Huh.” Catherine stared at the general. She exhaled through her nose in a sharp spurt before reaching into her satchel. “I’m too sober for this. Take my advice or don't, but I say you suck it up and make peace with your mediocrity."

“What?” Byleth blinked at her, caught by surprise. Catherine pressed on before she recovered.

“Do you think you’re the only unworthy fool who fell in love? Goddess knows I don’t deserve Shamir, yet she keeps me anyway.” She wrapped her hands around the neck of her canteen, tugging it into view. Catherine bit the stop and took a swig. The smith hadn’t felt the need to drink in months and only brought it out of habit, but after hearing Eisner’s sad rant she deserved a little soaking. “She should have left me to burn. You all thought so, right? Yet she didn’t, and mercifully loved me even when I couldn’t. I don’t question why. I’m only grateful she did.”

“The situations aren’t very similar. And Edelgard isn’t Shamir.”

“They have their similarities,” Catherine commented begrudgingly. “Both keep their cards close to the chest, and rooting out anything personal is like pulling teeth. But I’m not built like that. Sure, I have secrets I don’t like coming to light, but I also need to have someone else explain where I went wrong. Otherwise, I just end up in a nasty pattern of self-defeat and avoiding uncomfortable truths. I’m willing to wager it’s similar for you.”

“Oh. I suppose you’re right a bit.” Byleth nodded, curling her finger around the fishing line pensively. “I was so sure her problems could be solved in the same way mine were. However, we’re not the same. I can’t expect her to find closure from mere words or flimsy assurances. I should trust that El knows what she needs to overcome this.”

“Sounds like you’re getting somewhere.” Finally. Catherine sighed, thoroughly done with the conversation. She took another mouthful from the canteen, the liquor burning its way down. “Are you going to speak with her? Honestly, if you need more encouragement, I might just take my chances with Rufus.”

“I will.” Resolve flickered within the younger woman’s eyes. She beheld Catherine with something akin to respect. “You’re more perceptive than you make yourself seem. Thank you for humoring me.”

“I’m not a fan of backhanded compliments, Eisner.” Catherine scowled, but it faded rapidly. She was too tired to be truly offended. “You’re welcome, I guess. Just keep your attention on the fish.”

“It was genuinely meant,” Byleth insisted. “I’m still uncertain of how I’ll make amends, but you helped me realize what she needs. Perhaps I’m unworthy, but Edelgard loves me as I am. So I will be patient and love her in return.”

Catherine regarded the general askance, weighing the words she spoke. After some time, she raised her canteen. “To being unworthy. Let them never know just how much.”

She sipped quickly and wiped the top with her sleeve. Then tossed it to Byleth. The woman caught it with her free hand, confusion obvious.

“Drink it, you prat. An unanswered toast is a bad omen,” Catherine said. She observed sourly as Byleth sniffed the canteen and peered inside. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

“Pardon my reserve. I’m only cautious as a courtesy to El. She would be very unhappy if I poison myself.”

“Just drink the damn whiskey, Eisner.”

Next Chapter: The Horns of Cernunnos

Chapter Text

Below the ice and stone of Cernunnos where light could not step, shadows gathered in silent contemplation. All were akin to one another, bearing no witness save the wailing call of the north winds. Then, a new shadow joined the herd—silent as the rest yet bearing no likeness to those who came before. It slithered along the cold-slick walls, sly and lithe as a cat. A strike of flint broke the stillness before light arched along the pallid rock.

Shamir crept low, scanning her environment. Her eyes hooded as they adjusted to the sparse light. It had been on a lark to scour the indomitable foundation of Cernunnos. She had little luck finding an opening as the archer dodged the idling patrols and weaved through dark swathes of snow. Then, she came across a hollow recess, irregular and traveling deep—far more than a natural upheaval could unearth.

It had been a mere hunch to crawl beneath. However, when the pit flared into a large chamber Shamir knew she had found something of worth. She stood, sweeping her makeshift torch in a wide arc. The walls were smooth, carefully chiseled; the ceiling low if distinctly shaped by hand. Men had left their mark here, though the purpose was a mystery. Catacombs would require a larger space to house the dead. And, from a cursory glance, Shamir saw no evidence of refuse or sewage.

What exactly had she found? Curious, Shamir waded deeper into the dark. There was little of interest for the most part. Yet in the northernmost corner, guided by a glint of bronze, a great mass loomed. Shamir wandered closer, raising the torch high. Hideous shadows splattered the chamber, thrown from the grotesque menagerie sitting cross-legged upon a pedestal. Its shape was malformed, composed of uneven shafts of wood and bone. Fur and twine rounded a yellowed skull, binding a crown of antlers to its hunched frame. Bronze glinted from the eye-sockets in a facsimile of sight.

Shamir inspected the figure, unable to shake the brief disquiet felt. She found it twisted and grisly to behold... yet oddly beautiful. התהילה הנוראה של הריקבון. For a time, she considered whether this had been constructed recently. She doubted the Faerghian occupants had built something so primal to look upon. No, this spoke of a ritualistic nature. Undoubtedly Srengian, though that begged the question of when. The chamber looked far too old and untouched.

The Dagdan woman moved away, refocusing on the task at hand. There would be time to mull over this shrine after Cernunnos fell. Other than the curious sculpture, the chamber appeared to house little. Eventually, she found a narrow passageway and carefully cleared the cluster of webs and dust that obscured her sight. Shamir hoped it would lead to an exploitable entrance, yet as she reached the tunnel’s end there was naught but collapsed stones; a pitiable end to a possible advantage.

Shamir scowled, prepared to retreat, when a noise caught her ear. A rumbling hum… voices? Shadows passed beneath her feet, thrown from a different light source than the torch. She looked up instinctively and saw no impenetrable rock, but a grate. Pale spindles of fire could barely be seen. Shamir set down her torch and climbed the collapsed stones, closing her eyes to focus on the distant conversation.

“ —pared? She’ll be arriving soon.”

“ Of course, Lord Arundel. We’ll wait at your behest. ”

“Very good. My niece is wily but impulsive. It’ll be her undoing.”

Shamir tensed, unnerved but not surprised by this development. The Lord of Arundel had always seemed the under-handed sort. Even before the war's end, it was speculated Arundel had lost favor with the Emperor for suspected sedition. To know he was working alongside Blaiddyd made a great deal of sense. Still, it was uncertain how Edelgard would react.

“And what of the rest?” the lord’s unknown companion asked.

“Irrelevant. Whether successful or not, it’ll be too late.”

The voices ceased their chatter, footsteps echoing in their wake. The faint light dissipated. Shamir waited for several moments before leaping to the ground. She gathered her torch, thoughts racing as she headed for the passage entrance. Edelgard needed to be aware of Arundel’s involvement. From the sound of things, there were more dangers in store than a mere siege.

When Shamir crawled onto the moon-brushed snow, she searched the sky for Galatea. Hopefully, the captain had found something worthwhile. She rose to her feet, only to immediately still. The small hairs along her nape stood on end. Acting on instinct, Shamir dashed and rolled. Arrows sliced through the ice as they followed in pursuit. Then, a bellowing horn shook the air. It reverberated against her teeth as she snarled.

Swiftly, the Dagdan woman ran for the wooded plains, intending to lose them amid the undergrowth. She should have swept the area before exiting. Sloppy on her part. Village life had blunted her caution, and now she might pay for it. Another slew of arrows whistled by, forcing her to weave through the trees. A louder horn roared over the frosted canopy, followed by the crank of ballistae.

As Shamir crested a hill, a massive shape swooped beside her. She whirled, bow at the ready, only to freeze as Ingrid’s shocked face registered. She exhaled steadily, loosening her stance.

“Captain,” Shamir panted. “We need to leave.”

“I noticed.” Ingrid glanced nervously to the fort. “You were spotted?”

“Unfortunately.” Shamir shouldered her bow before sliding atop the winged beast. A pearly flank rippled before the creature flapped hard. They ascended quickly, taking shelter amid the dense clouds. “I suppose I’ve lost my touch after all this time. Thank you for the save.”

“That… might be my fault actually.” Ingrid winced. “I had to flee myself after a patrol saw me hovering near the eastern tower. I’m not very good at scouting if I'm honest. I imagine they actively went looking for spies once I fled.”

“Most likely, but no matter.” Shamir shrugged, somewhat appeased by the reveal. “What were you doing there? I thought you were searching the range.”

“Looking for you. Poorly, to my great shame, but I needed your input.” The blonde woman appeared to shake off her chagrin. From Shamir’s position, she could barely make out the tight line of Ingrid’s mouth. “I found something; a tunnel through the mountain, just as you said. It looked well-traveled and guarded to the teeth.”

“Enough to be a problem?”

“I don’t believe so. We’ll have to split our forces, but I’m sure a skilled group can overwhelm them without much fuss. The path is far enough from the main gate to go unnoticed.”

“Then we’ve found a weakness.” Shamir peered over the clouds, catching a glimpse of the burning braziers of Cernunnos. Their little adventure had proved more illuminating than expected. The presence of Lord Arundel, a hidden path within the mountain; fortuitous by any measure. So why did she feel so uneasy? “We need to fly fast for Taranis. With luck, the Emperor will be ready to march.”

“Agreed,” Ingrid responded. She directed her mount higher, the rapid flutter of pegasi wings drowning the wind. As the land stretched before them, Shamir slipped into idle contemplation. It felt like there was something else to discover—a context to their findings that she couldn’t quite grasp. Shamir frowned deeply. Vividly, she recalled the macabre statue sitting in a tomb of stone; its sightless eyes glaring in silent condemnation. Shamir was too grounded for superstition. But she knew well the weight of faith, and the power it could inspire.

Something ancient and beloved to Sreng lay beneath a monument to Faerghian might. Perhaps too, the bones of trampled people. What horrors had they seen? What repulsive things were they willing to accomplish in return? Shamir set the thought aside, unwilling to entertain it further. Conjecture helped very little in the end. All she needed to do was aid the Empire in ending this rebellion. Then… Shamir and Catherine could finally live in peace; far from the reach of Emperors, lords, and bloody conflict.

* * *

When Edelgard awoke alone, a momentary confusion seized her. She blinked at the bed of furs, searching for the striking blue of her lover’s hair. Then, clarity burned away the dregs of sleep. She sighed into her pillow before rising. From the deep yellows suffusing her lodge, it was later in the morning than she would have liked. Why did no one wake her?

She mumbled to herself sourly, dressing in a rush. Lysithea or Byleth’s meddling, no doubt. Earnest intentions aside, an Emperor couldn’t afford to be idle. As she exited her quarters, Edelgard heard the droning of sparring soldiers and the steady clamor of craftsmen plying their trade. She squinted eastward where a cluster of smithies diligently worked. The trebuchets appeared complete, though it was a shame the terrain would make transportation a hurdle. It was already a loss they could not use siege towers to scale the walls.

Edelgard expected to see Catherine among them, yet the woman was nowhere to be found. It was an odd, but not too troubling occurrence. Perhaps she was being put to work elsewhere. Edelgard eyed the smiths for a moment longer before searching for the dark form of Byleth. Her lover was never hard to spot, even amid a crowded and harried port. As she strode down the winding path to the scarred shore of Taranis, Edelgard could still not find her. Concern lurched within her belly.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Lysithea called in a rush. The pale woman had her nose buried in a scroll as she strode past. “Everything is going smoothly. No need to fuss. We’ll talk later after you eat.”

“Hold a moment, Lysithea.” Edelgard folded her arms, eyes narrowed. “Are you the one I can thank for my impromptu lie-in? I thought I ordered you to wake me with the crows.”

“Forgive me, Edelgard, but I'm afraid there are only gulls here. Not a crow in sight." Lysithea stared at her evenly. The Emperor had never seen anyone look so unrepentant. “You appear well-rested. A little piqued, but otherwise refreshed.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“On the contrary, I know I am.” Lysithea spared a smile before sobering. “I was serious before. Everything is running smoothly. We should be ready to march in a matter of days.”

“You say that as if you expect me to stand aside,” Edelgard observed warily.

“Because I do. The world won’t fall to ruin should you take some time to collect yourself. As your advisor, I recommend—”

“While I’m grateful for your diligence, sitting on my hands and allowing others to work in my stead only serves to shame me.” The Emperor steeled her jaw, raising her head in textbook obstinacy. “If there’s sweat to be shed, let me share in the struggle.”

“Hmph. Very well. But if I see you contemplating your eyelids instead of strategy, I shan’t be amused.” Lysithea clicked her tongue once. Then she unfurled her scroll once again. “With my projections, we should have enough resources for one significant push towards Cernunnos. The maps Sylvain provided denote little in the way environmental hazards, possible ambushes notwithstanding. We’ll need to wait for Ingrid to return, of course. Ancient depictions aren’t particularly reliable.”

“Sylvain seemed confident in a straight march. My greatest worry is if the weather will hold. We’ve had a run of calm winds, but we can’t expect it to last.” Edelgard shivered from a stern gust as if expressing her annoyance had called nature to retaliate. "Expedience would be preferable. By the by, have you seen Byleth? I would prefer to hear her input as well.”

For reasons unknown, Lysithea’s expression darkened.

“The General is… preoccupied. She went with Catherine—” The name was spoken thickly. Lysithea’s lip curled like the mere mention took great effort. “—to ice fish, of all things. I advised her not to, but sadly we both know that when Byleth’s heart is set on something…”

“It’s impossible to convince her otherwise. I’m well aware.” Edelgard frowned. It was doubtful the smith would try anything malicious. At least, not when Shamir was so far from camp. Edelgard never took Catherine for someone particularly intelligent, but she didn’t have a death wish. “I’m sure they’ll behave. Mostly.”

“I don’t share your confidence. Catherine might be lamed, but she had enough teeth to fend off Rufus’ plot.”

“I see you’ve been worrying unnecessarily yourself,” Edelgard remarked. “Byleth is more than capable of fending off Catherine in her prime, let alone the condition she’s in now.”

“I suppose. She did say I could fry her on sight if Catherine returned alone.” Lysithea appeared to enjoy the notion. Then, her eyes widened with surprise before flattening. “...A pity I won’t get the chance. Here’s the unlikely duo now.”

The Emperor followed her line of sight to see her lover ambling down the slope. Byleth looked in pleasant enough spirits, face ruddy and hair tumbling in the wind. She was saying something to her taller companion; though from Catherine’s disgruntled personage, it went unappreciated. Which was the most one could hope for between those two honestly. Edelgard craned her head as she overheard their conversation.

“—quite different than what I expected. Petra was graceful, naturally. But I struggled with the basic mechanics. I never thought my lung capacity would be so poor.”

“I didn’t ask, Eisner.”

“I know, I know… I imagine spearfishing would be out of the question for most Faerghians. Still, I think you’d enjoy it. If you should ever find yourself in Brigid, Petra is wonderfully skilled and a patient teacher.”

“Somehow, I don’t think the Queen of Brigid would willingly help me.”

“You make a fine point. Perhaps she might if I were there…?”

“Oh, for the love of—Please stop threatening me with your company.”

That could be going much worse, Edelgard thought with a snort. Byleth, for all her atypical behaviors, was surprisingly adept with people. She employed a strange sort of charm, but one no less potent. The Emperor cleared her throat when they seemed oblivious to her presence. Catherine scowled but otherwise didn't react. Byleth on the other hand just smiled pleasantly.

“El! You look rested. I’m glad.” Her voice was the same soothing cadence, lacking in any audible turmoil. Edelgard inspected Byleth’s face, relieved to find no hint of reserve either. A tension she didn’t realize was there melted from the Emperor’s shoulders.

“You as well. I struggle to understand how since you spent the morning with Catherine.”

“I’m right here, you know.” The smith grunted in agitation. Edelgard allowed her impertinence if only to keep the peace. “General Chatty over there is the one who dragged me onto the ice at the crack of dawn. Wasn’t my idea by far.”

“It was good fun.” Byleth nodded shortly. “I nearly drowned after my foot slipped into the hole. Thankfully, Catherine was quick and kept me from pulling us both in.”

“That doesn’t sound ‘fun’, Professor,” Lysithea said, nose wrinkling with her brow.

“It doesn’t?” On anyone else, Byleth’s shock would have come across as condescending. Yet the general’s blue eyes bore nothing but earnest befuddlement. “Everything is much more exciting with the possibility of demise.”

“You’re right, Eisner. Got a perfect example of it too.” A wicked smirk rose to Catherine’s lips. Edelgard stared at her askance, immediately suspicious. “There’s nothing quite like bedding someone who can kill you in a blink. Shamir—”

“That’s enough idle chatter for one day. We have a rebellion to crush.” The Emperor waved her hand dismissively. She expected the Faerghian woman to grouse on principle, but Catherine rolled her eyes before looking away. Perchance old dogs could be taught. “Lysithea was informing me we’re almost set to march. Do you agree, General?”

“Our wounded are healed and the repairs needed for our armory are complete. I don’t see why we couldn’t,” Byleth commented thoughtfully. She straightened, adopting a serious mien. “The siege engines are near completion as well. If you want the army mobilized, it can be done by the day’s end.”

“Not yet, but it's encouraging to know we're all agreed." Edelgard wet her lips as prepared to inquire further when a shadow darkened the snow. She looked up reflexively, fully expecting to see a passing cloud. Instead, it was a pegasus. Ingrid and Shamir had returned. "...It seems the last piece of the puzzle has arrived."

“Shall I fetch Sylvain, Your Majesty?” Lysithea perked. It wasn’t clear whether her enthusiasm stemmed from Ingrid’s return or simply a desire to leave. The malignant stares she shot Catherine had not gone unnoticed.

“Please do. Inform the rest we’re not to be disturbed.” As Lysithea flitted away, the Emperor turned her gaze to Catherine. “As for you, it’s best you hurry off to the craftsman barracks. We won’t be requiring your brand of expertise.”

“The hell I will! If Shamir’s there, then I’m coming with.” The blonde woman bristled. Edelgard stared at Catherine hard, a sharp retort upon her tongue. Byleth stepped between them.

“About that, El… I would prefer Catherine to be present for this.”

“Excuse me?” Edelgard sent her a look of betrayal. Appearing to sense the Emperor’s ire, Byleth hurried to explain.

“As a former Knight of Seiros, she could provide insight on siege tactics. I’ve heard tale that the Knights of Seiros were skilled sappers.”

“I've conquered many a lord's fortress in my day." Catherine settled, evidently mollified by the praise. "Those who holed up in their castles and chateaux, keen to wait out the Goddess’ judgment. Never worked.”

How proudly you admit to slaughter. Edelgard sniffed, keeping her thoughts silent. She didn’t have the patience to start a row. “Fine. I concede your experience in this matter. However, that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate insubordination. Only speak when addressed. I do not make this offer lightly, Ser.”

Catherine looked at her oddly before nodding. Then she headed towards the stables, presumably to reunite with her partner. Edelgard pursed her lips once the smith disappeared from view.

“Should I be concerned about this newfound friendship?” she asked Byleth pointedly.

“I wouldn’t call it that. However, we did come to an understanding. Catherine is more insightful than she appears.” The older woman chuckled fast at Edelgard’s look of disbelief. “It’s true. Although, I would be willing to wager she’d deny it.”

“If you insist. I highly doubt she’ll offer useful council.”

“Maybe not. But knowing her, she’ll barge in to see Shamir anyway.” Byleth’s lips twitched, a knowing gleam in her eye. “The entire time, Catherine paid more attention to the sky than the water. I don’t think we could keep her away if we tried.”

“Hmph. Well, I suppose if it were you I would feel much the same.” There was a brief pause as their eyes held. Suddenly, all Edelgard could think about was their prior spat. The memory of hurt on Byleth’s face haunted her more than any slithering terrors. She swallowed, guilt pooling hotly in her chest. “Byleth…”

“We shouldn’t keep the others waiting.” Byleth smiled in apology, taking away the sting. “We’ll have time to speak after the siege. I promise.”

“After, then.” It was a compromise Edelgard wasn’t sure she was content with. Yet she didn’t have the heart to argue. If Byleth wanted to wait, then the least she could do was accept.

I love you, Edelgard wished to say. I’m sorry for being a patchwork mess of a person. Yet, as with everything else, she couldn’t bring herself to speak it aloud. Later, Edelgard consoled herself. Byleth promised, and so it shall be done.

* * *

“A hidden path through the mountain?”

Of all the potential discoveries and advantages the Emperor hoped to find, this had never been in the running. Had she not known better, Edelgard would have suspected Ingrid of making a poorly constructed jest. Yet her captain’s features were stone.

“You heard correctly. It lays eastward of the main gate, where the mountain slopes to meet the plains. It’s heavily guarded, but if we’re quick they won’t have time to alert the rest.”

“Large enough for the bulk of our army?”

“Unfortunately no. The passage is narrow, perhaps only three shoulder-lengths in width. We could funnel our army through, but there’s no telling how deep it winds or whether they’ll be picked off upon exiting.”

“Once the guards are dealt with, a covert team could press inward,” Shamir commented from the corner. The Dagdan woman appeared nonchalant, but her stare was sharp. “No need for siege towers or ladders if you can lower the gates from within.”

“That sounds like too risky a gambit.” Sylvain scowled. He eyed Shamir with palpable distrust. “We have no way of knowing if it leads to Cernunnos in the first place. There’s no record of a hidden entrance in my father’s notes. No accounts or documentation of one either. It’s more likely to be a supply cache or mine.”

“The only tracks in the snow led from the path itself. Not the main gates.” Shamir turned to him, brow pinched.

“That means nothing. Rufus has been hunkering down for weeks. He’s had plenty of time to build rations.”

“Would you rather command your entire army to batter those impenetrable walls? You know this plan is worth pursuing.”

“Forgive me if I’m slow to place trust in someone who's warred with the Empire twice over.”

“You got a problem, Gautier?” Catherine, who had been content sitting quietly beside Shamir thus far, lunged to her feet. Her hands balled, forearms rigid with straining tendons. The snarling expression she wore would have made lesser men shirk, yet Sylvain didn’t balk at all. He glared at both of them.

“Plenty. I don’t claim to understand why you’re here, but I won’t allow Her Majesty to be led astray. The word of a known enemy isn’t worth much to me.”

“How about my word?” Ingrid asked curtly. She favored Sylvain with a chiding look. “I’m the one who found the passage, not Shamir. And I say the possible reward outweighs any risks.”

“Well said.” Edelgard crossed her legs. She regarded Catherine; unamused. “Your aggression isn’t warranted here. I don’t know the etiquette of Faerghian courts nor how the Church settled disputes, but in Adrestia we use our words. I won’t stop to correct you again.”

Catherine sneered but said nothing. She retook her place beside Shamir. From the rankling glower she sent Sylvain, it was plain the matter wasn't over. Hopefully, they wouldn't come to blows before the siege. Edelgard needed her cavalry general at his best. She addressed said man firmly.

“While your concern is noted, take care not to impose your judgment without my consult. I commanded Shamir to scout Cernunnos because I trust her opinion. Are you presuming to know better than I?”

“...No, Your Majesty.” Sylvain’s shoulders fell, indignation drained. “Yet as a son of Gautier, I cannot say I’ve ever heard of such a thing. The only one who would know the truth would be my father.”

“And he’s too addled to remember,” Lysithea reminded him. Her words were sharp but not unkind. "Despite any misgivings, I'm willing to entertain this idea. Not just to lower the gate but also to destroy the ballistae."

“Lysithea is right. We can dismantle both in one decisive assault.” Ingrid stepped forward, hands clasped militantly behind her back. “When the ballistae are dealt with, I’ll be free to strike from above. Vengeance will be claimed in the name of all our fallen.”

“Then we have a plan in place.”

“As for infiltration, I humbly volunteer.” Byleth raised a hand. Edelgard looked at her curiously. “The Emperor will need to lead the vanguard. Rufus and his commanders will know something is amiss if she’s absent. However, Blaiddyd won’t pay me any mind. I can lead my men through the passage, and rout the soldiers lining the fortress walls. When the ballistae are destroyed, I’ll signal Ingrid with the braziers.”

“I’ll go with you,” Shamir interjected. She shrugged when everyone took a moment to stare. Catherine seemed particularly alarmed. “Since Gautier is so suspicious of me, I’ll prove my mettle by lending a hand. You’ll need me anyway if you come across any locked doors.”

“That’s a generous offer.” Edelgard paused as she tried to read the Dagdan woman’s face. Shamir wasn’t quite as inscrutable as Byleth had been, but it was close. At the moment, the only thing she caught was faint interest. “I’m assuming your services will require compensation?”

“Only what has already been promised. Perhaps, along with a favor.” Shamir's expression did not change, but the gleam in violet eyes was distinctly crafty. Edelgard knew better than to bargain with cunning individuals. It never ended well. Yet she was willing to place faith in Shamir’s desire for freedom. Her self-interests would keep the woman in line for the most part.

“Should you aid General Eisner in this endeavor, you shall be granted one... within reason,” Edelgard stressed.

“Good enough.” Shamir flipped the dark tide of her hair, head craned towards a furiously whispering Catherine. The smith did not appear happy about what transpired, dusky skin blanched pale. Shamir just patted her partner’s cheek, deepening Catherine’s frown. Edelgard gave her credit—Shamir had Catherine trained well. She interlaced her fingers atop the table before speaking again.

“We’ve settled the matter concerning the gate, but we can’t assume anything. Should our assumptions be false or Byleth and Shamir are overwhelmed, we’ll need to have a plan.” Edelgard peered at Ingrid expectantly. “How far do the barricades stretch? Can they be broken with brute force?”

“They’re quite frequent; staggered to prevent a straight push to the gate. Even if the terrain was clear, siege towers wouldn’t be feasible. It’s easy to see why Cernunnos has never been breached through traditional means. As for force… it’s possible with our numbers, but it would be careless to waste the lives of more men than necessary.”

“Mitigation is preferred.” Lysithea sighed, twirling a length of parchment. “Still, wood and iron are far from impervious. If we can place a line of mages at the front of our vanguard—”

“That’s too risky. You’ll be sniped by their archers before the first barricade falls,” Edelgard cut in. Lysithea blinked at her slowly.

“Everything about this is a risk, Your Majesty. But you didn’t let me finish. We can blast the barricades with magic before sheltering behind the vanguard. Then your troops raise their shields, wait out the archers, and we repeat.”

“Like a dance,” Byleth mused. She looked up, gaze distant. “The enemy will fire in salvo. Around five seconds to aim and fire. The vanguard can move with their shields raised during this time. A mage for every footman will trail behind. If you can get the timing right, the barricades will be little more than a minor inconvenience.”

“You read my mind perfectly, Professor!” Lysithea chirped.

“It does sound ideal. But we’re relying on too much assumption for my liking.” Edelgard bit her lip, uncertain. “The enemy will catch on once they see our tactic. What then?”

“Chaos breeds cowards.” Catherine snorted. She crossed her arms tight, gaze hooded as if recalling something unpleasant. With her history, Edelgard fully expected as much. “They’ll have two options. Rush you and meet the vanguard directly, or wait for you to approach the barricade. Most will choose the latter out of misplaced self-preservation.”

“I happen to agree. Even if the archers get wise, we’ll have our trebuchets to distract them. Once they’re dealt with, we can send our cavalry to mop up.” Lysithea concluded. The advisor glanced at Sylvain who nodded his assent.

“That might be enough to disrupt their attempts to organize into a collective.” Byleth stirred from thought to focus on Edelgard. “Catherine is right. Fear will keep them close to the barricades, leaving them open to mage fire. Once I open the portcullis, we can finish them neatly.”

“A finely laid plan if everything goes as it should,” Sylvain conceded. “Before the fighting starts, Ingrid and I can case the area for reinforcements. I wouldn’t put it past Rufus to have a trick or two handy.”

“Speaking of…” Shamir voiced with a lilt. A strange tension took hold as she met Edelgard’s curious stare. “I came across an interesting tidbit of information. Lord Arundel, your uncle, was there the night we scouted.”

The Emperor stiffened at the name, all her fears coming to life in an instant. The corpses they found had alluded to as much, but to know it for truth… This was a complication she had vainly hoped to circumvent. Across the table, she heard Lysithea shift within her chair. Edelgard could not look at her, choosing instead to take strength from Byleth’s neutral face.

“You’re sure of what you saw?” the general asked.

“I heard him speaking with one of his men. They referred to Arundel by name.” Shamir waved a gloved hand. “I don’t know what Blaiddyd intends, but Arundel is plotting something. Understood that much.”

“Why would Lord Arundel side with Rufus?” Sylvain fell quiet after posing the question. Something seemed to occur to him belatedly. “Oh… Right. Patricia Arundel. It all comes full circle, I guess. Still, I’m surprised he would move against his niece.”

“We haven’t been close in quite some time,” Edelgard explained quietly. “Uncle did not approve of my vision for the Empire. It conflicted with his personal goals. Truthfully, I can’t say I’m astounded by this so much as disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” Sylvain appeared genuinely upset for her, which made Edelgard’s deceit sit all the heavier. Secrets upon secrets… but until they’re all gone I must continue. Those Who Slither were her demons to slay—not his, not Byleth, not any of her friends.

“I’ve made peace with the death of family before. I won’t allow it to trouble me.” Edelgard cleared her throat. “If Arundel should take the field alongside Rufus, spare him no mercy. When the siege begins, Sylvain will command the rear and make sure we aren’t taken by surprise. Be they from Faerghus or Adrestia, I care not. Anyone who kneels for a straw king will be buried with him.”

“It shall be done.” Sylvain bowed.

“Then we all know our roles.” The Emperor rose, sweeping the crimson tail of her coat. Every eye in the room was fixed upon her frame.

“Cernunnos will be ours and Rufus Blaiddyd’s brief rebellion will be naught but a footnote in history,” Lysithea spoke with confidence.

“It’s about time we kick Blaiddyd where it hurts. Taranis was the start, but we’ll show him the true meaning of fear.” Sylvain mustered a waspish grin. “For the men of Gautier he bled. For the Empire he dared to oppose.”

“For the innocents he murdered in Culann.” Catherine traded a look with Shamir before nodding towards Edelgard. “He’ll pay for his arrogance. I trust you’ll accomplish that much, Emperor.”

“You already know my faith is absolute. My sword will cleanse the walls of Cernunnos—for you, Your Majesty.” Byleth walked closer. Her spine was unbending; stalwart as ever in her commitment. It reminded Edelgard of those five years spent as her Strike Force warred with the Church. Not quite the same as it used to be, considering the people present, but a close approximation. Just like then, Edelgard felt emboldened by their certainty.

Tomorrow, they would march. Before long, this too would become little more than an unpleasant memory.

* * *

There had been a moment—brief and endless in the way of all monumental events—when the Emperor felt the earth bend. Cernunnos was truly vast; one of the last titans of Faerghian architecture that remained. And as she beheld its lonely walls, Edelgard felt like she was standing below a creature far too grand to be trifled. Sheer, towering stone veiled with frost; its mouth unfurling gnarled teeth of wood, stretching seamlessly from east to west—all crowned by the mountain itself.

According to Sylvain, the fortress’ name was taken from one of the Srengian pantheon. Whether tribute or mockery, Cernunnos served its purpose well. Yet small as she was, Edelgard would prove she was a titan in her own right. Even gods can bleed.

At the Emperor’s back, a ready army, two-thousand strong, awaited her command. To the east where Byleth and Shamir tread in secret, another three hundred would swarm the unwary soldiers within. And far to the north, their cavalry and pegasi lay sequestered among the trees; a thousand collectively. Lysithea had been certain this was all they would require. Edelgard dearly hoped she was right.

“They’re watching us,” Lysithea said from beside her. She wore a severe expression, eyes thin as she gazed at the distant barricades. “Waiting, I wager. Shall we shed first blood?”

“Not yet.” Edelgard straightened atop her horse, considering the sea of bobbing silver barely glimpsed behind the fortified line. She dug her heels and rode ahead. “Stay behind me.”

Together, they rode to the edge of the frozen plains. The wind stirred her hair and cloak as she directed her horse toward the first barricade. The soldiers did not move to attack, but the Emperor felt their eyes like shards of ice. Their archers could reach her, she knew. But if there was a possibility for peace, then she would not miss the opportunity.

“Hear me well!” the Emperor shouted. Her voice peaked, cutting the wind’s howl. “My name is Edelgard von Hresvelg, Emperor of Adrestia. Those of you who are Faerghus-born know me well. And those who are not, soon will. Mark my face, for I bear the likeness of death.”

“Edelgard,” Lysithea hissed. “What are you—”

The Emperor did not heed her. She continued without falter, “I have slain your kinsmen at Taranis. I have conquered two nations before them, one of whom was the kingdom you could not defeat. I have triumphed over kings and dragons alike. Who are you? You are nothing!”

None of them stirred from their positions. Edelgard fisted the reins.

“People of Sreng, do you know the cause you champion? Do you know the man you will die for? Craven, weak; reliant upon your strength to fight his war. Whatever Blaiddyd has promised, it will only end in blood. For every man you bear, there are hundreds of our number. You are barely a mote in my eye. Do not die for a man who will not fight for himself, let alone your people. I bid thee kneel. Kneel and know you escaped my judgment!”

For a time, there was only silence. And then, in a fraction of an instant, a hail of arrows descended from above. But before they could reach her, a wave of fire swept them from the sky. Edelgard watched Lysithea’s flames dissipate, blinking as the ash prickled her cheek.

“So be it.” She tore the cloak from her frame, bequeathing armor. “Trebuchets, fire!”

Chaos reigned the moment the words left her lips. Stones and flaming projectiles descended upon the barricade line in a destructive chorus. Edelgard did not bother to watch. She rejoined the waiting vanguard, taking advantage of the enemy tumult. Then, with more regret than she’d admit, commanded them to march.

Their blood is on your hands, Blaiddyd. I’ll drown you in it.

* * *

A reverberating crack—war’s thunder—echoed in the distance. Shamir looked up, hands wet from viscera as she pried an arrow free. The corpse at her feet lurched before falling still. Her eyes roved the darkness ahead, finding the gleam of Byleth’s sword. The general was already forging onward, disregarding the bodies at her feet. The cavern ceiling rumbled in ominous patterns.

“It’s begun,” Shamir said. She fell in step with Byleth, dimly registering the imperial troops following behind. An hour had passed since they pushed inside the passageway. It was hard to tell how long it would take to reach Cernunnos, but the tunnel’s length and direction washed away any uncertainty. Byleth tilted her head in acknowledgment.

“Hopefully, we’ve timed it right. It’s unclear how much resistance we’ll be met with, but I assume they’ve saved the bulk for the barricade line.”

“Very likely. The ranks grow thinner the further we move." Shamir eyed the other woman for a time. Byleth appeared oblivious, steps long and even. “I’m surprised you aren’t the one leading the vanguard.”

“Her Majesty has always insisted on leading from the head.”

“Even when it leaves her vulnerable?”

“I trust her skill." Blue eyes glanced at her. It was difficult to read what emotion lay beneath. Gone was the waggish demeanor Shamir had come to expect. In her stead, was the enigmatic warrior the Church had feared. Which is the true Byleth? אולי אפילו היא לא יודעת.

“Trust has no bearing on survival. If she dies, Fódlan will be ripped apart,” Shamir replied.

“Then we're both surprised. I never thought I'd hear you advocate for anything less.”

The needling words took Shamir aback briefly. She bit her cheek, averting her eyes to the long dark ahead. “Harsh words. I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice lots of things. I just choose not to comment on them. Your disgust for Fódlan was plain whenever we spoke.”

“Not all of Fódlan.” The exception went unsaid. Shamir was sure Byleth could read between the lines. “Doesn’t matter now. I have more at stake than I once did—a life I’d like to keep. If Rufus prevails... that too will die.”

“He won’t. Our army is at his door. Blaiddyd cannot hide forever.” The general halted as their company approached a wrought-iron gate. She sheathed her sword before gesturing towards the lock. “After you.”

“How polite.” Shamir knelt, inspecting the mechanism before sliding a pick from her belt. She observed Byleth from the periphery. “...Will she honor our bargain? The favor she promised in return for my help.”

“It’s Edelgard,” Byleth responded simply. “I have never known her to break an oath, nor go back on her word.”

“Neither have I, but that means little considering the circumstances.” Shamir chanced a sidelong look at the stoic woman. “I’m sure you can guess what I’ll ask in return.”

“I have a faint idea.” Byleth appeared to grow conscious of the soldiers milling behind them. Her voice lowered to not be overheard. “It isn’t my place to say whether she’ll allow Catherine to walk free. However, El is kinder than you know.”

“Perhaps. Yet she’s also more vindictive than you know.”

Byleth blinked at that but gave no other visible reaction. Shamir went on. “I see it in her face; a hunger for justice she frames as pragmatism. Edelgard might sate herself with Rufus for now. But what of after?”

With a flick of her wrist, the lock clicked open. Shamir swung the gate, attention set on Byleth. She was expecting the general to deny everything outright, yet she didn’t. Rather than argue, Byleth exhaled; features drawn.

“I’m sorry, Shamir. I really am. Unfortunately, you want a promise I simply can’t give.”

Shamir averted her eyes, the steel bangle she wore burning from the cold. “Nevermind. We should move—”

“Regardless, I will try. To the best of my ability, I’ll push for mercy.” Byleth drew the glimmering steel of Seiros' sword. She bid the others follow. "Come! Already I see the light of day. Ahead of us lies the stone giant; Cernunnos. Take heart, as our swords will cut a path to victory. For the Emperor!”

The imperial soldiers echoed her cry, raising their weapons in salute. Shamir paid little attention to these proceedings. Even when the corridor widened and broke to reveal the upper echelons of Cernunnos, Shamir could only think of the hope Byleth had instilled within her.

Suddenly, a fire she thought long-tempered roared to life. Fierce and ravenous, it gave strength to her bow and guided each arrow she fired. Purpose burned in her veins, more intense than any need for coin or shelter.

The Empire would win this day. Blaiddyd would perish. All to see the flowers of spring with the woman she loved. That dream was the only incentive Shamir required.

* * *

The greatest agony in battle was not the fear of death. For Ingrid, it was the yawning gap of momentum between inaction and the fulfillment of duty. She clenched Lúin, desperate to join the fray. Sparks and tails of flame shot towards the sky, hovering over the barricades in a cloud of magic. Edelgard and Lysithea were making swift progress, crawling towards the gate at an even clip.

The vanguard were steady in their approach, shield raised protectively, before lowering to allow their mages a clear target. Then, they would continue once more. The constant movement of the trebuchets covered their approach. Just as the general had declared, it was like a ferocious dance. Despite the odds, their plan was working. For the moment.

I mustn’t doubt them. Not for an instant. Ingrid stared unblinking at the clashing field of bodies. Her lungs burned, yet she couldn’t tell whether it was the cold or dread. Her liege was formidable, and so was the woman she named advisor. Still, Ingrid yearned to be fighting among them. Observing slack-jawed and gormless as they risked their lives did not sit well with her.

“Deep breaths, Ingrid. They’ll be fine,” Sylvain said. His expression was placid as he focused on the conflict. “We keep to the plan as ordered. The moment those braziers alight, then we make our move.”

“I know. It’s just hard to stay away knowing they could be overrun at any moment.”

“It’s no different than any fight we’ve faced. No matter how unlikely the odds, Edelgard always comes through.”

“This is different and you know it. We’ve never had to fight a battle like this in these conditions.” Ingrid frowned at their barren surroundings. They were positioned atop a forested hill overlooking the valley, just beyond where the plains began. Everything was quiet; no movement to be seen. “Shamir mentioned Arundel… It bothers me we haven’t seen any reinforcements yet. I can’t help but feel as if something is wrong.”

“You worry too much. Who knows? Maybe Shamir misheard. She’s not the picture of reliability.” Sylvain’s tone seemed glib at first, but Ingrid knew him better than most. She caught the venom he attempted to smother.

“What’s your issue with her?”

“I don’t have one.” Sylvain quickly amended the claim at Ingrid’s look of disbelief. “Besides her history with the Church. You know, bad blood from the war and all.”

Ingrid didn’t believe him, but whatever his reasons they weren’t worth ruminating on at the moment. She shook her head before sighing in a visible cloud. “Well, let’s hope there’s nothing to worry about. The last thing we need is more complications.”

A muddled image of Estrid appeared in her mind’s eye. It was very likely the older Galatea would make an appearance today. More than anything, Ingrid was concerned about how she would react once faced with her aunt. She gave me these wings. Must I turn them against her now? Ingrid buried her turmoil, forcing herself to think only of the present. They had both made their choice. She could not afford to balk.

“We’ve scoured the area thoroughly,” Sylvain continued. “If reinforcements were headed our way, we would have spotted them.”

“Maybe…”

“As I said, you worry far too much. It’s a wonder your hair isn’t as white as Edelgard’s.” They lapsed into a contemplative silence, both vigilant atop their mounts. Llamrei’s rhythmic breaths soothed her nerves. After a while, a singular red light blazed atop Cernunnos. The first brazier had been lit. She knew the rest were certain to follow.

“Shamir was right after all.” Ingrid sat deeper in the saddle, relieved.

Sylvain grunted once in concession. She thought he would let the conversation end there, but he surprised her by touching her shoulder. The man’s face was set into a solemn mask.

"...Ingrid, I don’t know what this battle will bring. But before we fight, I want you to know something.”

“Now who’s worrying?”

“Please, just listen for a moment.” His grip tightened. “I hurt you. It was wrong of me, I know. And maybe you won’t want to hear this. Still, if either of us should die, I don’t want it to be with regret.”

“Sylvain…”

“You’re my friend. The dearest one I’ve ever known. And I can’t let you believe I intended to use you. Ingrid, I—”

A great horn roared in the distance. It sent a shiver down Ingrid’s spine. Whatever Sylvain was about to say was lost amid that unnerving sound. Then, she spotted them—a massive flock of pegasi spilling from towers. Like wasps, they swarmed before swooping low to combat Byleth’s assault.

No! Ingrid tensed, knowing immediately who was leading them. Byleth and Shamir were formidable, but they couldn’t fend off a hoard of pegasi with such a small contingent. And knowing Estrid, she’ll cut them down before the gate falls. Gritting her teeth, Ingrid commanded Llamrei to fly.

“Ingrid!” Sylvain called after her. “Wait a moment, you can’t—”

“The General needs me. We both know she won’t last like this.” She glanced at him before motioning for her fliers to follow. It was time for the Emperor’s wings to take flight. “It’s still too dangerous for our cavalry to approach the gate, but not for me.”

“What of the ballistae?”

“They won’t risk killing their fliers. This is the best time to strike.” Ingrid looked down at him, offering a hesitant smile. “Ride well, Sylvain.”

Then she departed, flying fast and furious for the looming walls of Cernunnos. Lúin burned in her grip, heavy with the knowledge of who she might confront. Duty over family, as it must be so.

* * *

It felt like an age had passed since the battle began. The chaos was constant, ears ringing from clashing steel and wood splintering beneath stone and magic. Edelgard breathed hard, limbs weighted with cold and exhaustion. Her fingers felt numb as she flexed them. A man crept from the remnants of a barricade, leg mangled and nose bloodied. She broke his neck with a slam of her shield.

Onward. Almost there. Edelgard lifted the metal high, just barely saving herself from a stray arrow. Her arm felt like it would tear from the weight, but still, she would not rest. Not yet. Behind her, Lysithea prepared a crackling burst of dark magic before hurling it ahead. It wreaked havoc near the gate, scalding flesh and splintering armor. A concert of screams mingled with the rest.

Do not think of the cost. Keep moving. Edelgard clenched her jaw and proceeded with the arduous march. Her soldiers moved in unison, the imperial line gaining more ground. One last barricade awaited them. Then, all they needed to do was wait for the gate to collapse.

“We’re nearly there,” she heard Lysithea husk. The smoke and temperature must have rubbed her throat raw. “I had hoped the gate would be open by now. Do you think…?”

“I won’t consider it!” The Emperor swung her axe, slicing it deep into the neck of a charging swordsman. He collapsed at her feet. “We just need to be patient.”

“Patience has its end, Your Majesty.” Lysithea sent a brilliant bolt of lightning over her shoulder before whirling to face Edelgard. “If the General takes any longer we'll be easy pickings for those on the wall."

“She won’t—” Edelgard jerked as a javelin soared past her crown. She twisted, shield at the ready, and saw a cluster of hostile pegasi darting for the vanguard. She grimaced, furious. “We don’t have time for this! Lysithea, call your mages to retreat and attack alongside the trebuchets.”

“What? I can’t leave you!”

“You can and you will. We need to clear these winged pests before that gate falls.” Edelgard shoved her away. “Go, now!”

Lysithea stumbled, shocked. Then, she nodded reluctantly before shouting orders at the gathering of spell-casters. Together, they broke away from the vanguard to retreat for the trebuchets. In the meantime, the Emperor rallied her soldiers with a fierce cry.

“Distract the curs! Archers, rain death upon them!”

Just as intended, the pegasi bore down upon her. They had found a worthier target than the retreating line of mages.

Just as well. I can hold them off. Edelgard blinked the sweat from her eyes, teeth bared as they veered to strike. One drew closer than the rest, wings flared and lance poised high. Edelgard lunged beneath, axe cleaving through plate and sinking into flesh. The rider tumbled below, striking the ground. She stomped their neck, breaking it.

The next approached with an enraged yell. They swept their sword in an arc, forcing the Emperor to lunge away. Yet her ankle snagged against a corpse, sending her crashing onto the blood-soaked snow. Hastily, she rolled to the side as an arrow sped by. Focus, she told herself.

Breathing in sharply, Edelgard saw the rider approach with another swing. Thinking quick, she tore a throwing axe from the offending body and sent it careening towards her attacker. The steel sank deep into their skull. Startled, the pegasus flew away after shaking the corpse from its flank.

The Emperor took a moment to recover, kneeling along the icy stretch of land. Her body felt sluggish, likely attributed to the frozen conditions. Their assault of Taranis had been a mere blink in comparison to this painful war of attrition. The question was, who would break first?

Edelgard stared at the immovable portcullis. Byleth… where are you? The sound of hooves shattering ice snared her attention. Fearing reinforcements, the Emperor clambered to her feet. She raised her axe once more, only to still at the sight of a familiar scarlet head.

Sylvain, along with his fellow cavalry, swept from the plains. They cut the snow in a wave of pounding hoofbeats, the resulting thunder filling Edelgard with resolve. Armed with bows and javelins, they felled a fair number of the pegasi before providing a wall of muscle for the vanguard. Sylvain approached his liege, lance aloft in salute.

“We’ll hold the line until that gate falls!” he shouted to his men. “Be it valkyrie or falcon, they won’t claim the Emperor!”

“Lord Gautier,” Edelgard greeted when Sylvain galloped near. An arrant Blaiddyd soldier tried to dodge his approach but was trampled beneath the lord’s mount. Sylvain impaled the hapless fellow for good measure. “Abandoning your post, I see.”

“Plans change. If Rufus is giving everything he has, then so must we.” The cavalier grinned humorlessly. “Besides, I knew we needed to stall so Ingrid could take out her bitch of an aunt.”

“Is that what she’s doing?”

“Along with saving the General’s skin. Ingrid saw those pegasi the moment they struck. I wager Byleth is having a hell of a time trying to open that blasted gate.”

Edelgard looked frightfully at the portcullis, deeply concerned for her lover. However, she knew fretting over the unalterable would lead to her downfall. She needed to believe in Byleth; Ingrid and Shamir as well. Surely, the three of them could overcome these odds. Blaiddyd will not take you from me. Not before we…

Edelgard swallowed the thought. She hefted her armaments, taking point beside Sylvain.

“Infantry, stand your ground! If they want to retake the barricades, they’ll need to bleed for them!”

As if agreeing with her declaration, a salvo of flaming projectiles colored the sky. They sailed with the wailing winds and struck true—countless pegasi falling in their wake. Magic joined the fray in bursts of vivid spurts of black and purple; Lysithea’s unmistakable work. The fading sparks steadied her, and Edelgard found a font of strength she didn’t know existed. In that instant, the cold and exhaustion could no longer be felt. All she knew was the comforting presence of her Eagles.

Edelgard dashed into the thick of steel and blood, a litany of challenge upon her lips. The gate would fall. Rufus’ dogs would be defeated. The dark would stay where it belonged, and Thales… Should he appear, Edelgard would personally cleanse his taint from this world. Such was her everlasting promise.

* * *

For the women of Galatea, there was very little they could aspire to. Their house was not one of the great northern families. Of some esteem and prestige, considering their ties to House Daphnel. Nonetheless, they were a cadet dynasty in their truest form. For the men, their path was obvious. Declare for the king and serve Faerghus as a sworn knight or declare for the Church and follow a similar path. But the ladies of Galatea would not be given a fate so readily accepted.

Ties were to be brokered, alliances forged in blood. Most of the prior generation did not have the good grace to be born with uncompromising freedom. Women by birth, and married away in kind. All except for one. Ingrid had thought her aunt impressive for choosing war as her trade over motherhood. Then, she wondered how she was able to earn that choice at all. Not even Ingrid, the heir to Daphnel’s crest, held that honor.

As a girl, she did not understand why that was. Only much later, when Ingrid sparred with the woman, did she finally discover the reason. A shallow slice to the torso was all it took, revealing a long-buried secret. For a moment, Ingrid had felt betrayed—the illusion of choice stripped from her entirely.

Oh but that wasn’t fair to Estrid, was it? Ingrid had apologized, cheeks wet, but her aunt didn’t care. She merely brushed away her tears and told Ingrid to hold her lance high; proud and unafraid.

“You did not choose to bear a crest, Ingrid,” Estrid said. “You can let it define you, or make your own destiny. I care not what you pick; only that the vows you give are your decision, not your father’s. A knight is defined by their oaths. They are all that matter in the end.”

Ingrid had clung to those words for years. Coming from Estrid, she couldn’t help but believe them. After all, the woman herself was a sterling example of choice before circumstances of birth. Ingrid hoped to bear even a tenth of that strength.

As Ingrid knelt for Edelgard, she wondered whether her aunt would be proud. Despite everything, Ingrid still wondered. Blinking past the wind, the imperial captain soared above the walls of Cernunnos. She had scrapped with a few of Blaiddyd’s fliers in the process, but none of them were Estrid. Still, Ingrid did not relax her guard as she sought Byleth.

Shamir was easily spotted, moving expediently like a swan over water. She was lighting the third brazier, signaling the destruction of another ballista. Shamir darted away, weaving through the enemy ranks without missing a step. Ingrid did not have to worry about her it seemed.

But where is the General? Ingrid frowned, veering around the fortress towers. She commanded her fliers to rout the soldiers below, all the while searching for distinctive teal hair. Ingrid feared Byleth had fallen, perhaps grievously wounded and in need of aid. Then, she finally saw the general atop the gatehouse—along with a familiar pegasus knight.

Estrid was harassing Byleth mightily, bolts of fire and lance used in conjunction as she tried to push the general over the wall. Byleth was holding her own, if flagging. Her sword just barely kept the valkyrie at bay. Ingrid grit her teeth before brandishing Lúin.

“Aunt Estrid!”

Fleetingly, Estrid stilled. She regarded Ingrid, searching her face. The captain took her chance then. Lúin ablaze, she dove for the older woman. Estrid was forced to retreat, feathers falling in her wake as Ingrid clipped a wing. The shriek of a pained pegasus hurt Ingrid's heart, but not as deep as the bland expression her aunt maintained.

“Ingrid.” Estrid gazed at her levelly. “You look well.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“No, but I never expected to face my niece on a battlefield." Green eyes, the same shade as Ingrid’s, roved below them. “Move. I won’t tell you twice.”

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t.” Ingrid swept Lúin in front of her in a blatant warning. She hoped Byleth had taken the opportunity to reach the portcullis wheel. Estrid blinked at her, appearing to think.

“Grown into your knight boots, have you? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t mock me. Please.” Ingrid felt her breath catch, voice wavering. She had hoped the brief show of weakness wouldn’t be noticed, but she saw Estrid narrow her eyes. The woman held her lance to the sky.

“Go on, then. Prove to me your Emperor deserves to win this day. As her knight, you can do no less.”

“I’m not…” Ingrid paused, on the cusp of denial. She wasn’t a knight in the traditional sense, but she was well aware Estrid referred to the intrinsic duty she felt. Her oath to a liege; to Edelgard. Ingrid breathed in slowly, cutting away the part of her that wished to weep. There could be no room in her heart for regret.

“The Empire doesn’t have knights,” she said. “However, I will face you as a captain of the Empire.”

“Very well. Let us see which is greater.”

The elder Galatea didn’t hesitate, lunging forward with her lance. Ingrid parried; Lúin’s blade sparking as it struck steel. She changed her grip and heaved the relic into a fierce swing. Estrid directed her mount to rise, dodging the blow. Magic gathered in her free hand.

Recognizing the danger, Ingrid flew for the clouds. The wind cut her cheeks as she forced Llamrei into a steep ascension. The resulting magical blast exploded at her heel. Her mount's wings stirred beneath the shock but held steady.

Then, Ingrid turned before diving sharply. She aimed for Estrid’s chest, the glow of her relic dimmed. Yet before she could connect, the knight swept away in a roll of glossy wings. Estrid righted herself, brow furrowed.

“Are you even trying?”

“Of course I am!” Ingrid moved in for another sweep. Estrid batted away the lance without blinking.

“Your relic says otherwise. I’m no fool, niece. A weapon such as yours should cleave me from the sky. Yet you smother that power blatantly. Do you think this is a game?”

Ingrid hesitated, throat tight as a vice. Her hand felt numb upon Lúin as she struggled to keep it steady. Before she gathered herself, the sound of shrieking metal split the air. The portcullis of Cernunnos crawled upward, cracking the ice in terrible groans. The sound of its cranking chains garnered the attention of the surrounding soldiers. Then a wave of black armor spilled into the fortress like oil.

The gate of Cernunnos was breached.

* * *

There had been no sweeter a melody than when the portcullis finally gave way. Edelgard felt her body lighten, spirits rising with every inch gained. Once the metal teeth retreated in full, she held her axe aloft and yelled to her men.

“The giant opens its maw! Storm the belly and bring me its head!”

The mingled cluster of infantry and cavalry didn’t need more encouragement. They hurried to do as she bid, moving as a coordinated quilt of blackened steel. Blaiddyd’s men strained to push them back, but could not abide the violent influx. Steel met steel, blood and flesh spilling upon the pale. The imperial line crawled within the innards of Cernunnos like a serpent, leaving death in its wake.

Edelgard grinned fiercely, victory upon her lips. And there, standing undaunted atop the cracked gatehouse, was Byleth. She could not see her face, yet Edelgard imagined her lover felt much the same. They had won this day. Finding Blaiddyd was all that remained.

The Emperor stepped forward, intending to join the final push. However, a sudden streak of blue caught her eye. It was a man from the build, riding hard to the east. Rufus, you coward. A snarl curled her lips. She was certain he intended to reach the last of the border forts; a pathetic bid at maintaining power.

No. Edelgard would end this here and now. Who knew what he might accomplish if he was allowed to flee. She took an abandoned horse, gripping the reins. Then, she dug in her heels and sped after the man.

Over the white expanse, she chased him, through the slicing wind and biting snow. The plains soon gave way to the treeline, mountain shadows drenching the environment. Yet Edelgard kept vigilant, keen to run down her prey. Oddly, Blaiddyd’s horse moved in erratic bursts. Could it sense the rider’s panic?

Edelgard closed the distance swiftly, gripping her axe. In a flash, the man was finally within reach. She swung, blade passing through his fine cloak to sink into the torso. Or it would have, had she not cleaved through cloth and wood instead. Confusion replaced the brief satisfaction she had felt. The Emperor slowed her mount to a canter and watched as a scarecrow fell to the snow.

It was garbed in House Blaiddyd’s colors, even bearing a ridiculous facsimile of a crown. Yet it wasn’t him. Who had done this? Why—

She stiffened, hearing a whisper upon the wind. A bead of sweat crawled from her nape and slicked her spine. The shadows of the mountain seemed to darken. A fog crept from the woods.

“Little niece,” a voice purred from the dark. Familiar eyes glowered, filled with cold interest. Dread dug into the core of her, hollowing out her confidence. The feeling grew as several figures joined the first. They surrounded her, boxing her in among the dark trees.

“Thales.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Bold of you to show yourself.”

“Bold of you to pretend you’re unafraid.” He stepped into the light. Edelgard loathed to discover the creature still wore Volkhard's image; ever a bastardization of a man she had adored. Yet those eyes lacked his warmth, dead and flat like coagulated blood. A hateful shiver shook her frame.

“I fear nothing, least of all you,” Edelgard spat. Thales peered at her silently for a time.

“Look how you quiver… Even now, you fear my hand.” He opened his palms as if to reach for her. Instinctively, she flinched. “All those years we spent, striving for the same goal. And now, you dare spurn my gifts. You have a debt, niece. It’s time you pay it.”

Thales brought his hands together. The others at his side gathered, hands aflame with the distinctive glow of profane magic. As one, they hurled it at the Emperor. The percussive force blew her amid the dead timbers, the beastly wail of her horse mingling with the crack of wood. She tried to gather herself, but her vision was blurred. Her ankle ached as Edelgard attempted to stand.

Then something pulled her to the ground by her crown, ripping away the ornament. She collapsed against a fallen tree. Hair spilled freely down her face.

“Impulsive as always. Haven’t you learned?”

Edelgard hissed as her head was pulled upward. Knobby fingers twisted her hair tight.

“I should kill you here. Rip that pretty head off and leave it for the Nabatean spawn to find.”

“Then do it,” she snarled defiantly. “Craven bastard, finish me as you should have long ago. If you don't, I'll rip out your throat with my teeth. Do you think I asked for your gifts? Damn them and damn you!”

Edelgard jerked as he dropped her. Her face sank into the snow before she felt herself be dragged by the legs. She tried to stop it, fingers grasping for purchase amid the frozen undergrowth.

“Not yet,” she heard him say. “You still have a purpose to serve.”

Edelgard did not care to know what he meant. But just as she tried to kick herself free, she was struck in the head by something unseen. The dark claimed her, devouring the light as if she had never left.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the happenings taking place within a shadowed grove, Ingrid pierced the heavens as she escaped a knight’s pursuit. The captain clenched her teeth, swerving around a javelin. It was tiresome, this dance between the two. Ingrid could have ended it long ago, just as Estrid had said. Powerful as she was, Estrid did not hold the consuming might of a relic. Yet did this truly need to end in blood? So far, her aunt had taken great lengths to disrupt any attempts at further conversation. But Ingrid tried regardless.

“Cernunnos is lost, Estrid,” Ingrid pleaded at last. She kept a careful distance between herself and the knight. “Surrender. You know as well as I do it’s only a matter of time before Blaiddyd is found. If you kneel now—”

“Kneel?” Surprise passed over Estrid’s features. Then her eyes flashed as the emotion cleared, replaced with something darker. “A knight kneels only for their liege. For you to ask this of me? I can hardly believe it.”

Estrid waved an arm, gesturing to the gate.

"Did you truly think I would be stopped over something so small? That I would throw myself before the Emperor and beg?”

“No, I—” Ingrid flinched when something hot and sharp sliced her cheek. Blood spilled from the wound, soaking her collar. The faint smell of burned hair and flesh permeated the air. Estrid lowered her hand, wisps of smoke trailing from her fingertips.

“You aren’t a girl anymore, Ingrid. This pathetic display shames both of us. If you lack the resolve to kill me, then...” Estrid shook her head, face awash with disappointment. “Accept your punishment with grace.”

In a flash, the knight had closed the distance between them. Taken aback by her speed, Ingrid could only attempt to fly beyond her range. However, it ended for naught. Rather than attack with her lance, Estrid sent a shower of blinding white bolts. They followed Ingrid with dogged persistence as she tried to evade.

Yet the last of them gouged deep within Llamrei’s wing. The animal whinnied in distress, falling towards the earth. Ingrid clung to his neck, only to be ripped from her saddle. She struck the snow in mere seconds, tumbling swift and hard.

The impact rattled her spine and teeth. Her shoulder burned with agony as her arm twisted from its socket. The pain caused her head to spin, tears springing to her eyes. For a time, she laid there along the ice; inert. Only when Ingrid heard the sound of footsteps, did she finally try to rise. She had fallen near the destroyed line of barricades, from the sound of it. Faintly, Ingrid thought she could hear Sylvain and Lysithea shouting her name. Suddenly, a boot forced her down, heavy and hard upon her chest.

“Do you know what I felt the moment I heard you defected? Not anger. Not fear. Though I’m certain my brother had enough to spare.”

“Aunt…” A copper tang followed the utterance. She had bit her tongue during the fall, blood spilling freely. She swallowed it down bitterly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You did as I asked; chose a path and stayed its course, or so I thought.” Estrid’s frame eclipsed the sun. Her stare was accusing. “But you’re still the same child I remember. Soft, waffling between what you desire and pleasing the people around you. A true knight would have killed me without flinching.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t want that,” Ingrid choked out. “I still don’t.”

“Selfish girl. War isn’t about what you want. Do you think I want to put my niece in the ground?” Estrid raised her lance. “I never wanted this.”

Ingrid waited, falling limp atop the snow. Shame and fear washed over her. She had failed Edelgard, but the deepest cut was knowing she had failed herself. Ingrid had allowed her heart to cloud her judgment. It was only fitting she be cut down for her hubris. Selfish. Is that what I am? Ingrid looked at the sky, praying the Goddess would be merciful.

“Ingrid!” A masculine scream rose with the wind. Then, she saw a red blur collide with Estrid. Down they went in a flurry of flailing limbs and frost. Ingrid could do nothing but watch in shock. As they scrapped, Sylvain appeared to gain the upper hand. He wrested away Estrid’s weapon before kicking her soundly in the midriff. The woman collapsed to her knees, winded.

Triumphant, he poised the lance to thrust. Yet the frail, wanting heart Ingrid carried spurred her to intervene.

“No! Don’t!” She tried to crawl towards them, only to fall. The ice beneath her numbed everything it touched. “Sylvain… Please.”

The man stopped, staring at her blankly. Sylvain blinked away the snow from his lashes, indecisive. Neither he nor Ingrid saw the relic lying a scant few feet away. Neither did they expect the lance to be plunged through his gut.

Sylvain stumbled backward. Blood spilled, flowing fast and steady. Ingrid watched in horror as he clawed at the air before falling limp in the snow. Luin’s haft jutted towards the sky in lurid implication. Then Estrid rose, clouding the air as she panted hard.

“The Gautier boy always biting your heels... Why am I not surprised?” The woman wiped her face, brushing away ice and blood. Sharp green eyes held Ingrid’s frightful gaze. She tensed, expecting her aunt to approach. Yet she didn’t. Estrid glanced away, lips thin. “Consider this a final lesson. There are no easy compromises in life. You must choose something to sacrifice, or else someone will do it for you. Remember that when next we meet.”

Ingrid said nothing, too shocked to respond. Only when her aunt soared away from the field, did she finally stir. She dragged herself to Sylvain in a panic. Ingrid touched his face, hands quaking. The man shuddered, impossibly awake despite the wound. More blood poured as he struggled to breathe, spreading beneath his body. She forced herself to not stare at the frothing gash. Lúin’s haft rose and fell with his gasping pants.

“In—Ingrid…”

“You’ll be okay,” she said hoarsely. Ingrid fumbled for the vials tucked into her belt. “It’s alright… I promise.”

Sylvain just looked at her. His bearded face looked so young then; the same plump-cheeked boy she met all those years ago. His russet eyes were watery, whether from fear or pain wasn’t clear. Ingrid stiffened when she heard a furious patter of footsteps. She whirled, expecting the enemy, but saw only Lysithea’s ashen face. A group of imperial soldiers was with her. They hastily ran to the fallen man before lifting him atop a horse.

Ingrid crawled away, allowing them to do what she could not. The fading warmth of Sylvain’s skin was all she could think about as they departed towards Cernunnos. The Empire must have claimed the fortress entirely. Ingrid heard Lysithea approach, but could not bear to speak. She had nothing to give. Instead, the other woman touched her shoulder. Faith magic swept down the arm in a wave of heat. Ingrid winced as the joint clicked into place.

“You should have gone with them,” she whispered eventually. “Sylvain…”

“They’ll need to extract the lance first without deepening the wound." Lysithea spoke in her usual clipped manner, but her touch was gentle. “My skill is middling in comparison to many of our bishops. But the least I can manage is tending to you."

“Still, the battle… Did we…?”

“Our soldiers are sweeping the perimeter for stragglers, but yes. Cernunnos is ours.” Despite the confirmation, Lysithea didn’t muster a smile. She stared at Ingrid solemnly. “They’ll save him. Sylvain is strong. I suspect he’s too stubborn to die.”

Ingrid made a sound that should have conveyed amusement, but it came out strangled; pained. Her expression crumpled, composure breaking at last. She cried into bloodied hands, tears burning against frost-swept skin. Lysithea moved closer before wrapping her in an embrace. Her arms were thin but solid, providing comfort Ingrid didn’t feel she deserved.

* * *

Something wasn’t right.

Byleth breathed steadily, wrists and fingers soaked in blood. Snow pooled within her hair, dampening the tangled strands. She felt raw, more beast than general. But that was nothing new. She blinked away the fervor of battle; the exhilaration of survival, the primal joy of a kill done well. Byleth did not need these things currently. No need for them at all, but that's a struggle for another day.

She shook, corralling her emotions until only determination was left. Her sword lowered. The last of Blaiddyd’s men were cowering beneath imperial blades. The walls of Cernunnos were quiet, whispering winds replacing the song of steel. Ahead was the gate, the portcullis still firmly locked above, allowing passage to horses and wagons.

Distantly, she noticed Catherine riding past. The fair-haired smith leapt from her mount to embrace a frazzled-looking Shamir. Byleth was glad for them, truly.

But where was El?

The general scoured the fortress, walking up the battlements. She hadn’t seen her lover since they breached the gate. Byleth had assumed Edelgard was storming the keep to hunt Blaiddyd. Yet the fighting had long since concluded. So where could she be? Byleth silenced her worry. El would show herself soon. Her conscientious nature dictated nothing less.

“General!”

Byleth stood at attention as Lysithea slowly approached. The younger woman appeared in good health, her face dusted with ash but otherwise unblemished. She frowned upon noticing the blonde figure using Lysithea’s frame as a crutch. Ingrid was pale, blood trailing from her cheek and soaking her leggings. Alarmed, Byleth tried to signal a healer but Lysithea shook her head.

“It’s not hers. Sylvain…”

“He protected me,” Ingrid husked out. She lifted her head, eyes rimmed with red. “My aunt’s bloody work. I couldn’t… Forgive me—”

“There’s nothing to forgive. You did all you could.” Byleth looked at her, struggling to find the right thing to say. She came up short, offering a tight-lipped smile. A cold comfort, perhaps. El was better at lifting spirits. Byleth changed her focus to Lysithea. “Is he…?”

“Alive for now. He was stabbed with Lúin, but it wasn’t active. We’re lucky Estrid couldn’t use it properly.”

“I assume she fled?”

“Spirited off like a ghost.”

An inferno of protective rage burned in her veins, but Byleth did her best to quell it. A part of her wished to take to the skies herself and see the clouds painted red. You’re not an animal. El is relying on you. She took a moment to calm herself. They needed her to be steady. So that’s what she would be. A sudden thought occurred to her as the ire subsided.

“If she left, we can safely assume Blaiddyd isn’t here.” Byleth knelt, cleansing her hands with snow. The harsh sting cleared her mind. “She seemed the sort to be unerringly loyal. Am I wrong, Ingrid?”

“No. She would never abandon the field if her liege was in danger.” Ingrid stared dourly at the heavens. The sun had bowed over the walls, its light veiled behind dark clouds; eventide’s onset. “This entire siege was nothing but smoke…”

“Don’t say that,” Lysithea chided softly. “We captured Cernunnos and regained control over the mountains. That’s no easy feat.”

Ingrid was silent, responding only with a quick shake of her head. The planes of her face were still a ghastly shade of white. The general couldn’t imagine what she felt, but they needed to focus on the present.

“Blaiddyd is on the run now. I don’t know how many men still follow, but the greatest hurdle is over.” Byleth glanced behind them. “Did you see El anywhere? I lost track of her during the invasion.”

“She isn’t in the fort?” Lysithea’s mouth parted in astonishment. “Her Majesty was leading the vanguard that entire time! I anticipated her bashing down the doors and hunting Rufus personally.”

Lysithea was right. Edelgard would have hounded Blaiddyd to the ends of the continent if inclined. Surely, she couldn’t have known about his absence? Even if so, it wasn’t like the woman to abandon the field. Byleth mulled over the possibilities, gripping her sword pommel.

“If you’re wondering about the Emperor’s whereabouts, I might have an idea.” Shamir joined the gathering. All eyes cut to her; attentive. “Caught a glimpse of two riders charging towards the valley, due east. Couldn’t see the first very well, but the second was wearing crimson armor.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” Lysithea scowled. Shamir regarded the younger woman for a time; the violet of her stare was particularly sharp against the winter hues.

“I had my orders. Dismantling the last of the ballistae seemed a better use of my time than wondering about the Emperor’s whims.”

“The Emperor’s well-being is of the utmost importance! If something should happen—”

“Edelgard’s a big girl. Figuratively speaking, anyway.” Catherine ambled to her partner’s side. “She held her own just fine until that point. Whatever set her britches on fire is probably dead.”

“El is capable,” Byleth agreed. “However, it concerns me she left alone. Chasing down a lone rider is unusual, on her behalf."

“I thought so too.” A cap of snow fell away as Shamir shook out her dark hair. “And in this weather, it’s all the more puzzling. Edelgard isn’t reckless.”

“There’s only one person she would have chased.” Ingrid stirred from her melancholy to peer at the general. “...Her Majesty would pursue Rufus until the end. It's possible she saw him or thought she did."

“That doesn’t explain why she hasn’t returned. It’s been several hours.” Byleth strode away, glaring hard out the broad gate of Cernunnos. In the distance, the sun sank ever lower. Dark would soon steal over the land. And with it, the inhospitable temperatures of the north. While far from frail, Edelgard was still only mortal. If not felled by the mysterious rider, then she could be claimed by harsh snows or starving predators.

Nothing will take you from me. I promised. The hideous beast of wroth and fear birthed anew. Byleth headed for the keep stable, ignoring the confused call of Lysithea. She ignored the faint pain of her wounds; they could be dealt with later.

“Shamir,” the general said. “Take me to where you saw her last. Do you think you can track them?”

Catherine looked as if she might protest, but was stopped short when Shamir held up a hand. They shared a meaningful look between them before Catherine averted her gaze. Then, Shamir stepped forward and nodded. “I can. It’ll be hard without daylight, but not impossible.”

“I’ll come with,” Lysithea insisted suddenly. “If she’s hurt, I can provide aid without losing time.”

“Then grab a horse. We need to move quickly.” Byleth curled her fingers around the saddle horn, grip so tight her knuckles ached. Sothis, let her be alright, she prayed fervently. Byleth didn’t know if her friend could hear, but she dearly hoped the plea was felt. Let these fears be nothing and for El to greet me with a smile. And if not… The general felt her jaw tense. She bit hard, nearly gouging her tongue.

Byleth would not sit idle as El suffered. Not again.

Next Chapter - Whisper and Howl

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a girl in a dark wood. The girl was lost and alone, fleeing from oppressive authority and a prince who claimed to love her. But the girl saw past the deceit and dared to run away. Into the forest she fled, without regard for the beasts who lurked within. And, as misfortune would have it, she was found by one such beast.

For her temerity, she would be devoured, or so the story should have went. That was the way of all princesses who questioned the world’s order. However, the beast she chanced upon was not a very good one. Instead of bestial hunger, it looked upon the girl and felt a flame burning within. So it donned the cloth of a teacher and spoke with words it should not have been capable of.

Together, they learned from each other—for the girl, the intrinsic value of freedom beyond her constraints and kindling hope within the dark; for the wolf, to be human and feel every ugly and beautiful thing humanity had to offer. But a girl who grows into a woman can still be subject to terrible darkness, and a beast is still a beast even when it dons clothing.

Byleth exhaled sharply as she crouched in the snow. She swept aside the pale flakes, unearthing a golden crown entwined with crimson scrap; the remnants of Edelgard’s cloak. She took the crown between her fingers, the cold metal biting bare skin. Distantly, Byleth heard Shamir and Lysithea speak.

“...signs of struggle. Trees cracked, snow disturbed. Do you see those burns in the bark? Spell-fire.”

“Quite. The smell of magical discharge is oppressive. Her Majesty did not go without a fight, but that’s not surprising.”

“Hm. There were many. I count seven separate tracks. Two on foot; five on horseback.”

“How can you tell?”

Byleth fingered the edge of the crown, tracing where a horn had been engulfed in flame. The metal was sloped from heat, melting into itself. She tightened her grip. Her palms burned from the cold bite of steel.

“You learn these things in my line of work. Edelgard’s tracks are there. She was thrown from her mount several yards, hit this birch, and fell onto the ice. Then she was dragged a good distance before the tracks end.”

“This blood—Do you think…?”

“That’s from her horse. You can tell from the explosion radius. None of it spilled where she was thrown.”

“It’s impressive how quickly you deciphered this grisly scene. And more than a little frightening.”

“I’ve seen worse working for the Church.”

“Hmph. I suppose you would have. Can you track them?”

“The trail cuts short at the tree-line. Either they left by pegasus or used magic.”

Magic… Byleth stirred at the mention. A distant day came to mind—when she and El discussed a similar topic. Teleportation magic required a good deal of magical knowledge and skill. While it wasn’t stated, Byleth sensed her lover had learned the art from her shadowy patrons. Those Who Slither in the Dark, as Hubert was fond of saying. Something sharp and unpleasant roiled beneath her breast.

Byleth tensed as she heard the sound of snow crunching beneath feet, hand flying to her sword. The steps were swiftly followed by a different voice from her companions. “General, we caught a few stragglers in the trees. Kingdom-loyalists by the look of them.”

Byleth glanced at the soldier who addressed her, faintly recognizing his face. She stared past his frame to where the captives in question were restrained. Behind her, Lysithea sighed.

“We should question them. It’s possible they may know where Her Majesty is being kept, or at least what their intentions are.”

“They’ve already been interrogated. None are willing to speak,” the imperial scout revealed. He waited patiently, looking expectantly at the general. Byleth blinked before hitching the crown to her belt. She wandered close to the prostrate men. They were all young, wild-eyed, and flushed from the fervor of battle.

Byleth knew what El would have done. She was decisive, yet fair; aggressive when needed, but always conscientious of the power she wielded and its implications. Byleth never learned to be any of those things. At her heart, she was guided by instinct. Byleth drew her sword and beheaded them. One by one they fell to their knees as blood pooled onto the ice.

The weight of Lysithea’s astonishment and Shamir’s cool regard was pointed. Yet Byleth cared not for what they thought. Only El’s opinion truly mattered, and she was nowhere to be found. These men had a hand in whatever fate her lover befell. Byleth could not bear the thought of her loss. She meant the words she had given after their trial at sea.

“Anyone who obeys Blaiddyd will meet the judgment of our blades. They are enemies of the Empire and nothing more.” Byleth gestured to the line of corpses. “Kingdom or Srengian, it matters not. Deal with any you come across.”

“At your order, General.” The man bowed, favoring the bodies one last look, before bustling away. Behind her, she heard Lysithea clear her throat.

“General, I don’t believe we’ll get far in our search if we kill every malcontent. It may be better to take them in for questioning.”

“They were given a chance to speak, and it was squandered. Sylvain was our translator, but he is not here. El would allow them the chance to kneel, but she is not here either.” Byleth swept the blood off her blade. When bare, the steel betrayed her pale reflection. Her eyes were flinty, sharper than the edge they reflected off. Rufus Blaiddyd and anyone who knelt for him would feel the bite of her fury.

“Only I remain,” she said. “And I will not waste time on mercy.”

Byleth strode away then, hurting more than she could articulate. Her head and heart snarled in conflicting surges of emotion. It was a tumult she never had experience with; not to this extent. It wounded her all the more that she could not ask El how to deal with the chaos.

Useless once again. Have I not failed you enough?

Byleth breathed hard, trembling from more than the cold. If she had been a proper thing, soothed by lullabies and not the songs of battle, perhaps the anger in her could be leashed. Perhaps she could have foreseen this and prevented it somehow. Perhaps she would be the general and leader her former students deserved. Perhaps she would’ve had more to offer than empty promises of protection.

Byleth clenched her teeth and swallowed down a howl of sorrow. Even unvoiced, it writhed in contempt, yearning to break free.

* * *

Ingrid crept gingerly into the keep’s infirmary, silent as a ghost. The bustling healers paid her no mind, though a couple eyed her haggard appearance with palpable chastisement. She ignored them, wading through the crowd towards Sylvain’s private room. She knew they must have thought her mad to visit so frequently. In the last hour alone, she had stalked the infirmary hall until the bishops finally shooed her away.

‘The Captain is a dedicated friend,’ she caught one of them whispering. If only it was simple worry that spurred her actions. Ingrid pursed her lips as she cracked open Sylvain’s door. It was dark and still within the room, quiet like a crypt. For a moment, Ingrid feared the worst, but she swiftly spotted her friend’s long frame. Sylvain was deaf to the world, mouth parted and chest rising in even bursts. Bandages draped his torso like a hauberk.

He lived, yet only by his will and the efforts of many. Ingrid set her jaw, pained. Dedicated friend… What a farce. All she did was nearly get him killed. Estrid held the lance, but it was Ingrid who allowed her soft sympathies to cause such a gruesome wound. It would be a miracle if he recovered without lasting damage. Ingrid closed the door. She couldn’t bear to see Sylvain like this.

“Captain Galatea.”

She craned her head, reluctant, meeting the eyes of a soldier. She didn’t recognize his face, but the uniform he wore denoted him as part of Byleth’s retinue. He bowed deeply. “The General requests your presence. Her and Lady Ordelia have returned from the field.”

“Did they have news for me?” Ingrid gathered her poise, flattening her expression. “Was the Emperor among them?”

“I can’t say, Captain. General Eisner only sent me to fetch you.”

“I see… I’ll seek her now. Thank you.” Ingrid dismissed him with a curt nod. When the man departed, she sent one final glance at Sylvain’s door. He seemed stable for now, yet leaving him to wake alone didn’t feel right. He should be greeted by friends, not the dispassionate faces of strangers. Ingrid swallowed, unwilling to admit how much of these thoughts were spurred by guilt.

She would speak with him later, tell him how deeply afraid she had been, and offer whatever apologies required. Ingrid owed him that much. Estrid had made a point by leaving her alive. More than anyone, her aunt knew how much this would wound her. A duty of pain taken in my stead, she thought bitterly. Estrid’s blow was intended for her, yet she forced Sylvain to suffer as punishment for her folly.

She left me alive so it would torture me. Ingrid whirled towards the infirmary entrance, gait clipped. There was no point in mulling over such things currently. The General needed her. Everyone needed her to be strong. Captain Galatea was indomitable and unafraid. This was the purpose she needed to bear without faltering.

So lost within her thoughts, Ingrid nearly missed the tall figure rounding the bend. She flinched, taken by surprise as they nearly collided. Only when Ingrid heard a throaty chuckle did she recognize their identity.

“Sorry. Didn’t expect you to be lurking there.” Catherine laced her fingers behind her head. She was smiling, but her stare felt too incisive for nonchalance. “Checking on your boy, I assume. What’s the verdict?”

“Why do you care?” Ingrid hadn’t meant the response to be a slight. She was far too drained for petty asides. From the cant of Catherine’s brow, the woman likely caught her exhaustion.

“I’m not divorced from sympathy. He might have been an ass to Shamir, but I wouldn’t wish a relic’s bite on anyone.”

“...They say he’ll live. The healers are certain.” Ingrid cleared her throat, uncomfortable. “Whether he’ll recover fully remains to be seen.”

“That is a hell of a thing to bargain with," Catherine said. She shifted her weight, favoring her good leg. Ingrid caught the unspoken reminder. “Best thing you can do for him is be there. Pain is better shared, lest it consumes like wildfire."

“Is this you trying to give me advice?”

“Depends. Are you willing to listen?” Catherine smirked. With her charismatic demeanor and bold grin, Ingrid was reminded of why she admired her once upon a time. Ser Catherine’s strength was fabled, as was her fearless reputation. A true knight of knights. But was that the sort of person she yearned to be? “This is all hypothetical anyhow. If your healers are worth a damn, Gautier will be back on his feet in a blink."

“I wish I held your confidence.” Ingrid stared hard at her boots. “Even if his recovery is smooth, I don’t know how I can face him without breaking. It’s my fault he’s there. Worst of all, it was my family who gutted him.”

“Yeah. Heard that bit.” Catherine sighed, expression falling. “How are you holding up? Got to say, I can’t imagine holding a sword to any of my family. Then again, I never had to make that choice.”

“I don’t know what to feel,” Ingrid replied honestly. “Everything happened so fast. Estrid… My aunt gave no quarter. I knew she wouldn’t. I knew she would strive to kill me. Yet at each turn, I stayed my hand. Sylvain is the one who paid for my weakness.”

“Weakness?” Catherine looked at her oddly. “I didn't think you would see it like that. From our last conversation, I figured you would try your hardest to convince her. It's not your fault she spat on your offer.”

“I shouldn’t have tried. I see that now. She had chosen her path, as did I.” Ingrid struggled to maintain her composure. “I foolishly expected she would see reason. I wanted her to lay down her arms and embrace me with relief. It was a childish wish.”

“Not too long ago, I would have agreed.” Catherine exhaled heavily, raking a hand through her hair. She appeared discomforted by whatever she intended to say next. “I would have called you a coward who was too afraid to make hard decisions. But that isn’t cowardice. Perhaps this will sound strange coming from me, but following your heart doesn’t bring you shame. Ignoring it in favor of someone else’s idea of duty is true cowardice.”

“And when my indecisiveness causes pain for people I care for? I can’t discount my culpability in this.”

“Desiring to think the best of someone is only natural. At least now, you know where she stands.” Catherine looked at her levelly. “People always talk about revenge but never the lie of loyalty. It’s easy to convince yourself of virtue when the people you wish to protect are at stake. The truth is, it’s a self-serving mindset. Whatever your aunt is protecting, be it Rufus or simply the memory of the Kingdom, it isn’t worth questioning yourself. So tell me, what is it you want to protect?”

Ingrid was quiet for a time as she considered the question. She wet her lips, thinking of everything she loved. “My country, my friends, and my… family. Is that silly of me?”

“To care? You don’t need me to answer that for you.” Catherine clapped the younger woman’s shoulder firmly before swaggering away. “If you see Shamir, tell her I need to speak with her. In the meantime, give what I said some thought.”

Ingrid watched her leave, startled to find such conviction within Catherine’s words. It was a far different perspective than the bleak advice she’d given at the academy. All at once, Ingrid questioned whether the aftermath of Fhirdiad had truly burned away who the Knight had been. Perchance it had merely unearthed who she was all along. If someone as intractable as Catherine could change...

Ingrid placed a hand over her heart, wondering whether she could protect everyone she loved.

* * *

Byleth stared into the flames of the hearth. Through the smoke and embers, she saw a world burning to ash. She placed her hand above, yet the warmth felt distant; immaterial. The cold was too intense, even inside stone walls.

“We cannot tell the others,” Lysithea spoke suddenly. The younger woman was sitting pensively in a chair. Byleth could feel her eyes, yet did not turn around. “Not just the army, but the lords as well. The war is too fresh in the minds of many.”

“The news of Her Majesty’s disappearance would rip apart the north. I’m aware.” Byleth placed her arm atop the mantle. She gripped the stones. “Yet we’ll need their support if we’re to hold the pass.”

“Quite. Our forces were depleted during the siege, and there is a chance Rufus will come to reclaim Cernunnos.” Lysithea clicked her tongue sharply. “Gautier is being mostly cooperative, but the others… Galatea and Fraldarius refuse to provide men. This includes their banners. I’m assuming what little Gautier offers will not come without great cajoling on our part as well.”

“We can’t waste time trying to convince them.” Byleth glanced behind her. “Can you call Leonie from the east?”

“I can.”

“Then send for her. Caspar can hold the Leicester encampments while she’s away. What of Charon?”

“Lord Melaina has always proved amenable to imperial demands. I don’t see why that should change now. Still, it’ll take her soldiers a week to reach us.” Lysithea frowned deeply. “The same can be said for any cavalry or infantry reinforcements. Even if we call ships from Enbarr, it'll take time for them to reach Port Taranis."

“And that’s time we cannot afford.” Byleth pushed away from the mantle, agitated. “Every day wasted is one El has spent in danger. We must push towards the last border fort. That’s where they’ll be holding her.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” Lysithea corrected. “It’s just as likely she’s being held in a Srengian stronghold.”

“Marching is ill-advised in this weather.” Shamir rose from her perch beside the keep window. Her gaze cut to Byleth. “It’s snowing heavier. Those clouds portend another blizzard.”

“We can act fast.”

“If the assault on the last fort doesn’t kill our men, the snow will.” Lysithea shook her head, though her expression was apologetic. “Had we been at full-strength, perhaps the plan would be sound. But we’re sapped of numbers and resources. It would be best to wait out the weather. By then, we’ll have recovered and they’ll be nearing depletion of their stores. Possibly willing to negotiate too.”

“And if El starves with them? Who is to say they won’t kill her before then?”

“They’ll keep Edelgard alive. She’s their only bargaining chip.” Shamir waved a hand airily. “All of this is conjecture. It’s just as likely she’s tucked deep in Srengian territory.”

“It’s our only lead. We cannot give them the chance to enact whatever plans they might have.” Byleth forced her tone to remain even. She didn’t want them to see the depths of her anger. Yet despite her best efforts, her words were sharp as she addressed Lysithea. “I had thought you would feel the same urgency. I never expected this reluctance from you.”

“Don’t you dare imply I am without concern.” Lysithea stiffened. Her face filled with fear and pain. The sight immediately filled Byleth with regret. “Edelgard is my liege, but she’s also one of my dearest friends. If I could bring her home by storming the wilds of Sreng, then I would. Yet I know she needs my head, not my misplaced wroth.”

“I…” Byleth looked away. She blinked, breathing heavily. “Forgive me. I never meant to imply that. I’m just frightened.”

“We all are, Professor.” Lysithea’s features softened. “However, we must know the difference between prudent action and reactionary response.”

“Blaiddyd is counting on your anger. An enraged foe is a sloppy one. Should he have any sense at all, he’ll abuse it.” Shamir folded her arms, regarding Byleth askance. “He needs Cernunnos to complete his little coup. Without it, he cannot command his foreign army to invade Faerghus. He’ll come to recapture it eventually, and dividing your forces would benefit him.”

“Then what am I to do?” Byleth asked, confidence flagging. She was not born to wield this responsibility, and never without El by her side. She felt adrift; just as empty and formless as when she lacked a heart. With the way Shamir looked at her, she suspected the others could sense this too.

“Wait for the right moment,” Lysithea replied. “The pass will need to be excavated for supplies and troops to move through. Once the blizzard passes, we’ll capture the remaining fortress and forge deeper into Sreng if necessary.”

“But El is still…”

“You have more options than you realize.” Shamir moved closer. “Namely, me.”

“I thought you couldn’t track them.”

“Not by prints, but there are other ways of locating quarry.”

“And I suppose we should conveniently allow you and Catherine to ride into the wilds?” Lysithea rose to her feet. “I commend your audacity, but this ploy of yours—”

“It’s not a ploy. And I’m not demanding for Catherine to join me. This search will be my task alone.” Shamir kept her eyes on Byleth as she spoke. The Dagdan woman was usually serious, but there was a plaintive quality to her features then. “One rider moving through Sreng will not draw unwanted attention. It would be a simple task to scour the last fortress for Edelgard’s whereabouts.”

“What would you want in return?” Byleth asked. She waited for a response, wary yet desperate enough to clutch any shred of hope. She heard Lysithea sniff in annoyance, something both she and Shamir ignored.

“We can discuss that afterward. I offer no guarantees, only a chance.”

Byleth regarded her, trying to read Shamir’s face. She couldn’t sense any deceit from her, though El was always better at gauging such things. Byleth did not like to think of people as inherently devious. And while Lysithea might disagree, she felt Shamir could be trusted. Still, this was El’s life on the line. Could she risk her lover’s safety by gambling on a former enemy?

Byleth stared past the other women, focusing on the keep window. The snow was falling visibly faster. Time’s passage waited for no one, not even Sothis. Please, if you can hear me, keep her safe. Byleth swallowed thickly, finally coming to a decision.

“I’m willing to place my faith in you. For now, that’s all I have.” She placed a fist to her heart before bowing. “Please bring her back to us.”

“Professor…”

“Hm.” Shamir made a faint noise of acknowledgment. “Don’t bow. Edelgard’s death would cause a great deal of trouble for all of us. I’m doing this out of practicality, not heroics.”

“Regardless of intent, it’s still more than most would do.” Byleth straightened to her full height, jaw locked. “Lysithea, prepare a mount and supplies for Shamir. Give her anything she needs.”

“I suppose this is better than waiting idly.” Lysithea wrinkled her nose, plainly disgruntled, but offered no protest. She peered up at Shamir reluctantly. “Your reputation does precede in this matter. Careful not to stray for too long. Your partner’s fate has yet to be decided.”

“Are you threatening her?”

“Hardly. I leave such things to Hubert and the Professor. I’m simply reminding you of your delicate position.” Pink eyes darted between Shamir and Byleth. “However, I cede to the possibility of our Emperor’s return. Slim though the chances are, I’m willing to be optimistic.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint.” Shamir flipped back her dark hair before she glided towards the door, melding effortlessly with the shadows. Byleth took a strange sort of comfort from the sight. Shamir’s talents would be invaluable as she traversed hostile territory. She was right that there were no guarantees to be found. Yet Byleth would not waste any resources at their disposal.

“We may regret that,” Lysithea said. She favored the general with a stern look. “I don’t doubt her skills, of course. However, her allegiance is dubious at best.”

“You fear her striking a deal with Rufus?”

“I fear her allying with whoever suits her goals. Mercenaries—”

“I was once a mercenary. As was my father.” Byleth smiled thinly. She stoked the hearth, the iron poker heavy enough to feel like a sword. She imagined driving it in Blaiddyd’s heart as she turned the logs. “He wasn’t without love or loyalty. Shamir is the same. The grievances of the past are gone. Now, we have a new enemy to face.”

“I suppose you’re right. The situation is tense, and it’s hard not to see all the ways it could end terribly.” For the first time since Edelgard's disappearance, Lysithea sounded strained. Byleth glanced at her and found the woman’s eyes wet with tears. “Professor—I’m sorry. This is unbecoming of a person of my station and age, but…”

“No, Lysithea.” Byleth hurried to her. She knelt, forcing their eyes to meet. “Feeling anything is proof of your humanity. El taught me that. I don’t think that ever changes, no matter your age or experience.”

“I’m not sure humanity is what we need. Those who have taken her… I know they don’t have such a thing.” Lysithea seemed to stare beyond Byleth, face ashen as her hair. “I dare not imagine her fear, nor how ours must pale in comparison. Edelgard is so strong, yet the dark does not care for strength. It hollows everything that you are and makes a home of your bones.”

“I won’t allow that,” Byleth swore. She spoke through the growing knot in her chest. “We can save her. We must believe.”

“I am trying, Professor. As we all must.” Lysithea’s expression crumpled. Instinctively, Byleth gathered the younger woman within her arms. Tears soaked her collar, but she paid it no mind. All the while, conviction caught fire in her soul. Byleth was not the only person who would suffer El's loss. Though she may not realize it, Edelgard was so deeply loved. Everyone would be devastated by her passing.

Byleth clenched her teeth, clutching Lysithea’s back. She stared intently at the falling snow. Byleth knew very well how selfish a creature she truly was. And she would stop at nothing for the sake of her Eagles, even bloodying the whole of Sreng.

* * *

After living so many months in the north, Shamir had grown accustomed to the sound of howling winds. The gales were lonesome, wailing things; with little serenity to be found in their gasping cries. Yet when surrounded by the familiar faces of Culann it had been bearable. Everything about Fódlan was better when spent in their company. Catherine, most of all.

However, soon she would be devoid of these comforts. Permanently, if this crisis with the Emperor wasn’t solved. Shamir set aside those bleak thoughts, concentrating on packing supplies. She would bring plenty of arrows and fletching for the journey. The tales described Sreng as a wild land with unknown dangers, Blaiddyd’s forces only composing the barest margin.

“Planning to abscond with the silver?”

Shamir stilled. Catherine stood at the door, bracing an arm against the frame. She continued after a pause. “You missed the best bits. Spotted some jewels in that deer head over the entrance hall. Blaiddyd’s doing no doubt; the ostentatious lout. You’re losing your touch, Lady Shamir.”

“And your jokes are growing lazier by the day.” Shamir faced her, measuring Catherine’s mood. “...Byleth asked me to track Edelgard’s captors. I couldn’t refuse.”

“I guessed that much. Figured that would happen the moment you returned without her. The rumor mill is abuzz from the Emperor’s absence.” Catherine eyed her closely for a time. “I know you, Shamir. She didn’t ask. You did.”

“That’s an interesting assumption.”

“I’m not an idiot. Not a complete one anyway.” A scowl carved across her partner’s face. Shamir averted her stare as Catherine moved near. “What are you doing? Not just this, but that stunt with leading Byleth into the fort? It didn’t need to be you, just like it doesn’t need to be you now.”

“I’m currying their favor,” Shamir revealed simply.

“Wracking up debts you can trade for later mercies. Yeah, I know. Yet you didn’t account for the most important part.” Catherine’s expression softened. “I won’t trade your life for the Emperor. Not for anything, even for a chance at freedom. Let the others find her.”

“We’ve already been over this. Her death would shake the entirety of Fódlan. It would be the ruin of countless lives.”

“And your death would be the ruin of mine.”

Shamir blinked, surprised despite everything. It was still a wonder to consider how far they had come. The old Catherine would never have admitted something so soft. Shamir took in the anxiety painting her lover’s face, but it did not cause her to recant. Rather, it did just the opposite.

“Catherine…” Shamir touched her partner’s face, tracing the edge of a frown. “I’ve no intention of dying for anyone. I’m more careful than most. Whether Blaiddyd or Arundel, they won’t get the better of me.”

“Maybe so. Still, I’ve said goodbye to you more times than I care for.”

“This will be the last if everything goes as it should.” Shamir sighed, leaning into Catherine’s sturdy frame. She was warm as she always was, and Shamir basked in the faint smell of smoke and sandalwood. Catherine embraced her firmly.

“Had I been in my prime I could follow.”

“Doubtful. Even then, you would just slow me down.” Shamir smirked as a laugh rippled from Catherine’s chest. “Wait for me to return. You know I always do.”

“Well, I can’t deny that.” The taller woman pulled away slightly. Her brows were drawn together in a tight furrow. “Shamir, there are limits to how much I can overlook. If Edelgard or Byleth were the reason for your death…”

“I would expect you to carry on. It’s all we can do when the world is cruel.” Shamir kissed her, closing her eyes to savor the moment. “Think of what Byleth must be feeling. I can’t imagine the terror she’s enduring at this moment.”

“Kindly don’t say her name while we’re like this,” Catherine groused. Her feigned annoyance drained swiftly. “...But I understand what you mean. She must be beside herself with worry. I know I would be.”

“It’s clear to anyone who looks how much this is affecting her. I doubt it will pass until Edelgard returns.” Shamir stepped away, considering her partner in silence. Then, she nodded her head. “Actually, you could assist on that front.”

“How so?”

“She seems fond of you. Though fond might be the wrong word. Curious, maybe.”

“Sure.” Catherine huffed, crossing her arms. “The woman is a pest who doesn’t realize how much trouble she causes. I’m sure Byleth’s curiosity, as you call it, is because she’s constantly wondering if she should put me down.”

“Could be. Either way, you can keep a close eye on her.” At the incredulous look she received, Shamir tugged on Catherine’s collar. “She’s a raw nerve; an animal looking for something to bloody. It’ll be a liability if she doesn’t get her emotions under control. Distract her any way you can."

“You want me to entertain her? Should I juggle, or crack a few fishing puns?”

“Whatever will keep her from spiraling into a rampage. We’ve both seen the consequences of a person with too much power and not enough control.” Shamir watched as Catherine’s face filled with chagrin. Shamir patted her cheek, knowing the point had been received. “With luck, I’ll return within the week.”

“A week of playing minder to a grown woman…”

“Think of yourself as a playmate. Try not to kill each other.” Shamir returned to prepping her supplies. She palmed a concoction before pausing as her bangle caught the light. Shamir touched the metal gently. “...Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Keep this safe for me.” Shamir slid off the bangle and placed it within Catherine’s hand. She parted from them both with great reluctance. “When I come back, place this on me again. It’ll be the last time we need to part. Do you believe me?”

“I’ve never known you to be a liar.” Catherine smiled, but it seemed halfhearted. She searched Shamir’s face before clutching the bangle to her chest. “Safe travels, Lady Shamir. I’ll count each day until you return.”

“Careful, partner. Your sentimental side is showing. Lucky for you, I find it attractive.” Shamir leaned in, kissing her one last time. She knew better than to take simple pleasures for granted. There would be little solace as she searched the icy wilderness, yet this memory would be enough to keep her warm. So when Catherine’s hands began to stray and their embrace deepened into something far more heated, Shamir did not have the strength to deny herself.

אני אוהבת אותך. I’ll find her and hurry home to you.

* * *

Ingrid had assumed the worst was over. Yet as the general called her into the keep study, she immediately realized that was false. After the war ended, Byleth had proven herself to be a natural wag. She was often lighthearted and jovial—childlike in truth—with a patient demeanor that called to mind someone far older than her years. Ingrid took strength from her composure and the easy manner in which Byleth waded through life.

Ingrid saw none of that woman in the stone-faced general who greeted her. This Byleth was not a stranger but dreaded like any harbinger of foul circumstance. She looked worn; frayed as any thread pulled too thin. Yet despite her obvious tension, her features were blank. She spoke quickly and succinctly, just like so long ago at the academy.

“Her Majesty has been taken. Tell no one. This stays with the Strike Force.”

The news pierced her like a lance thrust. The Emperor was missing? Edelgard? She could barely make sense of such an impossibility. However, the wrath bubbling behind Byleth’s every word and the agonized set of her mouth alluded to a harsh truth. Somehow, Rufus had captured the Emperor. Somehow, the indomitable woman had been seized while her loyal soldiers were unaware. Ingrid could only flinch, stunned by yet another grievous loss.

Failure after failure. Somewhere to the south, her father was gloating in condescending victory. Ingrid pushed the thought aside, concentrating only on what needed to be done. She had desired to take to the skies without further recourse, but Byleth had convinced her to stay.

“The weather will make any search impossible. For now, we must hold Cernunnos.” The general didn’t appear pleased by the words she gave. Ingrid could sense she had likely refused because of Lysithea’s censure. After thinking about it, she knew the logic was sound. Still, Ingrid loathed waiting. It was up to the Goddess now. As Ingrid exited the study, she was well aware Edelgard would despise such a sentiment. She rubbed her face, sighing into her palms.

What are we to do?

The patter of shoes striking stone snared her attention. Ingrid glanced up in time to see Lysithea striding past. The ashen-haired woman appeared little better than Byleth had.

“So it’s all true then,” she whispered. Lysithea halted, frame hunching inward. When she turned, Ingrid noted the red lining her eyes.

“Unfortunately.” Lysithea clutched her robes tight. “I… I was so sure she would storm the keep. I never thought she would stray to the woods, nor be…”

“I thought much the same. And knowing Her Majesty, she never imagined anything could overpower her.” Ingrid touched Lysithea’s arm hesitantly. She wasn’t the best at consolation, but Lysithea had been kind enough to grant her comfort after Sylvain’s brush with death. Ingrid could at least attempt to do the same. “Edelgard is a force unto herself. If anyone can escape and return to us unharmed, it’s her.”

“She’ll fight to her last breath,” Lysithea agreed. She rubbed her eyes, likely attempting to be subtle. “Edelgard is far too obstinate to die with a whimper. I believe that much.”

“The general informs me Shamir will be searching as well. Hope is not beyond us. I’ve gambled on Edelgard before. With her, nothing is impossible.” Ingrid fell quiet, sending a quick prayer just in case. Edelgard might not favor the Goddess, but that didn’t mean the reverse was true. Ingrid steadied her nerves, trying hard to believe.

“Hope, is it? I suppose stranger things have worked their magic before.” Lysithea seemed to calm, blinking away the last of her tears. She looked at Ingrid for a time, appraising. “You’re a high-caliber woman, Ingrid. I don’t know what your aunt told you; just understand I am honored to have met you. We all are. Between you, Byleth, and Edelgard, I’m willing to keep faith in the impossible.”

“You’re too kind, Lysithea. I’m no such thing.”

“Respectfully, that’s not for you to decide.” Ingrid blinked, astonished, as Lysithea pecked her cheek before waltzing off like nothing had happened. “Sylvain is awake if you wanted to check on him. He was lucid enough to endure my questioning, so I’m sure it’ll cheer him to see you.”

“Um, yes. Thank you.” Ingrid shook off the incident, recognizing the gesture as mere gratitude. She inhaled, girding herself for the pending conversation with Sylvain. There was no telling what he might say. Nonetheless, she would get nowhere by hiding from the inevitable.

So when she finally entered the infirmary, Ingrid held her head high. She would not balk from whatever censure her friend held. She owed him far too much to be easily cowed. True to Lysithea’s word, Sylvain had roused from slumber. He was alert, gaze even as he watched her enter.

“Ingrid.” The man’s voice was raspier than usual, yet clear enough to be understood. To her surprise, his lips pulled into a smile. “Didn’t think you’d drop by so soon. Lysithea tells me you took over my duties. Can’t be easy wrangling that many soldiers.”

“Your men are well-behaved. Startling, considering who their commander is.” Ingrid relaxed at the chuckle this earned, but refrained from stepping closer. She kept herself at a distance, scanning his body. “They clothed you. Does this mean…?”

"The worst of it is mended. Still got some soreness, but that's only natural. Magic can't repair anything without some strain.” Sylvain pressed a hand to his chest. It was still wrapped in bandages, but nowhere near as extensive as before. He fiddled with the cloth between his fingers. “I’m told I’ll be good as new in a few days. The man who survived Lúin's mighty fang. Has a certain ring to it, right?”

“Don’t make light of what happened. Please.” Ingrid clasped her hands, nails digging into the skin. “I watched the blade sink into your flesh like water. The look on your face… even now it haunts me.”

“Your aunt has to try harder than that to kill me.” Sylvain dropped his grin when she didn’t respond. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. You know me; it’s my habit to make light of everything. Did you need to…?”

"She fled if that's what you're asking. Gutted you and left me with a heavy heart.” Ingrid wrung her hands tighter, fingers aching. “It was my fault she targeted you. If not for me—”

“She wasn’t going to pull her lance for anyone. Me or you, it doesn’t matter. She took the field to kill anyone who opposed Rufus.”

“Yet had I not hesitated, you wouldn’t be here.” Ingrid focused on the pile of blankets around Sylvain’s legs. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him directly. “I… I’m not sure I can kill Estrid. I'm still not, despite what she’s done. Catherine says I should listen to my heart. But my heart seems to be an untrustworthy creature.”

“Pfft, not sure you should be taking advice from someone like her. A walking contradiction, that one.” Sylvain scratched his chin. “Didn’t think she would say something like that though. What does that even mean?”

“I believe she meant that I should pursue what I wanted. No matter the cost.”

“Sounds like something she’d say.”

“I’m not sure it is,” Ingrid admitted. “A knight isn’t someone who pursues their own goals. Ideally, a knight forfeits their desires in favor of their lord’s will. I didn’t think such a sentiment would come from her. To me, this sounds like a plea for selfishness.”

“And you think wanting Estrid to live is selfish.” Sylvain eyed her knowingly. He tapped the space beside him. "Stop acting like I’m gonna bite and sit for a spell. I can hardly see your face.”

“I should return to my duties…”

“Get off your pegasi perch and speak to me.” Sylvain beckoned again. After another moment of waffling, Ingrid finally obeyed. “There you are. Goddess, you look almost as awful as me! Your hair is particularly frightful.”

“Shut it. I can hardly spare any mind for my hair of all things.”

“True. It’s not like you need to attract a husband anymore.” Sylvain smirked but it was more melancholic than anything. His face smoothed a second later. “I don’t much care for her, but Catherine does have a point. Living for yourself is a fine way to live. Isn’t that what we’ve fought for all this time?”

“This is an entirely different situation.”

“Only on the surface. In the end, you’re still prioritizing what other people ask of you.”

Ingrid opened her mouth, yet words escaped her. She stared at her friend, shocked to find truth in the observation.

“I’m right, aren’t I? There’s no shame in that, Ingrid. You grew up on the same poisoned well as the rest of us.” Sylvain shrugged limply. “And I was ready to make you do it again. I feel so stupid looking back on it. Guess it’s true what they say about old habits.”

“What are you saying?” Ingrid asked carefully. She watched as Sylvain broke into a weak laugh.

“I knew you would feel obligated. It didn’t matter if you loved me as a man, or if I loved you. I wanted an easy solution, so I took it.” He craned his head to meet her gaze. “I knew you would consider my proposal, simply because that’s who you are. I know you, Ingrid. Estrid knows you too, though not as much as she thinks.”

“What Estrid said was nothing more than the truth. She called me selfish and… she wasn’t wrong, Sylvain.”

“Who cares?” Sylvain appeared to enjoy the shock his response garnered. He continued without missing a breath. “We’re selfish animals, Ingrid. Admitting that is a more honest way to live than denying yourself. You want to serve the Empire and burn any marriage prospects? Then do it. You want to fly to the ends of the world without caring for what comes next? Good for you. And if you want to thrash your aunt before forcing her to surrender, then I wish you luck.”

“It’s not that simple,” Ingrid denied. Sylvain just glanced at her, amused.

“Yes, it is. I bet if Edelgard were here, she’d agree with me. Byleth too.”

“Her Majesty…” Ingrid wilted at the reminder. “Did Lysithea tell you?”

“About her disappearance?” Sylvain abruptly sobered. “Yeah. Little spitfire gave me a lashing for not searching the perimeter thoroughly. I knew she was just scared, and venting her rage the only way she knew how. If you want to yell at me too, go ahead.”

“This is serious, Sylvain. Far more than dealing with my petty concerns.”

“Sure, but it’s not like we can solve that right now.” The man flopped onto the sheets with a sigh. “We’ll have a mess on our hands if the northern lords catch wind of this. They’re the ones most directly opposed to the Empire, and any hint of weakness will open the floodgates to rebellion.”

“Rufus is smarter than we realized.”

“Could be, or maybe it’s just Arundel whispering in his ear.” Sylvain contemplated the ceiling. It was difficult to read his expression then. “...Lysithea is right. None of them can know. Until we find her, Byleth is going to have a hard time keeping the peace. The church barely accomplished that, and with Blaiddyd rattling the cage? Goddess preserve us, this will be difficult.”

“Perhaps so.” Ingrid closed her eyes, picturing a day of fire and ash—when a dragon wailed and the Emperor screamed in defiance. “When people reach out to each other, there’s no need for gods.”

She could feel the weight of Sylvain’s stare, but Ingrid’s thoughts were beyond them both now. She stood, strong and tall, hoping somewhere Edelgard would do the same. Belief in the Goddess had not granted them victory. It was their belief in the leader they chose to follow. Ingrid would not fail her by faltering.

* * *

It was cold and dark. A girl had once known the two as familiar friends; adorned them in place of her threadbare scraps. And she hated them with a passion. The fierce anger should have been enough to keep her warm, but it wasn’t. Through the chill and the formless nothing which choked her, the girl knew she would die here.

So when the world decided to grant her mercy at last, love and companionship replacing the dark, the girl dared to think she was safe. Foolishness. Edelgard awoke in a lather, thrashing against the icy grip of chains and the disorienting sensation of weightlessness. Only after her eyes adjusted, did she understand her position. She forced her panic to calm, taking stock of the sparse torchlight filling the room.

Her captors had her suspended, chains bound around arms and wrists like a snake. Edelgard kicked her legs but found them bound as well. They were not taking any chances. She gnashed her teeth, heart pounding against her ribs. The distinctive clack of a lock giving way caught her attention. Edelgard looked up sharply as two figures entered the cell.

She had expected Thales, but not Rufus Blaiddyd. The man bore into her with contempt, blonde hair long and bedraggled. His captain loomed in the corner silently. There was a great resemblance to Ingrid within her features, though her profile was sharper. The green of her eyes was cold. Edelgard looked away from the woman as Rufus stalked forward.

“Edelgard von Hresvelg. Emperor of Adrestia. Usurper of the faith. Murderer of King Dimitri.” He paused, roving over her face as if looking for a reaction. Edelgard raised her chin, unimpressed. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

“You’ve said nothing that requires a response or justification. I have done all those things and more.” She wet her lip. “However, murder is a gross exaggeration. Dimitri took the field knowing he might die. It was his decision and mine to stop any obstacle.”

“He died to stop your madness. The Empire came to our lands to conquer.” Rufus’ neck flushed with ire. “You waged a pointless war in the name of childish ideals. A war on everything our society was built upon. Dimitri saw the bloody chaos you'd sown and did everything he could to preserve our way of life.”

“Riches begot of the common man, blood spilt protecting the Goddess’ authority; what an impressive life you’ve led.” Edelgard bit her cheek until she tasted copper. “Dimitri was a boy broken beneath the crown he wore. Nothing more than Rhea’s shield by the end. He knew only the world you and she presented; ignorant of any other path. You, however, had every chance to realize the truth.”

“You’re speaking nonsense.”

“Without crests, you would have been the heir. Are you telling me that never occurred to you?”

Rufus’ face pulled into an ugly mask. “When I was young and naive, perhaps. But I see the truth now. Crests are how the Goddess chooses the true king. Lambert was evidence of this. His blood was greater than mine, and so I never felt the need to question my place. He was a great man and a brilliant leader.”

“Only by the merits he strove to hone. Having a crest did not make him great. In reality, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Silence!” he hissed. Rufus struck, slapping her across the cheek. He breathed hard, seething. This close, she could see the unhealthy pallor of his skin and sunken depression of his cheeks. “Lambert was excellent because the Goddess made him so. I never could reach the heights he did. However, the point is moot. The Goddess has shown her mercy and given our House great purpose once again. My son will rule three kingdoms once you’re dead.”

“Then it’s true then. He bears a major crest.” Edelgard shook off the blow. She did not spare him the courtesy of flinching. “...What did you do?”

“Me? I did nothing. My son was blessed, Emperor. The blood only needed some cajoling to reveal itself. Your uncle knew what needed to be done.”

Implantation. Edelgard swallowed, feeling sympathy and pain for the child. One crest might not kill him, but the surgery itself… She shuddered to think of the babe’s terror.

“You have failed your son, Blaiddyd,” Edelgard breathed out. “Subjecting him to suffering in the pursuit of divine sanction, sparking a war for the sake of your ego… On my life, you will pay for this.”

“Your life is already claimed, Emperor. Arundel has plans for you.” Rufus sniffed, dark eyes hard. “The dead always come for their due. Such is the way of Faerghus, and such is how you will perish.”

“Then it’s no wonder Faerghus is a land of ghosts.” Edelgard sucked her cheek, pooling the blood on her tongue. Then, she spat the font of crimson over him. He backed away, frantically wiping at the specks of blood painting his face. “You’re no warrior. This will be the only blood you taste. The rest will be your own.”

“Impudent bitch." Rufus raised a hand, preparing to strike again, but seemed to reconsider at the last moment. "No… You'll not get the better of my temper as you did Rhea and my nephew. I will stay the course. When your time finally arrives, I will watch with glee. Come, Estrid. Let’s leave the Emperor to her tomb.”

They left without further ceremony, dousing the torches in their wake. Then, only the oppressive and familiar dark remained. Edelgard writhed in the chains, struggling not to think of whatever Thales had planned. It was clear to her that Blaiddyd was only a puppet, barely a speck in the flood of Those Who Slither. The man was too much of a fool to realize how he had been used.

As am I. Edelgard flexed her arms, testing the restraints. She could barely manage that much. She shut her eyes tight, cursing her impatience… and her confidence. Edelgard had been so certain that she could brave whatever Rufus had in store, all the while neglecting the real danger. She had underestimated Thales, believing him only the smaller piece in play.

Edelgard stopped struggling and allowed her body to relax. There was no point in wasting her energy on the chains. She needed to be smart from here on out—bide her time and wait for the right opportunity. That was what Thales taught her, and it was clear she needed to embrace those lessons if she wished to survive. Yet it was difficult to not lose herself to panic and worry, not just for herself but her friends as well. Byleth, most of all.

Be safe, she thought with longing. Be clever and good as I know you to be. I’ll return to you soon.

Whatever plans Rufus and Thales had in store would not be the end of her. Edelgard had sworn to usher her country into a new age of light. The ambitions of a few pathetic wretches would not make a liar of her.

Next Chapter: A Beast Which Hungers

Chapter Text

Lysithea held a contemptuous sort of reverence for the hypothetical. In academia, it was a domain she could tread without fear. No dark speculation lay between the pages of a tome. Yet in life, the dreaded nature of possibility nibbled in slow agonizing bites. And it was the crippling stopgap of hypothesizing shadows into beasts which elicited unnecessary panic.

For this reason, Lysithea preferred to focus on what she did know. She could not assist Edelgard by navel-gazing. Action garnered results, so she went about her duties as if the Emperor was still among them. This was not a permanent state of affairs, she insisted silently. Lysithea was choosing to believe as Ingrid did—this too shall pass.

Unfortunately, not everyone held the same centered mindset. Her lips pressed into a flat line as she beheld their former professor. The older woman had run herself ragged the past few days, mitigating any queries about the Emperor and managing their newly attained territory. She was well-respected among the soldiers, so they never questioned her orders. Yet Byleth had a nasty habit of refusing to delegate. Following Edelgard’s example, of course...

Lysithea watched in disapproval as she fluttered around the training grounds, torn in multiple directions by her soldiers. With Sylvain recovering and Ingrid surveying the reopened pass, the general took it upon herself to oversee Cernunnos. Lysithea respected her work ethic—or would have, had she not observed Byleth beginning to fray.

“General,” she called. Byleth halted beside a waiting contingent. She appeared to be preparing for an excursion into the field, and Lysithea frowned deeper. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“I suppose I can spare a moment.” Byleth nodded at her soldiers briefly. “To the gates. I’ll join you soon.”

They bowed before taking their leave, oblivious to the disapproving stare of the imperial advisor. Lysithea regarded Byleth with mounting suspicion.

“I do hope you’re not planning a march. We’ve discussed this.”

“Not a march.” Byleth’s expression was uncommonly severe, as it was prone to be the last week. “We’re scouring the woods for any trace of El’s captors. I trust Shamir, but it’s not wise to rely on her abilities alone.”

“The blizzard is worsening and you’re wasting time and resources?”

“I gather you disapprove.” Byleth canted her head. She walked away, leaving Lysithea to scurry after her. “Don’t try to stop me. I won’t be swayed from this.”

“I only disapprove because I know this is just a thin excuse to vent your anger. Don't think I'm oblivious to the last few excursions you've taken." Lysithea swallowed thickly. She was not easily unsettled, but the sight of Byleth drenched in blood would never cease to disturb.

Cernunnos was theirs, but the territory was still plagued by the odd band of Sreng warriors attempting to retake it. Lysithea did not fault her for defending the gates, but Byleth hardly needed to deal with them directly.

“Sylvain told me Sreng respects strength. They won’t cease unless we display it for them.” The logic sounded reasonable on the surface, yet the icy look Byleth wore immediately contradicted. She buckled her gauntlets as they neared the stable house. “So allow me to demonstrate.”

“You don’t need to personally guard the walls.”

“And allow them to breach our defenses?”

“We barely managed and the passage has been collapsed.” Lysithea stomped her foot, frustrated. “If they wish to batter at impenetrable walls, then let them.”

“I’m surprised, Lysithea,” Byleth said. She peered behind her shoulder. “I assumed you would approve of my initiative.”

“I know the difference between doing what’s necessary and base urges. You’re angry now, I know. I feel the same, but we can’t allow that to rule us. Edelgard—”

“Is not here. I’ve said this before.” The older woman’s tone sharpened. “They have robbed us of our Emperor, so why should I give them any consideration?”

“Their reasons are sound. When Rufus is dealt with, we’ll need to smooth relations with Sreng. We can’t do that if you butcher them all!”

“Yet Blaiddyd still lurks in the wilds, and Sreng has shown nothing but contempt for our presence.”

Lysithea tensed as Byleth’s hand strayed to her sword.

“Sound reasoning or no, Edelgard would not stand for any obstacle and neither will I.”

“General… Professor, please—”

“You had it right the first time. I’m not your teacher anymore.” Byleth clicked her tongue, calling a nearby horse. It cantered to her side, and she swiftly mounted. “Cernunnos is under your care until I return. I won’t be long.”

Lysithea watched in dismay as the general kicked her heels and sped across the frosted cobble towards the main gate. The mane of her hair appeared like a veil obscuring her features. At that moment, she seemed just as unknowable and foreboding as death. To the luckless warriors who stumbled into her path, that’s what she would very well be. Had Leonie been here, perhaps she could have reasoned with her. They had become close after the war's end, commiserating over Jeralt's life and loss. However, Leonie would not arrive from the east for at least a couple of days.

Lysithea placed her hands over her face, rubbing her eyes. Oh, Edelgard… What would you have said to her? The older woman always knew how to rein in her friends, and her lover most of all. But it was futile to consider the impossible, so Lysithea just sighed in misery.

“Lady Ordelia.”

What now? Lysithea huffed, glancing upward. A nervous-looking soldier bowed at the waist.

“Pardon me, my lady. There are riders at the south gate who wish to speak with you.”

“With me?” Lysithea blinked, confused. “As in they asked for me directly?”

“No, my lady. They requested the Emperor or even General Byleth, but… Well…”

“Say no more. I understand.” Lysithea nodded once, privately despairing at the poor timing of it all. “Did they reveal who they are? We can’t allow just anyone to enter the fort.”

“They spoke very little,” the soldier said. She bowed again, plainly apologetic. “However, they were flying the standard of House Gautier.”

“So Lady Delphine has arrived. I should have known…” Lysithea gathered herself quickly. The northern lords were prickly enough without them glimpsing her turmoil. She would not provide them with reasons to doubt the Empire. “Very well, I’ll greet them in the entrance hall. Have a few archers lying in wait on the off-chance this is a ruse.”

“It will be done, my lady.” The soldier departed, leaving Lysithea to her thoughts. She eyed the snow-laden road Byleth had tread. She wondered whether the general would return if she knew the northern lords awaited her but doubted that would change anything. Byleth was not of a mind to entertain company regardless, and Lysithea feared a diplomatic incident. Politics were such a bear at times.

“It’s a wonder how you managed all this, Edelgard,” Lysithea whispered to herself. She sobered, mood souring further. She hated to think of hypotheticals, but could not stop herself from seeing each dreaded outcome. The north was already strained, danger potentially hiding behind every allied territory. Rufus Blaiddyd has proven this much to be true. Leicester was better but only because of Claude’s formal surrender and subsequent withdrawal. The death of Dimitri was not similarly received.

Edelgard’s disappearance meant more than just the loss of a friend. Should she die, nothing would stop Fódlan from tearing asunder. Lysithea blinked away the snow speckling her face. The ice melted atop her lashes. Reflexively, she wiped her face with a palm, water gathering within the grooves. She looked at the resulting pool, and in the reflection, she saw a thousand worlds where Edelgard never returned—each one bloodier than the last.

* * *

Byleth often wondered what her life would be like had her father been a simpler man. What if, in another world, he was only a fisherman? What if she had never taken a life, and wiled away her days in pleasant simplicity? Perhaps she would be the sort of person who loathed violence. Perhaps she would have never known the thrill of her heart as she killed.

She breathed evenly, forcing her pulse to still. It was quite the odd sensation to adjust to after so many years of silence. At least then, rage did not boil her veins like fire. She had been focused without the need to raze the forest in her pain. Emotions truly were such inconvenient things, yet Byleth feared the loss of them just as much as the overwhelming tumult.

She lowered her sword, pulling the reins with her other hand. Her horse grunted as she led him through the quiet wood. The band of assailants had thinned after a mere skirmish, many fleeing into the trees. Sreng continued to assail the fortress outskirts since their loss, though their numbers had steadily declined. Either they were licking their wounds or Blaiddyd had realized the futility.

Byleth couldn’t say which was more likely, but she hardly cared. All that mattered was El’s safe return. She would do anything to hold her once more. Byleth cleaned her blade, observing the smeared copper streaks along the serpentine edge. Not for the first time since discovering their connection, she wondered about Rhea’s motivations.

Are we alike in this way? El had told her not to muse about the motivations of a monster, but Byleth could not help it. Rhea had a hand in her origins, perhaps more. Byleth loathed the notion she was capable of the same bestial anger, but the rage beneath her skin felt too keen to be ignored. Even self-aware of it, she could not contain the flames.

El… Her chest ached intensely. Byleth sheathed the sword of Seiros, despondent. Her wrath had cooled after the fight, leaving her cold and empty. It would return as it always did. Yet for now, she could go about her duties with a clearer head. Lysithea would be gladdened if nothing else. Behind her, Byleth heard the soldiers she brought convene.

“The woods are clear,” she said to them. “Gather in formation. We return to Cernunnos.”

They did as she bid, privately collecting themselves and their few wounded. Lysithea had a point, she knew. Their forces could not keep this up forever, and taxing them in minor scrapes could be a waste. But what else was there? After her father’s death, she had sat idly and rotted in her grief. El had been gracious enough to speak sense into her. The younger woman’s words had been sharp, but also kind.

That was who El was at her core, taking initiative no matter the strife. Byleth strained to follow her lead. All the while, it felt as if she were treading water. How could she ever be content staying inert while there was action to be taken? Lysithea would come to understand. They all would. Byleth repeated this to herself as she rode through the main gate.

A stable hand hurried to take her horse as she dismounted, though the boy curiously avoided eye contact. The same was said for the passing cluster of servants who had been hired to tend to the fort. They paled upon spotting her, dashing away before their eyes could meet. Byleth frowned, yet she did not linger on the peculiarity. There were more important things to consider. Then, she heard the distinctive sound of Lysithea’s voice pour from the entrance hall.

“—I’ve told you before, the Emperor is preoccupied. I will not be explaining further.”

Another voice followed, prickly and impatient. “If Her Majesty cannot be bothered to welcome us then why should we offer our troops?”

“Count… Lord Gunnar makes a fine point,” yet another chimed in. This one sounded more hesitant than the first. “I am willing to answer your plea for relief. However, it would soothe the concerns of our territory if the Emperor were to clarify the situation.”

“The situation is resolved. Cernunnos has been cleansed of enemy influence."

“I do not care for the particulars,” replied a third. It sounded like a woman, stately in the way only age could bring. “Whatever keeps the Emperor is irrelevant. Where is your general?”

As Byleth entered the hall, she caught the copper bun of the person in question. Her appearance was greatly reminiscent of Sylvain. His mother, Byleth assumed. Two men flanked her, one of them spotting her immediately. He was fair, though the strands were heavily streaked with grey. His face blanched when Byleth’s stare fell upon him.

“Greetings. I’m sorry for the tardy arrival.” Byleth strode up to the group, ignoring their boggling. Lysithea’s eyes were curiously wide as she approached. “I am Adrestia’s High General. Advisor Ordelia speaks true; our Emperor is busy wrangling the western fortress while we settle matters here.”

She held out her hand, plastering on a tight smile. No one moved to take it. Beside her, Lysithea sighed heavily.

“General Eisner has just returned from the field. Please excuse her… harried appearance.” A petite hand took hold of Byleth’s arm pointedly. It was only then that Byleth realized the problem. Blood, both dried and not, painted her body in thick swathes. Her fingers suffered the most. She lowered her offered hand with chagrin.

“She’s been quite dutiful in fortifying our perimeter,” Lysithea continued. The others just looked at her uneasily, though Sylvain’s mother seemed especially disgruntled. She regarded Byleth with thick distaste.

“As I’m sure.” The stately woman drew her coat closer. “So you’re the warden of Cernunnos then, or will the fortress be returned to our House?”

“I’m not at liberty to make such a decision.” Byleth glanced at Lysithea who quickly interjected.

“That is for the Emperor to decide, Lady Delphine. For now, the Empire will occupy the border until Blaiddyd is dealt with.”

“That’s the most pressing issue, I suppose,” the blonde man said, voice clipped. His green eyes narrowed. “So it’s true what Lady Delphine has told us… Rufus Blaiddyd is the one behind it all?”

“It’s so hard to understand. How can he think anyone would rally under his banner? The war has long been lost. This will be the end of his House.” The last man, dark-haired and willowy of frame, folded his arms behind him.

“I wouldn’t trouble yourself over his reasons.” Lysithea stole another look at Byleth before fanning an arm towards the three. “General Eisner, may I present Lady Delphine of House Gautier, the acting Lord of Fraldarius, Sir Quincy, and Lord Gunnar of Galatea.”

“It is an honor, General,” said the dark-haired man. He dipped his head. “As a knight, I’ve been impressed by the tales of your prowess. Perchance we could spar in the yard before I depart.”

“Count Galatea. I’m here to see my daughter. I’ve little intention of sending men into the wilds to be devoured by heathens.” Lord Gunnar’s gaze darted suspiciously between Lysithea and Byleth. “I’ve heeded the Emperor’s summons, so I don’t wish to be accused of plotting with a usurper. Nothing more.”

“Our children can do what they wish. I’m here on behalf of my husband’s interests.” Lady Delphine finally tore her attention from Byleth. She pursed her lips as she inspected her surroundings. “At least you kept it standing. Still, the collapse of the evacuation tunnel will mean more work for House Gautier later. The main gates can freeze shut during a blizzard.”

“Our priority is keeping control of the pass.” Byleth blinked evenly, taking great care with her words. El and Hubert’s tutelage clarified much, though the intricacies of politics still puzzled her. She rose to her full height, recalling the way Edelgard would posture. “We can re-establish the supply tunnel once we’re confident Blaiddyd’s men won’t abuse it. Keeping such an obvious weakness is ill-advised.”

“General Eisner speaks true,” Lysithea commented. She seemed relieved. “As for your concerns, Lord Gunnar, I should hope you don’t intend to deprive the Empire of our pegasi captain. We need her now more than ever.”

“My daughter is the heir of Galatea. She cannot toss aside her duties to die in a frozen waste. I am pleading for you to relieve her of her post. Perhaps then I’ll provide men to station Cernunnos.”

“This doesn’t sound like a plea. Take care with your phrasing, Lord Gunnar.” Lysithea bristled. “Birthrights are a thing of the past. If you wish to pass your title to a chosen successor they must first be evaluated. You know this.”

“Don’t be absurd. Who else would I grant my title? Galatea will be hers when I am gone. You must send her home. This is what I’m asking for in return for my support.”

“I do not command Ingrid.” Byleth met the man’s stare. He jutted his mouth stubbornly. “Only Her Majesty holds that honor, and she has bid all her soldiers serve at their leisure. We do not force anyone into a post. Ingrid serves Adrestia by her desire alone.”

“She doesn’t understand the stakes. I insist you—”

“I’ve already declined. Your concern is noted, but it’s not my place to demand anything of our captain.”

Lord Gunnar shook his head, lips curling above teeth. Rather than continuing the argument, he stomped away. Byleth frowned, wondering if she could have managed that better. She saw Lysithea offer a covert nod so she must have done well enough. Sir Quincy cleared his throat.

“I’m not of a mind to deny the Empire anything it needs. Soldiers from Fraldarius can be given, but I would have preferred to hear from the Emperor. There are those within my territory that are looking for reasons to stir dissent. Her direct involvement might silence them.”

“Your offering is appreciated, Sir. I understand you must have gone against the majority to heed our summons.” Lysithea dipped her head amenably. “However, Her Majesty cannot tend to every squabble within Fraldarius. Reassure any agitators that the Emperor can always take a greater interest in their holdings.”

“It will have to be enough. Thank you for your time, Lady Ordelia. General Eisner.” Sir Quincy bowed deeply. Then, he took his leave after bowing again for Lady Delphine. The woman gave no acknowledgment.

“That man is too soft. He’s flowery like an Adrestian maid,” Lady Delphine said once he was gone. She cut her gaze to Byleth. “Rodrigue spoke the same, but he knew how to lead. Quincy is a poor choice to hold Fraldarius.”

“The other lords were too grasping for the Emperor's tastes," Lysithea replied. She stepped forward, plainly undaunted by Lady Delphine's significant height. "I advised Her Majesty to choose a commoner of some prestige and respect. He’s also obliquely tied to House Fraldarius—the fifth son of a distant cousin.”

“You approach this with reason as if that will move mountains. Northmen are as nature crafted. They understand only one language.” Lady Delphine made a dismissive gesture with her hand. She turned her back to them. “I will stay until week’s end. Inform Sylvain or don’t. It matters little.”

“Your son was wounded during the siege. He nearly died,” Byleth revealed. She waited for the older woman to react but there was little change in her expression. It remained as stony as before.

“Unfortunate but not unexpected. My son has always been careless with his life. This is no different.” Lady Delphine left immediately after she was done speaking. Byleth stared at her retreating profile.

“I’m sorry, Lysithea. I think I’ve offended…”

“No, General. You didn’t.” Lysithea exhaled, small shoulders falling with her face. "Lady Delphine strikes me as having a difficult personality. With a mother like that, it’s no wonder Sylvain turned out the way he did.”

“A philanderer?”

“That might be part of it. He’s certainly drawn to strong women.” Lysithea mustered a wan smile. It swiftly fled. “Are you alright, General? The blood—”

“It isn’t mine.” Byleth looked away. “I was rather curt with you before. My apologies, Lysithea. I feel better now, and I’m ready to do what is required.”

“There’s no need for regret. I understand very well what you’re feeling. However…” The younger woman squinted, appearing to inspect Byleth’s person. It was hard to say what she sought to find. “I’m asking you to be sharp. Without Edelgard, we need to stand together. We can’t lose you too.”

“You won’t. I may not have the power of a crest any longer, but I can hold my own.”

“That’s not what I meant. Death isn’t the only way you can be lost.” Lysithea pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shutting. “I can’t constantly wonder if you’re razing the forest to the ground or getting yourself killed.”

“My anger will not rule me,” Byleth insisted. Lysithea did not appear convinced.

“It already does. Even now, with your lust for blood sated, I see agitation in every pore of you. You’re lucky Hubert isn’t here. We both know he wouldn’t stand for this behavior.”

“I can manage it.” Byleth tried for a smile, but her eyes refused to crease with genuine assurance. Judging from the pinched set of Lysithea’s mouth, she knew the gesture failed.

“For Edelgard’s sake, I hope that’s true.” She left after imparting those ominous words. Byleth wanted to follow if only to prove her words. But a part of her, great and ailing as it was, only felt resignation. Denying the truth served no one. Even if death did not claim her, El’s demise would throw Byleth adrift all the same.

They had never kept silent about what they meant to each other. El had once professed she saw her as a guiding light; a flame in the abyss that was her loneliness. To Byleth, Edelgard was a waking dream. Before, she had moved through the world as if asleep, barely registering the people she met. Even her father could not rouse her from apathy. Then she met Edelgard, and suddenly she found herself stirring from slumber.

Her passion, her fire, her joy, her pain; all of it resonated within the hollow void. The first brush of reality, and Byleth quickly grew addicted. She had not known what love was before El came into her life. Sweeter than any song, it filled the blank crevices of her past and caused her to greet each dawn with anticipation.

El might have defined Byleth as the light of her life, but Edelgard was the anchor of hers. Byleth placed a hand over her chest, willing the throbbing ache to cease.

* * *

There was an opening in the southernmost wall. Edelgard could tell from the draft that skittered up her spine. It was not a significant breeze, nary but a whisper, yet it hinted toward a weakness in the cell. Her eyes drifted upward where a shaft of light fell in a horizontal beam. Even if it wasn’t large enough to move through, perhaps it could serve some small purpose.

Edelgard tried to twist her wrists within the chains. They wriggled in futility. No room to squeeze out of. She could risk degloving her hands, but escaping with mangled limbs would be a trial. Her attention swayed to the light once again. Night had fallen. The fourth—no, the fifth time since her capture. That meant six days had passed.

The cell door looked to be wood, though the dim lighting made it difficult to judge. Twenty paces from where she hung, but if she could tug the chain from the ceiling maybe… Edelgard tensed as she heard the lock give way. Only Rufus and the smattering of guards he posted ever entered her cell. The former to bleat the same rhetoric he always did, and the latter to feed her meager scraps. Strangely, Thales had yet to show himself. But she was certain it was only a matter of time.

Edelgard feigned unconsciousness as the person entered. Their steps were light and quick, unarmored by the sound of it. She heard them fuss with something. Then a bitterly cold object grazed her lips and Edelgard jerked.

“So you are awake.” The one Rufus had called Estrid peered at her dispassionately. Closer now, Edelgard could see the numerous ways she resembled Ingrid. But her hair was longer, collected behind her head in a thin tail.

“What did you touch me with?” Edelgard asked stiffly.

“A spoon. Unless you wish to starve.” Estrid seemed not to care either way, features distant. “Your meal for the day. I’m told it’s stew.”

“Why?”

Estrid paused. She favored Edelgard with a level stare. “Are you questioning the food?”

“Don’t play a fool. You know very well what I’m asking.” Edelgard glowered at the bowl of soup. “What purpose does this ruse serve? Feeding me, keeping me alive... I can’t make sense of it.”

“I was ordered to. The reasons why are not for me to know.”

“How Faerghian of you.”

Green eyes thinned. Estrid dipped the spoon into the bowl. “You seem to hold contempt for me, or is it Faerghus which fuels your ire?”

“Faerghus as a concept will never cease to bother me. Laying down your life in service to a supposedly divine cause is foolish enough, but the sanctimonious nature of your chivalry has ruined more than family.” Edelgard rankled as she thought of the former kingdom’s practices. “More importantly, the blood of the common should not be seen as inherently lesser.”

“You speak with great conviction. It’s easy to see why so many were swayed, including Ingrid.” Estrid held out the spoon, prompting her to drink. Loathe as she was to accept, Edelgard could not decline. She would need the energy. Her mouth opened begrudgingly. It tasted like bilge water, but her hungry belly warmed with satisfaction regardless.

“I never thought she would kneel for Adrestia,” Estrid continued. “It came as a great surprise at first. I thought perhaps she had been misled or simply fallen to youthful passions. She was always a girl buried in books of knights and courtly love. But the Ingrid I knew would never defect for so little.”

“Ingrid followed me because she glimpsed a world beyond the Kingdom’s example. She desired liberation.”

“You’re right, but not in the way you think.” Estrid offered another spoonful, chunks of meat pooling atop the surface. “It’s obvious she saw a chance for freedom and took it gladly. I can’t say I approve, but she has kept true to her oaths. For that, I am proud.”

“Pride means little when you hold a lance to her throat.” Edelgard stiffened, an awful possibility occurring to her. “Did—Is she…?”

“She lives. The Gautier boy intervened.” Again, Estrid appeared apathetic. She relayed the details as if she were recounting the weather. “I ran him through with her relic. I assume he’s dead, unless your healers were swift enough to save him. I pray Ingrid understands the price of her folly when next we meet.”

“You speak of this without batting an eye. Does the thought of your niece's suffering not touch you?" Edelgard seethed; infuriated and more than horrified. Hopefully, she was wrong and Sylvain had lived. If not… "This is what I hold contempt for, the flagrant disregard for life so long as it serves the king. Yet you're without a king and still, you insist on this insanity."

“We have a king,” Estrid replied. She lowered the empty bowl, curving it beneath her arm. “It is for him I hold my lance. And as his knight, I will protect him until my last breath.”

“Rufus is no king,” Edelgard spat. She expected Estrid to vehemently insist otherwise, but the woman remained silent. Green eyes looked at her at length, measuring. After a long moment, Estrid moved towards the door. Before she could open it, Edelgard called to her.

“Answer me one thing.”

Estrid did not respond, but neither did she move to leave. Edelgard took that as agreement.

“How long does he plan to have me caged? Rufus can’t expect this to last forever. My army will come.”

“Winter will keep them at bay,” Estrid replied. Edelgard scowled at this vague answer.

“So now Blaiddyd is relying on the elements? He truly is desperate. If you don’t intend to kill me, then why am I here?”

“Your uncle insisted on this, not Lord Blaiddyd.” Estrid opened the door. “Arundel is a dangerous man. I have seen the fruits of his… experiments. They are not pretty to behold. For what it is worth, I do pity you.”

“I require no one’s pity, Galatea.”

Estrid allowed the comment to pass as she left. Her manner was infuriating, if only because Edelgard could not provoke her. Had the woman been less measured, perhaps she could be tricked into freeing her. Just one slip was all Edelgard required. However, it was clear Estrid would not fall for such means.

Still, the conversation had proven enlightening. And also disturbing in its implications. Edelgard was well-acquainted with Thales’ methods. Desecration of blood and body in the pursuit of power wasn’t beyond the creature. Yet his exact plans remained a mystery—one she had best discover before he could enact them. After all, she too had been his weapon once. There was no telling what grisly terrors he could unleash with an entire country at his whim.

Blaiddyd’s son, where does he fit? To spark this revolt certainly, but Edelgard doubted the babe would ever see a coronation. Should Thales have his way, the boy’s only inheritance would be a crown of blood. Rufus was too blinded by empty promises to see the fate that awaited them both. Edelgard felt no pity for the man, but his son… A child should never suffer for the inadequacies of their parents.

Nor should they be subject to political games or be put under the knife. She shuddered, the bodies of her family springing to mind. Edelgard did not know how this all would end. Perchance all these bleak musings would come to pass. Perhaps they wouldn’t. What she did know, was that a new fire flickered beneath her ribs. It warmed her numb extremities and brought forth an inferno of resolve. The exhaustion and hunger plaguing her body faded to obscurity.

Edelgard would find a way to freedom. Then, she could end this nightmare once and for all.

* * *

As had become the norm, Byleth found herself pacing the vast halls of Cernunnos. Sleep did not come easy to her since El’s disappearance. More often than not, she would pace the empty courtyard until her body was too worn for anxiety. The cold night air prickled her lungs as she waded through the keep.

Byleth never stumbled upon anyone amid her wanderings. The soldiers all retired at a decent hour to greet the morning properly. It was only her who could not rest. At least, that was what she had assumed. So she was surprised to find one of the chambers dimly lit. Byleth entered, hand poised over hilt, before stilling.

Sylvain’s mother, Lady Delphine as she recalled, stared into the room’s hearth. She did not seem to notice the intrusion. Curiosity sated, Byleth moved to leave. However, the woman’s sharp voice stopped her short.

“Hold, General.” Lady Delphine glanced at her briefly. “I would speak with you.”

Byleth hesitated. Without Lysithea’s subtle direction, she wasn’t comfortable speaking with lords or ladies. It hadn’t bothered her while El was here, but without her… there was no one to smooth whatever gaffes she might make. Still, Byleth knew better than to ignore this request.

“Do you have questions for me?” She joined her by the hearth, quietly inspecting the older woman. Lady Delphine had doffed her traveling garments in favor of a plain dress. Her copper hair was tied in a severe bun. Truthfully, she didn’t look like any of the Adrestian ladies Byleth had met. But she sparingly visited the wealthier districts. The docks were more to her taste.

“General Eisner,” Lady Delphine said. It sounded as if she were rolling the name over her tongue rather than addressing her. “I didn’t pay much attention to the various names that my husband would mention. With Sylvain kneeling for the empire, his loyalties were divided. My husband remained steadfast in his duty to the king, yet the on-goings of Adrestia were a common topic of discussion. I never cared for what general won which encounter. Seemed pointless to fret over something beyond my control.”

The lady’s expression hardened. The light from the hearth illuminated the sharp planes of her face.

“But I knew the name Eisner. You were their professor at Garreg Mach.”

“I was,” Byleth confirmed.

“I thought so. You know, they referred to you with fear and disgust. They said you seduced your students into betraying their country. Some even claimed you were a creature masquerading as a human; a demon or faerie come to sow mischief in the world of men. And others still, declared you an animal whom the Emperor magicked into a woman to share her bed. Ridiculous nonsense.”

Byleth blinked, hiding a flinch. Lady Delphine continued staring into the fire.

“I can see where they gain such notions. You wear blood like I wear a shawl. All while revealing nothing of your emotions, if you have any.”

“I do,” Byleth softly replied.

“Is that so? Then allow me to inquire about something I’ve been wondering for years.” The lady’s gaze fixed on Byleth. The look was cold, as unpleasant and inhospitable as the ice outside the towering walls. “What did you feel when you murdered my son? You, who railed against the church for a wisp of a girl, yet happily killed my boy at their order—tell me what you felt.”

“You speak of Miklan.”

“Who else? Tell me, General. Did you feel anything for him, pity or otherwise?” Lady Delphine’s stepped forward. “I wonder at the woman who could birth a thing such as you. Or did you kill her as well?”

“That’s enough.” Sylvain’s voice sliced through the dark. He hobbled across the door’s threshold, clutching a cane. “You’ve said your piece. You should retire to your quarters.”

“She requests the aid of House Gautier. Am I not entitled to answers?”

“Not for this. And I will be ruling Gautier from here onward.” Sylvain stood as tall as he could manage. “I’ve already sent couriers to our banners. Return home, Mother. I order you as Margrave Gautier.”

Byleth observed as Lady Delphine stiffened. Her features crumpled before flattening into something unreadable. She darted for the door in silence. Sylvain appeared morose upon her departure.

“Sorry you had to see that, Professor.” He ambulated to the nearest chair before collapsing. “I didn’t want to throw my weight like that. I was hoping… Well, doesn’t matter now.”

“Will your bannermen heed you?” Byleth approached carefully. “I was under the assumption they stood united with your mother.”

“Only because I refused to take my father’s mantle. Since I didn’t press it, they assumed Mother might be named Margrave.” Sylvain chuckled hoarsely, rubbing his face. “I wasn’t sure I wanted the damn title. Yet Edelgard’s capture renders the matter moot. I needed to do my part.”

“I’m sure she would be proud.” Byleth swallowed, not wishing to linger on the subject. “Your mother's grief confused me. I had heard your parents decided to strip him of any claims."

“Father’s decision, yes. Not hers.” Sylvain’s expression pulled with discomfort. “She tried to change his mind, but he couldn’t show any weakness. Especially considering the circumstances of Miklan’s birth and their marriage.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back when the Kingdom warred with Sreng, a young heir of House Gautier rode with the king. He visited the lands that were to be his domain, thinking himself above the wildmen. In his entitlement and arrogance, he bedded the granddaughter of a Sreng chieftain. She fell with child.” Sylvain looked away, holding his cane close. “It was a scandal, and the chieftain called rape. Lambert wanted to keep the tensions at a minimum, so he bid them to wed. Father could not deny the order without forfeiting his honor. I think Mother agreed simply to keep the peace.”

“Then your mother is…”

“Srengian. And so am I. Funny, right?” Sylvain smirked humorlessly. He peered dourly at Byleth. “Their marriage was tempestuous, but it eventually deepened into love. Regardless, they had their differences, and the fiasco with Miklan was a major hurdle. Mother couldn’t understand why Miklan needed to be cut from the line of inheritance. Father refused to hear any of it and had Miklan banished. To him, this maintained the illusion of our House’s authority.”

“Does El know of this?” Byleth asked.

“Goddess, no. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but I know my mother. Edelgard would have wanted to make amends, and Mother would have spat fire the whole way. Two strong-willed women like that wouldn’t get on very well. She barely tolerates me most days.”

“You’re her son.”

“She believes I could have saved Miklan. In her eyes, I stood aside as the church murdered her firstborn. I pray she never knows I’m the one who finished him.” Sylvain sighed before climbing unsteadily to his feet. “Hatred born of love is a terrible thing. It’s not something that can be reasoned away, Professor.”

“No. I suppose not.” Byleth flexed her fingers. The same restless anger she had felt for days awakened with a vengeance. It was so easily summoned when she thought of losing El. Lady Delphine had a greater mastery of herself than Byleth could claim. Did such control come with time? Perhaps this was a personal failing she would never be rid of.

* * *

Far to the east, where the waters of Fraldarius solidified into the ice fields of Sreng, a rider fed her horse. She patted the animal’s muzzle, taking in the modest settlement. The region of Boann was not a great fortress, nor did it lay claim to a sizable port. Of the three border territories, it was easily the least impressive. There was little in the way of fortification, and only a scant number of soldiers.

As she surveyed its scope the past few days, Shamir was certain Blaiddyd was elsewhere. They would not keep Edelgard in a place so thinly manned. She wondered what the purpose of this place was. With its lack of resources and access, there was little advantage. Though with what they found at Taranis, perhaps it was better left a mystery. Shamir led her horse away from the settlement.

Saloma grunted, plainly unhappy with the weather she had been forced to endure. Shamir patted the animal’s flank soothingly. The horse just flicked her ears, disgruntled.

“Hold on a bit longer. I'll get you somewhere warm after all this is over."

She scanned the horizon. The eastern lands were naught but an endless plain of white. When she tried to clear the snow to make camp, the ground beneath was hard and unyielding. It could scarcely be called earth, lacking in loamy soil and occasionally sandy. This truly was a wasteland. Was it any wonder why the people were so desperate?

Shamir clicked her tongue, leaping into the saddle. Saloma perked before trotting dutifully. She could move deeper into the wilds, heading where the northernmost peaks revealed themselves. However, perhaps it would be wiser to follow the coastline, rocky and coarse though it was. There was no telling where Blaiddyd had sequestered himself.

A lesser scout would have given in. Yet Shamir had every reason to continue, and she took pride in her ability to be resourceful. Speaking of… Shamir narrowed her eyes, spotting a caravan accompanied by armored men. They flew no banners, but the cart was laden with more supplies than a Sreng tribe could amass. Tellingly, they headed in the opposite direction of Boann.

“Where does your journey lead?” Shamir murmured. She tailed them, weaving through the trees so they would not spot her. An untold amount of time passed, the caravan creeping steadily over the frozen wilderness and Shamir in pursuit. At last, she directed Saloma to a nearby ridge as they appeared to halt beside an arching cliff face.

The sun was sinking beneath the horizon, washing the land in shades of grey and purple. The shadows made it hard to pinpoint shapes, but Shamir could glean the shape of a gate within the rock. She squinted, trying to determine the scope. This was no ordinary cliff, perhaps the mouth of a pass. Was this the entry to a Srengian settlement?

It made a certain amount of sense, if so. They could hardly gather within Faerghian structures. Shamir dismounted, staying low as she peered over the ridge. It was difficult to gauge how far the pass stretched. The land was laden with snowy hillocks and tall swathes of granite, obscuring much of her view. She needed to venture closer if she wanted to tail the caravan.

Shamir clicked her tongue, disgruntled by the revelation. She moved to rise, only to pause as her stare caught on the person greeting the caravan. At this distance, she could not see their face. Yet she recognized the deep blue and silver of their garb. Their hair was fair, alluding to only one possible identity.

So this is where Blaiddyd is hiding. It wasn’t surprising to learn he had placed himself within Srengian territory. Whatever he had promised them, it gave him great influence. She wondered whether they truly expected earnest reward, or intended to do away with their patron once their land was returned. Shamir doubted the Sreng leaders were so easily swayed by empty promises.

Finally, the Dagdan woman rose to her feet before climbing back into the saddle. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, causing Saloma to break into a trot. Shamir would skirt the cliffs for a less conspicuous entrance. With luck, she could delve within the pass and find where Blaiddyd was keeping Edelgard.

However, fortune rarely looked favorably upon her. Shamir could only hope this time would be different. It would be a significant trial to protect Edelgard whilst escaping Kingdom and Srengian forces. Nonetheless, Shamir was not a defeatist. She had spirited Catherine from Fhirdiad, hadn’t she? Shamir could take Rufus’ ill-gotten trophy as well.

* * *

The rumbling heat of forge fire warded off the persistent chill, as did the constant slough of iron beneath a hammer. This domain was well-known; comfortable. Far more than worrying incessantly over what lay outside these stone walls. Catherine set aside her hammer, wiping her hands with a rag. She glanced at the open door as a fierce breeze rustled by.

The workshop had been erected near the stables, both to ventilate the smoke and at her request. Truthfully, Catherine was stunned they listened. Perhaps they just desired to keep her away from the other craftsman. It wasn’t her fault some of them didn’t know how to shut their gobs. Catherine never allowed crude comments about Shamir as a Knight, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to allow it now. Breaking a few teeth never hurt anyone.

She rolled her neck, working out a knot, when something caught her ear. It sounded like Lysithea’s voice, but it was hard to identify over the wind. Then she saw a whirl of robes through the door slat, immediately confirming it.

“—departure. Send a few escorts with them just in case. Has anyone seen General Eisner?”

Curious, Catherine shouldered the rag before wading outside. She watched as Lysithea fluttered about, speaking to a cluster of soldiers. She looked fairly undignified with her flushed cheeks and frazzled expression.

“No one has any idea?!” Lysithea’s voice raised, becoming shrill. “You three, quick! Come with me to the gates. We need to stop this madness once and for all.”

“Hold your horses. If you’re looking for General Mopey, she’s in the training yard.” Catherine crossed her arms, leaning against the frame. Lysithea’s face pulled.

“The yard…? I didn’t see her. If this is a jest—”

“She walked by a few minutes ago. I gather she was in the woods before then.” The smith shrugged. “Byleth looked no worse for wear.”

“It’s not her well-being I’m concerned for.” Lysithea sniffed. She waved her hands, dismissing the soldiers. Pale eyes cut to Catherine once more. “General Eisner has been… distressed. There’s no end to the amount of trouble she could wreak in such a state.”

“If it puts you at ease, she was clean of blood.”

“That is reassuring. Still...”

“What’s with all the fretting? I don’t understand it.” Catherine rubbed her neck idly. “She’s a big girl. Seemed sad more than anything. Byleth's a dozy mess but I can't see her killing for the fun of it.”

“’Fun’ isn’t what I’m concerned about.” Lysithea worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s not something widely discussed, but the Professor’s emotions are… new. Both to us and her, I believe. With the disappearance of her crest and the mystery of her origins, one can put a few things together. She’s a wonderful person, but anger is not something she often feels. This situation must be overwhelming for her.”

“Overwhelming anger, huh?” Catherine hesitated, finding kinship within the notion. “Yeah. That can be an awful thing to overcome.”

“Hmph. I suppose you would understand.” Despite her sharp words, Lysithea was sedate. She appeared immeasurably tired. “She’s been chomping at the bit to move eastward towards the last fort, weather be damned. I don't know what to tell her when she gets like this. I've always found it easier to focus on a task rather than my emotions. However, not everyone can internalize such things the way I do. I suspect I’m ill-equipped to help her…”

“I could give it a go,” Catherine said, more than a little reluctant. Yet she had promised Shamir to keep an eye on Byleth. She would never dream of letting her partner down. Rather than leap on the offer, Lysithea was unimpressed.

“I want to prevent a bloodbath, not start one. If I let you two in the same room, that’s exactly what will happen.”

“You don’t know that. I can be charming when I want to be.”

“Charming as a sword to the gullet.” Lysithea wrinkled her nose before sighing. “But I have little other options. If you can calm her, then you’ll have my gratitude.”

“I’m sure I can get through that thick skull of hers. I don’t carry a hammer for nothing.” Catherine grinned, but the joke seemed to land flat. Lysithea's only response was to huff and stomp in the opposite direction.

Honestly, the younger woman could at least reign her disdain back a smidge. Still... Catherine decided to leave her tools in the off-chance she was tempted to use them. She had silenced the majority of her prior hatred, but Byleth still embodied many things she had yet to bury. Jealousy aside, the woman had been the one to mangle her leg.

And before then, her rejection of Lady Rhea. Catherine pinched herself, annoyed. No, she would not think of what might have been. Lady… The Archbishop was not the woman she had known by the end. Perhaps she had never been. The Goddess had abandoned the Church long before Fhirdiad’s destruction. Edelgard was only a catalyst to the inevitable. Yet were it not for Byleth...

Catherine strode through the snow, forcing herself not to think of the past. The actions taken had led to a new beginning, and it was the present she was determined to keep whole. It was only a Knight’s lingering fear of change that still saw something to cling to. But she had grown beyond the lies. At least, Catherine liked to believe so.

She found Byleth training in the yard as promised. Oddly, the woman was sparsely clad, wearing only a thin shirt and pants. She clashed her sword against the targets, a live blade rather than a wooden one. Snow matted her hair and shoulders, yet it hardly seemed to register. Catherine observed Byleth move, noting the lack of fluidity. Her strikes were sloppy, footwork more sporadic than measured.

“Didn’t realize your talent lay in that crest of yours. Seems to have vanished with it,” Catherine commented. She waited for Byleth to react. Unfortunately, it was minimal. The other woman only paused to look at her shortly. Then, she continued training as if she hadn’t been disturbed. “Is that a yes?”

“Take it however you wish.” Byleth didn’t bother to halt. She batted at the edifice of canvas and wood. Her sword cleaved through the blank head, leaving a significant divot.

“You’ll ruin the steel if you keep going.”

“There’s always more swords”

“Sure, at the cost of sweat for us laborers.” Catherine watched, satisfied, as this forced Byleth to hesitate. “I assume the forest was bereft of hostiles?”

“There was no one.” The general’s blade lowered. She stared at the practice dummy as if it were speaking to her. “I wanted a fight; a conflict, anything to conquer. Yet I was denied.”

“You wanted the assurance of having purpose."

Byleth’s head turned to the side. Catherine took it as acknowledgment, but she thought as much. She ambled to Byleth’s side. “To feel as if you were taking action. To maintain the illusion of protecting your Emperor. Stop me if I’m wrong.”

“It matters little. I know I’m unable to help her right now.” Byleth’s jaw bunched. It was the first time Catherine had seen any hint of annoyance from the woman. “But I can protect us from another attack and recover the last border territory. Once the morning comes, I’ll order the soldiers to move eastward. I will be leading the march.”

“You can send scouts to canvas the area.” Catherine frowned as Byleth shook her head.

“It needs to be me. I promised Hubert to protect her. I promised El…” Her frame shuddered, sword loosening in her grip. “I need to act. I cannot stand still as she suffers.”

“Shamir was right,” Catherine said to herself. Byleth glanced at her regardless. “She called you an animal looking for something to bloody.”

Byleth remained silent, making no attempt to argue. Catherine spoke again. “Admit it. This personal crusade is to sate that endless hunger you feel. Don’t hide behind paper-thin justifications.”

“As you did?” Byleth looked up then. Her face was taut, straining with concealed emotion. Catherine flinched at her words.

“...Yeah. As I did.” She cleared her throat, collecting her composure. “You want something to occupy yourself with? Then let’s go fishing. I promise not to grumble.”

“I’m not in the mood. I would just frighten the fish away.” A pitiful smile replaced Byleth’s stoic expression. Somehow, Catherine preferred the latter. “Thank you for the offer. Excuse me.”

She tried to leave, but Catherine wouldn't allow it. She stepped in Byleth's path. Blue eyes flashed with a warning, yet Catherine paid no heed.

“Like recognizes like. It’s how I knew Lysithea carried the same crest. It’s also why I was so comfortable in the Knights.” Catherine inspected the younger woman, reading the tension in her frame. She was lankier, but the cords of her forearms spoke of strength. “Every one of those sorry bastards had the same look. Angry, sad, and all too keen for penance. I was hungry for it, starved for any sign of the Goddess’ benevolence.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Byleth frowned, gaze intent.

“Because I see it on you now. Your anger might be great, but so is your guilt. Your shame and fear that you can’t be what people expect.” Catherine paused as Byleth looked away. “You got a beast lurking beneath that pleasant smile. Think I don’t recognize it? It’s the same as mine, and its name is inadequacy.”

“You know nothing.” Byleth attempted to move past her again. Catherine shoved her away.

“Prove me wrong then, General. Are you as calm and composed as you try to portray? I doubt it.”

“You’re trying to provoke me.” Dark brows drew together. Despite the realization, Byleth’s posture did not uncoil. Sensing her rising ire, Catherine decided to play dirty.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re more than a wild animal lashing out because it can. Here’s a cold bit of truth, General. When her corpse is found, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

Byleth snapped in spectacular fashion. She lunged forward, sword flying from her hands. Catherine doubted the other woman had ever thrown a punch, but the hook that clipped her eye was impressive. She reeled only for a second before returning the jab. Byleth’s head snapped back, but this did not stop her for long.

Byleth was lean and fast, but Catherine had the advantage in sheer strength. Still, it felt like she was scrapping with a rabid wolf. The shorter woman clawed and raged, tearing at any inch of Catherine she could reach. She shook off any strike, only stumbling as Catherine kneed her belly. Yet she always returned in a tempest, hitting swift as wind.

The fight ebbed and flowed in bursts. One moment, Byleth would have her on the defensive. In the next, Catherine would turn the tables with a sound punch to the gut. They traded hits in a ceaseless repetition, neither willing to concede. With the steady snowfall, it felt like she was fighting both her and winter itself.

Catherine snarled as Byleth tackled her to the snow. They continued their graceless battle, tumbling across the ice. Catherine wrapped the woman’s neck with an arm, trying to grapple her into submission. She clutched her tight, wrist flexing beneath Byleth’s pale throat. The woman swallowed on reflex, jaw snapping in futility.

But then Byleth threw back her head, breaking Catherine’s nose in a flood of scarlet. She pushed her away, baring her teeth as the blood dripped faster. Catherine heard Byleth scramble and shot her leg out viciously. From the resulting jolt, she had struck true. Panting hard, Catherine rose to her knees. The snow had soaked through her clothing, leaving her drenched. Byleth fared no better. She saw the woman roll to her back, clutching her chest.

“Wanna go again, or are you done?” Catherine wiped her face with a sleeve. She saw Byleth spit blood before nodding. “Ha… Me too.”

Catherine sat on her haunches. She licked away the persistent river pouring down her lips. Her nose ached something fierce. “Got me good. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Me either.” Byleth kept a hand over her face, breathing audibly. She remained prone atop the ice. “My ribs burn. I think you snapped one.”

“And you gave me a broken nose and a black eye. We’re even.” Catherine winced as she touched the rim of her eye socket. "A trip to the bishops should fix us. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted.” She sounded it too. Byleth’s weary features were easily glimpsed from where Catherine sat. “Everything aches.”

“Taking multiple hits head-on will do that.”

“I suppose.” She heard Byleth swallow. The woman closed her eyes, settling into unnerving stillness. “...I’m sorry. I lost myself.”

“It happens. Better me than whoever you sparred with next.” Catherine popped her nose into place. The pain caused her eyes to water. “Did you have to hit me in the nose? Ugh… At least I got to knock you flat. Been dreaming of it for years.”

“Why?”

“Why, she asks.” She leaned back onto her hands. The snow was naturally chilled to the touch, but it helped soothe the sharp pain in her fingers. Catherine mulled over the question carefully before answering. “I hated you for a long while. I don’t think I do now, though maybe that’s the brain damage talking. You were so beloved by everyone. The Archbishop most of all. When you chose Edelgard, you spat upon her trust. She wasn’t the same after that.”

“Do you… blame me for her madness?”

“Did for a bit. Felt like an easier answer than facing what was truly happening.” Catherine looked at the sky. The clouds were white and thick, mirroring the ground. “I never liked self-reflection before. Seemed like a waste to mull over who I was or why I did anything. But when you refuse to look at yourself, you never see who you’re becoming. I believe the Archbishop fell into that same trap.”

“You think I’m like Rhea then.” Byleth shivered, but it was hard to tell if it was from the ice or the idea. Perhaps both.

“I think you’re hurting,” Catherine replied frankly. “You’re scared of loss, angry at that sod Rufus, and don’t know what to do with yourself. Congratulations, you’re the same as the rest of us.”

“The same…” Strangely, Byleth seemed to latch onto the phrase. Her lips formed over the words reverently. “I want to think that’s true.”

“Of course it is.” Catherine clambered to her feet, hiding another wince. “You hit hard, but I wouldn’t mind trading fists again. Better than painting the forest red.”

“Perhaps so. Still… I shouldn’t need violence to sate me. I would prefer to be like Lysithea or El. They’re always so composed.”

“Maybe one day you will be. Some people have an untamed anger inside them. Every now and again, it needs to stretch its legs. Eventually, it’ll wither and lose its fangs.” Catherine walked to her. She sniffed before holding out a hand. “Time to get up, General. Your people need you. I’m sure Lysithea is pacing a hole in the stones.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed. She gazed at the offered appendage, indecisive.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do. What comes next?”

“You can figure that out,” Catherine said quickly. She avoided eye-contact, uncomfortable with the change of mood. This camaraderie felt strange after everything was said and done. “For now, you should concentrate on holding the north. I’m sure Edelgard would be pleased.”

“She would.” Byleth seemed to stir as she spoke, something brighter replacing the melancholy. “I can protect the pass from invasion. And I can keep Rufus from entering Fódlan. It’s what she would want.”

Byleth took Catherine’s hand, allowing herself to be hauled upward. Her eyes lit with atypical fervor. “I am Adrestia’s High General, and I will hold the north.”

“Don’t tell me. Tell them.” Catherine swept a hand vaguely around the fortress. “I don’t envy you, Eisner. This whole mess is beyond anything I’ve faced. But you can call on me if you want another round.”

“I think I’ll be fine. I have a worthier purpose now.” Byleth let go, breaking into a smile. It was still doleful, but not edged with the same sense of defeat. “I will do my part. For El. And when the snow finally ends, we’ll find her.”

Catherine regarded her at length. Byleth seemed sincere, but only time would be the true judge. Wherever Edelgard was, Catherine was certain she’d be satisfied. Hopefully, they would find her as they all assumed. She scoffed at herself, irritated she had been dragged into this. Yet Byleth wasn’t so bad. A bit odd and devoid of common sense, but not the malicious creature she had once thought. Some things had yet to be forgiven. However, Catherine wasn't cruel enough to wish such terrible grief upon her.

Next Chapter: The Endless Night

Chapter Text

Despite her resolve, Edelgard was made of flesh and bone. And while her soul raged with unquenchable flame, the water of her blood was heavy with frost. By the seventh day of her captivity, Edelgard woke in a sluggish blur. The sparse food she had been given had long run its gamut. Enough to keep her alive, but not enough to keep her strong. Weakness had replaced the iron of her muscles; a burdensome weight plaguing every breath.

She blinked the spots from her vision. Her head rolled to the side. There was a light emanating from the corner. It threw long, spidery shadows along each wall of her cell. For a moment, Edelgard held certainty of her solitude. Then, she became aware of the eyes leering betwixt the dark spindles. They bore from the dark, silent and unwavering. Somewhere, in the scarred corridors of her youth, a girl cringed in terror.

Edelgard, the woman, forced herself to look back. And there he was as she knew the creature would be. Thales loomed beside the door, his borrowed features impassive. He did not stir as her stare settled upon him. How long had he been there, Edelgard wondered. How long had he watched her breathe, limp and helpless like a rabbit in a snare?

It was the same as it had been so long ago. She, so young and afraid, subject to the inscrutable whims of her captor. And his ever-present gaze, incisive as a knife, always there as a cruel reminder. Many years had passed since then. It was an unsettling truth to know that while she had changed, Thales had not. Edelgard swallowed thickly, wetting her throat.

“Finally deigned to show yourself?” she rasped. There was no dignity to be found when wrapped in irons, yet she held her head high regardless. Edelgard refused to be small in front of him. Thales moved no closer, expression frozen in perpetual indifference. It seemed as if he would remain silent. Then, he finally spoke.

“Preparations had to be made.” Thales gave her frame a lingering inspection. Her skin crawled. She knew what the look meant. “It’s nearly complete. All that’s left is the final ingredient.”

“Whatever your plans, it’ll be for naught. Our forces outnumber your puppet king.”

“Numbers will not matter. Do you think this war of men is what I truly seek?” The corner of his eyes pulled with disconcerting appraisal. “You muddled the story, delayed the inevitable, but the end has arrived.”

“I do not fear death,” she spat. To her disdain, Thales continued without pause.

“Death is not the only thing to fear. I speak of an end for you and your kin.”

“You think vague threats will intimidate me? All I hear is the posturing of a desperate leech.” Edelgard glared at the creature. “The moment I am free, there will be nothing for you to hide behind. Not the snow, nor any of Blaiddyd’s men. You will finally answer for everything you’ve done.”

“Answer? I granted you power.” Purple eyes narrowed. There must have been a great resemblance to their features at that moment, and she despised the idea. “I gave you the means to conquer the Church. Nothing you’ve achieved would’ve been possible without the gifts you spurn. Yet you have the temerity to reject everything you’ve been given.”

“Don't flatter yourself. I succeeded despite your influence. What was I but a tool you could manipulate? At most, you fancied me a pet.” She sneered on the last word, resentful. “It's your fault for never noticing the fangs I grew—believing yourself above my wroth, blind to the hatred I nurtured. Did you think I had forgotten?”

“I assumed you would channel it towards your ambition. At best, I thought you might fall with the Nabateans or be driven to insanity by the crests you bear.” A crack appeared in Thales’ composure. His lips pursed together until they paled. “We did not anticipate the Fell Star or its vessel. That woman… I did not think you would form such an inconvenient connection.”

“No, you didn’t.” The terms he used confused her, but Edelgard could determine their meaning. She ached as she thought of Byleth. “You tried to drive us apart. Jeralt’s death, even Solon’s intervention. But you failed.”

“The Nabateans were always so emotional. Driven by such base instincts like the beasts they were—the first sign they did not deserve the title of divinity.” Thales waved a hand as if swatting a fly. “The vessel had enough of their blood, yet it did not respond as anticipated. It cared for you.”

“She chose me,” Edelgard agreed. Her voice softened despite the dire situation. “She believed in me despite my potential involvement. That’s far from the reactionary animal you try to paint her as. Whatever you mean by ‘Nabatean’, Byleth is more than that.”

“Perhaps so, but the past is set. It matters little.” Thales regarded her at length. His gaze turned calculating. “You still look at me with such trepidation. I see the flutter of your pulse beneath your skin. I can smell the fear you try to conceal. No matter the brave words you spout, you will always be afraid.”

Like a viper, he snatched her chin in a rigid hold. His fingers were cold and bony. Edelgard clenched her teeth to stop herself from flinching.

“Do you think yourself singular, Edelgard? Do you believe humanity is unique?” Thales leaned in until she could see through his skin, past the facade of a man long dead and into the alien face of a being beyond her comprehension. “My kind were your precursors. We loved. We lost. We hungered and bled. And we knew the difference between true gods and pretenders. Soon, they who demanded our fealty grew to tremble before us. We sought to usurp their throne and they hated us for it.”

“Am I to offer my sympathies?” Edelgard asked, burying her disquiet. Thales stared, grip tightening until her jaw flared with pain.

“I want you to see the truth of your rebellion. Far from revolutionary, all you’ve done is tread in the same steps as us. We knew they were but animals masquerading as something more. Why worship the unworthy when you can supplant them? Yet they cast us down, loathing our independence. No—our audacity to see past their lies. We rebelled, just as you did. Our cities lay in ruins by the end, and all that remained was a need for vengeance.”

“I fail to see the point of this monologue. The truth? What nonsense.” She jerked her head from his grip. “I care not what grievances you suffered. They can’t possibly justify the misery you’ve inflicted. Vengeance taken in the name of pain is a fool’s endeavor. Did you think I would fall upon my axe in empathy? That I would excuse your atrocities as sensible? That sort of reasoning spits upon the grave of every life you’ve taken.”

“Are you saying your hatred for me does not guide you? We are the same, Edelgard.”

“No,” she replied firmly. Edelgard held his eyes with unflinching conviction. “Even if what you say is true, humanity does not sow only chaos. We are capable of more. We did not seek to usurp the heavens in a fit of ego. We liberated ourselves by recognizing our flaws and standing together. That’s the greatest difference between us, Thales. Which is why we succeeded where you failed.”

“Pretty words. However, it’s nothing but wind from a dead woman.” Thales seemed to dismiss her, head turned to the shadows. It looked like he was peering beyond the surrounding walls. "When night falls, your purpose will be fulfilled. Rotting flesh will be given life once more and take to the heavens in one final wail. Then, the age of man will begin its steady decline.”

“These are the ravings of a lunatic.”

“Madness implies a lack of control.” His face rippled like water, features contorting with impossible fluidity before settling. It took her a moment to understand the horror she glimpsed. Perhaps his kind had been like humanity once, but no longer. They had warped into something twisted. Whether from the strange technology they utilized or from simple malevolence, she did not know. “The night is hungry, Edelgard. Savor these final hours of your life.”

Edelgard bristled, desiring to shred his confidence with one mighty swing. Yet she could do nothing as he departed, woefully toothless within her iron constraints. The time for patience had passed. She needed to find a way to freedom before the night swallowed her whole.

* * *

The morning air was crisp even above the clouds. The shadow of a pegasus was barely discerned as they darted over the dark quilt. Ingrid breathed out steadily, the ensuing tail of steam rushing past her cheeks. She patted Llamrei’s neck, giving the animal’s wings a cursory look. He had shattered one after their fall, yet his recovery had been smooth. He barely protested whenever she brushed the thin bones.

Satisfied, Ingrid directed him lower. He swiftly obeyed, wings drawing together as he dove beneath the clouds. The dark mists parted, rushing by like smoke and spattering her face with beads of moisture. Ingrid closed her eyes, hands spread. If only this simple pleasure could be savored without the pervasive reminder of what lay below. Ingrid swallowed, beset with grim musings.

Edelgard’s disappearance had weighed heavily on them all. Yet she couldn’t imagine someone so strong falling so easily. You thought the same of Glenn, a traitorous part of her whispered. Bile rose in her throat at the reminder. And we thought the same of Byleth once, Ingrid countered. She defied the odds, and so will our Emperor. Ingrid's words to Lysithea had not been mere lip service. She had meant them.

Of anyone, living or dead, Edelgard deserved their faith. Perhaps the Goddess did not heed such things, but the same could never be said for the woman who united them. Llamrei leveled as he neared the ground, disturbing her thoughts. Ingrid sat straighter once Cernunnos came into view. Her duties as captain beckoned. Yet despite girding herself, Ingrid was struck numb by the figure standing atop the nearest tower.

“Father,” she whispered breathlessly. He looked up as if hearing the utterance, wind whipping through fair strands. They had not been peppered with grey before the war. Now, the color streaked across his pate in dense rivers. She landed a few paces from him, conscious of the tangled mat of her hair. Appearances had meant a great deal when suitors were still a thing she was forced to entertain.

“Ingrid.” Her father stepped closer. She noted he did not move to embrace her. He was beyond such niceties of late. “They told me you would be preoccupied. I had no idea they meant for days on end.”

“My duties are numerous. With Sylvain still recovering, I am required twice-over.” Ingrid dismounted, preparing herself for the pending conversation. She hadn’t quite been avoiding him as he implied. However, Ingrid had also done nothing to seek him out. She loved him dearly but knew the man would only spout the same arguments.

“To the point where you cannot greet your father?” he asked, deceptively casual. He tried for a smile, but his stare was flat. The deep lines marring his brow seemed to deepen the longer she looked at him.

“When there is nothing new to be said, yes.” Ingrid cleared her throat, not waiting for a rebuttal. “General Eisner already informed me of your demands. We both refuse the terms. There isn’t anything else to discuss.”

“Before, you would have never spoken to me so brusquely.” A frown replaced his attempt at pleasantry. “You look at me with such reserve. What have I done to earn this resentment? What have I done to be banished from my daughter’s care?”

“You see oceans in puddles, Father. It is not for a lack of care. It is because I care too much.” She averted her gaze to Llamrei, patting his muzzle. “I remember you as wise and self-effacing. I remember you ceding your meals so that I may grow strong. Yet what you ask of me now is something I cannot give. Return home, Father. Allow me to keep my respect for you.”

“If you truly respected me, you would not be here.” In her periphery, she saw his lips warble. “You ignore your responsibility to Galatea by tossing aside your life. What will we do should you die? Where would our place be? You can’t ignore your duty to pursue a childish dream.”

“I am no longer the key to our family’s future. My crest is worthless now. I am a soldier among many, earning esteem through my actions alone. Not because of my bloodline.”

“Is my concern not enough to sway you?” The irritated set of his mouth loosened. Fear replaced the ire. “Do you know the terror that gripped me once I heard you knelt for the Empire? I couldn’t understand why you would cast aside your family for a senseless war. I tried to rationalize it. Perhaps you thought the Emperor would be lenient upon Galatea. Perhaps you imagined she would grant us wealth or glory. Yet even after the war was over, you stayed. Would you have me stand aside and wait for my daughter’s body to arrive at my door?”

“Senseless. Is that how you saw it?” Ingrid exhaled, exhausted and disappointed. “Oh, Father… I wish you could see the things I have. I wish you could hear Her Majesty speak of the world that is to come. I wish you would understand that my actions are born of love for you—for all of Galatea.”

“Then your love is misguided. I need you safe at home, not dying for a cause you cannot possibly benefit from.”

“You’re wrong, Father. I knelt because I had everything to gain.” Ingrid paused as she thought of the past. She recalled hesitating on the threshold of the Holy Tomb. Edelgard and the Professor had run ahead, never glancing back. How strong they are, she thought then, to know so thoroughly what they want. And at that moment, Ingrid had asked herself what she wanted.

“Father, when I look at you I see the past. I see every harsh, uncompromising lesson the Kingdom nurtured. I see every lie that insisted tradition is all we have.” Ingrid moved towards the silent man. She reached up, taking his head between her hands. Estrid was not wrong. Neither was Sylvain. Ingrid had desired freedom, but not only for her sake.

“I see countless children of Galatea who starved because our fields could not provide. I see every lord that refused to aid us because of our lack of means. I see the Church who decided a person’s worth was in their blood and womb, not of their character. I see death, Father. And it is a slow end.” Ingrid pulled away, facing the rising sun.

“Once, I believed those things were the only truth. Then I looked away and realized the world was far larger than the narrow path you set. The sky opened, and I soared. Edelgard cleared a path, but it was I who decided to take it.”

“All I hear is a spoiled girl being proud of her selfish choice,” her Father groused bitterly. Hearing such a thing would have gutted her once, but she just nodded in acceptance.

“You’re right. If it is selfish to want better for yourself than misery, then I am guilty. If it is selfish to want the same for every child who comes after me, then I wear the title without shame. I cannot bear the burden of our House anymore, Father. You are the Lord of Galatea. It is up to you what becomes of it.”

“And the rest of your family? Your siblings?”

“They have more opportunities than they ever did. It’s their life. It’s time for them to claim it.” Ingrid faced him again, reading his expression. He appeared startled, pale and uncertain in the morning light. However, she felt no regret. It was a curious realization after feeling beholden to him for years. “I will always be grateful for the things you sacrificed. However, it’s time for you to live for yourself too, Father.”

“This will be the end of our House,” he replied shakily. Ingrid smiled, feeling a well of compassion despite it all.

“Before the war, who were we but pale shades of House Daphnel? Such distinctions no longer matter. For once, we can be more than our distant ancestors.”

Her father, the man who never allowed her to see him struggle, looked at her with tears in his eyes. He said nothing as he strode away. Ingrid called to him before he reached the stairs.

“Estrid is with Rufus,” she revealed. “She fought me here, intending to kill. Did you know?”

“It was assumed the moment I heard of Blaiddyd’s actions.” Her father’s head shook. He discreetly wiped his face. “There is nothing that can be done. There was never any hope for Estrid. I had hoped to prevent two bodies from adorning our catacombs but…”

“If it can be done, I will find a way.” Ingrid did not think he believed her, but she refused to press the matter. She allowed him to leave, dismayed by his doubt but knowing it would take time. Estrid was the same as her father, in a way. So mired in the past, they could not see the future awaiting Fódlan. Yet Ingrid would show them both. What once was need not always be.

Ingrid placed her palms to the frosted stones of the tower. She gazed into the sky, far over the pass stretching to the south. In the clouds, Ingrid thought she saw a dense flock of birds. At a second glance, Ingrid recognized them as pegasi. A crimson banner waved behind one of the riders, bearing the golden eagle of Adrestia.

Leonie and her reinforcements had arrived.

* * *

“How is the situation to the west? Does the port remain secure?”

“As well as it can be, General. A few wagons have been sent to resupply Taranis. Hopefully, food and clothing will endear our Sreng guests.”

“Has their hostility cooled?”

“Enough to where I no longer dread the reports.” Lysithea nibbled on a teacake. It was the first time in days Byleth had witnessed her eating anything. She nearly assumed the girl had lost her infamous sweet tooth. "Sylvain has been in communication with them, letters and some concessions. I’m impressed by his initiative. Maybe he needed a brush with death to spark his wits.”

“You sound annoyed, but I know how concerned you were.” Byleth couldn’t quite muster a smile, but she was gladdened by Lysithea’s brighter disposition all the same. “It’s good to see him take to his new role. Your part hasn’t gone unnoticed either. I don’t know what I would have done without you here. I’m aware I didn’t make it easy for you.”

“Oh, pish. You would have wizened up eventually. Admittedly, it could have gone smoother than you and Catherine bloodying each other in the yard. Yet what’s done is done.” Lysithea shook out her hands, ridding them of crumbs, before balling her napkin. “I told her not to start a bloodbath, and what does she do? Honestly...”

“It was more of a blood sprinkle,” Byleth corrected. Lysithea didn’t appear impressed by the distinction. “I’m sure she pulled her blows. A woman that smites iron would have no trouble with bone.”

“Yes, you’re lucky it was only the one rib.” Lysithea huffed in disgust. “General, I know you’ve brokered an… understanding, shall we say? Still, keep in mind that Catherine is dangerous.”

“Danger alludes to a desire to cause harm.” Byleth drifted as she thought of her recent actions. “If we go by that measure, am I not the greater liability?”

“General—”

“I believe her when she says we have nothing to fear. We are all dangerous in different ways, Lysithea. Rather than fret over Catherine, we have a greater threat in the form of Rufus.”

“True enough, I suppose,” the younger woman admitted. Lysithea appeared to shelve the topic, if somewhat reluctantly. “Speaking of, I received correspondence from Charon yestereve. Melaina Charon has promised relief in the form of cavalry and ore. At least someone in that family has some sense.”

“Did you tell her about Catherine? She might be happy to know of her survival.”

“As if I’d risk stirring that nasty pile of worms. For now, I’m content with Charon’s deference. The region has stabilized because of the ruling House’s lack of viable heirs. The youngest has a crest, but he’s meek and unlikely to press a claim. Their banners behave because of this, but if they knew the eldest sibling survived…” Lysithea clicked her tongue. “You can imagine the trouble that would cause. We have enough to worry about with Fraldarius’ fragile politics. It’s a boon to have Gautier under Sylvain’s rule.”

“Perhaps I don’t have the mind for such things. I never considered anyone would take advantage.”

“You think the best of people, Professor. It’s one of your finest qualities.” Lysithea looked ready to say more but paused as a distant horn sounded. Byleth tensed at the sound, hand darting to her sword.

“An attack?”

“No. That would be three horns in quick succession. One means allied forces approach.” Lysithea's eyes brightened. "It must be Leonie! Finally, some good fortune. Shall we greet her?”

“Yes…” Byleth calmed, relieved by the news. Her blood still boiled on occasion when she gave thought to El’s distress, but the anger had changed focus. She knew what was in her power and what was not. Wasting her energy on pointless slaughter solved nothing. At least now, there was another friendly face to share the burden.

So as she entered the entrance hall and saw the fiery crown of Leonie’s head, Byleth experienced a rush of gratitude. Leonie had barely caught sight of her before being taken into a firm embrace. Byleth felt her jolt in astonishment.

“Whoa there! That’s a sudden howdy-do.” Leonie peeled away, gripping Byleth’s shoulders. She looked concerned. “Everything good? Hugging me out of the blue is unlike you.”

“Forgive me. The past week has just been difficult.” Byleth blinked, collecting herself. “You look well.”

“And you look, er… Well, you look alive. Alois should be pleased. The old man was hassling me to write him soon as I arrived." Leonie squinted past her, taking in their surroundings. “By the by, I heard you’ve done a bit of conquering. This castle is nothing to sneeze at. To think, Sreng took this all by themselves.”

“With a great deal of help from a former duke,” Lysithea interjected. She favored Leonie with a curt nod, but her smile was warm. “They put up an admirable fight. Yet in the end, we prevailed."

“As expected of our High General and Imperial Advisor.” Leonie beamed, pride suffusing every word. She squeezed Byleth’s arm before retreating. “Where are the others? Thought I spotted Ingrid near the east tower but she left quickly. Where’s Sylvain? Her Majesty?”

“Sylvain is resting. The siege left him grievously wounded and while his recovery has progressed well, he still needs to take it slow.” Lysithea traded a glance with Byleth hesitantly. Her expression fell, turning grave. “Edelgard…”

“Rufus Blaiddyd has taken her captive,” Byleth finished. She watched, pained, as Leonie blanched. Her throat worked as she struggled to swallow past her grief. "It was my fault. I assumed she would lead the vanguard into the keep. That negligence led to her capture.”

"Don't be so quick to take the blame, General. We all thought the same. We share fault in the events that transpired, even Edelgard.” Lysithea sighed. “But enough of that. It’s done. Now we have you here, Leonie. With Edelgard’s absence and Sylvain on the mend, we need you more than ever.”

“This is a fine mess.” Leonie scratched her head, seeming a mix of befuddled and nervous. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but you can bet I’ll give my all. I owe Edelgard that much. Still… I never thought something like this would happen. Wasn’t Blaiddyd supposed to be a philandering idiot?”

“Blaiddyd isn’t the only factor here,” Lysithea explained. "Lord Arundel has been confirmed as his collaborator. I've no doubt he's the one who took her. Of anyone, he would know how to lure Edelgard into a trap.”

“And he’ll be dealt with, just like Blaiddyd.” Byleth breathed in deeply, a fresh surge of rage coursing through her blood. She counted until the worst of it abated. She uncurled her fingers. “We’ll find El. Until then, the north will be held from Cernunnos.”

“Quite. The barricades need to be re-established, along with repairs to the ballistae.”

“Everything will fall into place,” a sudden voice said behind them. Ingrid entered the hall, briefly pausing to clasp Leonie’s forearm companionably. “We’ve faced worse, and Blaiddyd is nothing compared to the Church. With you with us, we shall not falter.”

“You sure are confident, Ingrid. But I’ll take that over succumbing to defeat.” Leonie looked around them all, prior uncertainty washed clean. “You’re right. Nothing is impossible, and I have faith the Emperor will return. She’s a tough nut to crack.”

Byleth shifted on her heels, unnerved by the imagery. However, she decided to take heart from Leonie and Ingrid’s certainty. They truly believed Edelgard would be found alive and well. Byleth wanted to share in their confidence, desperate to believe her lover would be fine. Edelgard is strong, she reminded herself for a countless time. Soon, we’ll head eastward and find her. There was also Shamir to consider. Perhaps she would bring news of Edelgard’s location.

“Anyway, where can I settle down?” Leonie asked. She twisted her torso, stretching with a groan. “The flight was long and my breeches are soaked. Might have soared above the clouds, but the air is still heavy with moisture up there. Felt like I spilled ice into my drawers.”

“A charming image.” Lysithea snorted, forgoing her customary decorum. She opened her mouth, yet halted as something caught her eye. Her expression abruptly cooled. Curious, Byleth followed her line of sight. Catherine was ambling past the group, a crate tucked beneath her arm.

“General. Galatea. Cousin.” She bobbed her head pleasantly. Blue eyes cut to Leonie. “Pinelli. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the forge.”

Catherine took her leave without another word, blissfully unconcerned by their reactions. Leonie gawped at the woman’s departing frame.

“Wha… Who—Surely, that wasn’t…”

“Unfortunately, that is indeed who you assume.” Lysithea rubbed her face in obvious exasperation. “There’s a lot you’ve missed.”

“I get the feeling that’s an understatement.” Leonie shook her head, still staring in shock where Catherine had disappeared. “I’m too cold to think on this anymore. Someone fetch me a towel! I need a nice long soak and a hot meal.”

* * *

The prevailing territory of the Sreng tribes was not a grand mass. The region which housed their people was guarded only by a cliff, bisecting the northernmost lands from the forested plain. Shamir had wondered where the majority of their civilians lived, and it seemed this was her answer. She tugged her hood low as she led her horse through a small village.

There had been a few modest homesteads after breaching the ridge, archaic huts of mud and wood with thin smoke wisps betraying the fires within. Curiously, there was little snow beyond. The ground was thick with ice, yet she had a feeling it had always been as such. Snow did not grace any steps taken. Spirals of ice and rock arched from gravel roots, stretching as far as the eye could see. As Shamir stooped, breaking the surface of a presumed pond, she pooled the water within her palm. It was sharp to the taste; sour with salt.

There were regions like this in the highest points of Dagda, though she had never glimpsed them herself. Scrolls and second-hand accounts had painted a bleak picture. אני לא סולח להם, ובכל זאת אני מבין את מצוקתם. Shamir exhaled into her fingers, warming the wet skin to prevent frost. She wiped them against her coat. It was the Kingdom who set this chain of events in motion—from their invasion to Rufus’ present folly. Shamir could only hope Edelgard recognized the same.

It was peculiar how sparse the lands were. Plenty of civilians, but nary a loyalist soldier. Only a handful graced the rough-shod paths. Had Blaiddyd sent his soldiers elsewhere? It was a worrying discovery. Cernunnos was held for now, yet the empire would still be in recovery. Another push might tip the scales in Blaiddyd’s favor, assuming he had the men. Shamir set the notion aside. She needed to concentrate on the present mission.

After remounting, she rode for the pale towers she could see in the distance. They were the only structures that signified wealth or developed architecture. There were four, spaced apart by a cluster of wooden fortifications and thatched huts. While hard to judge at first glance, the slight depression of surrounding ice appeared to indicate significant age. Shamir’s suspicions were confirmed as she ventured closer. Faint decorative etchings lay within the stone; a weathered mural, depicting a battle of some sort.

The first was a horned visage, perhaps the same god she saw beneath Cernunnos. It blew wind and ice over crudely drawn villagers. At their feet, a great winged beast snarled; snout lupine and tail melding with mountain peaks. The rest of the mural was too faded to tell. If she had to wager a guess, this structure was once meant as a place of ceremony. Shamir ducked, crouching to the ice as she heard voices.

The language was foreign. She quickly recognized it as the same tongue heard in Culann. She retreated to the rocks, flattening her body against the gravel. The voices sounded to be originating from somewhere afar. Her eyes fell upon the second tower, hovering just beyond. It was unreachable from her location, crowning the edge of a high ridge. A light could be seen filtering from within. Shamir squinted, spotting a jagged break in the stone. After a time, the voices ceased. She held still until only the wind was heard.

Then, Shamir headed for the trees behind and began to ascend. The branches were frozen, spindly things, yet it was enough to hold her weight. She climbed higher until she could peer within the tower gap. A faint light illuminated the chamber. Something pale and thin was suspended by an iron chain. For a moment, Shamir didn’t quite know who or what it was. However, the figure’s head tipped to the side, revealing their features.

Edelgard. The Emperor was finally found. She appeared alive if gaunt. Her captors had fed her little it seemed. Briefly, Shamir questioned if the woman would have enough strength to flee. They needed to ride fast and hard to make a clean escape. Yet Edelgard was not known for failure, least of all when it concerned surviving impossible odds.

Shamir scanned the tower perimeter. There were too many people by the road, and the surrounding buildings were certain to hold more. The tower stones were too slick with frost to climb, and the trees were positioned too far from the ridge itself. Even if she could manage it unseen, Shamir doubted the opening would be wide enough to fit through. Few options remained.

Shamir pondered the gap, eyes narrowed. The chain looked thin, barely secured to the chamber beams. She wagered enough stress would tear it from the supports. Perhaps the beam itself would snap. Shamir gathered her bow, fingers sliding into her satchel. She pulled out an iron rod. She fixed it to an arrowhead, testing its weight. It had been some time since she’d needed to use these skills. Yet one never forgot jail-breaking. Deftly, she tied a length of rope to one end. The other would be hitched to her saddle.

Shamir balanced along the branch as she drew her bow, hands practiced and sure. There would only be a single chance at this. If she failed, the men guarding Edelgard would take action. Shamir wasn’t one for praying. Her faith wasn’t built on such things, and the one time she tried it had ended in disaster. Instead, Shamir decided to place her trust in Edelgard’s competence. The woman was clever and brave, qualities she would need for the trial ahead.

With a whisper of luck upon her tongue, Shamir let the arrow fly.

* * *

Edelgard contemplated the cell door. There was a guard, perhaps two, standing at attention. She could see their shadow flickering in and out of focus beneath torchlight. The day had waned with excessive languor, yet each breath taken had felt too fast. If Thales was not bluffing, these were her final hours. And she had yet to find any means of salvation.

Her heart burned, pounding against her ribs as desperation flowered. It crawled up her ribs and left her cold with dread. She had tried without success to loosen her manacles, thrashing to-and-fro in an attempt to tear the chain from its anchor. All for naught.

Edelgard didn’t wish to succumb to panic. Such weakness would only hinder her. However, she couldn’t find any hope within the dark cell. Srengian or Kingdom loyalist, her captors were unlikely to be persuaded by bribes or reason. She could try to swing the chain loose from the overhanging beam, yet the force required might be more than she could generate. Her mass was far too modest. Even more so after days of being underfed.

Regardless, an attempt would be made. Better than waiting to die, she thought sourly. With all her might, Edelgard forced her legs to buck. Bound in chains, they were difficult to control. It took a great deal of effort to gain any sort of momentum. She panted, trying again.

Then, the unexpected happened. Something darted above, striking the wall in front of her. It scarcely glinted as it sank within the shadows. Edelgard lifted her head, trying vainly to identify the object. An arrow, she realized at last. A metallic arrow to be exact. It lay idle in the stone wall, tail vibrating from the impact. A length of rope was bound to its shaft, leaving a clear trail from the point of origin.

Edelgard’s fingers twitched, attention flying upward with clarity. As she suspected, the arrow had passed through the central chain. Like thread through the eye of a needle. Excitement bubbled in her chest. Only an excellent marksman could make that shot. Before Edelgard could consider the thought further, the arrow shuddered. Then it tore from the wall and spiraled toward the chain. The shaft twisted before lodging horizontally, slanting against the iron with mounting tension.

All at once, Edelgard could feel her restraints convulse beneath the pressure. She held her breath, uncertain whether the chain would give. However, her tentative faith was rewarded as the metal jerked through the overhanging beam with a ferocious snap. Edelgard plummeted to the ground. Her teeth rattled.

Not the most graceful of escapes, yet she wasn’t of a mind to complain. Edelgard bit back a groan as she leaned atop her forearms. Suddenly, she heard a shout in the distance. The cell door trembled. Thinking fast, she scrambled for the fallen arrow. It slid into her fingers with welcoming weight just in time for the door to fly ajar.

A man clad in armor and a fierce snarl darted for her prone form. Edelgard yelled in return, driving the arrow through the meat of his calf. The man loosed a high-pitched scream before falling to his knees. She took the opportunity to rip the arrow free and sink it within his neck. He clawed at her weakly before collapsing to the stones. Blood pooled, staining her legs.

Edelgard pushed away, taking a moment to catch her breath. No one else entered the cell. Her lungs screamed, muscles aching from exertion, but her relief made such things irrelevant. She was granted a chance at survival. After her pulse steadied, Edelgard rooted through the man’s clothing. A key was found and quickly used to unshackle the manacles. She shimmied loose from the chain wound about her ankles.

Then, Edelgard concentrated on garbing herself. She took the man’s shirt and cloak. His boots were far too large for her frame, but she could brave a bit of frostbite until she reached safety. Or whoever found me.

Edelgard had her suspicions. There were few people alive who could both track and infiltrate unseen. However, there would be time for gratitude later. Edelgard wrapped a hand tight around her pilfered axe. She stood, knees wobbling. Her body felt like it was composed of sand. Each step taken leeched the breath from her lungs as if trudging through tar.

She would not be able to fight like this, let alone run. Stables, she thought quickly. I need to find a stable. Hopefully, one would be near. Should a prolonged trek or fight be required, Edelgard would not last. Staving off a violent shiver, she exited the cell. Blood wet her feet with momentary warmth.

As Edelgard explored, she discovered Thales had sequestered her in a tower of sorts. It was not of significant size. The coarse stones and crude architecture lent to its apparent age. Edelgard used the walls to support her weight as she descended the uneven steps. Other than the guard at her door, there wasn’t any indication of life. Yet she dimly recalled a second voice outside her cell. It hadn’t been Thales or Blaiddyd, of that much she was certain. Edelgard clutched her axe tighter upon reaching the bottom.

There were two doors. One faced west of her, the other east. Both seemed to be an exit. The ground chamber was small, filled with the warmth of a crackling hearth. As she thought, someone else was here. Instinctively, she headed for the eastern door. Edelgard forced it open, blinded momentarily by the vast expanse of white. As her eyes adjusted, she spotted an armor-clad figure hunched over a pile of logs. She readied her axe.

The ice was smooth, lacking the powdery texture of snow. Her steps were nary a whisper as she padded to the unsuspecting soldier. Before they could stand, Edelgard swung with all her might. The blade sank into their skull. She breathed hard, winded just from a single kill. The body slumped forward, twitching once before falling inert. Edelgard breathed out, blood cooling. She took a moment to inspect her surroundings.

She was behind the tower, fortunately out of view from roads or paths. Wooden hutches could be discerned behind spindly birch trees. Her eyes darted, striving to find horses. Nothing. She would need to move towards the buildings; the lone sign of any civilization. Edelgard cursed silently. She tucked her frame beneath the cloak as best she could.

It was a miserable walk. Her feet stung with each icy slide of ice against them. And where there wasn't ice, there were harsh rocks to snag against her skin. She dared not look down, fearing the inevitable loss of her extremities after this was said and done. Slowly, Edelgard made her way to the hutches. Her legs threatened to give, weak from disuse. Still, she pressed onward. Edelgard clutched her middle, shaking violently beneath the howling wind.

Boramas. Maybe Rusalka. No—Brigid. She looked up, tearing from the snarling cold. Byleth liked Brigid. We could see Dorothea and Petra. We could soak in those warm waters and map the stars like before. Edelgard sniffed, taking strength from the memory. She forced herself to imagine the heat of Byleth’s skin, the tenderness of her touch. Anything but the frozen agony of the present moment.

After a seemingly endless march, she found herself nearing the presumed village. Clear paths could be seen carving across the rocky ground, circling a gathering of huts. Blessedly, she spotted a horse tied to a cart. Edelgard moved quickly, knowing its owner could return at any moment. She nearly stumbled to the ice in her haste.

The animal grunted as she neared, spooked by her presence. Edelgard offered the flat of her hand before caressing his nose. The horse settled, intelligent eyes drinking her in.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said softly. “I just want to go home.”

After Edelgard was sure the animal wouldn’t struggle, she set about unlatching him from the cart. He wasn’t saddled, but she had ridden without in her youth. It would be a rough ride for Cernunnos, but better than trying to move on foot. As covertly as she could manage, Edelgard headed for the trees with her new mount. A blood-curdling cry stopped her short.

The wail was human, distinctly from a babe. Edelgard hesitated, reins balled in her hand. She should leave; ride for her life and not look back. That would be the logical option. Yet… Edelgard swallowed, eyes shut. How many times did she pray for someone to save her? So young, so helpless to do anything but sob for mercy.

Blaiddyd’s son was not old enough to understand the danger he was in. And far from able to save himself. Thales intended to use him as he used her. The child’s fool of a father would allow it without complaint. Edelgard stared at the frozen woods, cheek warmed by the horse’s breath. It should have been an easy decision. She tied the reins to a low branch and patted the animal’s flank.

Then Edelgard pushed away, hurrying towards the noise. Forgive me. I need to try… as no one did for me. Empathy might be the end of her, but she refused to allow such suffering. Above, the sun waned and knelt to the night.

* * *

There was an odd similarity between the warm palette of the setting sun and the frigid expanse of Sreng; a common emptiness, painted dissimilar by nature. Byleth beheld its scope from atop the battlements. The wind rustled her hair and lashed her face in a scathing kiss. This land did not want them here. She shared the sentiment. There was no wonder to be found within the icy-laden plains and crags.

Eventually, Byleth heard the sound of someone approaching. She did not stir even as they settled beside her. It was Leonie, easily recognizable from the bright flare of orange. The younger woman sneezed, bouncing on her heels as she clutched her arms.

“Miserable place, this. Couldn’t Rufus start a war somewhere nice and hot? I’d take scrapping with Almyra than Sreng.”

“It’s assumed he knew their people would be easy to persuade,” Byleth relayed. She tilted her head as she recalled the bodies in Taranis. “If they believed he could grant them the land they had lost, they would do anything.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m unsympathetic. Nothing but rows of ice and dead trees.” Leonie set a foot against the battlement stones, peering over its edge. “I can see how House Gautier kept them away for so long. This fortress is massive. Gotta say, it doesn't sit right knowing the Kingdom forced them out."

“It was a terrible crime. One that isn’t easily resolved, but...” Byleth shook her head, lip snagged between her teeth. “They’ve chosen to back Rufus. They assisted in taking El. Mercy shouldn’t be our primary concern.”

“Trust me, I feel similar. Just tastes sour, you know? Could have been different.” Leonie craned her head, tawny eyes measuring. “Hey, how are you doing? And be honest. No saying what you think I wanna hear.”

“I’m fine.” Byleth paused at Leonie’s subsequent look of disbelief. “Or trying to be. I’ve felt… lost without her. I can admit that. Yet I won’t crumble.”

“Never thought you would. You’re like Jeralt that way. Strong as anything.”

“Not enough to keep El safe. And not enough to control my worst impulses.” Byleth glanced away, shamed by her multiple failures. “I’m sure Lysithea has already told you.”

“She mentioned some stuff,” Leonie admitted. Her expression remained kind. “Anyone who judges you for being human has never suffered loss. It ain’t an easy thing to bargain with. I respect the hell out of Edelgard, but you love her.”

“More than I thought I was capable of. However, that’s no excuse for my childish tantrums. If it wasn’t for Catherine confronting me… I don’t know. Maybe I would’ve found my death at the end of a sword.”

“Maybe so.” Leonie appeared to think then, fiddling with the tail of her hair. Her mouth pulled wistfully. “You know, I thought it was funny they made you a professor. You were so young; not much older than us. But you didn’t act like it. Felt like you always knew exactly what to do.”

“It was more because I didn’t have the agency to care what came next.” Byleth frowned as she thought of her past self. “Only later did I truly make any meaningful decisions… Choosing El was the first.”

“I know that now. And truthfully, it’s a bit comforting. You got no idea how imposing you were.” Leonie laughed faintly. “How can she not flinch at anything, I wondered. Seemed like you never felt fear or trepidation. You just were. Thought maybe you got that from your pops, then he left us and I learned how fragile you really are.”

“It must have been a disappointing discovery.”

“Not really. I was relieved you weren’t this silent, inscrutable thing I would never understand. You mourned him, just like I did. For the first time, you seemed human.” Leonie’s face fell. Her brows tugged into a pensive slant. “Afterward, I realized Edelgard was too. She wasn’t the same after you disappeared. Not for a long while. There was a time when we all thought she’d go mad with grief.”

“Really?” Byleth drew back, surprised. “El never said…”

“Of course, she wouldn't. Do you think she wants to admit something like that? We all knew though. It was a shared concern among the Strike Force.”

“I can’t imagine her being anything other than composed. She’s so private, even with me.”

“Well, it’s not like she confided in us.” Leonie appeared to second-guess her wording a moment later. “Maybe to Dorothea. Still, I doubt Edelgard revealed everything. It was obvious to anyone who looked at her for long. She grieved for you deeply.”

“I wish I never put her through that,” Byleth lamented. She stared at her hands. “Had I been stronger—”

“Don’t get hung up on something you can’t change. She got better, didn’t she?” Leonie sniffed again, wiping her nose. Despite the morose topic, she looked uplifted; fond. “Towards the end, Edelgard found something unexpected. She still had her sad moments, but they were always followed by a smile. It was like Edelgard held a secret only she knew.”

“What did she find?”

“Hope.” Leonie laughed like it was a joke. “Kinda hokey, huh? But I don’t got a better way to phrase it. It clung to her every word and followed each step. She told me so herself before you showed. ‘I trust her to return to me.’ Hearing such an earnest thing, I couldn’t help but believe too.”

“Hope.” Byleth’s breath hitched. The word lodged within her chest. “Something so small…”

“Small but mighty. Sounds like Edelgard.” Leonie snorted. She stared at Byleth expectantly. “Five years, Edelgard waited. She believed in you despite everything against her. Can you do the same for her?”

Byleth weighed the question with the same gravity it had been posed. It turned in her mind; a simple problem with no easy answer. Because despite her love, Byleth was not quite sure if she had the same trust. Not in Edelgard, but herself. Could she place the same amount of hope in something unknown? Byleth had already done that once, long before the war, and was burned for it.

She had believed in her father—assumed him to be less a man and more a force of nature. She thought he would always be with her, undaunted by anything which crossed his path. Jeralt’s death had gutted her with its swiftness; the impossible made reality. When Byleth looked deep within herself, she knew her fear for Edelgard was rooted in the same grief.

Perhaps then, it was simply cowardice that caused her to balk. The fear of losing not love alone, but someone she considered her family. When she framed it in such a way, Byleth accepted the depths of her hubris.

“I can,” she responded. Byleth met the younger woman’s eyes. “I believe in El. This I know to be true.”

“There you go.” Leonie nudged her side. “No defeatist talk here. Her Majesty wouldn’t stand for it! We’re eagles after all. And eagles don’t know the meaning of defeat.”

“You’ve grown, Leonie. I don’t think I understood how much until now.”

“Heh! We’ve all done a bit of changing, right?” Leonie's gaze darted behind them. "Uh… So, can we talk about the blonde elephant in the fortress? It's making me nervous having her here."

“Who?” Byleth blinked as comprehension dawned. “You mean Catherine? She’s harmless.”

“That’s not what Lysithea says. I heard she broke your ribs!”

“It was just one. If it gives you peace of mind, I broke her nose before that.”

“Wha—How is that supposed to make me feel better?” Leonie exhaled in an exasperated burst. “It’s like saying don’t mind the rabid dog because you kicked it first.”

“I don’t think Catherine would enjoy the comparison,” Byleth mused. It was nice to converse about something so banal. She was too emotionally wrought for anything more. “She’s changed from the knight we knew. I’m sure most of it is because of Shamir.”

“She’s here too?” Leonie hesitated, thinking over something unknown. “Not sure why I’m surprised. They come as a package, I guess.”

“Are you angry with her still?”

"Nope. Never was honestly." The younger woman shrugged as she folded her arms. "Just confused and a little hurt. I admired her and thought we were friendly, if not friends. I couldn’t understand why she would attack me.”

“Maybe you can ask once she returns,” Byleth offered. “She’s scouting Edelgard’s whereabouts as we speak.”

“I just might do that. It nagged at me for months. Hmph.” Leonie sighed, appearing to let the matter drop. “Whatever. I’m mostly over it. Still, Thunder Catherine, risen from the grave! I’ll tell you this much, if she can escape death then I’m sure Edelgard will have no trouble. Both of them are too stubborn to die.”

Byleth didn’t respond, choosing to simply smile. She would believe. She needed to. Five years… Can I live up to such devotion? Byleth closed her eyes, picturing her lover’s face. They would meet again. There were far too many things left unsaid. A shared life yet lived. Byleth gathered herself, ready to depart from the battlements. But then, she heard an odd rumbling. From Leonie’s startled glance, she heard it as well.

“Thunder? Didn’t think snow clouds could growl like that.”

Byleth frowned. She searched the land, noting each hill of frost and withered tree. Her gaze caught on a multitude of lights peering from the snowfield like a thousand burning eyes. For a brief moment, she thought it was only a trick of the fading sun. But as they crept across the ice, din growing in their wake, Byleth knew what they were.

“Not thunder. Horses,” she said. Byleth whirled, facing Leonie. “I’ll sound the horn. Get to the stables.”

“What of the others?”

“The horn will rouse them. There’s no time to waste.”

“Right!” Leonie eyed the charging army, alarmed. Then she hurried down the battlements. Byleth didn’t spare a moment to watch her leave. She hurried towards the war horn, thoughts ablaze. It had only been a glimpse, but Byleth knew the approaching force could not be stopped by walls alone. With the ballistae dismantled and the barricades in tatters, there was only the imperial army to prevent them from breaching the pass.

Byleth pressed her lips to the metal lip. She blew with all her might. Once. Twice. Thrice. She heaved, breath fogging the air as she lit the nearest brazier. Behind her, the imperial army roused. The sound of iron and steel joined the chorus of hoofbeats.

She looked at the distant cavalry, the mind of a general replacing the floundering woman she often was. Edelgard would want her to stand tall. There was no place for waffling sentimentality on the battlefield. Byleth headed for the gate. I will protect our home in your stead, El. I promise.

* * *

The sun had winked from the sky by the time Edelgard found the boy. His wails were sharp and clear, piercing the night air in quavering echoes. They originated within an elongated homestead. It was shaped like an oval, wooden in construction. Yet it was also heavily manned. She was fortunate enough to evade any wayward attention so far. However, she doubted her luck would hold should she attempt to sneak past.

Can I take them as I am? Edelgard scowled, reviling her weakened state. Had she been at full strength, she would have little trouble carving a path. At present, there was a greater chance of her being swatted like a fly. I know the lay of the land now, she considered. Her momentary dismay sharpened into fierce resolve. If I’m swift, they won’t discover me.

The cries grew stronger. Edelgard bit her lip, pained. The sound rattled every bone she thought buried. A mountain of corpses lay at Thales’ feet. There would not be another. She skirted the building's exterior, barely acknowledging the tingling pain in her feet. Edelgard ignored it, picturing only what lay ahead. Perhaps it was this single-minded focus which led to what happened next.

A single step taken suddenly caused the ice to break beneath her weight. She flew forward, hitting the fractured ground in a heap. Something icy clutched her ankle, unrelenting in its grip. A snare?! Edelgard thrashed, trying to free herself. The wire around her leg refused to give.

“A rabbit has wandered from her cage.” A familiar and dreaded voice said from her left. She twisted, panicked, and found Thales poised above her. He had rid himself of Volkhard’s face, clad only in the pallid form of his true body. The black of his sclera was akin to a void. “You’re more resourceful than I realized. I wonder… why did you not run?”

“Why don’t you?” Edelgard struck, aiming the axe at his head. A previously unseen warrior intercepted, knocking her down again. The axe slid across the ice, far from her prone form. Then, she found herself held down by numerous hands. Their grip was nearly suffocating as they dragged her upward.

“Your bravado is commendable, as is your pointless struggling.” Thales bent forward, face unnervingly close to her own. She could smell the acridity of death upon every exhale. It did not fog the air like a normal man's might. "All you’ve done is hastened your end. Come, bring her to the pit.”

The word sent a skitter of fear down Edelgard’s spine. She tried to bat away her captors, yet they held her firmly. Every attempt to free herself was met with a rough jerk of icy fists. One of them even boxed her jaw, sending her head spinning. Her legs flailed in vain.

Momentarily dazed, she blinked the spots from her vision as they tossed her below a sloped ridge. She slid several meters before resting upon a vast canvas of frostbitten rock. Edelgard took a second to recover, scrambling for her bearings. Shadows convened around the ridge—the same hooded figures who had taken her captive initially. They’re like him. Edelgard was certain of it.

“I don’t know what you plan, but I will not go quietly,” she seethed. Edelgard touched the arrow she had concealed in her pilfered coat. Cornered or not, she would fight. Thales ignored the declaration. He crooked a finger, pointing to the rocks. Hesitantly, she looked below.

The earth was white with ice… only, it wasn't ice at all, she realized. Hard as stone underfoot, a familiar corpse lay beneath her heel. What she thought were sheets of slate were revealed to be draconic scales. Edelgard twisted, nearly falling, as she beheld the sheer scope of its body. Its head was seen arching from the pit, leathery skin dusted with frost. Large, empty eyes peered back at her.

“Look where you tread, Edelgard. The corpse of divinity,” she heard Thales whisper in her ear. Edelgard shouted, throwing a fist. Thales caught it with ease. He twisted her wrist until it snapped. She bit her tongue, knees buckling. The blinding pain caused her sight to blur. Bony fingers carded through her hair with reviled tenderness.

“You were right before. Once, I regarded you as a man does any pet he keeps. Then you decided to turn against your master.” He splayed a hand, gesturing to the Immaculate One’s body. “As we did to claim our independence from them. History is a thing of cycles, but it can be broken.”

“How…? I had her burned,” she rasped. Thales stared at her, measuring.

“It wasn’t difficult. You can never truly know how many of us lurk in the dark, masquerading as people you hold dear. Trust. Perhaps your precious mongrel has already been replaced.”

“Lies. I would know the difference.” Edelgard clutched her broken wrist. She sent a surreptitious glance to the robed gathering. “Hiding here among the Sreng peoples… that is the action of a coward. What false promises did you make in exchange for fealty?”

“These are savage and primitive people. A bit of magic and they hail you as a god.”

“Parasite,” Edelgard spat. “And Rhea? I fail to see how her corpse would benefit you. A dead dragon is far from fearsome.”

“Nabatean flesh is unique in many ways. It defies the logic of our world, manifesting in the power known as crests and relics. It can be given life once more.” His arm snaked toward her, gripping her tangled hair. She flinched despite herself. “I tried for months. Yet the false blood would not take, no matter how much I poured. Over and over again, until a mountain of failures resulted. I knew then that I needed a pure source—a descendant of her blood. I needed you.”

Thales forced Edelgard downward. Then, the creature jerked her head aside, baring the flesh of her throat. Something cold and jagged kissed her skin. “This puppet of flesh will rage across the continent, destroying everything you sought to protect. Take heart, for your death will be the grand revolution you always imagined.”

The knife dug deeper, yet before he could slit her throat, Edelgard retrieved the arrow. Using all her strength, she thrust it into his eye. Thales reeled, screaming in a way she had never heard before. He sliced, intending to kill, but it was too late. She threw him off in a burst of adrenaline before running up the pit incline.

The crackle of magic came, but it died with a whimper as a salvo of arrows flew toward the hostile mages. Edelgard did not spare a moment for awe. She concentrated on climbing the slope. Once she had passed the lip, Edelgard darted for the road. Her body screamed at her to cease, but she pressed onward. Fire and lightning sailed past and still, she ran.

Edelgard nearly feared her legs would give. Then, she saw a rider charging towards her. She tensed, assuming them to be an enemy. However, they simply held out an arm. A glimpse of dark hair and violet eyes indicated their identity. Relieved, Edelgard took Shamir’s arm with her good hand and was swiftly pulled aloft.

Together, they rode away from the cacophony of magic and a dragon’s frozen corpse. Thales’ outraged howls were left in their wake. Edelgard gave him no further consideration. She only spared a moment of regret at leaving the child behind. For now, there was nothing to be done.

Edelgard held Shamir’s middle, already preparing for her inevitable return. She would save him, along with everyone who Thales abused for his dark works. A grand revolution, Thales had called her ambition. He was right. There would be no rest for her until all the poisonous remnants of the past were buried.

Next Chapter: The Endless Night - Part 2

Chapter Text

When the horn bellowed its throaty call throughout the fortress, Lysithea had been in the midst of slipping beneath her sheets. The first did not elicit any great alarm. Perhaps it was merely Shamir returning from her survey or the reinforcements arriving from Charon. But then the second came, quickly followed by a third.

Her heart sank, and she knew this night would end in blood. As Lysithea flit to the battlements, she prepared for the worst. What she found far exceeded that. Lysithea froze as her attention was snared by the massive line of armored men painting the horizon. Light flickered off their plate, casting whirling shadows atop the snow. Torches carried by cavalry. She swallowed harshly.

From the surrounding gloom, it was difficult to gauge their precise scope. The expanse stretched from the east to the western plain; further than her eyes could see. Cernunnos, no matter how grand its walls, would struggle against such overwhelming numbers. Lysithea dashed forward as she spotted Byleth leaning over a parapet.

“General!” she shouted. Byleth hardly reacted. She craned her head upon Lysithea’s arrival. Beside her was Ingrid, already bedecked in armor. Both had their eyes pinned to the looming army.

“Lysithea,” Byleth greeted. She retreated from the wall. Closer now, Lysithea could see the high collar of her military coat and the faint shine of dark plate. She appeared ready to storm the field. And most likely would, Lysithea considered. “They moved on us swiftly. I assume they thought to take us by surprise, yet we spotted them fast.”

“They’ve halted by the trees. Observing, I wager.” Ingrid tapped her lance, deep in thought. “I wonder why they’re not storming the gate. Do they fear we’ve repaired the ballistae?”

“Possibly,” Lysithea replied. She joined them, inspecting the enemy in full. “Or they’re waiting for something. Whatever it is, we shouldn’t be idle. They could attack at any moment.”

“Agreed. Leonie has already gathered her pegasi. They’re waiting above the clouds.” Byleth nodded at Ingrid. “You’ll be stationed closer to the gate as I push them back.”

“General, I’m not sure that’s wise. Their men will just skirt our infantry. They’ll be easy pickings in the dark.”

“Which is why I’ll be leading our cavalry. While not as adept with horses as Sylvain, I can hold my own.” Byleth looked at her, expression strangely calm. It was a drastic change from the distraught mood she had adopted of late. Yet one never quite knew what she was thinking. Except for Edelgard.

“I don’t doubt your skill. I just question whether this is for the best. With the Emperor absent, you’re the only unifying authority here.”

“Not so. We have you.” Byleth smiled faintly. It disappeared as quickly as it arrived. Perhaps she might have said more if not for the clamor behind them. Lysithea recognized Sylvain’s stringent voice immediately.

“Mother, return to the cellar. You aren’t in any position to—”

“Don’t think to order me about like a common shrew.” Lady Delphine appeared, severe features pulled taut with ire. She was flanked by her fellow northern lords, all of them white with alarm as they stared at the horde. Sylvain hobbled after them.

“I’m sorry, General,” he said, scowling. “I tried to keep them below but they wouldn’t have it.”

“It’s fine. Perhaps I can assuage their worries.” Byleth stepped toward them. “Please return to the safety of the cellar. Guards have been sent to man the lower levels.”

“You would have us ignore the foreign army at the gate?” Lord Gunnar demanded. He cut his gaze to Ingrid expectantly. “I’ll not leave unless my daughter joins me.”

“Then you will wait until your boots freeze to the stones.” Disappointment passed over Ingrid’s face briefly. She tipped her steel lance in his direction. It occurred to Lysithea that she had not seen her wield Lúin since the siege. “Go. I don’t have the patience or time to play nanny, Father.”

“Tensions are high. Let’s settle for a moment.” Sir Quincy sidled hesitantly forward. Of the three, it was a surprise to see him in attendance. The reason for it was made apparent when he next spoke. “General Eisner, allow me to join you on the field. The contingent I brought may be modest, but they are some of the most skilled knights in Fraldarius. It would be an honor to fight by your side.”

“Your bravery is acknowledged, Sir,” Lysithea interjected. She spared a quick look at Byleth. “However, you are a lord now. We cannot afford to lose you here.”

“Lady Ordelia is correct. Think of your home. It needs you more than I.”

“Well…” Quincy hesitated, plainly torn. Lysithea understood the man’s desire to prove his mettle. The pursuit of glory was also a probable motivator. Yet pride would not be the undoing of the Empire’s control in Fraldarius. “I understand. Regardless, you have the support of my men.”

“Then we’re to place our faith in a blood-starved beast alone.” Lady Delphine’s tone was sharp as glass. The spiteful expression she wore was little better. “Send the animal to wage war? Appropriate.”

“Móðir!” Sylvain took her arm. “Show respect. If not for her, I might have ridden with the Kingdom. I owe the general my life.”

“And I owe her nothing.”

“You’re right,” Byleth said. Despite the lady’s harsh judgment, she did not rise to defend herself. Lysithea watched anxiously as Byleth moved to face Delphine. “I cannot imagine the pain of losing a son. I pray I never will. Condemn me as you wish, but know I will protect you and this fortress with everything I am. Animal or not, my ferocity will be your shield.”

Delphine was quiet for a time, appearing to pick apart the general’s sincerity. Her lip curled before she finally spoke. “Ég þekki andlit þitt, ó dýr vetrarins… Fine. Let your fangs keep us safe. This, I know you’re capable of.”

Sylvain didn’t seem pleased by what she initially said, but the point was rendered moot as Delphine departed. Lysithea wondered if the woman would ever warm. From her son’s resigned expression, probably not. Sir Quincy followed after, but Lord Gunnar remained stubbornly put.

“Ingrid,” he bid sternly. After seeing his daughter was unmoved, his tone became less of a command and more of a plea. "Ingrid, please..."

Ingrid didn’t bother to address him again. She whistled and marched off the wall. Her pegasus caught her easily before ascending to the sky, leaving her father to balk. Lysithea almost pitied the man.

“It’s time for you to leave, Lord Gunnar. This is no place for non-combatants.” Lysithea dismissed him with a wave. “Sylvain, would you escort him below?”

“With pleasure.” Sylvain placed a hand atop the lord’s shoulder. Even with his cane, he cut an intimidating figure by comparison. Lord Gunnar appeared to realize this as well. He flinched, sparing a final glance at his daughter before he retreated at last. Sylvain nodded at Byleth. “Fight hard, General. I leave this battle to you both.”

He hobbled down the steps then. Lysithea spared a moment to silently thank him. Yet as Byleth went to do the same, she snagged the general’s hand. “Let the cavalry face this without you. There are plenty of able commanders to take your place.”

“I need to lead them, Lysithea. I am better served in battle than anywhere else.”

“And what if the worst should happen?” Lysithea blinked away the snow upon her lashes. She strengthened her grip. “What would I tell Edelgard if you…?”

“I’ve learned there are no guarantees in this life. Perhaps I fall. Perhaps I don’t.” Byleth held her gaze, clasping Lysithea’s hand with both of hers. “Tell El I protected her dream until my last breath. Tell her I was brave, and that my thoughts were ever of her. Tell her it was not vengeance which guided my blade, but my love for all of you.”

“That’s too much, Professor,” Lysithea husked, tearing. “Don’t you dare die. I will never remember.”

“I’ll do my best. It’s all any of us can give.” Byleth let her go. In the dark of the night, her hair and coat seemed to meld together; shoulders broad beneath the fur ruff. It lent her a greater presence than she usually held. Perchance just as grand as Edelgard. “I leave Cernunnos to you, Advisor Ordelia. These walls are yours to watch over.”

“I’ll gather our mages and archers posthaste. They will not get through us.”

“I have faith in you… So please have faith in me.”

Lysithea was too choked to respond. Instead, she nodded furiously. Byleth smiled, and it reminded her of the days when they looked to this woman for strength. Before the war, before they found their footing as adults, Byleth was their pillar. She was no less now, only muted in the constant light of their Emperor. However, that was how Byleth seemed to prefer it. Lysithea had wondered if she would collapse in the wake of Edelgard’s disappearance, or tear herself in twain with Sreng. Yet those concerns felt toothless now.

You would be proud of her, Edelgard, Lysithea thought wistfully. I’ll do my best to make you proud too. She wiped her eyes, cleaning them of tears. Then she turned her attention to the horde of men and horses.

“Archers ready your quivers!” she shouted above the wind. “Mages, prepare yourselves! To the wall with all of you!”

Without Edelgard to guide them, this might be their greatest battle yet. Still, Lysithea would believe. There was a great power to be had in faith. And nothing was mightier than the Black Eagles' faith in each other. Not the Church, and certainly not the wastrel Rufus Blaiddyd.

* * *

Shamir was not often taken by surprise. Such a thing required assumption, and she didn’t trifle with baseless conjecture. She had made that mistake with Catherine and been thoroughly wrong. Pleasantly, in that instance. The same could not be said for Edelgard.

Shamir could only speculate what the younger woman was thinking as she ventured deeper within the Srengian village. There was a chance Edelgard sought to take vengeance upon Blaiddyd, yet risking her life needlessly for a personal vendetta was unlike her. Of the many things Shamir knew her to be, foolhardy wasn’t one of them. So what was it that Edelgard sought?

These musings were neatly rendered irrelevant the moment Edelgard was taken again. Shamir trailed the group, both exasperated and confused. She did not recognize the man who seemed so familiar with the Emperor. His countenance was starkly inhuman, skin and eyes pallid as a corpse. Even from afar, Shamir could feel the disparity of his existence; unnatural to the rightful order of the world.

The man, or thing masquerading as one, was not kind to the Emperor. And the moment he brandished a blade, Shamir knew she needed to retrieve Edelgard quickly. Yet the younger woman proved resourceful. She broke free, darting across the ice with all the haste of a wildcat. There was Shamir’s cue, and she played her part with ease.

With Edelgard at her back, she sped away from the Srengian territory. A few riders had given chase, but a volley of arrows sent them careening from their mounts. The field was clear now, and as they rode through the pass with no hostile rider in sight, Shamir dared to assume they were safe. The north gale was howling fierce and long. Once they breached the ridge, a burgeoning blizzard had consumed the forest. The weather was miserable, but it would stave off pursuit.

All the more reason for us to move quickly. The pointed absence of Rufus and his soldiers portended strife for those in Cernunnos. For this reason, Shamir desired to make a swift return. Yet Edelgard wasn't in any state to continue. That fact was made all too clear once they rounded a rocky outcropping and the Emperor slipped from Saloma’s back.

Shamir halted, concerned. Edelgard had not fallen hard, yet enough to take the wind from her lungs. The younger woman panted, shuddering atop the snow. Her color was too wan for Shamir’s liking. In her present condition, she would not last the hard ride westward.

“Break anything?” Shamir dismounted, eyeing the younger woman’s slight figure. Edelgard laughed harshly.

“Nothing that isn’t already in tatters,” she hissed. Edelgard hauled herself up, favoring her left hand. “I’m fine. I briefly lost my balance, but it won’t happen again.”

Shamir ignored her, stooping to inspect the younger woman's arm. She seized her wrist, noting Edelgard's grimace. "As I thought. Shattered. Hold still a moment.”

“What are you…?”

Shamir concentrated, pouring a wave of magic over the fractured bones. They knit together slowly but surely. The golden glow left a lingering trace of warmth. Shamir rose once her companion’s wrist was fully mended. Edelgard stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Faith magic. I didn’t think you were capable of it.”

“It’s a practical skill,” Shamir said, deflecting. “I worked as a healer within the village. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I assumed you helped with simple tasks. Faith… that isn’t something I ever expected from you, of all people.”

“That so?” Shamir exhaled, looking in the direction of the north pass. There was still no sign of enemy forces. An organized hunt would require the storm to quell first. Mind set, Shamir led her horse beneath an overhang. Icicles decorated its edge like a jagged maw.

“What are you doing?” Edelgard followed, limping and huddled inward. Her brow was pinched.

“Building a fire. You look half-dead, and dragging you through a blizzard won't help." Shamir hastily gathered a few twigs. It took a few moments before they caught flame beneath the flint. “I doubt Byleth would be pleased if I arrive with your frozen corpse.”

“I’m fine,” Edelgard repeated stubbornly. “Tending to my welfare can wait until we reach the fort. We can’t waste any time.”

“Your feet are blue. Your hands fare no better. If you’re not careful, they’ll break off.”

“Stop exaggerating.” Despite the quick dismissal, the Emperor appeared to reconsider. She visibly took stock of herself. “I won’t expire from this alone. We should keep moving.”

“And we will. But only after I’m sure you won’t die on me.” Shamir observed her companion, noting the ruddy blush of her nose and the hazy quality of her stare. “Cold can be as deadly as a sword. Starved and weak from captivity, you won’t last like this. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’m…” Edelgard appeared ready to protest, but her expression faltered. She bit her lip as she stole a look at the modest fire. “Fine. Only until the winds calm.”

“Doubtful. Rest a couple of hours at least, then we'll go.” Shamir left to gather a few dead branches. She returned quickly to build the flames into a proper blaze. The heat was welcoming, reflecting off the rocks to their back. Edelgard had settled in the interim, shivering in violent spasms.

“Here.” Shamir threw her a woolen blanket and knife from her pack. “Cut a length for your feet. Better than stomping barefoot through the snow. Mind the blade; there’s a chip.”

“This blanket looks handmade. Did you…?”

“It was to be a gift.” Shamir pressed her lips together. “A villager in Culann had given birth. I made it for the babe, but I can always make another.”

“I never took you for the maternal sort. You’re full of surprises today.” Edelgard clutched the blanket, palming sliding over its length. She cut the end of it with shaking yet diligent fingers. Shamir just stared at her evenly.

“And I never expected you would dive back into trouble after I freed you, but here we are.”

“I had my reasons.” Edelgard stiffened, yet the Dagdan woman could tell it was not from the cold. Lavender eyes narrowed defensively. “I thank you for your assistance on both occasions. It’s not hyperbole to say I owe you my life.”

“I’ll settle for that favor you promised.” Shamir settled against the rock wall, arms crossed. She watched as Edelgard cut and folded the blanket into crude wraps. “I hope your reasons were worth the cost. You may very well lose your toes.”

“They were. Are,” Edelgard said. Her features turned pensive. “...Blaiddyd’s son. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for his father’s idiocy. I wanted to save him from whatever miserable works Rufus concocted. Perhaps it’s incomprehensible to you, but I had to try.”

“For what purpose?”

“Common decency and nothing more.” Edelgard looked agitated then. Beneath the fire's glow, her pallor was flushed. “Is that so foreign a concept?”

“No. Merely unexpected.” Shamir paused, wondering how honest she should be. Eventually, she decided to be brutally frank. “I had assumed you would seek to be rid of Rufus, perhaps both. The child is a threat to your rule.”

“Pardon?” From Edelgard's aghast reaction, Shamir knew she struck a chord. "I would never do something so heinous.”

“The boy supposedly carries a major crest. We both know some would be swayed by such flimsy happenstance. It’s why we’re here.” Shamir gestured to the vast landscape. “So long as he lives, the boy will be used as a weapon against you. You cannot tell me that hasn’t occurred to you.”

“It has.” The Emperor looked away. Her mouth pursed tight, corners trembling. “However, believe me when I say that I would never harm him. So long as I draw breath, children will not be shamed for simply living. They cannot change the blood which runs in their veins, crest or no.”

Shamir regarded her, gauging the younger woman’s sincerity. Once she was satisfied, Shamir nodded once. “Good. Had you answered differently, I might have left you here to die.”

Edelgard looked at her sourly. “You’re rather sly. Perhaps to the point of cruelty.”

“Maybe. I find my methods gather honesty far more than honeyed words.”

“You remind me of my cat. She too likes to harass me when I’m in no mood for it.” Edelgard sniffed, huddling beneath the rest of the wool. Despite her prior complaints, the woman’s pallor was steadily improving. “...You mentioned Byleth. She sent you after me?”

“You sound apprehensive. Should she not have?”

“That’s not—” Something odd passed over Edelgard’s face. It wasn’t quite frustration. “I was taken before the siege concluded. I didn’t know whether we secured Cernunnos or if anyone…”

“All of your Eagles lived,” Shamir reassured. The Emperor seemed to take heart from her words, the knot of her jaw loosening. “Gautier was wounded, but not permanently. He was set to recover last I heard.”

“And Byleth?”

“She survived without injury.” The cold look of anger upon Byleth’s normally placid features came to mind. “However, your capture upset her greatly, as you can imagine. I’m sure the Ordelia girl has kept her calm. Failing that, I have Catherine watching her.”

“Excuse my incredulity, but that sounds like a recipe for disaster.” Edelgard frowned. She flexed her fingers over the fire. “All the more reason to make an expedient return. What of Blaiddyd? Has he tried to retake the fort?”

“I departed Cernunnos not long after you were taken. I haven’t seen evidence of Blaiddyd’s men heading west. Yet…” Shamir thought to the vacancy of Kingdom soldiers she had observed. The villages were also lacking in Srengian martial presence. “There were few soldiers within Sreng’s territory. It’s possible the bulk slipped my notice and marched toward Cernunnos, or had already congregated elsewhere.”

“Then they could be attacking the fort as we speak,” Edelgard concluded. She tried to lurch to her feet but was tugged down by Shamir’s hand.

“There’s nothing we can do for them. Concentrate on yourself.” Shamir fished out a leather-wrapped bundle from her pack. She tossed it at the younger woman. "Eat. You look painfully thin. Slow and steady. It’ll spill out of you otherwise.”

Edelgard didn’t appear to have the heart to argue. She unfolded the leather before biting hungrily into the length of dried meat. She chewed languidly, perhaps savoring her first meal in days. Shamir pondered her for a time.

“I didn’t recognize the man who confronted you,” she said, tone light. “But you did.”

“He’s irrelevant. Just an associate of my uncle.” The Emperor’s eyes darted cagily. She was lying, Shamir determined. The reason why was not clear. “Thales is a powerful mage, and grotesque in his methods. His dark experiments are the cause of many tragedies. This rebellion is the latest.”

“What did he plan to do with you?”

Edelgard’s gaze narrowed. She looked to be searching for something within Shamir’s face. “He aimed to resurrect the Archbishop. Her corpse was in the pit, half-buried under ice, but whole. According to Thales, he required my blood to complete the process.”

Rhea. Shamir bristled. Her knuckles bleached as she gripped her bow. Catherine had come far, but that was because she had accepted Rhea’s death. If Catherine heard this… Shamir didn’t know how her lover would respond. “Could Rhea return as she once was?”

“Unlikely. I’ve seen the result of his creations before. Nothing more than mindless avatars of rage.” Edelgard sounded certain, and the words calmed Shamir’s fears. “But a puppet dragon is still formidable. And the implication of the Immaculate One fighting for Blaiddyd would give the boy greater legitimacy.”

“Can he revive her without you?”

“Not permanently. That was why he held me captive. However…” Edelgard trailed off, looking anxious. She bit at the dried meat thoughtfully. “I need to consult with Lysithea. She knows more about magical theory than I do.”

“We’ll reach Cernunnos by morning if the weather is kind. The land will look different after a blizzard, but the mountains remain.” Shamir turned her attention beyond the overhang. The trees danced and buckled. One broke beneath the gale. “We can only hope they fend off Blaiddyd’s men.”

Edelgard said nothing, yet the fire illuminated the lines of worry she wore. Above, the winds continued to sing an endless tune. The night would proceed as it was wont, no matter what they wished for.

* * *

Leadership was a stranger to her. Although Byleth had worn the mantle at the behest of the Church, she felt more a guide than a leader. Such a title had always been reserved for Edelgard. Byleth might have lit the way, but Edelgard provided the spark. And she was the one who forged the Empire into what it was today. Byleth had been content with this.

Truthfully, her skills were reserved for war alone. She did not have the mind for politics, preferring to see people as individuals rather than the titles they bore. And neither did she truly grasp the array of problems ailing Fódlan. Were it not for El, perhaps Byleth would believe the status quo should remain. Perhaps she would assume the Church had the right to keep its place, and Edelgard was nothing more than an ambitious heretic.

But those were the mistakes of a woman she never became. Byleth would forever be grateful to El for that alone. Even if her affection had never deepened into love, that bond couldn’t be severed. So as she took the field to protect her lover's dream, Byleth adorned the mantle of leader in place of Edelgard.

Still, a part of her felt like a pretender; a sheep claiming to be something it wasn’t. War was the field she grew upon, yes. Yet her proficiency in death meant little for these soldiers. The imperial cavalry were agitated, eyeing the massive collection of Kingdom horses with wide eyes. Edelgard would have known how to embolden their spirits. She would have known exactly what to say, confidence ever infectious.

Byleth could only muster a pale facsimile of her brilliance, but she would try—for the soldiers who trusted her, and those relying upon their protection.

“Today, we stand as the bulwark of Fódlan,” she began. Byleth trotted the length of her men. The cavalry had gathered as a wall of flesh, the shadows of Cernunnos draping their backs. She sat straight atop a roan courser, sword at the ready. “The pretender, Rufus Blaiddyd, plots to take the throne for himself. He ushers in a horde of Sreng to seize lands he holds no claim. It is the Empire who stands in his way.”

Byleth swept her sword towards the enemy. “I ask of you to shed your blood for Fódlan. To protect your families and countrymen by halting them here. Remember, the golden eagle of Adrestia has two heads; Might and Dominion be their names. Show Rufus Blaiddyd what that means!”

A cry rose with a snarl of wind. The cavalry shouted their approval, lance and sword clanging against armor. Byleth joined them and urged her horse onward. As a unified beast of steel, they charged over the snow and for the hostile force awaiting them. There was a ripple of movement before the enemy ranks rushed to meet the imperial tide. Like two opposing waves, they inevitably clashed in a thunderous clamor of metal.

In the first-hand accounts detailing this battle, any mention of Blaiddyd or his supposed rebellion would be lost to time. The soldiers who took the field that day only spoke of the great force they faced, as well as the High General’s courageous might. In one such chronicle, a cavalryman wrote ‘...There had never been as ferocious a horse as the blue roan which carried the General. And never so steady a blade as the one wielded by her arm.’

Several would mention her unwavering dedication to guarding the gates of Cernunnos. And even more detailed the General’s savage intensity, akin to a hound scenting blood. A mix of respect and trepidation would saturate these accounts, muddled as they were by the anger marking her days prior. None truly knew Byleth in detail. They were ignorant of the drive to protect her home; only barely glimpsing the unwavering commitment that composed her every action.

She cut through each warrior that stood in her way, voice strong and deep as she commanded astride her mount. They were holding the forest line, unwilling to cede any ground to the Kingdom loyalists. The night was biting in its chill, taxing every living thing it consumed. As the battle raged, a terrible wind rolled in and brought with it a new bout of snow. Ice tumbled from the sky in piercing shards, causing pain and disarray in equal amounts. All the while, the enemy pressed forward.

Byleth refused to succumb. She bellowed as she skewed a bow-knight, blood painting the pale. She raised her head and wiped the frost glazing her face. With the swirling flakes, visibility was low. It was impossible to tell whether the enemy was thinning or gaining ground. Overhead, the moon and stars were blotted by the clouds. Naught but torch and mage-fire illuminated the field.

She caught her breath momentarily as a rush of pegasi dove for the loyalist cavalry. Ingrid and Leonie worked in tandem, granting relief to the imperial forces. It felt as if they had fought for an eternal age, and the darkness held no sign of dawn. Byleth grit her teeth as a gathering of horses rushed toward her position, evading the pegasus fleet.

“Hold the line!” she rallied. “Give no quarter!”

There might have been no way to tell how the battle was proceeding, yet Byleth was determined to fight until she couldn’t any longer. That was the least El would have given, and she would do no less.

* * *

Waiting was a terrible undertaking on any day. When there were lives at stake, Lysithea found it positively unbearable. The first hour had seemed fleeting. One moment, they were preparing for onslaught, and the next, Byleth led a harrowing charge into the fray. The battle could not be observed from the walls. The shadow-soaked environment was far too dark and obscured by precipitation. Yet Lysithea could hear the conflict growing with each passing second.

A choir of metal and agony bloomed within the shadows. The uncertainty was painful, as was the damnable wait. Their archers were primed for the inevitable approach. Even with Byleth protecting the tree line, any number of soldiers could flank the walls. A breathless sort of anticipation saturated the air.

Lysithea took a steadying breath. At any moment, the enemy could try to breach their walls. If the general failed to hold them back, she was their last line of defense. Thinking of the worse possibilities frayed her nerves. Edelgard, I wish I had your abundant confidence.

It was strange how young she could feel at the height of her competence. An advisor to the Emperor of Adrestia, a seasoned veteran in her own right, and yet a young woman still struggling to make sense of the world. Lysithea had her fears as anyone. This foray into the north had unearthed more than its fair share of terrible memories. And for Edelgard to be taken… It only reminded her of when her siblings had disappeared. For once, she wished there were easy answers to be found.

Steel your mind, Lysithea scolded herself. Cease this prattle. Idle fears help nothing and no one. Concentrate. She refocused on the distant sounds of war. Her trust in Byleth’s prowess was unquestionable. But in a game of sheer numbers, skill alone would not win the day. The walls of Cernunnos did not need to crumble for the enemy to advance.

A sound to her left caused Lysithea to jolt. She watched, dismayed, as a ladder clacked against the western wall. Several more quickly followed.

“They’re trying to scale the walls!” she shouted. “Archers, halt their ascent!”

Yet even under the hail of arrows, the ladders refused to cease. There was an innumerable amount, and it was not long before they spat Kingdom knight and Sreng warrior alike. Lysithea directed her mages to fire upon sight. She loosed shards of flame and dark magic, divided between assailing the ladders and focusing on the present menace.

As she dodged a javelin, Lysithea found her footing taken by a patch of iced stone. She slipped to her knees, frozen as an axe-wielding knight darted towards her. Before they could strike, a fair-haired figure barreled into the armored threat. A hammer caved their helmet, blood spitting from the eye slats. Lysithea stared, heart in her throat, as Catherine peered down at her.

“We need to dispatch the ladders," the older woman said. Catherine looked uncommonly serious as she held out an arm. “Hurry. Before one of them reaches the gatehouse.”

“R-Right.” Lysithea took Catherine’s offered hand. “Don’t think for a moment this exonerates you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The former knight cracked a smirk. Then Catherine holstered her hammer before sweeping up a nearby sword. “I suggested cobbling together springalds days ago, and Byleth agreed. I hauled them up here, all that’s left is to roll them into position. But we need to deal with these bastards first.”

“Understood,” Lysithea replied. Her magic sparked to life as she took position behind Catherine. “Carve a path to the wall! I’ll cover you.”

“With pleasure.” Catherine’s answering snarl was savage, but the sight was comforting rather than reviled as it once was. Together, they pushed back the encroaching assault on their walls and obliterated each soldier who stood in their way. Lysithea was swift in her salvo of magic as Catherine forged ahead.

The woman was fierce and grand, the wound she had suffered long ago hardly slowing her. Truthfully, Lysithea had assumed her new station to be a ruse; something she had adopted for lack of an ability to fight. Yet that was not true, she realized. Catherine did not take up the hammer in regret. She did not stay in her quaint village, gnashing her teeth with concealed spite. As Catherine fought, protecting each imperial soldier along the way, Lysithea did not see a Knight a Seiros.

Instead, Lysithea caught a glimpse of the woman who spoke with her about their shared crest. The same who told her that no matter their pains, their secrets, Lysithea was still her—seen for who she was at heart, and not her terrible circumstance. Catherine likely had no idea how affecting her words were.

When placed into such perspective, Lysithea wondered if was fair to judge Catherine’s past mistakes as the whole of her person. She too harbored darkness she preferred to keep hidden, but it seemed to be gone from her now. As they drove the last of the enemy from the walls, Lysithea observed as Catherine pushed the springalds near. She worked tirelessly, commanding the imperial soldiers to her side.

As a unified force, they loaded and fired bolts in succession. The hostile soldiers were steadily torn from the ladders. Lysithea acted quickly and lit the offending objects ablaze. With no path to safety, the hapless knights were easily targeted by Imperial pegasi. Lysithea observed with savage satisfaction as Leonie skewed a fellow with her lance. Ingrid routed the rest deftly.

The perimeter of Cernunnos was maintained. Relieved, she watched as the enemy scattered beneath their hail of steel and magic. After a time, her prior musings flared to life as she considered Catherine.

“What?” Catherine asked, becoming aware of the scrutiny.

“I suppose gratitude is in order.” Lysithea fidgeted. “Thank you. For the springalds and... saving me.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s not like I did anything exceptional.” Catherine cleared her throat, appearing just as awkward as Lysithea felt. She shouldered her blade, looking off into the distance. “We held the wall. The rest is up to Eisner. I don’t envy her; these pests are swarming like flies on shit.”

“You have an unfortunate way with words.” Lysithea clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Am I wrong? But it’s not hopeless. Byleth maimed me, after all.” Catherine barked a laugh. “She’ll have no trouble with these wretches.”

The statement was shockingly blunt. It surprised Lysithea how casually Catherine spoke of her injury. Yet she felt oddly soothed as well. Lysithea had done her part. The general would succeed just the same. If it was Byleth, surely, they would triumph.

* * *

There seemed no end to the flood. For every enemy felled, another would invariably take their place. It appeared Blaiddyd had gambled the majority of his forces on this attempt to reclaim Cernunnos. At times, Byleth felt as if she were climbing a mountain with no peak in sight. And the dark was ever-present, joined by the choking cover of snowfall.

Byleth panted, squinting past the flurry to make sense of her surroundings and the enemy’s location. The chaos of blood and steel made everything difficult to focus upon. If she wagered a guess, Byleth would estimate their number had thinned to half. But she couldn’t be sure. If they lost ground, if they had pushed to the gate; nothing was guaranteed. She used her sword to deflect a lance thrust, rearing back for a decisive blow.

Then, a horse charged into her courser. Byleth tumbled from the saddle, sword lost. A man, face obscured by helmet and leathers soaked with blood, leapt for her frame. He gripped her throat with a massive hand, dagger in the other.

Byleth scrambled for her fallen sword, hand scraping the ice. The warrior lunged, but she was able to knock his arm askew with her leg. Finally, she clasped the familiar hilt of her blade and plunged it through his chest. He jerked, red spilling over blue lips. Byleth kicked his body aside before rising.

Yet the man did not stay inert. He clawed at her boot, face twitching with abnormal rage. The whites of his eyes reminded her of a far-off memory. It wasn’t until she cleaved his head in twain did the man finally fall still. What sort of warriors were these? By what dark arts did they struggle so fiercely?

Each one of these soldiers were like those found in Remire—given furious strength by the same unknown magic. Byleth wiped her face, scanning the battlefield. The imperial cavalry seemed to be waning. The long battle was taking its toll, as did the weather. Movements were slowing, blood as common as snowflakes. If something didn’t give, there was a good chance they would be overwhelmed.

Horse gone, Byleth did her best to combat the mounted knights who targeted her. She held her ground atop a hillock, cutting any rider who chanced too close. She took the legs of more than one enemy horse, yet the enemy was clever and fast. The knights retreated to give their bowmen clearance, and it was they who forced the general to lose ground. Byleth tried to shield herself, rolling behind the trees.

Yet two arrows found their mark, embedding into the meat of her thigh and back. Byleth buckled against the trunk of a birch. She gritted her teeth before pulling the metal in her leg free. Despite the burning pain, Byleth held her sword aloft. Her eyes caught on a nearby body, as well as the heater laying a yard away. For El. For Fódlan. Mustering her strength, she dashed for the mounted archer, shield raised. The heater vibrated from repeated arrow strikes.

When she was close enough to see the steam of their breath, Byleth tossed the shield and swung her sword. It sank into the rider’s thigh, tearing them from their horse. The animal loosed a startled wail before galloping hard over the bowman’s body. Their skull cracked beneath its hooves. Byleth took a moment to catch her breath, resting against the trunk of a barren oak.

Ahead, another wave of horses stampeded from the northern hillside. Byleth blinked at them dully. This is it then. She spat a glob of blood onto the ice, leaning atop her blade.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth said. Her throat felt raw from cold. “I tried, and it wasn’t enough.”

El, can you ever forgive me?

Byleth raised her sword, preparing for one last fight. If this truly was the end, she would face it without flinching. Perhaps not with glory, but at least with dignity. She tensed as the riders descended like an avalanche of flesh.

However, rather than crash upon her, they were stopped in their tracks as a separate force collided. Cavalry, Srengian by appearance, flanked Blaiddyd’s men from the east and west. Byleth watched, stunned by this sudden turn. They flowed around the general like water, joining the imperial army in pushing back the opposing tide. Byleth couldn’t begin to guess who they were.

One of them saluted her with their sword before riding off into the throng. At the very least, they appeared to be allies. Byleth struggled to her feet, gaining a second wind. Not all was lost. She would live and fight. El would be rather upset otherwise.

She knew not how long it had been since the battle began, nor was she aware of how long they struggled since. Time ceased to mean anything upon that frozen field. But then, there was light. The snow slowed to a faint whisper, wind slowing as the battle waned from its furious pace. And as Byleth slowly walked the snow, the last of her foes stilling at her feet, she beheld the horizon.

The faint rays of morning washed away the night. The light fanned across her brow, leaving warmth in its wake. All around her was the aftermath of harrowing conflict—oh, but the sun… It enfolded her like a lover’s embrace. Faintly, she heard the last of her men shout to the sky where Ingrid and Leonie weaved victoriously through the clouds. However, Byleth didn’t have the strength to join them. Instead, she fell to her knees and basked in the heat of dawn.

To her, it felt like El.

An hour after sunrise, the battle had concluded. But the reason for their victory was unclear; as were the intentions of the Srengian riders who came to their aid. They stalked the outskirts of Cernunnos, leering at the walls with mingled distaste and reserve. Byleth might not have understood why they arrived, but she would not allow their deed to go unacknowledged. After recovering from her ordeal, she rode to meet them on the land they occupied. Only Sylvain joined her.

“Is this wise?” the man asked. He winced occasionally as he rode, still in the throes of recovery. Sylvain frowned at the Sreng warriors who eyed them as they approached. “They could decide to attack.”

“They aided us for a reason. I would know why.” Byleth sat higher in the saddle. “I owe my survival to their intervention.”

Sylvain didn’t contest this, likely already aware of the harried conflict. He had insisted upon joining her as an interpreter though his status as Margrave Gautier could sour things. Byleth was willing to take a chance. Yet to her surprise, Sylvain’s presence wasn’t required. One of the Sreng riders, a bronze-haired fellow of considerable mass, spoke in accented Fódlanic.

“The southern army has won,” he said. The man’s voice was deep, though halting. “Gullhærð flees. The veikburðae join their master.”

“We have you and your fellows to thank for this.” Byleth dipped her head. “To whom do I speak? And why have you fought with us this day?”

“Höfðingi Frode. Of the pearl mountain.” The man, Frode, seemed to struggle with the precise wording. He glanced at Sylvain. “Bróðir frændi?”

“Hálf blóð.” Sylvain patted his chest. The other man hummed before facing Byleth once more.

“We join you in this to fight Gullhærð. He has promised much but brought death. No friend of our clans.” Frode gazed past them, searching for something unknown. “Where is the horned woman? Hræsvelgr?”

“Our Emperor,” Byleth confirmed. She kept her features placid. “She could not join us for this bout. However, I speak for her as High General. When you speak of ‘Gullhærð’, are you referring to Rufus Blaiddyd?”

“Aye. He wears such a name.” Frode grimaced as if he tasted something foul. “But no more of this. I have desire to speak to Hræsvelgr. I have no words for others. Ekki fyrir þig, úlfaskinn.”

Sylvain rankled at something the man said, but Byleth didn’t dwell on it. She would respect the man’s wish.

“When she returns, I promise you’ll be heard.” Byleth bowed again before moving to leave. “Until then, you and your men may stay.”

“It is our wilds. We go as we like.” The words were rough, leery. Even as she departed, the Srengian’s piercing gaze followed her. Byleth wondered at the dichotomy between their actions and apparent displeasure, but at least a bit of the mystery was solved. All of them wanted an end to the madness wrought by Blaiddyd.

“I don’t know if we can trust them,” Sylvain remarked as they rode. “The Sreng people are ruled by their passions, but also their hunger for gain. They do not offer their help without a catch.”

“Maybe so. Still, is it wrong to hope for the best?”

“No.” Sylvain looked at her thoughtfully. “You led well today. I dare say Edelgard couldn’t have done better.”

“A lie, if a kind one.” Byleth watched as the morning light bled through the clouds. “I hope, wherever she might be, that I made her proud. She’ll come back to us one day. When she does, I want to greet her with a smile.”

“You never know. Perhaps that day is closer than you think.”

The words were meant to be comforting. And Byleth was resolved to see it as such. She would see El again, if not soon, then eventually. She had promised her once, within the pages of a deeply adored gift. Happy and in love. No one would make a liar of her, Blaiddyd or no.

* * *

Edelgard was not prepared for the sight that awaited them. As Cernunnos crawled into view, it became horrifyingly evident a great battle took place. Bodies littered the forest, many half-buried in snow. Blood soaked the white expanse in frequent swathes. Panic replaced her anticipation. Yet before the feeling could sharpen, Shamir spoke.

“Steady now. Look close. Most of the dead wear Kingdom steel.” The Dagdan woman pointed two fingers at the distant walls. “The Adrestian banners yet wave. Cernunnos was not lost.”

“You’re right.” Edelgard breathed in and held. Her heart slowed from its rapid flutter. “Regardless, this was no quick altercation. It must have been a massive undertaking. I wonder if…”

"Save your worry for facts, not speculation. We should head for the gate.”

Edelgard didn’t have the energy to protest. They sped onward, passing more terrible signs of war. Imperial soldiers paced the field, salvaging what they could from the bodies. She tried not to think of her friends possibly lying dead upon the ice. And certainly not Byleth. If Shamir felt her agitation, the older woman prudently didn’t say.

The gates were open, allowing them to slip beneath the welcoming arches of Cernunnos. The square was mostly vacant, only stable hands and foot soldiers milling about. Edelgard couldn’t find any of her Eagles, but they were likely preoccupied. The aftermath of a battle could be just as arduous as fighting within one. They neared the stable, Shamir gracefully slipping down from the saddle. She held out a hand.

“I’ll find Byleth for you. Of anyone, I’m sure she’d want to know of your return immediately.”

“I can find her myself,” Edelgard insisted. Yet she was soundly proven wrong as her feet touched the ground. Her legs caved, still weak from captivity and riding both. Shamir caught her, brow canted upward.

“You’re more likely to find an early grave. Save your pride.” She glanced somewhere to the left. “The smithy-house they erected for Catherine is close. The company might be trying, but it’ll be warm.”

Edelgard tried to insist otherwise, but her arguments fell on deaf ears. It didn’t help that she immediately sank into a sneezing fit. Eventually, she had no choice but to shelve the matter as Shamir directed her to the aforementioned smithy. Still, she was right about the warmth. It permeated the area like a cocoon. The only drawback was the hulking frame of Catherine. The Faerghian woman turned as they entered, blinking in surprise.

“Shamir…” She stepped forward hesitantly. After a pause, Catherine wrapped Shamir in her arms. “Goddess, how I missed you! Nearly feared the worse when the battle began.”

“We were still far from here. Never caught a glimpse.”

Edelgard looked away as Shamir shared a kiss with her partner. A part of her was curious, had been ever since they were found together, but decorum won out over the impulse. However the two women came together was their business alone.

“You’re lucky. It was chaos.” Catherine frowned, peering over Shamir’s shoulder. “We? Who’s this?”

“I should be offended, but I suppose I look rather pitiful than normal.” Edelgard limped to the forge, drawn to the heat rolling off. She crumpled against its side, unable to stand any longer.

“Edelgard.” It was hard to say what precise emotion passed over Catherine’s face. Perhaps it was simply disappointment she wasn’t a corpse. “Well, that’s a shock. I know Eisner will be happy.”

“Speaking of,” Shamir began. She sent Edelgard a pointed glance. “Don’t move. I’ll fetch Byleth. Watch her for me, Catherine.”

“First it was the mutt general, now the Emperor?” Catherine snorted but tipped her head in deference. “Alright. I’ll make sure Princess Fussy stays put.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Neither woman gave her outburst any attention. Shamir nodded swiftly before flitting out of sight. Edelgard huffed, glaring balefully at the smith. Catherine didn’t seem chuffed either, if the clipped way she moved was any measure. Edelgard tensed as the woman went to work, hammering upon the anvil.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Catherine said. She stilled, scowling deeply. “You keep flinching. I’m not gonna leap at you.”

“Once upon a time, you were frothing at the mouth to do just that.” Edelgard clutched her cloak, huddling deeper within its folds. She shivered but stopped herself. Edelgard refused to be weak in front of a former adversary. Catherine would probably taunt her for it. Yet she didn’t. Catherine just stared, brows pinched together. Then, the smith tossed her a sprawling length of fur. Sheepskin, from the feel of it.

“Bundle up. It’s painful to look at you.” She rested the hammer along her nape, waiting. Edelgard took the fur between her fingers before huddling beneath. It was a welcome weight.

“...It’s warm,” she murmured. Catherine sniffed.

“You’re welcome.” With that, the smith seemed to dismiss her for a time. There was a long silence between them before Catherine spoke again. “Things change. They always do, even people like me. The knight I was would’ve caved your head in without a second thought. No matter what she stood to lose.”

“And now?”

Catherine peered into the forge flames. “I’m not a good person. Haven’t been in a long time.”

“I’m amazed you recognize that,” Edelgard commented honestly. “You were so prideful. So certain in your faith in the Church. In Rhea.”

“It was a faith composed of self-serving lies. Cowardice is a better word for it.” Catherine smiled, grim but resigned. “Now, I don’t have any designs to end your life. All I want is to do good.”

“That’s all I want as well.” Edelgard relaxed, suspicion fading away. There were still things to be discussed; Fhirdiad, foremost. However, she trusted Catherine at her word for now. At the very least, she would not undo everything her partner had accomplished. The silence they fell into then was less fraught than the last. Yet a sudden commotion disturbed the peace.

“Huh, it’s Eisner.” Catherine ducked her head out the smithy. “She must have gone with Gautier to speak with those Srengians.”

“What?” Edelgard jolted, startled by this news.

“It was a shock to us too. The fight might have gone differently if they hadn’t arrived.” Catherine frowned as Edelgard struggled to her feet. “Settle down. You’re safe, so no need to rush.”

“I don’t fear your hammer,” Edelgard replied. She used the wall to limp into the square. Her gait wobbled like a newborn foal, yet resolve pushed her onward. She desired to see Byleth’s face—needed it more than air. “While it’s been a long week for you, I assure you it has been worse for me. Can I be blamed for wanting to see the people I love?”

“Suppose not.” She felt Catherine’s eyes upon her as the woman pondered. “Fine. But use me as a crutch. I’ll be damned before you slip and crack your head on the ice. Shamir would be displeased with me.”

“Lovely to know that’s your priority.”

“No wisecracks, Your Majesty.” Edelgard stiffened as she felt Catherine’s bulky arm encompass her waist. “Lest my grip slip and you go sprawling.”

Privately, Edelgard bristled at the threat but allowed it to pass. Her lungs were already straining after a few paces. She could hardly run to greet Byleth as she wished. Edelgard bit her tongue, letting Catherine bear the majority of her weight.

Together, the unlikely pair waded through the snow and toward the gate. When she caught sight of the distinctive teal of Byleth’s hair, anticipation bloomed anew. The woman looked the very picture of a military commander, straight-backed and confident as she led from atop her mount.

Sylvain was saying something beside her. She was glad the man survived, Estrid’s bleak prediction definitively proven wrong. However, despite her relief, Edelgard’s eyes were only for Byleth. The fur lining her collar blended with the dark tumble of her hair as she slid to the ground. The armor she wore was painted with blood, matching the stained leather of her gambeson. But Edelgard could not focus on these terrible details. All she knew was that Byleth was here, and Thales would not tear them apart again.

Edelgard tried to call her, but her voice was stolen. She broke from Catherine’s grip, stumbling forward. “Byleth…”

Perhaps the wind carried her voice along its path, or Byleth instinctively sensed her joy. The general’s head turned. Blue eyes widened as they caught on her frame. Immediately, Byleth strode towards her, face alight with hope. Edelgard reached out, yet her legs caved before they touched. She sank to her knees in the snow, Byleth following after.

Warmth flooded her body as they embraced. Edelgard found purchase against the leather straps of Byleth’s pauldrons, clutching her tight. She pressed her face within the wild mass of dark strands, eyes stinging with tears. The exhilaration she felt was all-consuming, rending every pain and struggle forgotten. At least, for a moment.

Edelgard pulled away, unashamed of the wet trails upon her cheeks. She smiled tremulously as Byleth touched her face. The woman’s gaze was reverent, her touch ever careful. Edelgard swallowed as Byleth drank her in.

“I must look frightful,” she husked. “Like a nightmare.”

Blue eyes fluttered as Byleth made a noise. It wasn’t quite a laugh, more akin to a sob than anything. She smiled broadly before dipping her head. They shared a kiss, both shaking from the moment.

“You will always be a waking dream to me.” Byleth held her tighter, palm hot against Edelgard’s frosted skin. Edelgard buried herself into Byleth’s chest, another river of tears joining the first. The rest of the world faded from view. Dimly, she became aware of the numerous eyes fixed upon them, Catherine and Shamir included. Edelgard didn’t care what any of them might think. There was no place for shame in her heart—only happiness.

Finally, she thought to herself. Finally, we’re together again. Edelgard did not know how long they stayed there, lost in each other. At one point, she heard Lysithea’s shout of disbelief and a startled gasp that might have been Ingrid. Wishing to see her friends, Edelgard pulled back and stood. Byleth supported her weight with diligent hands.

“Edelgard...?” Lysithea darted down the rampart steps. Her voice was breathless. “Is it really…”

“It’s me. A little worse for wear, but mostly whole.” Edelgard moved forward with Byleth’s help. She smiled as Lysithea gingerly clasped her free arm. “You look well.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a mess.” Lysithea sniffled. “Not as much as you of course.”

“I appreciate your honesty.”

“It's good to see you, Your Majesty." Ingrid joined them, following on Lysithea's heel. Her green eyes were bright with relief. “We were all so worried, but I had faith in your return.”

“As did I!” To her surprise, Leonie vaulted down from her pegasus. Her grin was infectious. “It’s just like old times. Remember? Catherine—that old war dog—had you cornered, but you came back safe and sound!”

“Who are you calling old?” Catherine swaggered up to the group, scowling. Shamir rolled her eyes discreetly.

“Don’t look so peeved. We’re allies now.” Leonie blinked. She appeared genuinely baffled.

“That’s a generous description. I prefer the term contractors.”

“Semantics. Besides, it’s not like I’m wrong.”

“Oh, shut up, both of you!” Lysithea huffed, sidling closer to Edelgard. “Our Emperor returns and you’re bickering like children.”

“Lysithea's right." Surprisingly, it was Sylvain who joined her intervention. His gaze was warm, tinged with relief. “It’s good to have you back, Your Majesty. It wasn’t the same without you.”

“Not by far,” Byleth whispered. Her lips grazed Edelgard’s ear. Then, she addressed the others. “We should get the Emperor warm before we discuss everything. She needs to rest.”

“I concur.” Worry washed over Lysithea’s features. “The details can be sorted later.”

Had Edelgard not been at the precipice of collapse, she might have insisted otherwise. There was so much she desired to know. What happened during the battle? Who were these Srengians that assisted the imperial army? What events took place during her absence? Yet her body had a mind of its own, and it begged for her to listen. Tired and hungry, Edelgard allowed herself to be spirited away. She relished the solid presence of Byleth as the woman led her into the keep.

Everything was not quite well, but it would be soon. Thales, Rufus, and the boy she could not yet save… All of it would be settled once and for all. So long as they stood together, there was no end to what they could accomplish.

Next Chapter - Hræsvelgr

Chapter Text

As her days crawled by within the dark solitude of a cell, Edelgard did not dream. She barely rested, sleep coming in all too brief winks before she recalled the dreadful present. For the dark had come to feast upon her once again, and Edelgard could never feel peace under such duress. Yet beyond the frozen tower, far from the gnawing void Thales nursed, she found the realm of dreams at last.

And it was the best of them; golden and warm. All that she loved, from dearest friends to the woman who taught her the meaning of faith. Edelgard embraced it all. The palace walls were blurred and tinged with light, and a part of her knew this could only be a fantasy. Yet she cared not. Once more, she embraced each friend who greeted her.

Dorothea, elegant and puckish, dipped her skirts before spiriting away with her queen. Petra flashed a welcoming smile as they left. Just ahead, Hubert was conversing with Linhardt and Lysithea. Ferdinand hovered by his side, nodding thoughtfully. They all tipped their heads in deference as she neared; a cabinet of ministers united. The Empire of old had never seen such solidarity.

Beyond them, Caspar and Leonie were reciting a bawdy song. Edelgard couldn't hear the words but somehow understood their meaning. Of a war long-fought amid turbulent winds and snow. Of a world lost to dark works, finally witnessing an age of light. Nipping at their heel was Bernadetta, hands full of knitting supplies. She did not appear timid as she oft was; her hands swift as she crafted something unknown. At her feet, a litter of kittens pawed at the twine.

Edelgard searched for the others. She caught the russet of Sylvain’s hair beside the roaring fireplace. To her surprise, Felix was there as well. Ingrid wasn’t among them. Edelgard wondered briefly where she could be when she spotted her in the distance. Dressed smartly in her crimson and gold uniform, Ingrid danced with an unknown figure. Whoever it was, she appeared happy.

They all did, she realized. Happier than they had ever been. But where was Byleth? Just as the thought appeared, something brushed against her legs. Edelgard peered down, catching the sight of Tiny Professor wrapping a tail around her ankle. She knelt to brush the cat’s fur, peppered now with grey yet still sleek to the touch. When Edelgard looked up again, the palace walls melted from view.

A field of wheat took their place. And above the ocean of gold lay a house of modest means. Edelgard loved it at once. She ventured tentatively closer, palms tickled by the wheat stalks. A dark-haired figure waited by the door. It was Byleth, clad only in fine cloth and not the armor of war. She beckoned with bare hands, blue eyes mirroring the sky. Tiny Professor bounded forward to greet her. Edelgard followed, bewitched by this image of hard-won peace.

It was then Edelgard realized her garb matched her lover. Neither crown nor axe adorned her person. There was no need for them, she instinctively knew. Of course, such ugly things were no longer necessary. Of course, of course…

The cabin door opened without the need for touch. The warmth within emanated outward, soaking through her flesh towards her yearning heart. Edelgard reached for Byleth, fingertips brushing. Another sound caught her attention. Wailing? No… a child’s laughter. It had been so long since she heard it. Before her torment. Before the harsh rigors of adulthood. Her world was filled with laughter once, and here it was again. Far from cold stone, cradled by sun-kissed fields and loving hands — a life untouched by the pains she bore.

The part of Edelgard who saw beyond this perfection asked herself an important question. Is this the life I truly want? Is this where it could all lead? I want it more than anything, she responded in silence. More than the air in her lungs. So she would try to make this dream reality.

Edelgard opened her eyes and found the light of dawn. The dream fled from her, its details growing faint and hazy. Melancholy suffused her breast. She shook it off with only a tinge of wistfulness. Such fantasies were better than her periodic nightmares but could be just as painful. She reached for Byleth, but her palm grazed only cold sheets.

Disgruntled, she sat up to look around the room. It was empty. Edelgard frowned at the mussed bedding. How had she not stirred? She was a light sleeper by nature and habit. Yet Byleth’s departure had gone entirely unnoticed. Edelgard glanced at the curtained window. Gentle light filtered through, betraying the onset of morning.

Before she could ponder further where Byleth could have gone, the door opened. The object of her thoughts entered quietly, preoccupied with the tray in her hands. Blue eyes fluttered as they fell upon Edelgard.

“El…” Strangely, Byleth appeared disappointed. “I’m sorry. I thought I could finish before you woke.”

“Finish what exactly?” Edelgard’s nose twitched, interest and hunger roused as she smelled food. She watched with rapt attention as Byleth set down the tray, revealing a decadent spread—everything from eggs, thick ham slices, and her favorite jam accompanied by biscuits.

“Making your breakfast,” Byleth revealed. She fidgeted, expression hesitant. “...I’ve never cooked before. I had the keep cooks help me with the particulars. Lysithea also assisted.”

“No doubt sampling in between.” Edelgard smiled wryly. She looked at the tray, love and adoration humming beneath her skin. “You needn’t have bothered, darling. This is far too much effort on my behalf.”

“On the contrary, it’s not nearly enough.” Byleth moved the tray over Edelgard’s lap. She nodded in encouragement. “Go ahead. You need to regain your strength.”

“Is that code for I’m nothing but bones?” Edelgard asked cheekily. From the grave look Byleth wore, she knew her attempt at humor had failed. “Thank you. It’s a lovely gesture. I shouldn’t ruin it with terrible jokes.”

“No. I shouldn’t be so serious. But to hear you make light of what happened—” Byleth wrung her hands. “It’s bittersweet. I’m not very good with worry. The fear of losing you threatened to cripple me. If it weren’t for the others, Cernunnos would have fallen.”

“Oh, Byleth. I’m sure that’s not true.” Edelgard assumed the reassurance would smooth the tension upon her lover’s brow. However, it seemed only to deepen Byleth’s unease. Before she could try again, the older woman offered a fork.

“Let me know if it's edible. If not, I'll have another tray prepared."

“I doubt Lysithea would let you walk out of the kitchen if it wasn't." Without hesitation, Edelgard speared a clump of eggs. She barely prevented herself from devouring it like a ravenous beast. It was warm, tasting of butter and salt. Perhaps it was her brush with starvation, but Edelgard dared to call it the best meal she had. “As I thought… It’s perfect.”

“Then the cooks were able to salvage my fumbling attempts.” Byleth cracked a slight grin. It waned within seconds. She fell into a contemplative silence. Edelgard wanted to rouse the woman from whatever somber thoughts she held, but her stomach cried for relief. She ate quickly, hunger taking priority.

“Did you want any?” Edelgard asked between generous bites. Byleth’s expression smoothed, eyes bright with amusement.

“It’s for you, El. I already ate earlier.” She unfurled a napkin from the tray, wiping the corner of her lover’s mouth. Edelgard licked her lips, suddenly self-conscious.

“I’m being rather messy, aren’t I? I forgot myself for a moment.”

“You say that as if I mind.” Byleth leaned away, hand falling to graze against Edelgard’s wrist. Calloused fingertips appeared to linger over her pulse. “You were held captive for days on end. A week more and perhaps you would be dead. What is a bit of mess in comparison?”

“They wouldn’t have allowed that. My purpose wasn’t to perish in a cell.” Edelgard paused, recalling the sparse food and water she was fed. “I suspect he wanted me pliable; weak. A half-starved husk is easier to manage than an Emperor in her prime. Had I been stronger, my body might have activated both crests out of self-preservation.”

“Arundel.” Byleth didn’t present it as a question. Her stare sharpened. “Is he…?”

“Not yet,” Edelgard replied. She tore a length of ham between her teeth. “It’s only a matter of time. Yet I was able to gore one of his eyes. Weak as I was, I refused to go without a fight.”

“Good.” Byleth’s voice was thick with spite. Edelgard was surprised by the rage she heard brimming beneath. After a moment, Byleth’s demeanor slid back into familiar passivity. “What of Rufus?”

“I saw him sparingly. However, I’m certain now that he’s just an unwitting pawn. It’s almost tragic how far he’s degenerated.” Edelgard wrinkled her nose. “Mercy is beyond him. Unless he kneels, I aim to put him down with Thales.”

She sipped on the tea Byleth offered, savoring its heat. It hadn’t been mere flattery; this meal was a revelation after her harrowing imprisonment. Small comforts meant the world after enduring their absence. Edelgard felt the bed dip as Byleth joined her.

“Can you recall their location? Lead us to them?”

“I believe so. And if not, then Shamir will be there to guide us.” She looked at her lover, gaze searching. “We should focus on recovery. The battle appeared fierce from its aftermath. We should grant ourselves a chance to rest. Until then, reinforcements should be called from any lords who can offer aid.”

“Support from Fraldarius is secured. Gautier as well. Charon’s men will arrive within days,” Byleth revealed. Her mouth was curved into a steadfast frown. “Galatea refused. He says he’ll only offer soldiers should Ingrid resign. I considered calling Caspar from the capital, but I knew that would raise questions and leave Adrestia open to attack.”

“A prudent choice. I would have done the same. Hubert might have intervened and I need him focused upon the capital's affairs. A shame about Galatea, but I expected little better.”

“You would be proud of Ingrid. She was stern with Lord Gunnar.” Byleth’s fingers splayed atop the coverlet. She looked deep in thought. “She stood true and unwavering. Lysithea, Leonie, and Sylvain as well. They’re a credit to the Empire—to you.”

“And they will be lauded as such. I couldn’t ask for better. Perhaps I’ll dedicate a speech in their honor tonight.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the chance,” Byleth commented with a hum. “After all, Lysithea has prepared a celebration in your name.”

Edelgard leaned away, squinting at Byleth’s face. “You jest.”

“Not at all. She was insistent we mark your return properly.”

“She should know better. To the lords and the army, I was merely scouting for Blaiddyd’s whereabouts. Any festivity would draw undue attention.”

“I disagree. The soldiers could use a bit of festivity after everything we’ve faced.” Byleth shifted, hand falling atop Edelgard’s leg. “El, they don’t need to know the truth. But we can give them this much, can’t we? And as for the Eagles, we want to demonstrate our happiness over your return.”

“Well… I suppose I can humor them with a small celebration. Any victory should be lauded.” Edelgard set the tray aside before draping her frame against Byleth. Despite this, the older woman remained rigid. Edelgard wondered at the reason for it. “...Byleth, is everything alright?”

“Of course! You’re here.” Byleth faced her, startled. “It was terrible without you, but now everything is as it should be.”

“Then why do you look as if the world is ending?”

“I don’t. I—” Blue eyes averted to the bedding. “I’m just worried about the future. We never know what might happen next.”

“I share your concerns. But we’re together again. For now, let us enjoy our good fortune and leave fretting for another day.” Edelgard cupped her lover’s chin. “Can you do this for me?”

Byleth’s answering smile was small but heartfelt. She took pale fingers between hers before pressing them to her lips. “There’s still much to discuss. Our newfound allies in Sreng foremost.”

“We’ll meet with them soon. For now, keep me warm?”

“As you desire, El.” She dipped her head and Edelgard met her eagerly. Her dream might have been a vision of the future she sought; gilded and pure as only things without flaw could be. Yet the kiss they shared was just as perfect. For the moment, Edelgard set aside all bleak musings and basked in the warmth of Byleth’s skin. She was owed a bit of respite after the horrors she experienced. They all were.

* * *

It was wise to keep the Srengian force at their gate from breaching their walls. Their allegiance was dubious at best and their intentions uncertain. Byleth had known it was the correct course of action without Lysithea’s cautioning. The fortification of Fódlan's border needed to be their priority. Even more so with El returned to them. Byleth doubted she could survive a second scare.

So she gave great care to their approach, steel heavy upon her belt and several guards in tow. She had not observed such care after the second siege of Cernunnos—an enemy would not have combated their kin without reason. However, their insistence upon an audience with the Emperor was suspect. El shared her reserve.

“We’ll hear what they have to say. Should they become hostile, keep the horses near the trees,” Edelgard instructed. She sat proudly upon her beloved white mare, draped in the striking red and gold of her House. Byleth’s chest swelled at the sight of her love and chosen Emperor. “We can flee and bar the gates before they can advance.”

“Let’s hope their goal is just.” Sylvain tugged at his beard, gaze roving beyond the frozen undergrowth. “They were curt with us last time. Damn near ignored. Yet they haven’t raised any bedlam and kept to themselves.”

“I didn’t get the sense they planned to invade. But they refused to speak with us further. Not without you.” Byleth refrained from mentioning they seemed to take exception with her specifically. She didn't know whether it was merely revulsion for any Fódlanic soldier or a personal grievance. Hopefully, the answer wouldn’t complicate matters.

“That’s the part I’m leery of,” Edelgard replied. She sat higher in the saddle as they approached the Srengian camp. “What could they be after? Justice for their murdered brethren, or a less volatile patron for their designs on the north?”

“It’s possible they intend to broker an agreement. I’ll tell you this, however. The tribes don’t forgive easily, nor do they forget.” Sylvain's voice lowered with an ominous weight. "Theirs is a culture of war, oft spurred by debts of blood. The conflict with the Kingdom never paid its due, so they take what they can. With the Kingdom gone, we have a chance to begin again.”

“Unless Adrestia accumulates its own debts, I gather.”

“If such things need to be paid, then so be it.” Byleth feigned obliviousness at Edelgard’s startled glance. She stared ahead, watching as a mass of Srengian warriors appeared. “I recognize the man in the middle. He spoke with Sylvain and I. Frode, as I recall.”

“Then let us greet him properly.” Edelgard hailed the gathering, authoritative and grand even when bereft of a crown. The warriors seemed to recognize her without introduction, trading whispers among themselves. Frode broke free of his fellows before nodding once.

“Hraesvelgr,” the man rumbled. It left his lips like a prayer. “The völva did not lie. The silver eagle marks you with its colors.”

“I know not what you speak. I come at the behest of my nation.”

Byleth tensed as El dismounted. Her movements were better than the day previous, but there remained a noticeable strain to her gait. Byleth hurried to join her, hoping the warriors couldn’t sense Edelgard’s diminished strength. Sylvain did the same, though not without making a foreign gesture with his fist. Frode returned it without blinking.

“You’ve brought the half-blood… and your úlfaskinn.” His grey eyes passed over Byleth. The emotion saturating his words wasn’t quite distaste. Cautious, perhaps. “Hraesvelgr, I prefer to speak without ears. They are not welcome.”

“They go where I do, hear what I do,” Edelgard insisted. She stood tall, jaw locked. “I will not send them away, nor allow myself to be sequestered from my generals.”

“Hmph." Frode seemed disgruntled by her rejection but didn't press it. He eyed Sylvain and Byleth quickly before crossing his large arms. "Follow me west. A clearing facing the mountain is there. The wind will carry our voices to the corpse-eater.”

“Corpse-eater?” The question ripped from Byleth without permission. Her curiosity was a burdensome trait she couldn’t quite stifle, and this instance was no different. Fortunately, Frode decided to humor her.

“The guardian of death; the ruler of mountains and sky. And the winged giant who shares his name with your Höfðingi.” He fanned a hand towards Edelgard. “She wears his colors—the silver of his feathers, and the pale flowers of his eyes.”

“Well, that’s certainly better than being likened to a serpent.” El sounded wry, if also heavily bemused. “I suppose that’s your god, then. Why ‘corpse-eater’?”

Frode didn’t elaborate, walking forward without pause. Sylvain chose to answer in his stead. “It’s not a god in the way you might imagine. It’s more… a creature that has always been and who will always be. It does not govern nor decide; it merely exists as a universal truth.”

“And what truth does it represent?” Byleth asked. She guarded her lover’s back as they followed Frode, palm resting atop the sword beneath her cloak. The gathering seemed to dismiss them, but one never knew if danger lurked. Fortunately, they allowed them to keep their mounts close.

“That all things end, and where death resides so too does life. Hraesvelgr overlooks the field of battle and swallows the dead. And it is there they become part of a new cycle. One day, even the world will be swallowed.” Sylvain shook his head, smiling faintly. “It sounds fatalistic and strange, I know. Hearing it as a boy, I preferred the certainty of the Goddess over Mother’s bleak tales.”

“So it’s not a god, but still governs death to an extent. I wonder why they revere such a creature.” El clicked her tongue. “And why they think I have anything to do with it. Is my coloring so striking?”

“Well, it’s not common. If you consider the giant eagle on your banners, can you blame them for assuming?” Sylvain laughed airily. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Your Majesty. Sreng isn’t like Fódlan when it comes to faith. Mother certainly isn’t a zealot.”

“Refreshing.”

The group fell into a companionable silence as they followed their guide. Frode seemed to be reclusive sort by nature. He never addressed them during the short journey, and only spoke in quick barks to a few passersby. It did not escape Byleth’s notice that many of them were unarmed, accompanied by children or the elderly. Why had the Srengians brought civilians among their soldiers?

After a time, Frode halted. The copse broke beyond his frame, widening to the clearing mentioned. The mountain’s jagged crown towered in the distance. El was the first to break the quiet.

“Now, shall we converse? I'm told your people were instrumental in guarding Cernunnos against invasion. Yet I can't help but question your motives." El waited for Frode to face them before continuing. “My war is with Rufus Blaiddyd and his allies. Of whom, are the Sreng tribes.”

“You speak of the veikburðae. They kneel out of fear.” Frode grunted, sneering. “My people did not bend. We watched from afar, thinking Gullhærð would die fast. He did not, and grew influence beneath the protection of Skuggahátalari—he who commands the dead.”

Byleth heard El mutter under her breath. “Thales…”

“Skuggahátalari wakes the dead. He promises to halt Hraesvelgr’s hunger. But death is part of life. All things must end so others can begin.” Frode appeared unnerved then, gaze darting to the mountain. “Lightbringer Baldr hatched the corpse-eater to learn this truth. Rejection upsets the laws of life. If it's stopped, many believe Baldr will eclipse the world in endless winter."

“Is that why you didn’t join them?” Byleth asked. Frode’s brow crumpled.

“We know no master. This belief is only an omen; a warning from our seers. Gullhærð is no threat, but Skuggahátalari commands terrible magicks. We knew Gullhærð’s promises were empty. There was no reason to trust him or the dreaded Skuggahátalari.”

“If I’m understanding correctly,” El began. Her stare narrowed with shrewd contemplation. “You see this as a threat to the natural order of the world. But the Srengians who kneel for Blaiddyd are afraid of retaliation. Can they be persuaded otherwise?”

“It is fear, but hope too. They desire a return to the Sreng of old. When our fields were green with bounty, not barren with ice.” Frode tipped his head forward. “We believe Baldr has sent you, Hraesvelgr’s mortal flesh, to conquer Skuggahátalari and his shadows.”

“You think I’m a part of this Hraesvelgr?”

“We know it. From the twinned eagle you bear.” Frode pointed to the embroidered eagle of Adrestia upon the Emperor’s cloak. To Byleth, this made a great deal of sense. They interpreted El’s House’s sigil and name as a tribute to this Hraesvelgr. It was fascinating and she made a note to question Sylvain at a later date. She doubted Frode would appreciate her pestering.

“Two heads of the same body. Hraesvelgr will continue its feast as you protect the order of Baldr. The same yet not.”

“Does this mean I have your loyalty?” El asked, cutting right to the point. Frode rolled his big shoulders.

“It means we will obey… to a point. Your purpose is to preserve the cycle of life and slay Skuggahátalari. Beyond this, we only recognize Baldr’s will.” Frode seemed to take in Sylvain’s measure. For the first time, recognition appeared to spark. “The half-blood and his family command lands that do not belong to them. And your úlfaskinn has ravaged many of our clansmen unjustly. There is a blood debt to pay.”

Byleth’s lurched at the man’s words. She felt the air thin, growing faint from the terrible truth. She had feared this possibility after her anger had cooled—that her sword had indiscriminately slaughtered more than Blaiddyd’s scouts. And now, the reality was confirmed in all its ignoble glory.

“Pardon?” Edelgard blinked, puzzled. Byleth looked away, unable to bear her impending disappointment and horror. “I understand your grievance with House Gautier, but are you referring to my general?”

“She hunted them. They journeyed to scout your lands and were given no mercy.”

“Don’t paint a false narrative,” Sylvain interjected. He glanced at Byleth before shaking his head. “Tensions were high and there was no way to judge the difference between your men and Blaiddyd’s. Don’t take his words to heart, Your Majesty.”

“She took many good hunters and warriors. Their blood is on her sword.”

“If they carried blades, then she had no choice but to assume hostility.”

“It does not matter. Blood must be answered with blood.”

“I can’t believe she would act without good cause. My High General is not a mindless beast.” El scoffed in disbelief. She looked at the older woman plaintively, yet Byleth still could not meet her gaze. “...Byleth?”

“It is as Sylvain says.” Byleth kept her stare upon Frode. Her voice was diminished, soft with regret. “I did not know the difference between Blaiddyd’s men and yours. However, I will not shirk the responsibility I carry. Whatever you ask of me as recompense, I will oblige.”

“Then you accept my claim.” Something that might have been respect appeared upon the man’s face. “For our people, death is a part of life. But we must decide if it was taken unjustly. To settle this, I call Einvingi.”

“Which is?” To Byleth’s chagrin, El bristled in her defense. She stepped in front of Byleth, obviously intending to shield her from harm.

“A Srengian duel, essentially,” Sylvain clarified. “Their leaders do not preside over civil or personal disputes. Instead, they settle grievances in battle. And the winner is considered the one who has the most righteous cause.”

“Ridiculous. A contest of strength shouldn’t decide morality of all things.”

“I ask you do not interfere, Hraesvelgr.” Frode rose to his full height. He was a bear of a man, looming over her darkly. El straightened her spine and met his glower without pause. “The úlfaskinn owes us blood, and we will not be satisfied until we have it.”

“And I owe you for my life.” Byleth clasped her lover’s arm, tugging El aside. She squeezed, subtly telling her to calm. Then she bowed towards Frode. “If this will join our people against Blaiddyd, then I accept your duel.”

“Byleth,” El hissed. She dug her fingers within Byleth’s cloak. It pained Byleth to know this was upsetting her, but there was nothing to be done. She refused to recant.

“You should feel pride, Hraesvelgr,” Frode crowed to the Emperor. “A lesser creature would have denied us Einvingi. The úlfaskinn honors you.”

“Pride is far from what I feel.” El’s voice was terse, strained like a wire fit to snap. “Are we quite done here, or will this duel be enacted immediately?”

“No. There must be time to select our champion.” Frode spread his arms. “The úlfaskinn may prepare too. When we have selected, we will approach your walls and hold the Einvingi. Leave in peace, Hraesvelgr. We will hold counsel after a victor is chosen.”

Satisfied, Frode left them within the clearing. It was strange how he regarded El; both reverent and careful to keep his distance. Byleth wondered if their gods were just as enigmatic as their people. She watched as El covered her face with a sigh.

“This duel… is it to the death? If so, then we must decline.” Sharp, lavender eyes cut to Byleth’s face. “Since our good general has clearly taken leave of her wits.”

“Not always,” Sylvain said. “It depends what terms Frode and his people present. Each tribe and its clansmen follow different traditions.”

“And what was it he kept calling her? Is it an insult?”

"Debatable. The literal meaning is 'wolf skin', but the name refers to a type of warrior." Sylvain shifted on his heels, discomforted. "It’s not explicitly derogatory.”

"Regardless, I don't care for the way he spoke to her. We should ignore this demand and try to proceed with negotiations when we can."

“I’ve already given my word, El. They’re expecting me to honor it.” Byleth moved closer to the younger woman, hesitant. “El, please understand—”

“Enough. I won’t hear another word.” Despite the cold words, Edelgard’s features unwound. Fatigue replaced her irritation. “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, we should return to Cernunnos and enjoy our momentary respite.”

Byleth flinched, shoulders dropping. El might not forgive her for this. But how else could she make amends? A grave mistake could not be easily brushed aside. Before she could slip deeper into shame, something clasped her fingers. Byleth looked down, observing El’s hand entwined around her own. El’s grip was tight, knuckles bloodless, and she knew then that anger was not what moved the woman. Rather, it was a deep concern. Byleth held her in return, hoping to transmit comfort.

They would need to speak, honestly and without omission. However, El had pleaded for this day to be untainted by dark worry. So Byleth would do her best to abide by that simple wish.

* * *

Edelgard was uncertain what emotion she should feel. Shock predominantly, and a healthy amount of regret for the innocent lives taken. Yet she wasn’t naive enough to believe such mistakes had never occurred beneath her notice. Not only for Byleth but all of the imperial soldiers clashing with Sreng. Such was the ugly nature of war.

Perhaps shame and anger should also join their kin. But Edelgard could not summon them. Byleth seemed all too plagued in her stead. Her lover was quiet during the ride back to Cernunnos. Sylvain had much to comment on regarding the pending duel, but not her. Edelgard wasn’t pleased by the affair, yet she knew it was beyond her control.

Byleth had made her decision, and there was no swaying her from it. Edelgard could see her resolve; the commitment to set this right. And who could tell her otherwise? In Edelgard’s dread, she wanted to insist Byleth was blameless. A silly impulse when all proof led to the contrary. Tonight, she would talk with her. There were many things they had left unsaid, and this counted among them.

Until then, Edelgard wanted to linger in the present. Lysithea was visibly ecstatic upon their return, taking her aside and jabbering on about the planned festivities. Edelgard couldn’t help but be swept away by her enthusiasm. It helped that Leonie and Sylvain were just as eager.

“When was the last time we held a celebration? I can scarcely remember.”

“Think it was after Fhirdiad. I remember you stuffing your face.”

“Piss off, milord. Though I guess it’s Margrave now. Does this mean I won’t be seeing your mug around the capital?”

“A change of lords will upset more than the gentry of Gautier, so I’m needed. Will you miss me, Leonie?”

“Pfft, fat chance of that.”

“You both act as if the celebration has already begun. How undignified of you.” Lysithea looked down her nose at the other two Eagles. Neither looked fooled by the exaggerated censure. “Edelgard, tell them to rein it in. It isn’t seemly for the Empire’s finest to act like children.”

“I can’t fault their excitement. I’m rather looking forward to it as well.” Edelgard smiled fondly at her friends. Their faces were open and unmarred by strife. Not quite the same as her dream, but it would suffice for the time being. Lysithea made a faint noise of exasperation but quickly relaxed.

“Well, I suppose it isn’t a common affair. But try not to debase yourselves. I don’t want any chaos in our midst, only merriment.”

“Should they fall out of line, I’ll wrangle them,” Ingrid replied, ever steadfast. Lysithea seemed appeased.

“It’s nice to know I can always depend on you. Unlike some.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, do we have the stores for a grand party in the first place?” Leonie made a show of looking about the premises. “We brought a few wagons to resupply, but won’t a feast deplete Cernunnos?”

“Blaiddyd had stocked the stores high during his brief tenure,” Edelgard explained. “We’re in no danger of running low, though your wagons are appreciated. We’ll send them for Taranis.”

“Which means our plans for a banquet are quite feasible. I’m sure you’re all thrilled.” Lysithea looked between Byleth and Ingrid slyly. It didn’t surprise her to see the latter perk at the news. However, Byleth only offered a dim smile.

“That’s wonderful to hear. A warm meal will do wonders for morale,” she said. It was a diplomatic if bland answer. Edelgard tried not to ponder where her mind might be. She felt Byleth’s palm settle around her waist, pacifying.

“It’ll certainly do wonders for mine. Oh, but…” Ingrid cringed, expression sheepish. “Maybe I shouldn’t attend. Father will be there and I just know he’ll have choice words for me.”

“If he harps on about your service or scolds your hunger, I’ll have him thrown into the snow.”

“Lysithea is right, Ingrid. We won’t allow him to ruin this for you.” Edelgard caught the hesitation upon Ingrid’s features. “You deserve a night to indulge yourself without reprimand. This may be to mark my return in part, but it’s also for you—the ones who shielded Fódlan's border.”

“Your Majesty...”

“If it helps, my mother will be there too.” Sylvain tucked his cane beneath an arm. He didn't seem to need it anymore, save for long treks. Edelgard was glad his recovery had been without complication. "We’ll be united against them! Just like when we were kids.”

“That was more you and Felix’s war than mine." Ingrid appeared to resist for a moment longer before breaking into a relieved smile. “The fortress is rather large, so perhaps I won’t stumble into him. Do you think there will be pheasant?”

“A few hunters have been sent south so I’m sure they’ll return with a few.”

“Then it’s settled. Every Eagle in the fort will be there. The heroes of Cernunnos!” Leonie slung a companionable arm around Ingrid’s neck, beaming. “Joined by their indomitable Emperor and High General. We’ll be the envy of the night.”

“I look forward to a peaceful eve,” Lysithea sighed out. “One without any surprise incursions preferably. We need the respite.”

“It’s long overdue. Tonight, my friends, I want you to think only of yourselves.” Edelgard glanced at each of their faces. She places a hand over her chest in salute. “To you, the shields of Fódlan.”

“And to Her Majesty,” Byleth said. Her breath tickled Edelgard’s cheek. “Who conquered the frozen wilds to return to us.”

“As Caspar would say—hear, hear!” Leonie snagged the Emperor's arm with her free one. She led both of her unwitting captives towards the great hall. "Let’s drink and feast until we burst. I have a feeling Captain Jeralt is smiling down upon us. Let’s make him proud!”

* * *

Catherine wiped her face, sweat dripping from her brow. She noted the lit braziers with dull interest. Yet they were not alight for war, merely revelry. Catherine could hear the imperial soldiers clap and laugh among themselves, joined by mutual triumph. She exhaled, resting her hammer atop the anvil. She stared at the crackling embers.

“I’m surprised, Catherine.” Shamir’s voice cut the air. The dark-haired woman slipped from the shadows as if borne of them. Had she not been accustomed to such antics, Catherine might have been unnerved. “It isn’t like you to be reclusive. You were often the first to drink yourself into a stupor.”

“I was younger then.”

“You act as if it’s been years. Try a handful of months.” Shamir smirked, though her gaze was dark. She didn’t speak of their church days lightly. Catherine snorted with self-directed ridicule.

“Younger in mind. Truthfully, I’ve always felt like the same girl who sought sanctuary within the Church. Never changing, never growing.” Catherine wiped her neck with the rag, lost to memory. “I feel like the years have finally caught up to me. I know where I’m wanted now, and where I’m not.”

“Is that what this is about?” She could hear the frown within Shamir’s tone. “You deserve to be there just as they do.”

“Edelgard would disagree. As would the others.”

“I want you there. So whose opinion do you care about more?” Shamir sidled near, moving between Catherine and the forge. She tangled her fingers within fair strands, unraveling the tie. “Theirs or mine?”

“You know the answer.” Catherine relented with a grin. She took in the elegant slope of Shamir’s nose, the moonglow of her skin, and the ink of her hair. How could she argue against such beauty? Who would dare? “When you look at me like this, I can’t say no. Very underhanded of you, Lady Shamir.”

“Don’t call me that in front of them.” Violet eyes rolled. “I’m only collecting what I’m owed. I’ve had a miserable week and I would prefer it if my partner wasn’t sulking like a child.”

“Ouch. But I get your point.” Catherine held her close before moving away. She reached within her forge apron, knuckles brushing against patterned steel. “Hold out your hand for a moment.”

“Finally mustered the courage to give me a ring?”

“Hey, I’ll get there! Just need to find the right material. Until then…” Catherine presented the bangle she had forged. Her thumb grazed the knob of Shamir’s wrist, asking wordlessly for permission. “...Never ask me to take it again? You have no idea how worried I was.”

“I’ll try.” Shamir’s features softened. She allowed Catherine to place the bangle where it belonged. It hung from her wrist with poignant weight. Briefly, Catherine thought to insist further but decided to let the matter go. She knew Shamir would not leave her willingly, and only acted to protect their new life. It would have to be enough.

“Guess I should get changed,” Catherine remarked with a feigned grumble. She rumpled her hair self-consciously. “Do you think anyone will recognize me? Maybe I should go by an alias. The northern lords might catch on if I go by Cassandra.”

“If anyone asks, you’re just a hapless smith from Culann. It’s mostly the truth.” Shamir’s fingers danced up her neck, prickling bronze skin. She appeared deep in thought suddenly. “...Before we leave, we should discuss something. I don’t want you to be blindsided.”

“Heh, that sounds ominous.” Catherine’s smile fell. “What happened?”

“Arundel has Rhea's corpse. Edelgard is certain he intends to raise it.” Shamir met her gaze, expression neutral as the blood left Catherine's face. "He needed her crest, from what I understand. But there’s a chance Arundel could still succeed. I don’t need to tell you what would happen if he does.”

“The Lady’s…?” Catherine bit her tongue, shaken. She made a fist before forcing herself to settle. "I see."

“Catherine, are you—” Shamir paused. Her stare became hooded, features blank. Perhaps guarding herself against pain. "Does this change anything?”

“No.” Catherine blinked before embracing Shamir tight. She wouldn’t allow her partner to doubt her devotion. “Never. Even if he succeeds, I wouldn’t leave you for anything. My oaths are to you and no other.”

It was the truth, and Shamir seemed to take heart from her words. Catherine would die before abandoning their life together. Yet despite her confidence, she felt a remnant of fear. What would it mean for the world if Rhea arose from the grave whole? More war, more death? A return of the Church and its militants?

Perhaps she wouldn’t be whole at all, and remain a puppet within Arundel’s grasp. Catherine wasn’t sure and deeply wished she would never know the answer.

* * *

Spirits were high and the grand hall was aglow with life. Edelgard watched the proceedings, hands folded atop her lap. Beside her, Lysithea clapped her hands in time with the drums, laughing as a group of soldiers danced across the stones. Her advisor was normally so stern and committed to maturity, but she had abandoned the pretense this night.

At a nearby table, Ingrid and Leonie feasted their fill. A few pegasi cadets flanked the captains, making pleasant conversation among themselves. And beyond was Sylvain. He chatted up a few maids who swooned upon his every word. Edelgard thought Ingrid would be irate over this, yet she appeared apathetic at best. She assumed they had resolved the issue of his abrupt proposal.

Not for the first time, Edelgard congratulated her sense of taste. Byleth might give her trouble every so often, but at least she wasn’t a philanderer. She stole a glance at her lover. The older woman was speaking with the acting lord of Fraldarius. Sir Quincy was genial enough and according to Lysithea, had lent his men for the siege. Edelgard made a note to herself, intending to reward his loyalty later. She smiled as Byleth gesticulated with her hands, apparently amid a rousing tale.

“She did well, you know.”

Edelgard craned her head as Lysithea spoke. The younger woman appeared to be analyzing her expression. "Byleth. She led well during the attack. Without her heading the cavalry, the walls would have breached.”

“She doesn’t seem to share your opinion.” Edelgard pursed her lips. “Frode, the Srengian chief we spoke with, claimed she killed his scouts. Do you believe there’s truth to this?”

“Of course, but you know as well as I do that it’s never so simple.” Lysithea’s attention fell upon the woman in question. “Byleth grieved for you. She nearly became undone in your absence. I won’t contest that. But she came to her senses and held the north.”

“And I am grateful to her. Yet Frode wants recompense. He insisted upon a duel, and Byleth agreed.” Edelgard exhaled sharply. She could not stop frustration from saturating her words. “One disaster averted and another to brave. When will it end?”

“Nothing worth fighting for was ever easily won,” Lysithea remarked sagely.

“Perhaps. But would it hurt to have a single moment of peace? It seems we never lack for adversity.” Edelgard fell silent as she scanned the gathering of soldiers. “...I wonder at the concept of justice. For us, it’s stopping Blaiddyd’s advance. Yet Frode and his people contend with threats infesting every corner of Sreng. Byleth’s actions, well-meant or no, cannot be brushed aside. Should I deny them their justice in pursuit of mine?”

“This is your empathy speaking. It does you credit, yet we both know what you desire.”

“I suppose we do.” Edelgard gnawed on her bottom lip. “I can’t give her to them. Yet not doing so would make me a hypocrite.”

“Edelgard, this decision isn’t for you to make. It’s Byleth’s. If she agreed to the duel, then you should accept her choice.” Lysithea touched the Emperor’s hand, consoling. “Speak with her more; hear her thoughts. I fully believe things will turn out for the best.”

“This unbridled optimism is unlike you, Lysithea.”

“Quite. However, it worked well for you, didn’t it?”

Edelgard blinked, unable to find a suitable retort. Lysithea bobbed her head amiably. “I thought so. Everything from Byleth’s disappearance to yours has concluded with the best outcome. I don’t place my faith in the Goddess. But I do place it with you and her. So far, that has yet to fail me.”

The Emperor could not argue against that. So she deigned to still her tongue, eyeing the dancing throng of servants and soldiers alike. Lysithea took the momentary victory with grace, returning to clapping her hands with the jaunty music. After some time, Sylvain slipped from his admirers and joined them.

“A lively gathering, this. Makes me nostalgic.” He grinned rakishly. “Remember our dance, Your Majesty? I could go for a repeat if you’re amenable.”

“Try your luck elsewhere, Margrave Gautier. You won’t take me for a whirl.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I respect you far too much.” Sylvain waggled his eyebrows at Lysithea. “What of you, Lady Ordelia? You never know, perhaps we’ll be a grand love story for the ages.”

“Ugh. A grand comedy, you mean. I would rather dance with a mollusk.”

“There are mollusks here?” Ingrid walked up, nibbling on a pheasant leg. She was rather graceful despite it all. “Where? I would love some to cleanse my palate.”

“No such luck. However—” The gleam in Lysithea’s eyes was impish. She darted forward, taking Ingrid’s hand in hers. Then she turned her nose up at Sylvain. “Pardon us, but I believe I’m already spoken for. Come, Captain. We shall be the jewels of Cernunnos.”

“What?!”

Edelgard chuckled, thoroughly amused as Lysithea tugged Ingrid into a dance. The latter was stiff for a time but eventually settled into her partner’s rhythm. As for Sylvain, he just gawked at the two women.

“She did that just to spite me. The nerve of that brat…” He scrunched his nose before taking Lysithea’s empty chair. “Whatever. She can have that one. It’ll do Ingrid some good to let loose.”

“Are you not envious?” Edelgard asked. “I was under the impression you intended courtship. Ingrid informed me of your proposal.”

Sylvain shrugged, fiddling with the hairs on his chin.

“I gave up my pursuit. Ingrid's a fine woman and a great friend. But marriage isn't in the cards for us." Despite his casual words, Edelgard sensed a tinge of regret. “My reason for proposing was selfish. Something so serious shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“Mature of you," Edelgard sniped.

“I have my moments. I do wonder who’ll gain the honor of her affection. I don’t know whether to pity or envy them. Ingrid is stalwart but she can be a handful.”

“If ever that day comes, I’m sure they’ll be someone of matching caliber.” Edelgard observed Ingrid dancing with Lysithea. They weren’t the most elegant pair, Ingrid appeared far too awkward leading, yet they were entertaining to behold. Her brow rose as she noticed another striking couple. "I see Shamir and Catherine have decided to show."

“And just like that, the evening is a wash.” Sylvain scowled before rising to his feet. “Excuse me, I think I’ll grab a drink or ten.”

“Calm yourself. They’ve earned this night as we have.” Edelgard peered at him, curious about his attitude. “I owe Shamir for my survival.”

“Shamir is only concerned about herself. She proved that at the academy.” Sylvain took his leave then, waving a hand. “Excuse me, Your Majesty. I have to check on my mother and the other lords. Should I field their questions about you?”

“If you would. I don’t wish to be accosted by them tonight.” Edelgard eyed the man as he departed. It wasn’t a surprise to hear his persisting hostility. He wasn’t wrong in some ways, yet Edelgard could understand Shamir’s position. It was clear to her that the Dagdan woman never cared for her benefactor. But the same couldn’t be said for Catherine. Edelgard would be lying if she claimed not to understand the motivation. Love, one-sided and terrible, made a mockery of them all.

Perhaps not as one-sided as before, Edelgard conceded silently. She rose higher in her seat as the two women approached. “Shamir. Catherine. Lovely to see you.”

“No need to lie through your teeth, Emperor. We won’t stay for long,” Catherine replied, arms crossed. She had cleaned up for the occasion, hair brushed out and unbound. And while Edelgard wasn’t attracted to her particular charm, she could admit the woman cut a handsome figure. With her svelte counterpart, they garnered frequent admiring looks.

“I had to drag her away from the anvil.” Shamir acknowledged the Emperor with a tilt of her head. “She owes me a dance, and I always collect my debts.”

“Then the floor is yours. I hope you enjoy yourselves”

Catherine's stare narrowed. Perhaps she was gauging whether Edelgard's words were genuine. Yet before either of them could respond Leonie stumbled into view. She draped herself obnoxiously over Catherine’s flank, cheeks flushed bright as a strawberry.

“Catherine, my good chum! Lend me your arm a spell. I promised my recruits a show.” She tipped into the nearest table before plopping herself down. Leonie grinned widely, reeking of liquor-induced confidence as she raised an arm. “I wagered I could out muscle anyone here, and who better to use for a demonstration than you? Have at ‘em, Thunder Cat!”

“You’re drunk.”

“And you’re past your prime. Go on, tussle with me!”

“Catherine’s arm might be too much for you, Leonie.” Byleth decided to make her appearance then, blue eyes darting between Leonie and her would-be opponent. She placed a gentle hand atop Leonie’s back. “I don’t recommend testing her. How about we grab a pitcher of water?”

“I can handle Catherine just fine. Besides, she’s aging fast and I’m coming into my stride. I’ll wipe the floor with her.”

“You’ll regret that, Pinelli.” Catherine seemed to bristle, tendons flexing beneath dark skin. She took the seat opposite Leonie, wrapping the younger woman's hand within hers. Edelgard watched this all warily, considering if she should intervene. Byleth shared her concern if the frown she wore was any indication.

“Leonie—”

“Someone oversee this!” Leonie’s head whipped to Edelgard. “Your Majesty, would you do the honors?”

“If I must.” She muffled a sigh, standing. “Ready yourselves on my mark.”

“Oh, I’m ready!” Leonie grinned, bleary-eyed and rosy. Edelgard spared a moment of pity for her. Leonie might be formidable, but Catherine was sober and fierce. The muscles she sported were not merely decoration.

“One, two…” Edelgard clasped their wrists. Then she released them. “Now!”

“Wait, you’re not gonna say—”

Whatever Leonie meant to protest was lost as the back of her hand wrenched over the table’s surface. She choked, cheeks red from more than just alcohol. Catherine looked unmoved, bending Leonie’s arm as easily as paper. With one last feeble gasp, Leonie tried to push against her opponent. Yet it was to no avail. A breath later, her hand slapped flat against the table.

“Looks like my win.” Catherine leaned away. “You’re lucky we weren’t playing for coin. I was the champion of our barracks.”

“It’s true,” Shamir commented blandly. She appeared bored. “Nearly shattered Alois’ wrist once.”

“A shame he isn’t here. I could have conned him into a rematch.”

“You just got lucky,” Leonie grumbled. Her mouth dipped into a pout. She sent a curious look at Edelgard, pleading. “Avenge my honor, Your Majesty? For the pride of the Eagles!”

“I’m tempted. But I doubt I’ll stand a chance… currently.” Edelgard eyed Catherine askance, bemoaning her lost strength. A few more days of balanced meals and she would be in top form. Now, however, she would be lucky to best a mouse.

“I’ll compete in El’s stead.” In a surprising turn, Byleth neared the table. She took Leonie's seat, her expression comically dire. "Allow me to be Adrestia’s champion.”

“Ha! You and I? There’s a thought.” Catherine seemed intrigued by the idea, grin sharp. She held out her arm. “I’ll try not to break your fingers. I have a feeling the Emperor would execute me on principle.”

“That’s a crude assumption,” Edelgard returned stiffly.

“Oho! So defensive, Your Majesty. My implication was innocent.” Catherine's smirk turned beatific. Edelgard didn’t trust it in the slightest. “Let’s get this over with, General. I’d like to enjoy the rest of my night.”

Byleth clasped the smith’s hand, face adorably scrunched. She seemed to be taking this quite seriously, though Edelgard failed to understand why. But if Byleth was having fun, then she wouldn’t ruin it. Edelgard cleared her throat as she touched their hands. They barely heeded her count before they began struggling for supremacy.

Byleth appeared to be holding her own at the start. Her arm was firm, wrist straight if slightly warbling under the older woman’s grip. As for Catherine, she didn’t look to be trying at all. She was obnoxiously stoic, gaze flat. Then, Byleth’s arm slowly lost ground. Her jaw bunched as she strained harder, a bead of sweat dotting her brow.

Just when it seemed her attempt at attrition had failed, Shamir bent to Catherine’s ear. Edelgard assumed the woman planned to whisper something but failed to anticipate what happened next. She watched, scandalized, as Shamir jerked her partner into an indecent kiss. A second later, Catherine’s hand slapped against the table.

“I won,” Byleth said with a pant. She seemed just as stunned as the rest of them. Catherine blinked at the table before flashing her partner a scowl.

“What was that for? I had her!”

“You’ll live. I got tired of waiting.” Shamir flipped her hair, glancing at the dancing celebrants. “You promised me a dance, not to watch as you stroke your enormous ego.”

“Alright, I guess I’ve had my fill...” Catherine shook her head in bemusement before climbing to her feet. She sent Byleth a cursory look. “Let’s call this a draw, Eisner. We’ll settle this for real another time. Hopefully, on a day when my lady love can’t interfere.”

“Audacious of you to make plans with another woman in front of me.”

“I would never dance with her as I do with you.” Catherine’s voice trailed as the pair bled into the crowd. Edelgard felt her face pinch at the overheard flirtations. Leonie broke into a hiccoughing laugh.

“Well, that was fun. But it’s time for me to retire, methinks. My head is fuzzy.” She clapped Edelgard and Byleth on the back. Then Leonie stumbled in the direction of the eastern wing. Edelgard would have been concerned for her safety had she not witnessed Ingrid move to assist. Lysithea trailed after them, shaking her head in disapproval.

“That was something, wasn’t it?” Byleth chuckled. The sound was oddly labored. Edelgard focused upon her, concerned.

“Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing. Just sprained a joint.” Byleth tried to rotate her wrist. She flinched violently. “Or perhaps it’s broken. Hard to tell really.”

“Ugh, that brute.” Edelgard clicked her teeth together, tempted to run after Catherine for this offense. In the end, she chose to take care of Byleth. Her well-being was far more vital. “Come with me. We have a few tonics in our quarters."

“El, I’m fine. Honest.” Byleth tried to hide her injured limb from sight. “You should enjoy the evening.”

“I was, but then you and Catherine decided to upend it with that silly game.” Edelgard sniffed, pulling her lover towards the stairs. “Follow, if you please. I shan’t ask again.”

Byleth audibly exhaled but gave no protest. She followed, her head bowed like a scolded dog. She stayed that way until they reached their room, blue eyes dark and morose. Edelgard was tempted to pinch her cheek, if only to wash away that miserable look upon Byleth’s face. She presented the tonic with a flourish, nearly shoving it at her lover.

“Drink up. Then we can try to salvage the night.”

“I’m sorry, El.” Byleth sipped on the vulnerary, still forlorn. “I made a crock of things again.”

“Well, I’m not pleased you decided to test your strength against a person who smites metal for a living. Not exactly your finest moment.” Edelgard relaxed her stringent tone as Byleth began to slump. “But I know you were just defending my honor. It was sweet of you.”

“I wanted to prove myself,” Byleth admitted. She set the empty vial aside, rubbing her knuckles idly. “Not just then, but always. I have much I need to atone for.”

“What do you mean?”

“El, don’t.” She met Edelgard’s gaze levelly. “You know what I speak of. We should talk about it.”

“Byleth, the night has been pleasant and I would prefer not to—”

“I know, but this needs to be said. I fear I’ll never have the chance otherwise.”

Edelgard regarded her at length, reluctant to allow the subject to persist. Yet Byleth’s pained expression finally convinced her. She joined her atop the bed. “I’m listening.”

“...It wasn’t premeditated, my rage,” Byleth began. Her hands settled limply atop her lap. She stared at them blankly. “I don’t want you to think I hunted for sport. It wasn’t something I gave much thought to at all. I felt… so much. Grief, worry, fear, and terrible anger. In the turmoil, I recalled the words you once gave me.”

“Which?”

“After my father’s death. Do you remember?” Byleth’s expression was wistful then. “You called me to act, to move forward and not wait for time to heal my wounds. Even then, I was surprised at how curt you were. But I couldn't deny it.”

“Ah… that wasn’t the best way I could have handled the situation.” Edelgard grimaced, abashed by her youthful passion. “I wanted to break your melancholy. But that haste was in part to my own selfish designs. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize. I needed to hear it. And in your absence, I tried to act as you would have.” Byleth took a prolonged breath. “I failed. In my desire to keep moving, I lost sight of our purpose here. I was consumed with the need to find you—to protect you. I fixated on my failure and nearly cost us this war.”

“That isn’t true.”

“But it is, El. I killed any Srengian warrior I came across, asked no questions, and slew with malice. I wanted to move our army eastward, taking the last fort. I was convinced that’s where Blaiddyd held you captive. If not for Lysithea, I would have. And then Cernunnos would be lost to us again.”

“We can’t know what might have been,” Edelgard insisted. She took Byleth’s limp hands within her own. “And you chose to correct path despite it all. What happened to Frode’s people is a tragedy, but so is this war. Do you think my actions are bloodless? The burden of leadership is being forced to make decisions with imperfect knowledge.”

“And I must pay for the mistakes I made as a result.” Byleth reciprocated Edelgard’s grip before slipping free. “This duel will be the beginning. I won’t shirk the responsibility I bear.”

“Byleth, I won’t allow them to take you from me. I can’t.”

“If I were any other soldier, this is what you would expect.” Byleth’s troubled expression gentled, turning plaintive. “You accept my mishaps and idiosyncrasies because you love me. But it’s not fair of me to rely on your favor. I must stand on my own merits if I’m ever to be your equal.”

“You’ve given great thought to this,” Edelgard observed. She felt her gut swoop, knowing she could not convince Byleth to submit. “And what should I do if they try to claim your life? Do you expect me to stand aside?”

“Sylvain said death wasn’t certain. Nonetheless, I’ll do my best so you won’t be forced to decide.” Byleth’s mouth lifted into a hesitant grin. Edelgard shouldn’t have been charmed, considering the context. Yet the heart was a mysterious thing, and she found herself hopelessly snared. “El, I know I’m not the best general or soldier. Yet I want to be, for you. Allow me to make this right.”

“I never doubted your ability,” Edelgard replied. She touched Byleth’s face, tracing the edge of her mouth. “If I wanted a perfect general, I would have invited someone far less troublesome to my bed.”

“Oh. Would you prefer Ingrid then?”

“Honestly, why do I put up with you?” Edelgard sighed but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Byleth, I chose you because I trust you above all others. So I will allow you to do what you feel is right. But should you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint.” Byleth nuzzled close, pressing her lover to the sheets. Her weight was welcoming, filling Edelgard with rare contentment. “El, I missed you. So much so, it felt as if I was drowning. I feared I lost you forever, unable to say goodbye. Just like Jeralt.”

“I’m here now.”

“I know, and it feels like a dream.” Byleth lifted her head. She seemed to drink in Edelgard’s features. “May I embrace you?”

“I thought that’s what you were doing,” Edelgard mused. Yet beneath Byleth’s yearning stare, she suddenly caught on to her meaning. She blushed instinctively. “O-Oh. I suppose that’s alright.”

“Are you sure?” Byleth pulled away a bit, trailing a hand down Edelgard’s formal gown. Her fingers tapped meaningfully against thin ribs. “You feel so delicate. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I won’t break, darling.” Edelgard tugged the older woman down until she rested against her once more. She combed through Byleth’s mussed tresses. “Let go of your fear and anguish. Show me the love that threatened to set the wilds aflame. Burn me with it, so that I may never forget this night.”

Byleth chose to respond with a fervent kiss. And just as foretold, it was hungry and consuming as any wildfire. She felt the heat of her passion, the agony of her sorrow, and the eternal devotion she carried. Edelgard strove to match her, knowing the wild heart her lover could not be tamed with anything less. They made love as they never had; nails and teeth striving to devour. But where they lacked in soft caresses, love never strayed.

By the end, Byleth held her as if she would never part. Their skin was damp, but the cold could not touch them here. Edelgard was unaware how much time had passed, but from the faint rays of light peeking through the curtain, she knew morning had arrived. She laughed into Byleth’s chest.

“Hmm?”

“It’s nothing. Just remembering what you said some days ago.” Edelgard played with a lock of teal hair. “The best kind of dreams are those we know will come true.”

“I remember,” Byleth murmured. “You asked me why you should dream of the coming dawn.”

“I was being mulish. When I dreamt, they were rarely pleasant. But I think that’s beginning to change.” Edelgard closed her eyes. “From now on, I wish to dream of this moment. Because I know it will come true.”

“Lazing in bed until morning?”

“Perhaps that’s part of it.” She felt the sun fan across her skin. It soaked into the sheets and banished the shadows. “Heralding the dawn with you. That’s what I’ll dream of.”

Byleth didn’t speak again, but she didn’t need to. Edelgard could hear the happy thunder of her heart. To her, it sounded as wonderful as any vow.

Next Chapter: The Wolf of the South

Chapter Text

It was rare for Edelgard to laze about. Sleeping through the morning was for children, not for crowned rulers of the Empire. Yet their night had been long and fruitful, Byleth’s warmth dissipating any thought of the outside world. Of course, all pleasant things ended eventually. So when Edelgard opened her eyes after a brief slumber, she was not surprised to find the sun nearing its apex. Midday approached without care for the weary.

Byleth slept on, oblivious to the waning morning. Edelgard watched her in silence, counting each rise of her chest and flutter of her lashes. Her lover was beautiful no matter the circumstance, yet she looked positively angelic when asleep. Edelgard swept a stray lock of teal from Byleth’s brow. The older woman did not stir.

Edelgard rested there until her stomach rumbled. She sighed, reluctant to rise. However, the light of day called and so did her duties. Perhaps, if she was quick, Edelgard could sneak to the kitchen and return Byleth's gesture. She wasn't learned in the culinary arts—campfire skewers hardly applied—but she could try. Warming to the idea, Edelgard rose. With careful steps, she dressed before slipping into the hall.

The Emperor had expected to see the keep’s occupants fluttering about. Perhaps she might glimpse the clipped stride of Lysithea as she tended to the army’s affairs. Yet there was no one to be found. Edelgard frowned, mildly perturbed by the absence. Had something happened? Surely, her Eagles would have woken them in the event of a crisis. Edelgard hastened her pace. She halted upon entering the common room, jarred by the figure leaning against the hearth.

Catherine loomed within the shadows, features lit by the leaping flames. She didn’t appear to notice the Emperor, stare fixed upon the fire. There was no panic to be found upon her person, nor any hint of distress. Perhaps Edelgard’s anxiety was unfounded after all. She settled, deigning to observe Catherine further. She looked rumpled from sleep but otherwise alert. Edelgard moved to depart when Catherine spoke.

“If you’re looking for someone, they’re likely snoring away the morning.” The tall woman shrugged carelessly. “Whole army was soaked last night. Even Shamir drank more than usual.”

“But not you.” Edelgard leaned on her heels, torn between engaging in small talk and leaving. In the end, her begrudging gratitude won out. She might not like Catherine, but she played a part in Cernunnos’ stability. Such a thing couldn't be ignored. “I take it you hold your liquor better than most. Or are you simply walking off your hangover?”

“More the former. That’s not the reason I’m awake though.” Catherine placed a hand above the mantle, never glancing away from the hearth. Her broad frame was emphasized by the firelight, tossing long shadows upon the wall. It made her appear a giant, and Edelgard became uncomfortably aware of how small she was by comparison. “I’m accustomed to waking before dawn. Both the Knights and my current trade demanded it. Shamir is the same, but she sleeps deeper after drinking.”

“You know her well,” Edelgard commented blandly. Catherine just tossed her a smirk.

“She knows me better. Not as dense as I am.” The Faerghian woman paused. Her silence changed into something contemplative. “But it wasn’t habit alone that kept me restless. Shamir told me what you saw… Who you found.”

Edelgard tensed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Emperor. I’m not in the mood.”

The words elicited an instinctive urge to bristle, yet the emotion coloring them gave Edelgard pause. Rather than angry, Catherine sounded worn; brittle.

“I tried not to think about it,” the woman continued. “Did my damnedest to leave it be. It’s easy when I’m around Shamir. Then she fell asleep, and I couldn’t stop my mind from turning. All the things that happened. All that could happen. So please, if you have any mercy in your heart, tell me. Was it truly her?”

“Only the remains of what she became. The Immaculate One.” Edelgard waited for Catherine’s response, but there was little change. She nodded faintly, blue eyes reflecting snarling embers.

“I imagine that’s what Arundel plans to puppet beneath Rufus’ flag.”

“Shamir told you quite a bit. I’m surprised she held nothing back.”

“We don’t keep secrets from each other, Emperor. Not anymore.” Catherine’s brow furrowed. “Do you truly believe Arundel has the power?”

“Without a doubt. However, he requires a key ingredient for his scheme—a natural-born crest of Seiros. Without my blood, it's hard to say if he'll succeed.”

“Suppose it always comes back to crests.” A noise lurched from the older woman's chest. It sounded like a mix between a cynical laugh and a growl. Edelgard looked at her sidelong.

“I’m surprised you’re not leaping with excitement. Your adoration of the archbishop was widely known.”

“I’m no fool. Whatever Arundel brings back won’t be Lady Rhea. And even if it was—” Catherine’s mouth clicked shut as if realizing she said too much. “My service is over; my vows null. If she were whole in mind as well as body, I would still choose the life I have now.”

“Forgive my skepticism,” Edelgard began. She regarded Catherine coolly, unmoved. “But I find that rather hard to believe. You speak with such confidence only because you know she’s lost to you.”

“Think what you want. I don’t have the energy to argue.”

“I shall. I haven’t forgotten the atrocities you perpetuated beneath her banner. The burning of Fhirdiad was only the culmination of a long and bloody history.” Edelgard watched with grim satisfaction as Catherine flinched. She went on, scenting weakness. “If she were here before you, demanding your fealty, I am certain your resolve would crumble. It was only her loss that forced you to relent. At your core, you remain her knight.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Then let’s pursue a brief hypothetical. Imagine that day in Fhirdiad, yet this time I perish along with my army. In this new world, the Church is victorious and all it took was a pyre of innocent people. Tell me, what would you have felt?”

“Stop it,” Catherine hissed. She pushed away from the hearth, pacing like a caged animal. Edelgard laced her fingers, undaunted by her agitation.

“Even now, had you the power, you would make that sacrifice. You would return to Rhea’s heel and bask in the satisfaction of your master. And if anyone were to intervene, perhaps Shamir—”

“No. I would not.” Catherine stilled, face crumpling. She appeared pained, on the brink of tears. It was startling, and Edelgard found her tongue caught. “You want me to admit my wretchedness? I do readily. The Knight I was would have done all you claimed. Yet I would fall upon my sword before I hurt Shamir. And if I could return to that day, I would thrust Thunderbrand within the Archbishop’s heart.”

Edelgard blinked, ready to dismiss the claim. Yet there was a fervency to Catherine’s gaze that couldn’t be ignored.

“It would have been a kindness to kill her the moment she gave the order,” Catherine rasped. "I think about it often. What if I dared to end it there? She wasn't the Lady I recognized. Surely, the Goddess wept to see her in such a piteous state. But I was cowardly. I thought only of returning to the days before the war, ignoring reason. Shamir knew. She always did, and I ignored her."

Edelgard watched as Catherine turned away, face shrouded by her palms. “I blamed the Empire because it was all I could do. I didn’t want to acknowledge our Lady’s fallibility, the numerous flaws within the Church. If I did, then what would it mean for me? Within the Goddess' forgiveness, I could bear to look at myself. Without that, I was left only with self-loathing."

“That’s a pathetic way to live,” Edelgard replied. While the observation was harsh, her tone was soft with pity. Catherine nodded, conceding.

“It was the core of Thunder Catherine. I worshiped the Lady, willingly offered myself as a mindless blade, that much is true. No longer.” She faced the Emperor, expression drawn. “I meant what I said in Culann. I won’t fight your judgment.”

“Your partner disagrees. She will ask me to spare you.” Edelgard frowned as she pondered the many favors owed. If pressed, she couldn’t in good conscience deny Shamir anything. Catherine didn’t seem to share this opinion.

“It isn’t her decision to make. When the time comes, judge me as I am. I will be content with whatever you decide, so long as Rufus faces justice.” Catherine wiped her face discreetly. She focused on the crackling hearth. “I tire of living in shame. For once, I want to live with pride.”

“I hadn’t expected such candidness from you,” Edelgard admitted. “The Ser Catherine I faced in Fhirdiad would sooner perish than admit her wrongdoing.”

“She did, in a way. I left that city in pieces. Thought maybe I could find someone to cobble me together again. Be it Shamir or my estranged family." Catherine seemed to collect herself, face clearing. “In the end, it needed to be me. So I forged myself anew. Can you understand that, Emperor?”

“Edelgard. I would rather you use my name than a title you don’t respect.”

“You’re wrong,” the smith insisted. “If I didn’t respect you—your strength or your intelligence—I wouldn’t have sought the Empire’s help.”

Edelgard just blinked, having no quick retort for that. She relented beneath her logic. “I suppose that’s true. Still, there’s too much blood between us for me to believe you’re suddenly an ardent supporter.”

“I haven’t forgotten, nor will I.” Catherine’s jaw flexed. The shadows lining her brow deepened. “I dreamt of making amends with my father one day, of embracing my foolish brother after a decade of silence. You robbed me of both. That hatred will burn until my death, yet I’m no Rufus. We all have debts to pay, Edelgard. Me, you, and that beloved general of yours. What’s the point of playing saint when only the damned are victorious?”

Catherine moved to depart then, not waiting for a response. Edelgard watched her departure in solemn contemplation. Before Catherine could vanish around the bend, she called to her.

“Answer me another hypothetical. Were Rhea brought back as you remembered, would your contrition remain? If there was a chance you could wash away your sins, what would you choose?”

“You’re wondering if I would flee to her side.” Catherine was too far away for Edelgard to see her expression. However, there was an edge to her voice that hadn’t been there previously. “The woman I thought I knew is gone. Perhaps she never existed. I refuse to pursue a lie. Gilbert would call me selfish for abandoning my vows, but he’s dead and I’m not. Satisfied?”

For now. Edelgard allowed the woman to leave. There was nothing else to speak of, not when the lines had been so neatly drawn. Time would tell if Catherine’s word was true. For Shamir’s sake, Edelgard hoped so. She headed for the kitchens, pondering how regret should be measured against justice.

* * *

Despite her muddled origins and fearsome reputation, Byleth was simple at heart. If the people she cherished were happy, then she felt the same. If they ailed and wept, so did she. And no one affected her mood more than El. Since her return, there was a levity to the younger woman she couldn’t ignore. El smiled quicker, laughed longer, and while Byleth was grateful she also wondered at the change.

Byleth discussed it briefly with Lysithea, concerned El might be hiding her pain beneath a facade. Yet Lysithea didn’t share her worry. She merely adopted a thoughtful look before saying, ‘She survived a great horror, so why wouldn’t she be thrilled?’

The simple observation allowed Byleth to relinquish her concerns. Surely, a happy El was for the better. The reasons for it shouldn’t matter. So Byleth chose to bask in her lover’s unfettered joy, savoring the taste of her smile. Nothing good ever lasted, she knew. There was still the matter of Blaiddyd’s remaining forces, along with the pending negotiation with Sreng. However, these fragile moments of peace would be treasured.

El’s physique had not waned intractably, just diminished enough to be noticeable. Byleth had been so afraid when she saw her, despairing over each pronounced rib and garish bruise. Yet with every hour that passed, she seemed to be gaining strength. Her knees no longer wobbled when rising, feet steady as Byleth remembered. The gaunt planes of her face had filled, healthy portions filling out her lanky frame. She wasn’t quite as she once was, yet it was a marked improvement.

“What?” El asked, smiling gently. They were enjoying a night to themselves, Cernunnos' affairs handily sorted. Repairs to the fortress were ongoing, but the army was enjoying their momentary respite. Byleth hadn’t intended to disturb her lover, but also could not stop herself from staring.

“It’s nothing. Only marveling at how peaceful you look.”

“Peaceful?” El appeared to take issue with the description. Her lips pursed, but Byleth could tell her exasperation was feigned. “I’m incensed by Galatea’s persistence, the unceasing tide of Fraldarius’ former nobility baying for titles, and Hubert constantly nagging for details. He’s most upset to be kept out of the loop.”

“Relatively peaceful, then. Compared to before…” Byleth paused, mulling over how best to phrase it. “You were upset at Taranis. But now, you sleep without interruption. You look lighter.”

“Do I?” El looked surprised. Ashen brows pulled together, lip taken between her teeth. “I… suppose I am. It didn’t occur to me until you said something.”

Byleth didn’t respond, sensing her lover had more on her mind. She waited patiently as El’s face clouded with reverie.

“I don’t like to think of the past. As long as I moved forward, I felt it couldn’t touch me. Then I was thrust into the dark, trapped as I once was, and feared this time would be the end of me. Yet it wasn’t. I lived and wounded the very man who kept me chained.” El twirled a quill between her fingers before wielding it like a blade. “When you see a monster bleed by your hands, suddenly its mortality is assured.”

“It can die as all things must,” Byleth replied. She heard El make a pleased noise, head canting upward.

“Moreover, it will. I told myself those things before but didn't quite believe it. To move forward, I needed to confront the fears I buried. Now I have and am content with the notion of silencing my past. The peace you see is because of this newfound knowledge.”

“You wear it well. I just hate seeing you suffer. Back then, I felt so useless.” Byleth sighed, her prior frustration coming to mind. She hadn’t handled that well either, but one day… maybe she would weather the foibles of emotion as El did. Byleth stilled as a scarred palm cupped her cheek. She glanced upward, meeting a serious lavender gaze.

“I never apologized for that. I meant to, but then Cernunnos happened and the chance was lost.” Calloused fingertips slid across Byleth’s jaw. Her affection felt like a brand. “I was careless with my words. Believe me when I say you are invaluable. You were the hope I clung to when all seemed lost. And for Fódlan, you stood tall when others would balk.”

“Making mistakes in the progress,” Byleth commented, remorseful.

“Imperfection is the human condition. And you are one of the most human people I know.” El leaned in, kissing her sweetly. “Perhaps we don’t need a teacher any longer, but we will always need you.”

“As a general?”

“In whatever capacity you wish,” El avowed. It was a promise, and she never made those lightly. Byleth brightened, unable to keep a smile off her face. El's confidence washed away her lingering doubt. Whatever came next, Byleth would take these words to heart. El had placed great faith in her, so she would do her best to make her proud. Making reparations with their tentative allies was just the beginning.

Of course, knowing El, she wasn’t satisfied with half-measures. The Emperor was tireless in her commitment and even in their untroubled solitude, Byleth could hear her mind working to solve the problems at hand. It was only a matter of time before Blaiddyd struck again. To end this war swiftly, they needed to place him on the defensive. But first, there was Sreng to think of.

None could say when they might call upon the Empire. Only a handful of days had passed, and the silence was troubling. Byleth did not desire for this to end in more bloodshed, but she knew El would not surrender her willingly. It was no secret how the Emperor felt for her beloved general. Leonie voiced these same musings to her one morning.

“It won’t end well for them,” she said. “Edelgard might be willing to listen, but only to a point. Should they demand your head, that’ll be the end.”

“I’ve requested to handle it alone.”

“And you think she’ll accept that?”

Byleth refrained from answering. She held Leonie’s gaze until the younger woman sighed.

“Cripes, Byleth… we both know it’ll be a bloodbath. I respect Edelgard and believe in you, but this is a mess. Even if you do win, how can we trust they’ll help us?”

“They already shed blood to protect Cernunnos,” Byleth reminded her. “Sylvain might be distanced from his Srengian heritage, but he’s certain about this. They expect a demonstration of strength to prove my honor. I owe that much for what I’ve cruelly taken.”

“Not sure I agree.” Leonie sucked her teeth, visibly anxious. “So much is riding on the outcome. Can you blame me for being antsy? Your loss will mean we're back where we started and any chance for peace will be gone.”

“I don’t plan to lose,” Byleth commented with a shrug. She rested a palm atop the hilt of her blade. “At least this duel will be educational. I wonder about the implications for their culture. Do you think they often decide disputes with bloodsport?"

“Hell if I know. Educational, huh? Only you.” A fond grin worked its way across Leonie’s mouth. She hefted her lance skyward. “You better win. I can’t stand the thought of you losing to anyone else. Jeralt would be devastated. So thrash them good for me, yeah?”

Byleth nodded. As malformed and ill-adjusted she might be, warfare was her realm. Though she lamented her lacking skill in diplomacy and politics, she served well enough with a blade. There was no point in despairing over flaws when El accepted the entirety of her person. General Byleth would wear her title with pride.

When the day finally arrived, she did not waste time fretting. Without fear, she held herself with the poise as the foreign riders dismounted. To her back, El stiffened upon their approach but she spared no words for her lover. Byleth’s gaze was for Frode alone. She strode for the gates where the Srengian escorts gathered. They eyed her as if she were a beast salivating to leap. A week ago the description would have been horrifically accurate.

Yet that part of her, ugly as it could be, would decide this bout. Frode greeted them with a fist to his chest. He nodded genially in El’s direction, but his stare never wavered from Byleth. She couldn’t say whether the flinty look he wore was due to ire or the task he carried.

“Is the úlfaskinn ready?” Frode asked. Byleth could feel El bristling from afar.

“Byleth. And yes, she is.” The Emperor made a point to step closer to her general. Byleth appreciated her solidarity, but this was not her fight. She hoped El would refrain from acting hastily. Sylvain, who was watching the proceeds from a distance, seemed to share her thoughts.

“Allow us to watch.” He approached the Srengian man, gait steady. No trace of his prior wound remained. “Byleth is Her Majesty’s greatest warrior. She has the right to bear witness.”

“Hraesvelgr and her chosen may come. I cannot stop the corpse-eater’s will.” Frode frowned, giving Sylvain a once-over. “But no one may interfere. Leave your soldiers in these walls. This duel is for our satisfaction, not yours.”

“It won’t become a spectacle. We want justice as you do.” While Byleth tried to communicate her sincerity, Frode still regarded her askance. Then he rolled his big shoulders before striding out the gate.

“The Einvingi will decide. Our champion waits. Follow fast, Hraesvelgr.”

Byleth was not affronted by the blatant dismissal. It was his right as the aggrieved party, yet El rankled on her behalf. She held out her arm, keeping the younger woman from starting a row.

“Peace, El. He meant nothing by it.”

“You’re my general. Disrespect for you is the same as for me.” El took a calming breath. “I’m allowing this charade in the scant chance for diplomacy, but I won’t tolerate continued attacks upon your person.”

“Ignoring my existence is preferable to hatred,” Byleth admitted. “I’ve yet to prove my actions were just. Try to look at it from their perspective. If the situation were reversed, would you be as patient?”

“Perhaps not. However, that doesn’t mean I’m happy about this.” El’s expression softened, if only slightly. “Sometimes I wish you were quicker to anger. Does nothing trouble you?”

“My anger is what caused this. I must balance the scales.” Byleth strode to the stables, fetching her horse. She pointedly avoided Edelgard’s stare. “We should go. I gather they’ll be rather cross if we keep them waiting.”

El said nothing in response, but the frown she wore revealed her displeasure. Still, she grasped Byleth’s offered hand tightly. There was fear in her grip, easily parsed from the painful bite of her nails. As they left Cernunnos, Byleth wanted to reassure her lover. There is nothing to fear, she yearned to say. I will be victorious because it is your will.

In the end, Byleth just held El’s hand firmly. Baseless claims, well-meant or not, might agitate the younger woman further. Sylvain left them mercifully alone, though Byleth wondered what he thought of all this. This was partly his culture. He might have greater insight into these on-goings. In a bid to stave off another tense conversation, Byleth addressed Sylvain.

“What might I expect during this duel? Any information would be welcome.”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Sylvain winced as if chagrined by his ignorance. “Mother never… We didn’t discuss things like this. Giant gods and old stories, sure. But anything about duels and Sreng’s cultural specifics eludes me."

“Speaking of, I’m peeved you kept your heritage a secret.” Byleth felt El peer over her shoulder to glower at the man. “‘Oh, it’s nothing, Your Majesty—someone just happened to teach me their language.’ Sound familiar?”

“I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t offer the finer details.” Sylvain coughed into a fist, sitting higher atop his saddle. “Look, I had my reasons. Bloodlines mean a great deal in Faerghus. Well, once upon a time they did. Srengians were considered savages by most. Father, despite his marriage, played the role of gatekeeper. The people had to have faith in his commitment.”

“You don’t sound very confident. Are these Margrave Gautier’s words or yours?”

The apple of his throat bobbed and Byleth knew El had struck true. Sylvain raked a hand along his jaw.

“Let’s focus on the duel,” he said quickly. “Just know, had I the knowledge, I would tell you all I could. I believe in you, General. That’s the most I can give.”

“Your confidence in me is enough.” Byleth squeezed El’s fingers, hoping she understood the words were also meant for her. However great their champion might be, they didn't have the same conviction of heart or the belief of Adrestia's emperor. Byleth was blessed by that fact alone.

Their Srengian escorts paid little attention to them during the journey. Byleth caught Frode glancing at them on occasion, but the man always turned away once she caught his eye. Eventually, the riders convened within a clearing. A large group awaited their approach, headed by a matronly figure. The people seemed to defer to her, Byleth noted. They dipped their heads as she began to speak.

“Then it is true. A girl who bears Hraesvelgr’s likeness…” Her voice was gravelly, words heavily accented. But her grasp of Fódlanic was firm; removed from Frode’s halting cadence. Her head was shrouded by a painted veil, the milky blue of her stare just barely visible. “Was it you who commanded the úlfaskinn?”

“My actions were of my own design. No other.” Byleth dropped from her mount, gaining the woman’s attention. She stepped forward cautiously. “I have answered your call and submit myself for judgment.”

“So it commands itself.” The woman craned her head, measuring. “I see why the Einvingi is necessary. I give my blessing and shall oversee the process.

“And this involves what exactly?” El made herself known, standing between them. Though she lacked her battle dress, she still held an authoritative presence. The elderly woman paused, regarding El for an unsettling length of time.

“Your úlfaskinn acted in service to its bestial nature. Blood taken must be granted freely. We are not satisfied by words alone. The úlfaskinn will fight our chosen. If the gods will it, the beast shall live.”

“Is my will not enough?” El asked darkly.

“Born of Hraesvelgr or no, your flesh is mortal. You have no sway here.”

“El,” Byleth called, gaining the younger woman’s attention. El looked struck as she pulled her away. “Don’t interfere. Please.”

“I don’t like how they’re speaking to you. As if you’re some mindless thing.”

“Do you trust me?”

El blinked, surprise widening her eyes. “Of course, but—”

“Then stand aside. Some problems cannot be solved with might alone. You conquered your fear. Let me do the same for mine.”

“Fear of Sreng?” El seemed conflicted, hesitating despite the plea. Byleth shook her head, ashamed even now. She held El close.

“Of myself. Perhaps it sounds ridiculous, but I lack the same control as you. This duel will be for me as well as for them.”

“Byleth…” El opened her mouth, possibly to argue further, but nothing came. Pale fingers clenched the folds of Byleth’s cloak before letting go. Byleth read the action for what it was—permission despite her misgivings. She smiled, grateful, before approaching the matron.

“Bring me to your champion. None shall interfere.”

The woman gazed at her levelly, stare sharp despite the clouded hue. Then she turned her back, skirts twisting atop the snow. Byleth followed, preparing herself for the imminent duel. She had little concern for her opponent, assuming them to be a warrior of unparalleled skill. However, they lacked her experience. A lifetime of bloodshed was not easily matched.

Within the center of the clearing, a tall figure stood in wait. They were broad of shoulder and golden-haired, calling to mind a certain smith. But they were decorated with brass and leather, twin blades sheathed at the hip, armaments Catherine would never adopt. As the person raised their head, Byleth could discern the swell of their chest—a female warrior to match her opponent.

Reflexively, Byleth reached for her blade but the veiled woman cupped her elbow.

“No weapons,” she commanded. “Your trial must be as the gods made you. Relinquish your sword and brave their judgment.”

Byleth heard El hiss something in protest but her mind was decided. She unbuckled her sword belt, placing it within Sylvain’s hands. The man looked nervous as he took the sword, stare wavering between Byleth and the waiting warrior. Behind him, El appeared ready to leap into the fray. With one final glance, trying hard to console her lover from afar, Byleth entered the clearing.

There was no ceremony for the attack that came next. She weaved and ducked as the woman swiped wildly. There was a savage look upon her, teeth gnashed and eyes alight. Immediately, Byleth could sense the warrior’s intent. Victory would not suffice. Only death or complete surrender might quell this anger.

Byleth sidestepped a swing, breathing fast. She had prepared for an honest duel. How could she gain the advantage now? Disarm your opponent, a voice offered; her father’s stern instructions from ages past. Byleth obeyed the instinct, diving for a grapple. Yet the woman was quick despite her mass and neatly whirled into a jab. Blood was drawn, earning the incomprehensible shouts of their audience.

Byleth rolled away, clutching her wounded arm. She took a moment to think, gaze steady as her opponent circled. She ignored the blood slowly dripping between her fingers. Suddenly, the warrior bellowed to the sky before leaping. Byleth retreated, the blades missing her by a hair. She couldn’t dodge forever, nor could she chance the bite of those swords.

Praying her gambit wouldn’t be for naught, Byleth waited until the woman struck again. Moving with the wind, she closed the distance and tried for another grapple. Her grip was true, immobilizing the warrior's arms. Byleth took advantage of her surprise, knocking her head sharply against a fair skull. The woman reeled, stumbling away. A sword flew from her grip to disappear into the crowd.

Byleth was barely aware of either, brow split in twain and sight clouded. Not her finest moment. She shook off the pain, only to scramble beneath a wild strike. The woman’s expression was murderous as she increased her pursuit. Byleth tried to escape a lunge but found herself weighed down by muscle and bone. The woman snarled rabidly, aiming her remaining blade for Byleth's heart.

Both struggled mightily, sharp edge poised over breast and hands tangled as they heaved. Yet Byleth’s grip gradually waned and the sword kissed her skin. Where was her anger now? Where was her strength? Gone; shattered beneath her regret. She was no wolf—only a flawed woman who lashed out and faced the consequences. Byleth had never empathized more with Catherine until this moment.

She lashed her head to the side, desperation causing her to seek El’s face. Would it be the last thing she saw? Perhaps her lover would be overcome by anger or fear. But that wasn’t what Byleth saw. Instead, El’s face was a mask of resolve. Her stare burned with unspoken faith—for her.

Oh… but of course, El believed. She always had. It was Byleth who faltered, but not anymore. Something warm flooded her chest, filling her with untold strength. With a fierce yell, Byleth forced the blade away. It embedded uselessly into the ice, leaving the woman to jolt from redirection. Byleth threw an elbow, breaking her nose in a gush of scarlet. And as the animal she was likened to, Byleth set upon the woman with everything she was.

The anger, the fear, the love; Byleth wielded them all and channeled those emotions within each blow. There was no end to her rage; no reprieve. She clawed at flesh, rending armor beneath her fists, and fought with nothing but the heat of battle. Finally, Byleth roared in defiance, taking the sword and brandishing it at the warrior’s throat. Her opponent was quiet now, panting brokenly as she lay still.

Byleth hovered above her, face soaked with blood. Imperfect, vicious, and beloved—that was the truth of her. Her soul could be gentle when required, but that was not the part needed here. For peace, for Adrestia, for El, she would play the role of indomitable general.

“Yield,” Byleth bid. She stared at the fallen woman, blinking away the blood pouring from her brow. While it was unclear whether her opponent understood, she remained limp atop the snow. Byleth pulled away, rising to her feet.

“So it is done,” the matron said. She waited until Byleth joined her, unmoved by the blood soaking the pale. “Úlfaskinn, you fought well. Our champion was selected carefully, yet the gods have decided this day. Justice was with you, and none shall deny it.”

Byleth didn’t speak, panting raggedly as her body ached. She felt undeniably sapped, but lighter too. Perhaps it was the same feeling El experienced in the wake of her escape. She flexed her fingers, relinquishing her grip upon the blade.

“Hunger or glory?” she heard the matron ask. It took Byleth a moment to understand what she meant. She breathed in the frosted air before answering.

“Neither. It was fear which drove me. And a wave of terrible anger." Byleth faced the elderly woman, solemn from the question’s weight. She heard someone drag the downed warrior away, but paid them no heed. “Then, but not now. I desired victory for Adrestia, and it was Her Majesty’s will for me to survive. I refuse to fail her.”

The matron’s veil fluttered with the wind. She tipped her head in acknowledgment.

“Perhaps favored by more than just Hraesvelgr. The horned god marks you.”

Byleth didn’t know what that could mean. However, before she could question it, El broke away from the crowd. She rushed to Byleth’s side, pressing a length of cloth to her face.

“You’re a mess,” El breathed out. She looked faintly panicked but mostly relieved. "I nearly dove after you several times, but…”

“I know.” Byleth relaxed, heart still pounding from the savage altercation. For some reason or another, her hands refused to stop shaking. Excess adrenaline, her mind helpfully supplied. “Thank you, for not stepping in. It was your faith in me that spurred me onward.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of some help.” El’s touch gentled, fingertips tracing a bruised cheek. “Never ask this of me again. I couldn’t bear watching you fight without me.”

“I don’t plan on angering Sreng again. Unless you command it first.” Byleth smiled thinly as El sent her an unamused glare. It fell once she noticed the matron eyeing them from a distance. The woman seemed to be waiting for something, or someone. “Go speak with them. I did my part so they should be open to negotiating.”

“And you?”

Byleth touched her torn brow gingerly as she pondered. While her curiosity was great, so was her exhaustion. Her body felt raw, wits faring little better. “I… think I’ll rest for a bit. Mull over what happened. If anything upsets you, come find me.”

Perhaps El sensed the unspoken strain beneath her skin. She didn’t protest, leaning up to kiss Byleth’s cheek. It was the most affection the Emperor had ever publicly given. Byleth didn’t question it, accepting the gesture with a sigh. Later on, perhaps they would discuss the ramifications of this duel. The brutality. The lingering regret. But the present demanded their attention, and El was needed elsewhere.

So Byleth watched her depart without complaint. She sank to her haunches, digging her hands into the snow. There was vindication in this feeling—bloodied but not broken.

* * *

It was for the sake of diplomacy and simple curiosity which caused Edelgard to follow. Truthfully, she wasn’t in the right frame of mind for this; stressed and aggrieved was hardly an ideal mood for peace talks. Still, Byleth had gone through the trouble of securing this meeting. The least she could do was humor their prospective allies.

Edelgard tensed as the elderly woman led them within what appeared to be a hastily erected hut. Considering everything that happened, an enclosed room full of strangers did not sit well with her. Sylvain hovered by her side, lance alert in case of deceit. Girded by his vigil, Edelgard ventured within the tent.

The Srengian chief, Frode she recalled, sat within. The woman they followed whispered something to him, though from Sylvain’s puzzled frown it was plain he didn’t understand either. Then Frode tilted his head, dark eyes glittering with approval.

“Hraesvelgr. I am told your úlfaskinn fought hard. Now, we can treat together without angering the dead.”

“You didn’t watch?” Edelgard sat atop the log across from him, eyeing both occupants. They didn’t appear hostile, but one could never be sure. Frode rolled his shoulders; the Srengian equivalent of a shrug, she assumed.

“Had your úlfaskinn lost, we would not be speaking. But she claimed victory, proving I was right. You are Hraesvelgr, and I do not rage against the corpse-eater.”

His logic didn’t make much sense to her, but Edelgard knew better than to question him. If his conclusion paved the way for this meeting, then she would accept it. Edelgard watched, alert, as Frode lit a pipe. He seemed obnoxiously relaxed despite the bloody affair.

“We are agreed about Gullhærð and Skuggahátalari. Death is the only choice for them.”

Edelgard narrowed her eyes. “Why do you call him that? Blaiddyd.”

“Gullhærð?” The man appeared surprised. “He is… soft. Both of head and make, like gold.”

Sylvain snorted but otherwise didn't comment. Edelgard shot him a look of reproach. Still, she couldn’t quite stifle her smirk “I see. Well, then let’s get to the point then. While it’s true we desire an end to the fighting, we didn’t request Sreng’s aid. Do you plan to help us?”

“It is so, but our people need a promise from you.”

“And this is where the demands come.” Edelgard folded her arms, amusement fading. “Do not be mistaken. The Empire will crush the remainder of Blaiddyd’s forces and rout Arundel with him. Your assistance would be welcome, but it isn’t required.”

“This is true. Our Völva has told me the same.” Frode gestured to the veiled woman beside him. “But your might will not mend the rifts between our people. And neither will it grant us the land we seek. If you deny us, both will bleed.”

“Is that a threat?” Edelgard pressed. Frode held her stare.

“A promise, Hraesvelgr. Our wounds are many, deeper from Skuggahátalari’s stain. I am granting you an audience in respect for your cause.”

“You say this, but promise conflict in the same breath,” Sylvain interjected. “Sreng’s position is fragile enough. If you’re asking for lands belonging to House Gautier, then we’re at an impasse.”

“Stolen lands. Taken with force by your king. He came to us as a friend, only to leave a conqueror.”

“The past cannot be changed, but had you entreated us after the Kingdom fell—”

“By whose word? Yours?” Frode’s expression hardened. “We do not concern ourselves with southern kings. By the grace of Hraesvelgr, you were given my ear. If not for her, we would not be speaking in peace. House Gautier does not hold our interests, now or then.”

“During my father's reign, perhaps. But I am Margrave now and my mother is of your blood."

“Once, but no longer.” The elderly woman spoke fast and curtly, gaining the room’s attention. It was hard to read her features behind the veil, but Edelgard could hear her derision. “She cannot speak for us. By extension, neither can you. You bear our looks, in part, but everything else speaks of the south. Besides second-hand tales, what do you truly know of us?”

Sylvain fell silent, struck by the question. His grip audibly strained upon the lance he held. Edelgard took that moment to stand, lips pursed.

“Enough. You brought me here to discuss the matter at hand, but all I’m hearing are attacks upon my northern advisor.” She ignored the startled look Sylvain wore at the title, but there was no time for discussion. Edelgard gestured between the two Srengians. “You demand land, offering little in the way of incentive. What happened in the past was regrettable, but I am not King Lambert. The country you speak of has dissolved.”

“Gautier lives,” Frode said with a frown.

“As a shell of his former self. And while his son rules, it is only by my allowance. A generation from now, it’s possible none of these families will keep their reign.” Edelgard allowed the chieftain to ponder that for a moment before continuing. "It's in both our interests to reach an agreement. However, I cannot grant you settled lands. The people who occupy them will riot should they be ousted. They’ve had twenty years to lay their roots. I will not burn them just to establish an uncertain alliance.”

“They would not be there had our people retained their claim.” Frode’s brow pinched, darkening with frustration. “We won’t be denied our right.”

“Which is why I’m willing to allow settlers through the pass. Integration rather than a cleanse." Edelgard swept an arm towards the austere walls of Cernunnos. "For the first time in two decades, your people shall be allowed through—provided you keep the peace. Raids upon hapless villages will not be tolerated.”

“What of your men here? Will we suffer the blade should we sow life?"

“You refer to the forts,” Edelgard commented. She paused, cataloging the various risks. She saw little reason to maintain them. When she returned south, would it benefit the Empire to keep this territory? It was doubtful. “I’m open to dismantling their operation and granting the land to Sreng. Perhaps this isn’t ideal, but there’s little else I can give.”

Frode traded a few hushed words with the veiled woman, plainly hesitant. After a time, he grimaced. “This… isn’t what we wanted. But it is something. I do not know what the future holds if we accept.”

“No one does. Yet the blood between our people has a chance to be stopped. Any step, no matter how small, could mean the beginning of lasting peace. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hm.” Frode passed a hand over his mouth pensively. His dark eyes flicked between Edelgard and Sylvain before settling on the fire. There was a long period of uninterrupted silence as he pondered. Then, Frode exhaled heavily before bowing his head. “...Agreed. Sreng has weathered Skuggahátalari’s chaos long enough. We shall join you when it is time. Gullhærð will fall with him.”

“It’s wise of you to accept my offer.”

“I am not foolish.” Frode eyed Sylvain askance as he spoke. “The blood debt of Gautier remains, but I will not rob my people of a brighter future. We will speak of the details another time. For now, I am content with this meeting. Go in Baldr’s light, Hraesvelgr.”

Edelgard nodded swiftly, eager to rejoin the rest of her party. There was no telling what Byleth had gotten up to during their absence. She had seemed in one piece as they left, but Byleth was known for shielding Edelgard from further concern. As for Sylvain, he still looked shaken. He was uncommonly quiet as they exited the tent. Mildly worried, she pulled him aside.

“You look troubled. I thought that went rather well considering the circumstances.”

“It did, I just…” Sylvain’s jaw worked as he ran a hand through his hair. “They weren’t wrong. About me, I mean. Margrave or not, they didn’t care to hear anything I said. Initially, I thought negotiations would be better if I were there, but the best I could do was keep my mouth shut.”

"Your family has combated them for decades. Heritage means little when you consider the blood your House spilled."

“I thought I knew that. But a part of me was naive enough to think otherwise.” Sylvain cupped his hands, placing them over his lips. He seemed pained but also chagrined by the assumptions he had made. "It isn't enough to speak their language or repeat the stories I've heard. She said I didn't know them… Hearing that gutted me. My father loathed any proper mention of Sreng, but I never questioned his prejudice. It was natural back then."

“You’ve grown from the boy you were,” Edelgard insisted. She heard Sylvain chuckle faintly. It didn’t sound humorous.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s not enough. I thought I could be the bridge between our nations. It’s only now that I realize how simplistic that expectation truly was. It’ll take more than a few pretty words before peace can be realized.”

Edelgard didn’t know what she could say to that. Yet perhaps her silence said plenty on its own. After a pause, Sylvain turned away and waved his hand.

"Ignore me. I'm going to see how the horses are managing. When you see Byleth, tell her it was a good fight. She packs a nasty punch when she wants to."

“I’ll be sure to tell her.” Edelgard let him go, scrutinizing the man quietly. Sylvain's lineage was clearly a sore point, though it was not a mystery why. The Kingdom's spite for Sreng was well-documented, and Lambert’s campaign had solidified the country’s dreaded reputation. The Empire could hardly be called innocent, but the atrocities of Duscur and Sreng continued to plague the north.

Edelgard drank in the warriors and civilians milling about the camp, finally grasping their scope. Frode’s willingness to barter might have been attributed to divine fealty. Still, the man struck her as too amenable—desperate to gain anything from this turmoil. He was banking everything on her victory. She was savvy enough to realize his true goal lay not within the barren wilderness of Sreng but in the fertile fields south of the mountain.

If Sylvain could garner peace and keep it, perhaps his dream of being a cultural bridge wasn’t so naive. She blinked, envisioning the pallid waste changed into a green hillock. She hummed to herself as she sought Byleth, wrapped in the endless possibilities. Edelgard was often accused of many things, but she would never tire of dreaming of a better future.

She pushed aside her musings the moment Byleth came into view. The older woman was kneeling in the snow, head bent. Curiously, the warrior who faced her was also there. Neither said anything, seeming oblivious to their surroundings. Edelgard frowned, tempted to break the odd atmosphere when the warrior rose. She looked at Byleth steadily, nodding her head once. Then the warrior left without speaking.

Strange…

Edelgard clicked her tongue, focusing on her general. Byleth was still kneeling, but her attention was fixed upon the Emperor.

“We were honoring the dead. Yrsa insisted I join her.” She sighed, gaze distant. “I killed her sister. A twin, I think. I vaguely recall a similar face, but they shamefully blur together after a time.”

“That’s not…” Edelgard bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. “You did what you thought was best.”

“Perhaps so. I tried to explain what happened, but Yrsa isn’t as learned in Fódlanic as her chieftain.”

Edelgard could hear the muted grief Byleth tried to cover. Yet nothing could change the past. There were all lost within mistakes they couldn't neatly rectify. Their only choice was to move forward. She knelt beside Byleth, hovering a palm over the woman’s back. An admittedly inept attempt at comfort, but Byleth seemed grateful. She leaned against Edelgard’s touch.

“The duel cleared me of blame,” Byleth continued. “According to their culture, my actions were as the gods planned. Justice was with me, or so it’s meant to be taken. Even as Yrsa explained, she looked bitter. I don’t think she agreed, no matter what she insisted.”

“No one can stomach the loss of family without grievance.”

“Yet she claimed to forgive me.” Byleth’s chest rose as she breathed deep. She looked into the distance. “She told me what it meant. Úlfaskinn.”

“If it bothered you, I wouldn’t take it to heart.” Edelgard wrinkled her nose at the title, already prepared for the worst. “They may call you whatever they like, but we know the truth.”

“It’s alright, El. It can be an insult, but only if you ignore the context.” Byleth smiled, painfully wistful. She reached for Edelgard’s hand, clutching gloved fingers. “The name is reserved for those with a wild soul. Fearsome warriors whose single-minded purpose is victory. As an enemy, they’re dreadful to behold. Yet wolves are not the mindless beasts stories try to paint.”

“Meaning?”

“They have the potential for harm; for death.” Byleth tilted her head, crystalline gaze reflecting the dying sun. “But also love. The desire to protect their own at any cost. When she explained it that way, I couldn’t deny the comparison.”

“You might be taking poetic liberty with their meaning,” Edelgard quipped. Nonetheless, she felt heartened by the conviction. This was a far cry from the penitent self-loathing she anticipated.

“Could be. However, I like the way Yrsa framed it. I couldn’t quite understand everything she said, of course. Language barrier.” Byleth shrugged. “However, I want to view this desire as neither good nor evil. Just a part of who I am. It’s more palpable this way.”

Edelgard held her hand tighter. “Do you regret it at all?”

“I cannot regret my actions when they were done for your benefit. Perhaps my fervency was misled, yet I only knew the threat I could reach. I only regret that it’s brought unwarranted anguish.” The older woman appeared resigned but accepting. After a time, Byleth met Edelgard’s eyes directly. “There were many things that required harsh action in the last war. The loss of innocent life is unavoidable. My despair is solely for those I wronged.”

“As you say.” Edelgard relaxed, playing with their entwined fingers. “I just don’t want you to regret following me. Then or now.”

“I’m yours, El.” Byleth looked at her, surprise replacing the faint sadness. She said it as an unalterable fact—as obvious as the sun rising in the east or the hue of the ocean. “My place is by your side. Not because you command me, but because that’s what I wish. Have I not been clear?”

“Well…” Edelgard looked away, glad the cold temperature masked her flush. “I suppose that’s a silly worry. However, the notion lingers no matter how unrealistic. I don’t want to force you into a role you despise.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d loathe more than parting ways.”

The frank statement was enough for Edelgard to still. Her throat tightened with emotion she dared not voice. Byleth seemed blissfully unaware as she kissed Edelgard’s palm.

“I trust you as deeply as you trust in me. I will follow wherever you lead, without question or complaint. This love I carry is no mere exchange of words, but the truest feeling I’ve ever known. So please, never doubt my commitment to everything you are.”

“Forgive me,” Edelgard husked. “I worried needlessly, upsetting you in the process. I should have known…”

“There’s no need for apologies, El. Just know I love you more than anything else.”

“Even fishing?” Edelgard allowed a smile to grace her lips. It widened as Byleth’s lashes fluttered in befuddlement.

“I would rather not choose,” she said with exaggerated regret. Though knowing her, perhaps it wasn’t hyperbolic at all. “If I had to, I could be swayed. You’re welcome to try it and convince me.”

“The nerve of you to make demands!” Edelgard laughed, warmed by a sudden rush of affection. “And I thought you were unwavering in loyalty. Have you no respect for your Emperor?”

“Only when she questions the obvious." Byleth's answering grin was cheeky, but her eyes shone with love. She was hard to read long ago. Now those days were in the past. Distant memories, benign as they were, had no bearing on the present. Perhaps the ills of Sreng would be similar one day. Decisively there, but healed with a delicate touch.

This conflict will be a distant memory too. Edelgard rose to her feet, Byleth in tow. Yet their hands held and refused to part. Everything eventually reached its natural end, yet allowed for something new to take its place. She had proved it with the Church and its reign. Relics of the past needn’t control the future. Edelgard clutched Byleth’s fingers, basking in the sunlight.

Next Chapter: Oathsworn

Chapter Text

Pledging herself to House Blaiddyd was never a particular dream of hers. She was loyal to the royal family as any duty-bound vassal. Yet Estrid dreamed of flying in service to her house, not becoming a steel silhouette among many within Fhirdiad. Alas, dearest Gunnar did not share in her confidence.

“Give up this farce ,” he had bit out, surly with wine and frustration. “You’ll never fly. The beasts won’t let you. ”

The words had cut, but she was undaunted. It took time as all things did; effort in a way Gunnar couldn't comprehend. However, her brother was ever the pessimist and certain in his damning logic. Too rigid a man made for a poor foundation. If one could not yield when required, then they were fated to crumble. And Estrid was none of those things.

The pegasi were leery of her, at the start. But she knew horses as all members of House Galatea did. A kind touch and warm voice went long in their regard. It took many months before she mustered the courage to ride. And as she sat straight-backed in the saddle, she felt a glimmer of fear. What if Gunnar was right? Was she lying to herself and refusing to be what her family required?

For a breathless moment, she thought the pegasus would unseat her based on nerves alone. Yet it didn’t. The horse’s flank rippled, glossy wings aflutter. Then the pegasus stamped her hoof in apparent acceptance. Estrid knew she was right then. So overcome, she sobbed into the animal’s mane; jubilant to have this small slice of vindication. Gunnar might never accept her. Perhaps her father and siblings too. Yet this pegasus did, and so she would strive to as well.

As the years passed, she found the magical skill and means for her body to reflect the truth. Perhaps it was this overt display of rebellion that caused her brother, now lord of their hold, to look upon her as a stranger. They were close in their youth, and Estrid mourned the loss of his easy smiles and booming laughter. He was lighter as a lad; unburdened. At present, she saw only the heavy shackles of Count Galatea.

In her solemn moments, she wondered if he remembered her fondly. But it was possible he only wept for what she once was and disdained her present self. No matter her happiness, this would only sour their standing within Faerghus. So Gunnar kept it a private shame and avoided any mention of it. In a blink, the camaraderie they enjoyed was shattered and Gunnar refused to let her serve as she wished. He began to insist she take her talents to the city, perhaps ride and groom horses for the royal family.

Yet Estrid would not settle for less than she desired. She had come far and stayed true to herself all the while. She refused to bend, even for family. Gunnar might be kneeler by nature, but not her. While Estrid was gutted she would never serve her House as a venerated pegasus knight — Gunnar was too staunch in refusal to expect otherwise — she knew there were other ways of living honorably.

The day her path became intertwined with Rufus Blaiddyd had been inauspicious. It was a simple affair; a fete held in celebration of the spring solstice. The members of House Galatea were invited to Duke Blaiddyd's estate as a matter of decorum. Any blood of the Ten Elites was illustrious no matter how thin. Gunnar trailed and flattered any lord of standing, ever grasping for a way to stem the poverty of their House. Last she saw he was chatting off the ear of Duke Fraldarius, perchance the only obliging fellow who might listen to his pleas.

Estrid had no patience for any of it. She sipped on her flagon, ignoring the numerous curious glances thrown her way. It was plain they didn't recognize her or gawked in fascination at the supposed black sheep of House Galatea. Or black pegasi, as it were. Estrid snorted at her terrible jape before moving to the gardens. Too much noise grated on her nerves. She didn’t expect to find their esteemed host occupying the area.

Rufus Blaiddyd was not an inspiring figure or one she gave much thought to previously. He was older than his brother by a smattering of years. But by his reputation and general demeanor, one would expect the reverse. Estrid had only glimpsed him briefly upon Lambert's coronation and again at the king's funeral a couple of years ago; still just as unremarkable as she recalled. He sat silently upon a bench, staring blankly into the waters of a bubbling fountain. Rufus seemed not to notice her for a time but finally stirred as Estrid stepped closer.

“Count Gunnar’s sister… Estrid, right? I don’t believe we’ve met.” He canted his head in a blithe greeting. She sensed no reproach or suggestion hidden within his words. Nonetheless, she remained cautious.

“Yes, my lord. The youngest.” Estrid offered nothing else. She looked at the duke levelly, waiting for him to speak again.

“I had heard something in that vein,” Rufus admitted. He peered behind her, sparsely bearded face growing pinched with thought. “Is it true what they say?”

“What do you refer to?” Her voice lowered, unintentionally deep with warning. Blaiddyd just glanced to the side, seeming amused.

“Only your reputation as a skilled horseman. Anything else doesn’t concern me.”

“I ride.” Estrid settled, posture relaxing. “Won my share of races in Galatea. My brother bid I take my skill to Fhirdiad — perhaps to please the royal family. I denied him.”

“And why is that?”

“I do not want to make a name upon racing and breeding horses. It’s an honorable profession but I desire to lend my lance to my House. To raise it in victory as I protect our country and our people.” Estrid shut her mouth, suddenly cognizant of the strain in her voice. She knew Blaiddyd likely heard it, but she wasn’t sure how he would react to her fervor. Strangely, he appeared almost impressed.

“You feel strongly about this. I take it Gunnar doesn’t support your ambition.”

“He did once, but no longer.” Estrid didn’t bother to clarify why. If the duke had an ounce of tact, he wouldn't press the matter.

“A shame, that. Siblings are often trouble.” A shadow brushed over his jaw and lined his eyes. “Perhaps he’s merely concerned for you. An equestrian’s life is tamer than a knight’s.”

“It’s my choice. My decision. And I choose to fight and fly for my country.”

“So you do fly?” Blaiddyd looked up, inordinately interested now. Estrid nodded, wary and guarded. The man hummed to himself then. An odd look crossed his previously detached expression. “You know, Gunnar has never particularly liked me though he tripped after Lambert same as the rest. I can give you a chance to raise that lance and spread your wings. Pegasus Knights are a rare commodity these days and rumor has it you know a thing or two about spell-craft.”

“You’ve heard more than you let on, my lord,” Estrid said. She stared hard at him. Deception, no matter how slight, didn’t sit well with her. Blaiddyd ignored the pointed words, waggling his fingers dismissively.

“As a foolish regent prone to foolish things, one must keep an ear out,” he responded simply. She was surprised Blaiddyd was self-aware enough to be cognizant of how others perceived him. However, as the months passed and Estrid served in Itha as his retainer, she found he was not as wagging tongues so often portrayed. Of course, he could be a cad with women when it suited him, playing with their hearts and heads without care. And he did throw himself into hedonistic pleasures with great verve.

Yet in Rufus’ quieter moments, once the numerous guests had long departed and he adjourned to his study, she saw a different aspect of the man they insisted was a golden fool. One night, he asked about her family unprompted. Estrid was confused by his interest but saw no reason to deny her liege.

“I bear no great affection for most of my siblings. Gunnar and I were thick as thieves in childhood, but well… We’ve discussed how that ended. Truthfully, I’m closest to my niece.” Estrid paused, reminiscing fondly over the stalwart young girl she left behind in Galatea. “Ingrid might wither under Gunnar’s parentage. Her brothers follow his lead so it’s almost certain. Regardless, I want to see her thrive and choose a life for herself. I’d be happy just knowing that.”

“You speak of her as if she were yours. I’m surprised, Estrid. To think, my severe commander has a maternal side.”

“And you speak nonsense,” Estrid deflected. She was abashed by his observation but quickly shook it off. “She’s a conscientious girl, perchance too much. Gunnar reins her in with a firm hand, all the while blind to how it strangles her. I’ve done my best to shield her — to give her room to grow as she should. However, Gunnar disapproves of my influence. Teaching her lance work and how to ride was all I could do in the end."

“That’s more than I ever taught Dimitri. But then again, the boy might be too young for drinking and whoring.” Rufus smirked in his practiced, rakish way before his face fell. “In truth, I’m envious of you.”

“What for?”

“The relationship between my nephew and I is cold. I’m to blame for this, I know. Yet I’m unable to close the gap.” Estrid watched intently as Rufus’ countenance dipped, the knob of his throat bobbing. “Dimitri is a good lad, if too solemn. I never know what rightly to say to such a serious boy. He’s… not as I am and not quite as Lambert was either.”

“Is it merely his personality you have trouble hurdling?" Estrid asked. The duke did not respond immediately, eyes fixed to the sputtering hearth.

“He's lost more than I can ever fathom. I mourn a brother but he a father, mother, and the life he knew. Had I been there at Duscur, perhaps I could understand." Rufus drank deeply from his cup. "Every time I look at him, I can't help but think it shouldn't be me who's there for him. Lambert would know what to say. He always did. Lambert had a gilded tongue and I… I'm not the boy's father. What words can I offer that hasn't been said by the likes of Duke Fraldarius?"

“You’re family. It might mean more to him.”

“No, I think not. Let Rodrigue grant him comfort. My bumbling would only serve to agitate or worsen the issue.” The man laughed then, but it was far from mirthful. Estrid felt the hairs on her neck raise from its hollow ring. “Better this golden fool warms his seat for him. It’s my place, isn’t it? What the Goddess ordains of me.”

“I’m of the opinion the Goddess’ will is not written upon birth.” The opinion wrenched from her without permission; a private thought she couldn’t help voicing. Thankfully, Rufus did not issue a harsh rebuke.

“What a positively novel thing to say, Estrid. Ridiculous, but I respect your confidence.”

How many years had it been since they shared that quiet eve? How much time was spent wondering at his depth and puzzled why he denied its existence?

Too long. Too much. Estrid waited dutifully within the longhouse, silently marveling at the ornate carvings upon the oval roof. Sreng's architecture was very disparate from Faerghus; more prone to symbolism. Kingdom buildings were never carved with emotion, only function. She pursed her lips, eyes roving across the wooden etching of a monstrous eagle when her lord entered.

He was accompanied by Lord Arundel as customary of late. Estrid barely kept herself from bristling. Rufus’ moods had only grown increasingly erratic and she suspected Arundel had a hand in that. The dark-haired man knew just how to cajole her lord into rash action. She stood straighter as the men approached.

“—have so much time until the imperial army reaches our camp. After this latest blunder, I'm beginning to think I should bare my neck and wait for the Emperor to swing!"

“I underestimated her resourcefulness,” she heard Arundel admit curtly. “And whom she had within her employ. A skilled infiltrator skirted our notice and stole her away but it won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not or I’ll gladly throw you to her dogs.” Rufus scowled but the jittery shake of his jaw made the threat toothless. “What options are available to us? My army was meant to force the Empire into a ceasefire while we went through the ruse of diplomacy. I assumed they would listen since Hresvelg was within our ranks, but now we’ve both lost the battle and her.”

“It’s unlikely they would have listened or been fooled into inaction. Take heart, Lord Blaiddyd. Not all is lost.” Arundel’s unnerving gaze fell upon her. He smiled thinly. “The same for you, Ser Galatea. We shall all see a new age for Faerghus blossom beneath your banner. Heralded by a new king.”

“Yes... of course.” Rufus seemed reassured by his words, mouth ceasing to quiver. “My son was chosen. He’s destined for greatness and I shall see that come to fruition.”

“Never lose sight of that. In the meantime, I shall be preparing our remaining forces for the Emperor’s arrival. If fortune should favor us, perhaps we’ll see divine intervention.”

Estrid’s stare thinned at the odd emphasis. She observed as he dipped into a halfhearted bow before sauntering out. The imperial noble was aggravating and cryptic. She didn’t trust anything he said but Rufus clung to his word as if it were scripture. Her lord appeared to be murmuring to himself, pulling at the thick mass of his beard. He had always insisted on a neat goatee before. Only hermits and rogues allowed their jaw to be overrun, he once said.

But the Rufus of old would frown upon many things he presently did. Estrid knew this keenly. She approached him slowly, taking stock of his spindly frame as the man all but collapsed into a chair. Suddenly, she became aware of the rasping breaths he took. Without a word, Estrid poured him a glass of water.

“You should rest if required,” she told him sternly. “The war will end immediately should you collapse.”

“Nonsense. I’m not so weak as to need coddling." Rufus shook his head, long hair askew. “Neither Lambert nor Dimitri would halt on account of their body. I refuse to be any different, crest or no. This war might already be over anyhow if Arundel is true to his promise.”

“And do you believe he is?”

It was telling he did not answer immediately. Rufus worried his bottom lip, glancing at her askance. “I must believe. It is all I have left.”

“Not all. The king… Your son remains, my lord.” Estrid allowed her gaze to dart towards the room where the babe lay. He was so quiet, far more than an infant his age should be. The sweat lining his brow and the ruddy flush of his cheeks were a constant concern. "Lord Rufus, may I speak freely?”

“Since when has my censure stopped you?” For a moment, she saw the rakish man she once knew; ever flippant, yet occasionally thoughtful. A flicker of hope burned in her breast.

“My lord, should the Empire march on our position, we’re unlikely to survive. Had we succeeded in reclaiming Cernunnos perhaps the situation would be different. Yet we didn’t, and that general of hers routed the near entirety of our Kingdom soldiers. Now, we have only men of Sreng at our disposal—ill-equipped, frustrated by defeat, and scared of retaliation.” Estrid paused to make certain he was listening before she continued. “I have my fliers, many trained and loyal valkyries. However, we cannot turn the tide alone. We do not have the numbers to win this war no matter what Arundel lends.”

“What are you suggesting, then?” he demanded. “That we kneel and beg for mercy?”

“Never. I’m only saying we need not hinge the future upon the outcome of this battle.” Estrid folded herself into a bow. “My lord, allow me to take you and His Majesty away from here. I can fly us to the nearest port and head for safety. Grant me this, I beg of you.”

“That’s the same as surrender and I won’t hear of it!”

“Only for now. You can return once the king is older. As a man and warrior, he can claim his throne." She worked her jaw, privately hoping he saw reason. "He’s ailing, you know this. These harsh conditions do him no favors. He cannot rule a kingdom should he die to illness or the Emperor’s axe.”

“It’s his destiny, Estrid.” A familiar gleam appeared in his eyes; the same as when he spoke of his brother or the Goddess. “She chose him for this purpose. Arundel agrees. Why else would Dimitri perish? This is Her will.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Estrid pressed, frustrated by his insistence. Rufus did not respond for a time. Then he sipped from the glass she handed him.

“The Goddess’ decisions are unknowable. But if the boy dies, then he’s just as unworthy as me. If not him, then there must be another. Blaiddyd children are not finite so long as I live.

Estrid rose, hands and face oddly numb. She stood there in silence as her lord polished off his glass before standing. Then, Rufus took his leave without comment. The tail of his cloak dragged behind him like a shroud of mourning he couldn’t alleviate. Or refused to, she thought. Estrid clutched her lance, gaze falling once more upon the carved eagle.

* * *

The time for rest was nearing its end. Edelgard peered over the battlements, gaze panning across the collection of soldiers and horses. She beheld them levelly, flexing her fingers in a phantom grip. Her body had not quite recovered, but it was close enough to serve. She could lead her troops into the bowels of Sreng and hunt Blaiddyd like the frightened mouse he was. The man could no longer hide from her judgment, and she knew this would be their last march.

Edelgard breathed in and held the crisp air. It tasted of icy finality. She welcomed the sting as she exhaled slowly. She turned, facing the afternoon sun, when she heard the sound of snow crunching underfoot. The figure of Byleth, garbed in her armor and fur, joined Edelgard atop the walkway. Her lover was grave-eyed but smiling as she moved near.

“El, I’ve completed preparations. Our troops are ready to leave at your command.”

“Excellent. And how fare our Sreng allies?”

Byleth cast an eye towards the trees, nodding to herself. “Ready as we are. We’ve already coordinated our approach. They’ll be our flank as the vanguard encroaches upon Blaiddyd’s position. Our cavalry will provide them support while Leonie and Ingrid will press from the sky. It’s a sound plan and gives them ample room to attack as they’re accustomed. Guerrilla tactics are something my father’s company employed liberally.”

“A shame Jeralt’s band isn’t with us. Though I suppose it’s Alois’ band now,” Edelgard commented idly. She hesitated before grabbing Byleth’s hand. “How are things? With Frode’s people. It can’t be easy for them or you to work so closely. You should let Sylvain coordinate.”

“It's not easy. But after the duel, they no longer look at me like a rabid animal." Byleth blinked, stare distant. She hummed after a pause. "I think it's improving. Yrsa speaks to me and so do a couple of others. They respect my skill if nothing else. A few asked me what the south is like. I told them it was warm. They liked that."

“Any spats, violent or otherwise?”

“No. I think they’ve truly accepted the verdict given.” Byleth craned her head, brow furrowed. “I can’t say I fully understand. But it’s their custom and if it helps them to make peace with what happened, I’m satisfied.”

“I’m glad,” Edelgard said, relieved. The bundle of tension she carried in her chest loosened. “You deserve for people to see what I see when I look at you. Perhaps the intimidating general has her uses, but it’s the compassionate and lovely woman I fell in love with who should be admired. Our friends would agree.”

“I want to be her. I want to always be what you see in me.” Byleth’s chin dipped briefly before she squeezed Edelgard’s fingers. “It’s so painfully simple when you’re near. Yet I’ll strive to remain that woman even when you aren’t.”

“I know you will, darling. My faith in you is absolute.” Edelgard kissed her jaw, wishing they had more time—and regretful they didn’t.

. However, this war was at a close and soon they would have the rest of their lives for peace. She truly believed that. “Speaking of the others, are they waiting for us?”

“I called them to the war room. Ingrid and Lysithea are already in attendance. Sylvain is running drills with his men, working off the rust I gather. Leonie will join us as soon as she completes a sweep of the pass. We can’t chance any surprise resistance from the northern lords.”

“Prudent of you. You’ve become a savvy general in my absence.” Edelgard smiled but spotted the wan frown upon Byleth’s face. The topic of her capture was still raw for her lover and would remain that way for some time. She made a note to not make light of it again. “Well, I suppose being tardy would reflect poorly upon us. The Emperor should be the first to attend a war council, not the last.”

“They would never think poorly of you,” Byleth asserted earnestly. Her eyes were brimming with affection, even if her mood was solemn. “They adore you, El. They’re yours just as I am.”

“Honestly. The ridiculous things you say sometimes…” Edelgard looked away, unwilling to admit how flustered she was. She cleared her throat pointedly. “In any event, we should hurry along. The weather is fair for now but those winds are positively ghastly. I feel like a mere breeze shall steal me away to Albinea.”

“If it does, I shall follow." Byleth didn't say it in jest. Her expression was oddly serious, brows drawing together in consternation. She looked to be on the cusp of a question suddenly. Noticing this, Edelgard raised a brow.

“Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing. It can wait until after the war council.”

She pursed her lips at her lover’s avoidant gaze and flippant tone. “Byleth, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing is shorthand for something. You needn’t hide from me or curtail your concerns. Haven’t we discussed that much?”

“El, I—” Byleth’s lips curved downward, perhaps forming a rebuttal, when she stopped short. She seemed to mull over her response shortly before her shoulders relaxed. “You’re right. My apologies.”

“You’ll be forgiven once you tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It really is an insignificant thing…” Byleth began. She looked at Edelgard from beneath her lashes. Her hand reached within the shadowed folds of her cloak. Then she knelt in the snow. “I only wish to restore what was lost. My El—my Emperor—this belongs to you.”

Edelgard blinked as her lover bequeathed the horned crown of Adrestia. The gold was scored, the left side misshapen. Molten from mage-fire, she gathered. It must have occurred during Thales’ ambush, but she was surprised Byleth possessed it in the first place. She assumed the crown long lost among the ice, or kept as a trophy by Blaiddyd. Edelgard touched its glossy length thoughtfully.

“I tried to polish the metal,” Byleth admitted. “Removed any trace of blood or ash. But I couldn’t work the gold by hand. I’ve no talent for metallurgy and I was afraid of ruining it further.”

“Byleth…” Edelgard closed her eyes. A tremulous smile creased her lips. “I shall never be accustomed to the endless ways you surprise me. Nor do I intend to take for granted the care you show.”

She touched her lover’s temple, fingers grazing stray locks of teal. “You’ve given me this crown in more than one way. I fear I will never be able to offer you a fraction of that abundant generosity.”

“It isn’t out of kindness. My feelings will always be a selfish beast; composed of a love that spurs ever-lasting devotion and a terrible fear of loss.” Byleth took her hand. Her fingers were cold as the winter gale, but Edelgard did not shy from them. She was struck suddenly by the image before her. Byleth, kneeling as any courtly knight from a chivalric tale or song, but swearing her love in a manner that bordered on the heretical.

“I am not always composed as I should be, but I am grateful to feel so much. For you. Command me as you need and I will go. For my heart is yours and so too goes my sword. I gladly bleed in your name and swear to savage any that tries to do the same to you.”

“And I swear the same,” Edelgard avowed. She pulled at Byleth’s arms until the woman rose. She cupped her face with a hand. “Do you think I’ll allow you to sacrifice yourself for me? You are not alone in this feeling. We are joined in this, as we are in all things.”

“El…” The blue of Byleth’s irises brightened, silvery with something that might have been tears. “Together, then.”

“Together,” Edelgard repeated. Until my last breath. And beyond that, if I have any say. She pressed her lips to Byleth’s gently before her hand fell. Gloved fingers traced a path along the disfigured metal once more.

“The damage isn’t horrific. A skilled craftsman could mend this handily, or—” Edelgard closed her mouth, considering. Byleth perked, her trademark curiosity overtaking her somber mood.

“Or…?”

“A topic of discussion for another time, I think. I have much to think on.” The Emperor tucked away the crown, thoughts falling upon a certain brash individual. Catherine wasn’t a goldsmith but the craft should be similar in theory. It was something to mull over. “Shall we meet our friends? We do have a war to win after all.”

Byleth looked ready to inquire further but deigned to leash her tongue. She bowed, taking the opportunity to kiss the back of Edelgard’s hand. “As you will, El. As you will. “

* * *

Leonie had little opinion on what should be done about Blaiddyd and his brood. Her position at present was commanding their fliers in tandem with Ingrid, not fretting over Sreng nor the supposed crest mess with the boy. Let the intellectuals deal with that, she thought. Not her concern by far.

She trusted Edelgard to act with grace. It was doubtful Blaiddyd would kneel after all this, but the Emperor would take his surrender with aplomb. And if he didn’t, Leonie certainly didn’t have any complaints. This northern war had taken its toll upon them all; Byleth’s haggard expression upon her arrival had indicated that much. But even the ever-composed Lysithea was starting to fray at the edges, though Edelgard’s return had done much to soothe both.

Sylvain and Ingrid were harder to read, but the former’s sudden eagerness for responsibility threw her. He normally shied away from anything that wasn’t martial matters and left pressing concerns for others to tend to. Yet now, he dabbled in everything—organizing the cavalry, discussing strategy, mediating with Sreng, and all while fielding the lords of Gautier as Margrave. It was shockingly dutiful behavior for the man. So much, Leonie couldn’t help but wonder what spurred this change.

Ingrid by contrast was subdued yet focused. She appeared deep in thought whenever Leonie caught sight of her, but no less determined. Perhaps more so, if anything. Curiosity was something Leonie tried not to nurture on principle; one tended to get wrapped in all sorts of nonsense that way. However, she considered Ingrid a friend and just as she did for Byleth, Leonie wasn’t opposed to lending a compassionate ear.

So after the war council concluded, Edelgard declaring definitively they would depart by morning, Leonie took it upon herself to follow her fellow captain. Unfortunately, she quickly lost sight of her within the twisting stone walls of Cernunnos. Dismayed, Leonie cursed Ingrid’s swiftness. She could scour her whereabouts but in a fortress so large it could take her an untold age before Leonie found her.

“Looking for someone?”

She jumped at the sudden question, alarmed enough to reach for her side sword. However, Leonie quickly settled as her gaze fell upon Shamir. The Dagdan mercenary looked nonchalant, sitting atop nearby battlements gracefully. She did that often, Leonie mused. Maybe she was securing the high ground or simply liked the view. Too bad Leonie didn’t have the gumption to ask.

“Uh, yeah. Ingrid.” She shifted on her heels, somewhat nervous. “Did you happen to see her recently?”

“Might have,” Shamir replied, non-committal. The woman was hard to read on the best of days, but at the moment she looked particularly inscrutable. Now, Leonie wasn't one for grudges; well-earned or not. Carrying around all that sour just made you unpleasant all around. She had been honest with Byleth.

Leonie truly didn’t begrudge Shamir for what happened in Charon. Didn’t mean she was comfortable being around her though. Unpredictability made for a dangerous individual, and Shamir was unapologetically both.

“Well, if you’re not gonna tell me I gotta go looking.” Leonie sighed, not in the mood to play games.

“Wait.”

Leonie blinked rapidly as Shamir joined her on the ground. The older woman had an odd expression on her face.

“You deserve to know why I attacked you. It wasn’t personal.” Shamir pursed her lips. “I needed a way into the estate and your coloring is easily recognizable. If I pretended to be you, I knew they would let me pass.”

“That simple?” Leonie had expected more honestly. But maybe that was just her smarting pride. “What were you searching for anyway? Did someone hire you to steal Thunderbrand?”

“Melaina Charon had captured Catherine and intended to hand her to Edelgard.” A swift look of agitation crossed Shamir’s face. “All her fault of course. My partner isn’t known for her wits. But I wasn’t ready to concede Catherine’s life just because she’s too careless with it.”

“Wow. That… makes more sense.” Leonie unwound from her uneasy stance. “I guess you’d do just about anything for her, huh?”

“More than I assumed.” Shamir looked discomforted by the admittance, stare falling to the side. “But if you require an apology, you have it. I didn’t intend to harm you.”

Leonie regarded her silently, mulling over the information. Suddenly, Shamir’s dodgy attitude back then had a different context. It was a shock, to be honest. The Dagdan woman had always seemed so detached, fondness for Catherine aside. But to go so far for one person? It was unlike her. Then again, perhaps too much like her, considering she had stayed with Catherine for all these months. Leonie offered a light chuckle.

“Hey, no real harm done. I lived, so I can’t complain. That’s more than we can say about most people who run afoul you.”

“That's gracious." Shamir's tone remained guarded as if she didn't quite believe Leonie's reassurance. "I assumed you would be angry."

“Sure, I was in the moment. Yet it’s been a while since then. I figured you had a good reason to act the way you did. And look, I was right!” Leonie scratched her neck idly. “Can’t say I’ll be happy if you ever do it again, but we’re allies now. Glad we sorted that mess though. Can’t let rotten things sit or they fester.”

“That they do,” Shamir responded, oddly soft. “...If you’re searching for Captain Galatea, I spotted her heading for the pegasi stable. She looked garbed to fly.”

“Sounds right. That woman is a workhorse." Leonie paused, hesitating before she gave Shamir a quick wave. "Don't be a stranger, yeah? If you or Catherine ever need someone to drink with, count me in. It can't be easy being surrounded by people who either dislike you or think you're bloodthirsty lunatics."

“Hm. I’ll consider it.” Shamir smirked wryly before striding into the keep. Leonie observed her steady gait, noting that she seemed more at ease. She still wasn’t sure what to think about their fragile alliance, but what happened in the past was long over.

As Shamir had stated, Leonie found Ingrid saddling up for an afternoon patrol. The captain had her lance tucked beneath an arm as she laced up her gauntlets. She didn’t appear to notice her friend’s arrival. Leonie leaned against the stable wall, rapping her knuckles along the wood.

“Heya,” she greeted. Ingrid’s head shot up in surprise, hands falling still at her side. “You heading out? I could handle your rounds. Give you some peace and quiet.”

“I’ve had enough time to rest. It’s time for me to tend to my duties.” Ingrid blinked after she spoke, expression softening. “Still, I appreciate the offer. Your presence has been invaluable here.”

“If you say so. Just don’t forget to lean on me if you need to, alright? I’m a captain too, you know.” Leonie smirked. Momentarily, she felt a bittersweet pang as the title left her lips. It wasn’t the same as being captain of a mercenary company, that much was true. Yet she found it fulfilling. So long as Edelgard and Byleth needed her, she was content playing the role. Leonie popped a knuckle as she considered the other woman. “...You’ve been quiet lately. Not sad. More reserved, I guess. As if you’re constantly thinking real hard about something.”

“Oh.” Ingrid’s fair lashes fluttered. She stared down at her boots, brow knit. “I suppose I can’t deny it. How much have you heard about my aunt?”

“Your aunt?” Now it was Leonie’s turn to be surprised. She resumed popping her knuckles idly, puzzled. “Er, haven’t heard a thing honestly. Didn’t know you had one. Should I know her?”

“She’s long served Rufus Blaiddyd as his retainer, and currently commands his pegasi. The valkyries we encountered.” Ingrid swallowed visibly. “She’s a skilled fighter. Nearly cut me down during the siege of Cernunnos and… gutted Sylvain.”

“Cripes. And you said she’s family? Nobles sure can be a cold-blooded bunch.” Leonie frowned, observing the downcast look Ingrid wore. “Surprised no one filled me in. That’s a lot to process for me, let alone you.”

“I think they refrained from gossiping out of courtesy. I’m still struggling to make peace with it all.” Ingrid inhaled deeply before her posture straightened. “I don’t wish to kill her. She means a great deal to me, more than I believe she knows.”

“You feel like talking about it?” Leonie offered. “Can’t say I’ll give any clever insights, but I can stand here as you unload.”

“That’s kind of you,” Ingrid said. She sounded a bit taken aback, as if unaccustomed to people lending a compassionate ear. Knowing her heritage and behavior, that was likely the case. “I’m sure you’re aware of the strain between my father and me. He's changed little from my youth, though perhaps more firm-handed in his insistence. Estrid, my aunt, provided a safe harbor from his incessant pestering. Naturally, I idolized her.”

Ingrid smiled in fond reverie. “She could ride better than anyone in Galatea and was magnificent with a lance. Glenn—Even those outside of our land were in awe of her skill. I desperately wanted to be like her. One day, I convinced her to take me flying.”

“Had you not flown before?” Leonie asked. “Hard to imagine you not sitting astride a pegasus and wielding a tiny Lúin.”

“I was not born with wings, no.” Ingrid smiled briefly. “She gave me them. I was young, naught but a girl of ten summers. Estrid plopped me into the saddle, sitting me in front of her so I wouldn't fall. I was petrified of disappointing her or sending us careening to our deaths. Yet she was patient with me and instructed well. Under her care, I took flight for the first time. And suddenly, the world stretched before me as it never had before.”

Leonie watched as Ingrid’s features brightened. “The land seemed so endless from up there. All my youthful worries felt so petty by comparison to the grandeur I saw. For what earthly concerns did the clouds feel? None. My father, Galatea, everything. Estrid showed me the world was greater than I could ever know.”

“That sounds familiar,” Leonie murmured. “Captain Jeralt did the same for me. It’s funny how small the world seems when you’re stuck in one place. Then someone comes along and broadens the picture.”

“Yes… Then, at the academy, it happened again. Edelgard and Byleth showed me I could be just as great, larger than the small girl who floundered to be what others desired.” Ingrid placed a hand over her heart. “Yet in a twist of fate, that same knowledge has led me to make an enemy of Estrid. I don't know if I can convince her to turn away from Blaiddyd, but I want to try. Failing that, perhaps I can at least persuade Estrid to stay her lance."

“You think she’ll listen?”

“I don’t know. Everything in me is saying no, but…” Green eyes sharpened with resolve. “I cannot give up on her. The world is not just full of bleak truths and uncompromising ideals. Her Majesty demonstrated this. We can be hard, yes. Yet also kind and merciful. If we stand together, there’s no end to what we can accomplish.”

“Now that’s a sentiment I can get behind!” Leonie laughed, thumping Ingrid hard upon the back. She smiled widely as the blonde woman balked at her exuberance. “Tell you what, you need help knocking sense into her and I’m there. I’ll give you whatever support you need. Would be nice to see a glimmer of hope within this dismal mess.”

“Thank you, Leonie,” Ingrid responded softly. She appeared to take Leonie’s measure for a time. “I know this won’t mean anything to you, but it needs to be said. You have the heart of a knight—not the ones in Faerghus, but the stories and songs I loved as a child. Where noble character is not a matter of blood, but in action.”

“Pfft, you’re just saying that.”

“Not just. But it’s fine if you don’t believe. I’ll do so in your place.” Ingrid’s head tilted towards the heavens. “I should be off. The sun is dipping fast.”

“You sure you don’t want me to join you?” Leonie’s smile faded. “We can finish sooner that way. And maybe grab a bite to eat afterward?”

“An invitation I’ll have to decline. Nonetheless, I am grateful you offered.” Ingrid squeezed Leonie’s arm companionably. The smile she gave was stronger than before, wide with resolve. “I don’t know how this will end. Yet it heartens me to know I have everyone’s support. That’s more than I ever thought I could have. And more than I once thought I deserved.”

She didn’t give her companion a chance to respond, twisting away to climb atop her mount’s saddle. Leonie folded her arms pensively, as Ingrid finally took to the sky. There was a sad way about her, she thought. Not quite like Lysithea or Edelgard, but just as painfully apparent. For what it was worth, she hoped Ingrid managed to convince her aunt. The woman had lost more than most already by declaring for Adrestia. Sacrifices Ingrid willingly made, but Leonie hardly wanted her to suffer more.

She kicked her heels against the stable wall before heading for the kitchens. The least she could do was prepare something warm and hearty before Ingrid returned. Perhaps a stew or pie to warm her bones. Surely, Lysithea or Byleth would give her a hand if asked. A small kindness, but Leonie knew those went a long way. Byleth and Jeralt were the proof of that.

* * *

Deceit was not a method Ingrid was comfortable with. Lying didn't come easy to her and she feared Leonie saw through her feeble attempts. But it seemed she had successfully eluded her friend’s notice and escaped unobserved. Ingrid gripped the reins, thinking of the lone pegasi feather she had found in her quarters. It had been placed between the window and shutter, fluttering in poignant symbolism. Only one person would send her such a thing; a pointed message and a bid to meet.

She touched the note that was tied to its length, hidden beneath her breastplate. Estrid used such methods before when she was a girl, trapped inside sowing when she could have spent hours riding instead. Father had grown wise to their communication, nailing her windows shut in his worse moods. Privately, Ingrid had dared to think her life would be better had she been her aunt’s child. Those days felt so long ago, far more than a handful of years.

As Ingrid flew over the ice-saturated plain of Sreng, she spotted a frosted pond within the mountain shadow. She guided Llamrei into a hover, careful to keep an eye for any assailants. Estrid disdained duplicity as she did. However, if it was on Blaiddyd’s order, Ingrid wouldn’t put it past her. Fortunately, all was quiet and she finally descended upon the snow. She patted Llam’s mane as she eyed her surroundings.

“You weren’t followed,” a voice pierced the quiet. Ingrid tensed before recognizing the staid timbre of Estrid. “Consider me surprised.”

“Did you expect me to be?” Ingrid held her breath as the older woman waded from the shadows. Without the heat of battle to muddle their reunion, Ingrid could finally observe her aunt unimpeded. Estrid looked the same as she had years ago, if older and longer of hair. Subtle lines were creasing her eyes that hadn't been there, but it could merely be a symptom of the ongoing conflict.

“Subtlety was never your strong suit. It was you, wasn’t it? The one who was spotted hovering the wall before Cernunnos was lost.”

“Perhaps so. But that hardly matters now.” Ingrid dismounted, eyes focused upon Estrid. “Why did you send for me? You took a great risk presenting me that feather."

“No different than escaping your father’s overbearing eye.” Estrid’s mouth pulled at the edge. “How is my fat-headed brother these days? I know he’s there with you.”

“Spies?”

“Could be. Or maybe you’re not the only one who has done a bit of scouting. The only difference is I know how not to be caught.”

Despite herself, Ingrid flushed at the light scolding. She struggled to regain her composure. “Father is… Father. Stubborn and set in how he views the world. He’s still insisting I take the lordship.”

“As expected,” Estrid replied curtly. She sounded as if she tasted something sour, but her aunt’s relationship with her father was not the pressing concern.

“Estrid, I’m not here to relay the on-goings of our family. I’ll ask you again—why did you send for me?”

“Do I need an ulterior motive?" The older woman looked at her sidelong. A curious expression was upon her face; a mix of exhaustion and ample grief. “Ingrid, can I trust you?”

“Of course!” Ingrid reeled, shocked both at the question and her instinctive response. Yet no matter what had occurred and the terrible circumstances of this war, her answer wouldn’t change. She knew herself enough to admit that.

“I’m glad.” Estrid looked up then. “Ingrid, hear me true, this war may end in my death. Mine and Rufus Blaiddyd’s.”

“Are you surrendering?” Ingrid asked, stunned.

“Nay. I cannot, but you deserve to know my thoughts. I intend to die for my king. And there is a good chance he shall not live regardless.”

“If you know this, then why do you still fight? Your life is not lesser than his. All are equal." Ingrid stepped forward, every buried thought since Glenn died given voice at this moment. "You can live. Both of you. My Emperor only asks you to kneel and cease your futile bid for the throne. Faerghus no longer exists, Estrid. Halt this mad march to the grave and see reason, I beg of you!"

“You sound so very Adrestian. Are these your words or those of your liege?”

“They are the words of a girl who has grown past the illusion of self-sacrifice. They are the words of a niece who loves her aunt dearly and doesn’t wish for her to throw away her life.” Ingrid moved near, encouraged by the older woman’s lack of response. “They are the words of a person who knows that honor does not simply hinge upon a noble death and muffling her desires. There is a way beyond such trappings. There is honor in choosing to live. Sometimes kneeling is not the death of duty but its culmination.”

“Pretty words. A shame I don’t agree.” Estrid folded her arms, gaze oddly soft as it fell upon the younger woman. “Yet I acknowledge you have conviction. I didn’t see it at Cernunnos, but I do now. You have stayed true to the path you’ve chosen.”

“And that path can include you as well.” Ingrid’s expression crumpled without her permission. Her throat felt tight. “Come with me, Estrid. Whatever oaths you’ve given Blaiddyd are not worth your life. Do you truly think he’ll be king? Even you know this will end in death. For you and him.”

“Aye. Rufus will die.” Estrid nodded solemnly. “But until my last breath, I will try to save my king. It is all I can do for him. I have sworn my oath as his shield.”

“Can I say nothing to convince you?” Ingrid rasped. She watched, hurt and aggrieved, as her aunt offered a pitying glance.

“Ingrid… I don’t believe Gunnar ever told you this, but I don’t share his reserve. I’m proud of you, my girl. When the time comes, I wish for it to be you. Face me one last time and end it well.”

“Estrid—” Ingrid’s throat seized, tears obscuring her vision. “Auntie, don’t make me do this.”

“I am not forcing you. We both chose the lives we’ve led. So live it well.” With those final words, Estrid turned away from her and strode into the thicket. It wasn’t long before Ingrid saw the telltale grey of her pegasus flitting upward, disappearing through the clouds. She stood there silently, trying in vain to parse what she was told.

Then, she collapsed into the snow. The ice soaked through her boots and leathers, chilling her body until her lungs ached with cold. Ingrid hacked upon every breath, dragging her fingers across the frosted earth. She failed… She failed and now Estrid would die just as Glenn and everyone who sided with Dimitri. Why couldn’t she listen? Why wouldn’t anyone? Ingrid flinched as something brushed against her cheek and hair.

She peered through her damp lashes and found the long muzzle of Llamrei nudging her gently. She smiled shakily, patting him in gratitude. Then, Ingrid sniffled before rising to her feet. She leaned against Llamrei, taking strength from his even breaths.

All was not lost, she thought. If Estrid yearned to face her, then Ingrid would grant her that wish. However, Estrid would not receive the death she craved. Ingrid would force her to submit, beating reason into her skull. It was not an impossible feat. If Ser Catherine could change her perspective—if Ingrid could—then there was hope. There was always hope, the captain mused as she thought of Edelgard. Their world was vast and filled with great unknowns, yet Ingrid now knew the power of an offered hand.

I’ll show you it too, Auntie. I’ll not concede just yet.

Next Chapter: The Wings of Hraesvelgr

Chapter Text

It was fairly undignified to travel by carriage when her generals all led atop horseback. Edelgard pursed her lips as she considered this unpleasant happenstance. Despite the Emperor’s complaints and insistence to the contrary, Byleth was firm in her request she travel with Lysithea; safely sequestered and well-guarded. Lysithea, the traitor, had agreed.

Edelgard felt heartened by their concern yet in her infallible opinion, these precautions were entirely unnecessary. It was unseemly for an Emperor to pout, but she slouched miserably against the carriage wall regardless. She pointedly did not look at the placating face of her advisor.

“Come now, Edelgard. Are you truly so put out over not braving the Srengian winter?” Lysithea sighed. “I feel like I’m dealing with a small child. Is this your bit of role reversal?”

“Taking jabs at yourself, I see. It’s a shame I won’t be tricked by such means.” Edelgard sniffed, gazing through the wooden slats. The snow remained thick over the landscape but had waned some in recent days. The break in precipitation meant they could march unimpeded. “I should be leading them. The army cannot see me as an idler, content to leave others to fight my wars.”

“The army is under the impression you’ve fallen ill. Not too much of an exaggeration. They won’t hold your body’s weakness against you.”

“A pointless ruse. I’m well enough to ride and fight,” Edelgard refuted. She considered the thick drape of clouds overhead. “Complacency was my father’s undoing. His military losses and limp grasp of the nobility led them all to view him as impotent. His ambitious move to consolidate the Emperor’s power naturally led to the insurrection. The final nail in his coffin. I will not be the same.”

Lysithea’s looked at her with a mix of sympathy and reproach then. “You’re too concerned over history repeating. You are not Ionius. The army adores you and the former nobility shake in fear of your shadow.”

“History is where our mistakes were laid. You know this as well as I do. I will always be conscious of our precursors’ failings, but I concede your point. I am not my father.” Edelgard loosened her tense posture. She glanced at her friend, mustering a smile. “Perhaps the caution is deserved. I know the majority of blame rests upon me. I saw a quick end in sight and was blinded by the possibility. It shan’t happen again.”

“At least you're self-aware of your ridiculousness," Lysithea replied. Yet despite her stringent tone, she returned the smile. "You have no idea how good it was to see you after the mess we faced. A long, horrific night with no end in sight. But there you were as if borne of the dawn.”

“It was the same for me. We stood together to herald the dawn...” Edelgard drifted, remembering her relief upon glimpsing Byleth and her eagles. To her, it felt like the struggle had finally ended. “I’m told there’s no greater dream than anticipating certainty. You all were—and continue to be—the embodiment of this.”

“Oh, hush. You’re going to make me weep and it’s far too cold for it.” Lysithea discreetly wiped her eyes before clearing her throat. “About what we discussed a night ago, I think it’s possible.”

“You’re sure.” Edelgard focused fully on her advisor. “About Thales? What of—”

“Quite certain on both accounts. Difficult, no doubt, but not impossible. If we're granted a chance, I can provide the necessary arrangements. As for the issue of our immaculate concern…" Lysithea laced her fingers. "My theory is animated flesh cannot persist without an anchor. You were meant to provide this but foiled his plan. Should Thales find some way to raise her… It won’t be permanent. What is dead may die again.”

“So we’ll need to slay the same dragon twice. Easier spoken of, but we have no other choice. I do spare some pity for her. The dead should rest peacefully.”

“And it shall once we’re done,” Lysithea asserted. “If death should come to us, afeared on abyssal wings, we will soar to match. For we are your wings, Your Majesty.”

“You and Byleth have a wondrous way with words.” Edelgard smiled, bolstered by her friend’s confidence. Yet she knew it would take more than wind to would blow this threat from the land. Edelgard inhaled, momentarily riled by the thought of what would come. She felt a headache setting in. “Excuse me, I need to walk for a bit. I feel restless.”

“Don’t stray from the caravan line,” Lysithea cautioned. “Our soldiers are pinned by the trees and snow and I don’t know what I’ll say to Hubert should you be taken by a wolf.”

“But haven’t you heard, Lysithea? I already have. Quite the ravenous one at that.” Edelgard opened the carriage door with a snap of her wrist. She did not wait for it to slow before slipping to the ground. It satisfied her to see a bloom of color upon Lysithea’s face as Edelgard departed.

Finally in the open air, she inhaled until her throat rasped and her chest stung. It was crisp to the taste; sharp with frost. Edelgard found the sensation grounding. There were times it was far too easy to become lost within her concerns. But she was trying to be better. Mulling over dark worry had only led to hubris, ending in a horrifying capture.

Edelgard peered ahead, keeping pace with the languid stride of the carriage. The polished gleam of imperial armor led into the distance; a formidable line of organized might. A decent collection of Faerghian troops bled into their number—provided by Houses Gautier and Charon. Fraldarius lent only those under the direct command of its newly instated lord. Ser Quincy did not have the sway to demand more.

Galatea… was a matter for another day. Lord Gunnar’s defiance was regrettable, but she trusted Ingrid would not complain if she tightened his reins. The man had shown himself to be surly and bold, dangerous qualities if he wanted to keep Galatea. She trusted Gautier beneath Sylvain’s leadership at least. He had proven himself in the past few weeks, tirelessly attending to his countless responsibilities. His newfound drive was a boon, as was the backing of House Charon.

“Surprised my cousin let you free from your cage,” a familiar voice said. She started a bit as Catherine appeared from behind. Edelgard bristled instinctively. Something about the taller woman placed her on edge. Perhaps it was Catherine’s perpetual smirk; self-satisfied and jeering, though she may not intend as such. In her scant interactions with the younger Charon siblings, they didn’t share this infuriating trait.

“I'm surprised you deigned to approach me," Edelgard returned warily. She noted the hooded coat Catherine wore. “Hiding from someone? It’s too late to conceal your identity from Blaiddyd. Besides, you do know you’re just drawing attention to yourself.”

“It’s not Rufus I shy from.” The woman rolled her broad shoulders. “I spotted soldiers from my House riding alongside your men. Recognized my family’s standard swaying in the wind—that proud lion passant on a field of sable.”

“A flamboyant image. I thought lions were reserved for those descended from Loog.”

“That’s not saying anything.” Catherine barked a laugh. “You know how many Houses have his blood? His line is so scattered that even those in the Empire could lay claim. Countless nobles do, including my House. Distant and diluted through my grand-something or other, but the tie is there.”

The taller woman fell into momentary silence. "...She had the Charon crest removed. Now that's a daring statement. Couldn’t have gone over well with our banners.”

“You speak of your sister,” Edelgard determined. She regarded her companion, reading apprehension from Catherine’s bunched jaw. “Lord Melaina has served me well. She seemed a level-headed woman by my observation. Do you not wish for her to learn of your survival?”

“She already did.” At Edelgard’s brief look of alarm, the smith flashed a sharp grin. “Did I catch you by surprise, Your Majesty? Don’t be too aggrieved. My sister had me captured and planned to leave me at your door, but Shamir stole me away.”

“She does have an aptitude for jail-breaking.” Edelgard shook her head before the implication of her words dawned. “So that’s how Shamir crossed Leonie, yet I still don’t know why you went there. Were you looking for sanctuary?”

“Close. I was looking to start a revolution." The claim was so glibly spoken, that Edelgard couldn't help but look at her twice. She was at a loss for words. Catherine's smile broadened.

“Don’t gape, you’ll choke on a bird. I obviously failed and had a change of heart. I can admit it's ironic, considering our present state of affairs."

“How fortuitous,” Edelgard said—both sardonically and not. While Blaiddyd's claim was tenuous enough, the upheaval would collapse all she had worked for. Had he convinced Catherine to join him, the entirety of Faerghus might’ve risen beneath House Charon’s call. She could have regardless on her own. The woman in question appeared to sense her unease.

“You have nothing to worry about. My sister is welcome to the lordship and I have no designs of taking it.”

“But you almost did.”

“I rid myself of the urge quick enough.” Catherine looked aside, oddly abashed. “Look, I won’t lie. Had I succeeded I would have caused a grander mess than Rufus. As I said, we’re descended from Loog and I personally hold a major crest. If I wanted to, I could've pressed a claim upon the throne and the lords might have backed me no matter how tenuous the blood tie.”

“Well, if nothing else, I respect your honesty.” Edelgard finally eased, consoled by the contrition she observed. “However, my previous question remains. I take it Melaina is ignorant of your present circumstances. She might be relieved to know you yet live. And no longer a fugitive, at that.”

“Maybe so,” Catherine conceded. “But I’m not that dull in the head. The moment I reveal myself, I endanger her rule. Rufus and his runt already proved anyone could use me—unwilling as I am—to wage war.”

“Consider me impressed by your restraint.” Edelgard relaxed fully. She was fully aware of Catherine eyeing her at length.

“Did you think to catch me in a lie or mislead me into revealing some insidious plot? You’re good, but Shamir is better. I’ve learned a thing or two from her vicious tongue.” Catherine paused a moment. “But she knows when to be kind with it.”

“Ugh, spare me.”

“Ha! You have a surprisingly lascivious mind, Emperor. I swear to you, I meant only metaphorically.” Despite her placid expression, the woman’s tone wavered. “Besides, my sister and I didn’t part on the best terms. I can’t see Mel welcoming me with a smile. There are many things I regret saying.”

“You don’t know how she might react.” Edelgard took a moment to think of her siblings. Many years had passed since she dared, and only in the abstract. Discussing the subject with Byleth had taken great strain on her part, but she couldn’t stop herself from considering her deepest regrets. “I can’t speak for her. However, if any one of my siblings returned to me from the mists of time, I would embrace them without question.”

“Not even one?”

“...Perhaps one or two,” Edelgard admitted. The silence that passed between them was comfortable then. She recalled the conversation they held previously but wasn't of a mind to press currently. Catherine seemed to agree until she spoke again.

“Have you given my final judgment further thought?” Her pale blue stare was prying. “Not rushing you, mind. But I’d like to know if I should prepare Shamir a mourning veil.”

“In a hurry to die, Ser?”

“On the contrary, I’d like nothing more than to live. Still, I tire of running from the inevitable.”

Edelgard had no rejoinder for this. The candid way Catherine spoke of her possible demise was disarming and it gave the Emperor pause. Briefly, she wondered if this was Faerghian sensibility dictating the woman but found this explanation weak. For all Catherine’s faults, she had never been enamored with death as her fellow countrymen.

She pressed her lips together, mulling over how best to respond when a cacophony of noise rose from the rear. Startled, she craned to look only for a blinding light to consume the area. A spell of dubious origin whistled past their position, striking the carriage side. Edelgard heard Lysithea shriek in alarm before the horses spooked. They ran in fright, taking the carriage and its lone occupant with it.

Ambush. Edelgard crouched low to avoid another wayward spell. Having gathered her wits, she ducked behind a towering spruce. The bulk of their men headed the march and preceded the Emperor by a mile. Positioned at the rear, the tail end of the army was flustered by the sudden attack. She watched, thoughts whirling, as her guards scrambled beneath the onslaught. Suddenly, warriors garbed in chain-mail and fur broke from the treeline, flanking the imperial soldiers.

“Rufus’ Sreng dogs,” she heard someone growl beside her ear. Edelgard jerked only to still as a firm hand clasped her shoulder. “Steady, Emperor. It’s just me.”

Edelgard relaxed, for once calmed by Catherine’s brusque voice. She shook off her hand. “We should rout the mages first. Did you spot where they came from?”

“Those winged pests from before.” Catherine gestured at the clouds. “They flew after the carriage, likely assuming you aboard. Reeks of desperation.”

“Considering Blaiddyd’s position, a little desperation is apropos.” Edelgard drew her axe, rising to her full height. “If we have nothing to fear from the sky, then we should crush these assailants post-haste.”

“Have you ever said anything that wasn’t grotesquely flamboyant?” her companion snarked. Then Catherine looked down at her empty hands, waving them. “I’d love to get my hands dirty but I’m not leaping in with just my fists.”

Edelgard frowned, belatedly remembering she had ordered no weapons to be offered to the former Knight. Before she could consider this predicament further, a man came barreling in their direction. He yelled hoarsely, blade held high. Edelgard took the opportunity to sink her axe within his belly. She kicked the corpse at her feet, nudging his discarded sword with a boot.

“I take it this will suffice?”

Catherine eyed her shortly but swept up the blade without complaint. She made a show of testing its balance before she offered the Emperor a lazy grin. “And so the Goddess provides.”

“Kindly skip the pious drivel,” Edelgard scoffed. She took shelter behind a frosted boulder as arrows soared above her. An obnoxious peal of laughter was heard above the din of battle. She ignored it in favor of cutting low the offending archer. In her periphery, she witnessed Catherine diving into the fray.

Edelgard assumed her war injury would slow her, yet the woman remained just as fierce as before. It was a spectacle to see Catherine whirling with sword in hand, carving flesh and driving steel into the bodies of her enemies. Though a part of Edelgard, smaller as it was in recent days, still awaited Catherine’s blade to swing upon her. She strove to ignore the worry, hesitating only briefly as she turned her back.

Together they slew any who crossed them, working in tandem with the scattered Imperial soldiers. It seemed the troops had gathered their wits upon observing their Emperor’s bravery. As one, they repelled the attack and turned the tide of battle. Soon, the enemy ranks thinned to a trickle. Edelgard stood to address her men, scanning the field for casualties.

Suddenly, a lone rider swept past and flung something unknown by her heel. She didn’t have a chance to look down before her feet were taken from under her. Edelgard yelped instinctively, clawing at the snow as she was dragged behind the rider’s horse. Gritting her teeth, the Emperor strained against the rope. Sadly, it was all for naught as she was unceremoniously dragged into an open field.

But she was determined not to be taken again. With with a careful swing of her axe, Edelgard was freed. She caught her breath atop the snow. As she stood, weapon at the ready, it occurred to her that nary a scrap of grass or frozen earth lay beneath. Instead, only a plane of sheer ice kissed her boots. A frozen lake. She strained not to think of the icy water trapped under.

The rider, having noticed her escape, rode fiercely for her once again. They didn’t bother to prepare another length of rope, hefting a bronze spear over their shoulder instead. Edelgard preferred an honest fight over such cowardly tactics anyway. As they sped in her direction, she was prepared to greet the rider with her blade. Yet they were surprisingly intercepted.

Another rider collided with the Sreng warrior, sending both tumbling to the ice. Edelgard could do nothing but gape at the ensuing tumult. To her amazement, it was Catherine who rode to her aid. The older woman bared her teeth in a bestial snarl before slashing the rider’s neck. A font of crimson spilt onto the ice.

Edelgard blinked at her, at a loss for how to respond. She lowered her axe as Catherine rose. The woman panted, drenched in enemy blood, but she appeared unharmed save for a superficial gash on her cheek. A bronze hand ruffled through fair strands as Catherine eyed her askance.

“You’re a lightning rod for trouble, you know that?” she said breathlessly. The hood she wore had fallen to her neck. “One moment, you’re perfectly fine and the next, stolen away by some form of nonsense.”

“You say that like I’m asking for it.” Edelgard sniffed, wiping the head of her axe. “Blaiddyd is eager to win this conflict. It’s clear they had orders to take me and failing that, kill me.

“Rufus will get his due. I’ll make sure of it, even if I have to play imperial nanny.”

Edelgard ignored the jibe, mustering an exasperated look in return. She spared a moment to be relieved Blaiddyd's gambit had failed. She shuddered to think of what might have happened otherwise. It was only luck and Shamir's intervention that spared her from Thales the first time. A second would certainly spell her doom.

Too many narrow escapes—only by the breadth of a hair, she thought dourly. I cannot falter so close to victory. Exasperated with herself, Edelgard wiped her face clean of sweat and ice. After being raked across the Sreng forest, she looked a mess. Felt like one as well. She peered down, adjusting her armor and cloak when her gaze stilled upon the icy plane below. It was deep and dark; seemingly fathomless.

And the frost sheet separating her from a watery grave appeared so very thin. She swallowed dryly, overcome by the memory of another watery plummet. This time, Byleth wasn’t here to save her if she fell. Her heart galloped in an uneven rhythm.

“Hey.”

Edelgard was startled from her morbid thoughts as Catherine called to her. The taller woman had moved closer, her stare curiously speculative.

“It won’t break, you know. Too cold for that.” Catherine tucked the bloodied sword into her belt. She sounded sympathetic. “Charon winters aren’t this harsh but the lake near my home never shattered. This far north, it’s near impossible.”

“What makes you think I’m worried?” Edelgard asked defensively. She bristled as Catherine laughed.

“Your terrified face, for one. You keep looking at the ice like it’ll gobble you up.” Catherine wiped the spatter of crimson from her jaw, stare sharp but not hostile. “...You can’t swim, can you?”

“Absurd. Bold of you to assume such a ludicrous thing.” Edelgard looked away. She didn’t want to bare her weakness to someone who once bayed for her blood. However, Catherine wasn’t convinced.

“I see more than you think, Emperor. I remember how you sank in the sea. You flailed about like a drowned cat as Byleth dragged you to safety.” The words were needling, drawing Edelgard’s ire. Yet she found her tongue caught as Catherine offered her arm. “Hold onto me. If the ice breaks, I’ll pull you up.”

“Or perhaps I’ll drag you under,” Edelgard replied. She took the offered limb after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ha! Then you’ll be known as the hero who felled the ruinous Knight, Thunder Catherine.”

There was no quick response Edelgard could think of that felt fitting, so she allowed her companion to have the last word. When they returned to the march, Lysithea and Byleth greeted them with ample concern. Edelgard was quick to reassure them that all was well. Blaiddyd had failed in this cowardly attempt on her life, but her thoughts were not for him.

In the corner of her eye, she observed Catherine slinking into the background. Shamir whispered to her something unknown. The smith said nothing of her deeds, even as Edelgard’s loved ones demanded what happened. The woman Edelgard thought she knew would take any opportunity to gloat. But she didn’t. It occurred to the Emperor, obviously in hindsight, that she never knew Catherine at all.

* * *

The morning had grown long and significantly warmer than the days previous. The sun was high, light fanning across the small room. Estrid kept vigil over her infant charge silently. She felt the morning heat upon her skin yet frowned at the implications. With the pause in snowfall, the imperial army would hasten to their door.

Already, she could sense the end. It was held deep in Rufus’ chest as he fretted and railed at the Emperor’s approach, seen in the flagging spirits of those who rallied beneath his banner and heard in the whimpering gasps of his son. She clenched her teeth until they felt fit to break as the babe broke into a pealing cry. Estrid went to the wooden crib and tucked the sparse blanket beneath him.

Not for the first time, she lamented his mother had not survived the labor. The woman was a mistress of little importance, but Estrid mourned her loss for the babe’s sake. Surely, if she had lived, the child would bear a name to fit the hefty crown placed upon him. Unfortunately, Rufus seemed thoroughly disinterested in granting him one. Yet it was not her place, so Estrid thought of him only as her king—tiny, helpless, and perhaps destined for the grave.

Estrid walked away, working to forget the child’s mewling cries. She was not his mother, and her lord would frown upon coddling. Rufus awaited her. Into the Sreng wilderness she trekked, braving the harsh winds with nary a flinch. She spotted the golden cap of Rufus to the west where he stood in counsel with Lord Arundel. They were gathered around a deep trench, of which she skirted warily.

The Adrestian man had declared they give the area a wide berth ever since they occupied this valley settlement. Yet now he appeared willing to show what he concealed. Ever since the terrible works of Taranis, she did not care to observe Arundel’s ‘gifts’. Whatever he claimed to serve, it was not the Goddess. She heard him murmuring to her lord as she moved close. Arundel stopped upon glimpsing her.

“Ser Galatea,” he greeted. The man dipped into a supercilious bow. His lips were twisted as he smiled derisively, but she paid it no heed. Her attention was on Rufus alone.

“My valkyries were unsuccessful,” she relayed. “The Sreng war band was also crushed upon encountering the Emperor. I’m told she dispatched them herself.”

“Aggravating, but not entirely unexpected. I knew from the start it was a slim chance.” Despite the assertion, Rufus hissed through his teeth. “The ashen-haired bitch is sly. Beloved by her heathen horde of supplicants as well.”

“An unfortunate failure, but one of my girls did reveal something interesting.” Estrid paused, cautious of her lord’s reaction. “Ser Catherine was among them and assisted Emperor Edelgard. While seen from afar, my scout is certain of it.”

“Charon.” Rufus paled before an ugly rash of scarlet spread along his face. “Of course, she would be part of this! That incorrigible wretch refuses to die. I thought her finally gone with that miserable village, but no. It was she who revealed our plans and location—I’m sure of it!”

“It’s a safe assumption, my lord.” Estrid looked at Arundel. The man's flat gaze unnerved her as ever. He showed no hint of emotion on his face. Abruptly, Arundel gestured for Rufus’ attention.

“An inconsequential player, Lord Rufus. Edelgard may have a knight upon the board, but what is that in comparison to the piece I offer?” Arundel gestured wide over the trench. “Where blood spills, the divine shall be given new life.”

At the man’s cryptic words, four figures crept from the shadows. Each held a presumed captive, bony and sallow from malnourishment. The figures, Arundel’s magi collaborators, took the men and dragged them to the pit’s center. Collectively they were bent over a rocky outcropping, knife held to the jugular. Estrid looked away as their throats were slit.

“Behold now,” she heard Arundel say. “See how the infused ichor quickens the flesh. Gaze upon death and know it can be undone!”

A horrible curiosity took hold even as she recoiled at these foul deeds. Estrid watched, astonishment deepening, as blood pooled and congealed around the rocks. The formation of sediment appeared to shudder.

Then, as if torn from a nightmare, it arched as one and revealed itself to be a serpentine beast. Its face was long and draconic, bearing a maw of ice-laden fangs. It shook the snow from its pallid scales before emitting a bellowing roar. The percussive force of its hideous call shook her frame. Her lord was similarly affected by the aghast look he wore.

“The Immaculate One,” Rufus whispered. “It yet lives. But the Archbishop—”

“Was a charlatan. A pretender to divinity.” Arundel waved a hand dismissively. He faced them with an assured slant of his lips. “Do you see now? We are truly blessed. The Immaculate One has arisen to face Edelgard in the final hour. For Faerghus is rife with tales of the restless dead. We will show my niece what that truly means.”

Estrid’s heart sank as Rufus’ eyes took a familiar shine. “What… What of Dimitri? Could he be brought back as well?”

“It’s not impossible,” Arundel revealed. His words were slick; oiled with deceit. Estrid heard it well and silently pled for Rufus to turn away. “However, all miracles require great sacrifice. You saw what must be done. For Dimitri to rise as king, a person of equal blood is required.”

“What do you mean?”

Yet Estrid knew immediately what those awful words implied. She closed her eyes as Arundel answered.

“The same crest, my lord.” Arundel stared at Rufus, unblinking. His voice was thickly cloying. “Why waste our time on an ailing babe when a king can take his place?”

Rufus said nothing and Estrid could only bite her tongue. The malformed dragon of death and ice roared once more.

“I await your decision, my lord. Offer me the child and I shall grant king Dimitri new life. Just as the Goddess does for the Immaculate One.” Arundel waded into the trench, addressing the creature he had arisen. “Go forth. Rend the Emperor’s army in twain.”

For a moment, it wasn’t clear whether the beast understood his order or intended to heed Arundel at all. Yet it took flight nonetheless. The beast flapped the frozen remains of its wings and rent the heavens. There, it pierced the dark veil of clouds, heading for the mouth of the valley.

Estrid’s lip curled as she imagined Ingrid facing such an abhorrent creature. Arundel disappeared in a bust of light, leaving her and Rufus alone. She faced her lord solemnly, a multitude of questions upon her tongue. Then Rufus began to speak.

“Dimitri… A chance to right my mistakes,” he muttered to himself. “Lambert would want this, wouldn’t he? I know he would.”

“King Lambert is long gone, my lord.” Estrid pursed her lips. The bitter air cracked her skin as she did so. “As is King Dimitri. Arundel’s magic defies the goddess, and it cannot be trusted. Your son is king now.”

“King? Yes, a weak king sired of a weak man. King of nothing save for ice and wildmen. Yet Dimitri was strong. Had that woman not led him astray, abandoning him upon the Tailtean, this war would be unnecessary.” Rufus nodded to himself. “I can undo my failure now. Dimitri can be saved.”

“My lord...” Estrid’s stomach swooped as she entreated him. The lance at her back felt heavy with duty. “Think clearly. Reconsider, I beg of you.”

“It’s too late. My heart is set. I will raise Dimitri from hell and he shall inherit the Kingdom we lost. Bring the boy to me, Estrid. Take heart, I will ask Arundel to make it a quick—”

She thrust her lance through his gut; a quick, clean movement. Estrid granted him the dignity of staring into his eyes as she wounded him. Rufus fell to his knees as she withdrew, shock replacing the horrid resolve he bore. Blood pooled atop the snow, but she gave the stain no mind. She knelt atop it, clasping his shoulder. The man flailed as he tried to crawl away.

“Estrid...?”

“Forgive me, Rufus. But it must be done.” She stared hard into his eyes, disappointed it had come to this. Rufus wet his lips tremulously, fear and wroth watering his eyes.

“Betrayer! After everything, how… how could—?

“You bid I hail your son as king,” she explained. Estrid, former retainer to the Duke of Itha, looked upon the man with sadness and pity. “I swore to be his shield and protect him from any threat. Even from his father.”

Rufus had no further words for her, tearing away from Estrid’s hold as he writhed. He was not a man accustomed to injury; soft as the pleasures he favored. It showed in each frantic gasp for air. Estrid stood, features schooled into an impassive mask.

“Do not despair, Rufus,” she said. “The Emperor won’t have your son. And he shall know you only as the lord I remember and not the hollow shell you became.”

Estrid left him there, deafening herself to his agony. Rufus would not die immediately. With luck, he would live long enough to see her triumph over the Emperor. Arundel’s dark magics were good for something, though she disdained the methods. If nothing else, it provided a barrier between her king and his would-be executioner.

Estrid clutched her bloodied lance. Neither Arundel nor the Empire would touch the babe. She swore this as his knight.

* * *

“Are you certain?”

Edelgard tipped her head towards Byleth. She sat straighter atop her mount, sending the older woman an exasperated look. Their soldiers were organized, fanning themselves below the hill she occupied. All were ready to storm the valley settlement Rufus’ had claimed, or she thought they all were.

“Byleth, I’m not an invalid,” Edelgard insisted curtly. “The attack on my person was handled without incident.”

“That’s not what onlookers have said.” Byleth frowned so deeply it verged on a pout. “Numerous people claimed you were dragged off.”

“So briefly it might as well not have happened.” Edelgard waved off the incident. “I evaded capture on my own. Catherine intervened, but I could have handled my assailant regardless.”

“I was told she rode after you.” Byleth’s harsh expression smoothed. “I owe her then. I still say you should not take part in this battle. There’s too much at stake, El.”

“Which is why I’m not approaching with the vanguard,” Edelgard replied. “I’ll stay by the rear. However, I will not quit the field nor allow my soldiers to fight this battle alone.”

“If you’re sure—”

“I am. And I refuse to cower in safety while my people bleed.” She glanced at Byleth pointedly. “This is not my pride speaking. I am well enough to fight alongside you all. I wouldn’t lie to you, Byleth.”

“Then I withdraw my protests." Byleth audibly inhaled but dipped her chin in concession. A quick look of pain crossed her features. “I cannot lose you again. We cannot.”

“You won’t,” Edelgard reassured her, tone soft as she could manage. “It's almost over. The only task left is to crush the remainder of Blaiddyd’s army, and whatever surprises he has in store.”

She could feel Byleth’s eyes upon her, likely aware of the unspoken implication. They did not discuss the matter of Rhea at length. Yet Byleth was present when she brought the topic to Lysithea. Her lover had been eerily quiet on the matter. Whether Byleth held any significant thoughts on Rhea’s possible resurrection or not, she didn't voice them.

The sound of fluttering wings caught her ear but before she could become alarmed, Ingrid hovered into view. The captain’s mouth was set with resolve, green eyes solemn.

“Your Majesty,” Ingrid hailed. She gestured towards the mountains crowning the valley's mouth. "We've spotted Kingdom loyalists waiting near the pass. A sizable number of Sreng warriors with them. They’re immobile for now, awaiting our approach in all likelihood.”

“The pass?” Edelgard pondered that detail. “Do they presume to trap us, or use the topography to delay our march? Futile. The mountains can be skirted in a day.”

“I find it curious as well,” Byleth said. “With their lack of advancement, I can only assume treachery.”

“I see no sign of a trap. Neither Kingdom nor Sreng hostile camp the pass by my eye.” Ingrid bowed in deference. “My fliers can give the ridge another sweep at your order, Your Majesty.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ingrid. I trust your judgment.” Edelgard worried her bottom lip as she thought. It was unwise to take such an obvious route at face value. The pass was the quickest way to Blaiddyd’s camp, but should they gamble on that certainty? Too much rode on their present actions. They couldn’t afford to be wrong. She glanced at Byleth.

“As my High General and tactician, what do you advise?”

Byleth’s features morphed into a familiar impassive mask. Her stare became distant. “I recall a similar situation with my father’s mercenary company. We had the target cornered, trapped in a system of caves. My father thought them to be cowering, yet he was wrong.”

“And then?” Edelgard waited patiently as the older woman stirred from her recollection. Byleth roused with a downward twist of her lips.

“We were beset by hidden reinforcements. Many died, taken unaware by the attack. We should refrain from charging in before we’re certain history will not repeat.”

“A prudent course,” Edelgard commented. “Ingrid, wait above the clouds. I demand we observe the enemy for now.”

“Understood, Your Majesty. General.” Ingrid inclined her head before taking flight once more. Edelgard knew Sylvain would follow her lead. Their cavalry lay hidden in the trees, waiting for the right time to charge. They were not to forge ahead until the vanguard met Blaiddyd’s force. She trusted Sylvain’s restraint.

Edelgard stared hard at the still line of Kingdom armor. While not many, their inactivity alarmed her nonetheless. Byleth’s assessment nagged, and she wondered what it was they awaited.

“This reminds me of Cernunnos,” Byleth voiced abruptly. “The long night. Before the fight began, their soldiers remained in place as if awaiting a signal. Only when we mustered our army in return did they stir. It was never made clear what caused their hesitance.”

“Well, let us hope it’s just fear and nothing insidious.” Edelgard scanned the field, taking in the meager scope of Sreng and Kingdom combatants. They would be soundly crushed within moments. Was this truly the final page Rufus wrote for himself? She expected more. For that alone, Edelgard was on edge.

In the next moment, a shrieking bellow came from afar. Her horse pranced in place, plainly unsettled by the cry. Edelgard glanced upward in alarm, nape prickling with ghastly recognition. A great shadow loomed over the field, encasing Blaiddyd’s men. Then, soaring upon mottled wings of frost and bone, a dragon swooped down upon the earth. The Immaculate One loosed a hideous cry, the sound resonating with Edelgard’s frantic heartbeat.

It lived. She lived once again. The Emperor stilled, mind a whirl. Below, the vanguard gaped at the dragon incredulously. She could sense their disquiet and fright as if it were her own. Next to her, Byleth took a sharp breath.

“El…”

“I know.” Edelgard held her axe at the ready. Then, she raised it aloft. “Soldiers of Adrestia, hear me true!”

Despite their shock, her army turned at the sound of her voice. Their loyalty was greater than the nightmarish vision at their backs. She took strength from this, confidence unshaken. Edelgard’s voice cut through the beast’s wails.

“We face darkness beyond our ken! However, know you are the bulwark of our great Empire, shielding our country from its grisly hunger. And lo, a dragon may stand in defiance but any beast can be slain.” Edelgard pointed her axe at the risen creature. “For you are my wings and the Eagle soars above all!”

A great, enthused cry came from the Imperial line. Their voices rose above the wind until they too became a roar. She heard Byleth unsheathe her blade.

“For the Empire!” the general shouted. She stampeded down the hill, sword high and proud. “For the twin eagle; Might and Dominion!”

The vanguard stirred at Byleth’s rousing call and joined the general as she forded the plain. Soon, they became a wave of black steel as the army charged. The Immaculate One shrieked, enraged, but the encroaching horde was not swayed.

The Emperor oversaw them all with pride. It took everything she had not to join her lover. But she knew Byleth was correct. She could not fall here. Still, Edelgard eyed the dragon with spite and regret. The dead deserved their rest. Thales, the cruel puppeteer, was all the more heinous for disturbing the natural laws of man.

* * *

Shamir had hoped to never hear that dissonant keen ever again. Memories of smoke and flame rushed back to the fore. The suffering she saw… And the agony of witnessing Catherine at her lowest—broken beneath the heel of obedience; a slave to the lie of divine servitude. The singular consolation to this mess was while the dragon itself arose, the Archbishop did not.

Edelgard was certain Rhea would not return as she once was. Shamir could only beg for this truth to be reality. Still, knowing of this possibility was altogether different than seeing it brought to life. Shamir settled her gaze upon the still frame of Catherine. The former knight was so insistent on joining this final bout—to see Rufus finally meet his end. Yet now—

“He did it. They actually...!” The shaken words had not come from her lover. Shamir glanced behind them, spotting the pinched expression of Lysithea. She headed the imperial mage reinforcements, their allies from Sreng waiting just beyond them. All held the same look of shock, momentarily undone by the irreverent disregard for death.

“Vetrardýrið…” The Sreng chief, Frode, spoke roughly. His eyes were wide as he beheld the dragon. "Conjured from ice and darkness, Skuggahátalari summons the first of many beasts. It was seen by the völva.”

“Then your völva is mistaken.” Lysithea recovered, addressing the man with a stern look. “We’ll slay this beast and anything else Arundel has prepared.”

“I didn’t expect the former regent of Adrestia to dabble in such arts.” Shamir nipped her cheek, stress bleeding through her composure. She hadn’t fought the Immaculate One as the Empire did, but she imagined a husk mindless with rage would not be much easier. “Edelgard informed me as much, but it’s hard to believe. The Church underestimated him and Rufus.”

“So he succeeded after all,” she heard Catherine comment. She sounded strained, a font of anger bubbling behind each word. “Right or wrong; it doesn’t matter. No matter her sins, the Lady doesn’t deserve for her corpse to be used as a puppet.”

“I happen to agree.” Lysithea eyed Catherine cautiously. “It’s a brutal mockery of life. And while I cannot condone the Archbishop’s actions, no one deserves this.”

“Skuggahátalari is dreaded. He has used our people the same,” Frode responded. The man sounded exhausted. “The kneelers, veikburðae, they were swayed by false promises and allowed their bodies and minds to be broken. I thought them weak-hearted. But now Skuggahátalari commands this beast of winter...”

Frode traded several looks with his people. They all murmured among themselves for a time. Frode shook his head before speaking again.

“Hraesvelgr is mighty, but can she rise against these magicks?”

“If anyone can, it’s Edelgard.” The imperial advisor appeared to shake off her lingering disquiet. She raised an arm towards her contingent, peering at the gathering of mages. “Let us unleash our own magic. Rain it upon them until the beast is dead once again!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and an echoing cry sounded to her back. It rose into a swell, joined by Frode and his people. Despite his dismal musings, it seemed the Sreng chieftain had not given in just yet. They broke from the trees, Lysithea heading the rush of horses and men. Yet Shamir refrained. She looked at her seething partner, hesitating atop Saloma's saddle.

“Catherine?”

Blue eyes were focused upon the distant beast. Concerned, Shamir nearly offered to ride her away from the valley. Then, Catherine spoke.

“I thought my vows were complete. Vengeance was beyond me, or so I fancied.” The taller woman raked a hand through her hair. Her hand settled atop the sword she kept from the prior attack. “But I see now that one final duty awaits. I will end this frozen corpse and give Lady Rhea a final rest.”

Catherine craned her head, gaze searching. “Will you join me, Shamir?”

The Dagdan woman considered the plea, reading the determination her lover held. Catharsis had many forms. For Catherine, her deeds and past had been reassessed within the forge she worked. Now, this too would banish a ghost. Shamir held out her arm.

“Always,” she said. “Just try not to die. You owe me a ring.”

Catherine chuckled before taking her partner’s arm. She slung herself into the saddle, kissing Shamir’s nape.

“When this is done, I’ll give you anything you wish.”

* * *

Ingrid hadn’t known what to expect for this final battle. She half expected Rufus to concede and beg for his life. The whispering by her father and his fellows had alluded to such character. They painted Rufus as a coward, a braggart, and a hedonist. The sort of waspish knave who would sooner hide in a whore’s skirts than storm the battlefield. Yet he had given them a fierce struggle, no matter how futile the conclusion.

And now, to her horror, Rufus had somehow given life to the Immaculate One. The corpse only, judging from the mindless haze of its stare, but still great in all its terrible glory. Yet Her Majesty and General Byleth were undaunted. So Ingrid would strive to follow suit. She patted the length of Llamrei’s mane before raising her lance.

“To battle!” she ordered her fliers. “Show this dragon our fangs!”

As one, Ingrid and her pegasi dove hard for the looming beast. She mantled herself with the same courage her Emperor bore, lance aimed for pearled scales spattered with ice. However, the pegasi never reached their target.

In an instant, Ingrid and her troop were beset by a hail of magic. She veered upward, a missile of flame clipping her mount’s wings. Ingrid glared at their assailants, fully expecting to see the calm face of her aunt. Yet Estrid was not among the group of valkyries. She did not waste time wondering why.

“Hold together! Meet their magic with your blades.” Ingrid swept above her soldiers, rallying them. “In the name of our fallen comrades, sever their wings.”

And so, pegasi met pegasi above the discordant rumblings of a dragon. Steel clashed against its like as imperial lances met the remains of a fallen kingdom. And though Ingrid could not have known what historians would pen of her, she fought as courageously as the women she faithfully served. Tales would account of Captain Galatea’s swiftness, akin to the bitter winds she flew against.

Because this was a war for the domain of heaven, Ingrid refused to kneel. She swerved beneath a conjured gale, lance steady and true. With a hoarse yell, Ingrid pierced a valkyrie through her chest. The woman tumbled from the saddle, falling fast through the air before cracking against ice. All around her, the hostile force met a similar fate.

Though dangerous in their arcane might, the valkyries were scattered; lacking a unifying presence. They fought not with logic but with recklessness. Their numbers were not significant either, hardly worthy in comparison to the countless imperial pegasi. Under the combined might of Ingrid and Leonie’s fliers, they were steadily being felled with ease. It was evident they flailed without a leader. So where was Estrid?

Ingrid panted, pulling her weapon back as she caught her breath. She dismissed the other valkyries, trusting Leonie to tear them from the sky. They were unimportant; naught but a brief hurdle to triumph. She observed her fellow captain darting through the clouds in pursuit of more. Suddenly, Ingrid’s gaze was snared by the massive wave of imperial soldiers, all slashing against the reptilian skin of the Immaculate One.

The beast was intimidating in its fury, claws rending a path through frozen earth and hapless men. Yet where Ingrid held command of the skies, the earth knelt to General Byleth. The woman was a dark blur on the battlefield, riding gracefully atop her courser. The gleam of her sword was a beacon, guiding her men through the bloody turmoil. The wild cap of Sylvain’s hair was spotted just beyond her; the cavalry forgoing surprise to assist the vanguard.

Reflexively, Ingrid sought her Emperor. Edelgard was safe, conserving the rear guard until the last push was needed. She dared to take a relieved breath only for it to catch in her throat. There, soaring low and fierce towards the Emperor, was Estrid. It was too far to read her aunt’s face, but the deadly angle of her lance told all. She had chosen to abandon her valkyries in pursuit of a decisive kill.

However, Ingrid wouldn’t allow it. She set her jaw and dove to intercept. Like a bolt of lightning, she swooped in between the older woman and her quarry. She brandished her lance, imagining herself as the Emperor’s shield, but not one fashioned after Rodrigue and Kyphon. Or even Glenn, she thought. The horrid urge to die in sacrifice had relinquished its hold upon her. Rather, Ingrid was determined to live.

“Halt, Estrid! You go no further,” she declared. Ingrid watched as Estrid’s expression flickered. A muscle in the older woman’s cheek leapt.

“So you’ve come for me after all. I wasn’t sure you would.” Estrid looked briefly at the great, draconic monstrosity. “I thought you would be more concerned with that nightmare. It truly is a ghastly thing.”

“You asked me, Auntie,” Ingrid replied gravely. “For the sake of our family, let’s decide this here.”

“Courageous words, yet the circumstances have changed. In another world, perhaps I would embrace this turn of fate.” Something cold and forbidding crossed Estrid’s face. “If I must kill you too, then so be it. I cannot fall before the Emperor is dead.”

“And I will never let you.” Ingrid bristled at the threat. She didn’t know what Estrid’s single-mindedness had spawned from, but it mattered little. She knew her duty and at this moment, it was one with desire. “Hear me well—My name is Ingrid Galatea, Captain of Adrestia, and I will know victory.”

Estrid did not reply, still focused somewhere beyond her niece. Ingrid took the opening. She sped forward with her lance, forcing Estrid on the defensive. The older woman had no choice but to relent in her pursuit, using lance and magic to stem Ingrid’s furious strikes.

As they clashed, Ingrid remembered the woman from her childhood. She who taught her so much, and gave her the wings Ingrid cherished. These fond musings did not slow her in the least. If anything, she grew more determined.

You will listen, Ingrid ordered silently. I will not lose you as I have lost so many. As we have lost. She refused to watch another person succumb to their hubris. The cycle of senseless sacrifice would finally be brought to an end.

Next Chapter: The Wings of Hraesvelgr - Part 2

Chapter Text

In the year 1187, the unifying Emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg, forded beyond the boundary of Faerghus and invaded Sreng. For what, historians could not decide. Was it land? Gold? Those possibilities were doubtful considering the dismal quality of the land itself and its poor populace. Some held she strove to tie Sreng beneath the Empire’s banner as a show of military might, finishing what the Kingdom began. A reasonable hypothesis due to the hostile and savage nature of Sreng.

The most widespread theory claimed she pursued the last remnants of the Knights of Seiros. And perhaps there was truth to this. There were many accounts of imperial soldiers catching sight of the fabled Thunder Catherine. Yet considering they spoke of the infamous Knight fighting alongside Emperor Edelgard—without her relic no less—most dismissed these tales as fantasy or a mistaken likeness. Historians of repute held Ser Catherine perished in Fhirdiad, Thunderbrand bequeathed to House Charon.

Yet the one story no one believed lay within the journals of Lysithea von Ordelia. Many dispute their authenticity, as the imperial advisor of the time wasn’t known for her personal writings. However, her academic publications were aplenty. A talented forger could feign Advisor Ordelia’s written script without trouble. As for what lay within the journals, their subject matter was simply too fantastical to be truth.

Rufus Blaiddyd, a well-known hedonist and coward, raising a flag in rebellion? A child, blessed with a crest House Blaiddyd had not seen for over a generation? And the Immaculate One, risen to life as a frozen revenant? Surely, it was all the preposterous ravings of an unhinged mind and not written by one of the most revered scholars of the era.

Most posited the contents were entirely too outlandish even for a work of fiction and ignored them readily. Yet a small subset of historians believed the journals to be authentic, if not based in fact. Some theorize Advisor Ordelia had penned a coded story, rife with symbolism and meaning. Because who could believe the indomitable Emperor Edelgard could be stolen from a battlefield and held captive? And why would anyone ever take such madness as fact, coming from the script of a well-known confidant?

The supposed dragon was just another symbol among many, perhaps alluding to the church’s remaining force. The Archbishop was similarly codified at Fhirdiad. There was no reason this should be any different.

Passages from the purported journals of Lysithea von Ordelia—

...I had japed to Edelgard before the battle began of death soaring to greet us on abyssal wings. And to my horror, it was the truth. The Immaculate One had not been seen since it fell at Fhirdiad. Yet there it stood, mindless and slick with frost, but animated once more. For an instant, I felt only fear and doubt in my ability. But then I spotted the gleaming sword of our once professor.

Byleth rode as if the wind carried her aloft. The blade of Saint Seiros shone brilliantly through the gloom and struck the horrid creature with every swift pass. The soldiers at her side were just as undaunted. They followed her courageous example and fought the dragon tirelessly.

Just beyond, the cavalry aided their assault, dividing their force to rout the remaining Kingdom loyalists. Sylvain led them with aplomb, giving honor to the title he bore. At the time, I could spare no thoughts for him other than relief, but now I can put to paper my admiration for how far he’s come. The man I saw on that field was a far cry from the feckless boy of our youth.

I could not see Ingrid from my position, but I’m sure she cut a striking figure as she split the heavens. Along with Leonie, I can imagine they made for a dashing sight. It’s just as well I could not see her then. I would likely waste pages on how the dying sun made her hair glow. The isolated walls of Cernunnos have nurtured a juvenile appreciation of her virtues. Yet I’m certain it’ll pass quickly enough, just as it did with Leonie. I fear my personality and Ingrid’s would not make for a sustained dalliance. However, I can admire from afar.

The field was hectic, but as I joined the turmoil, I took heart from my comrades. The Black Eagles, though less numerous within Sreng, were forever bound by a common cause. I could feel my fear slip away beneath the watchful eye of our Emperor. It was hard to catch a glimpse of Edelgard’s position when near the dragon's bulk. Yet I could sense she beheld us with pride. 

And I knew, if not for the strain of imprisonment, she would combat this nightmare to her last breath. So I fought to follow her peerless example, joined by countless swords and magical might. When I think back, it was truly an inspiring feat; humanity, both common and not, struggling together to banish this unprecedented threat. With every cry of defiance and clash of steel, we demonstrated why crests were unnecessary.

 Of course, we weren’t without our moments of dread. I recall the breathless instant when that ghastly creature took flight and headed for Her Majesty…

* * *

The dragon’s furious roars rattled Edelgard’s bones. Her lungs resonated with the weight of each bellow. She eyed it from afar, axe held tight betwixt her fingers. She yearned to spur her mount forward and bash its hideous visage, malformed from rot and ice. The rear guard quivered with anticipation, or perhaps it was fear. Edelgard knew only what she felt at that moment.

Her attention switched to her stalwart eagles. Byleth struck the beast valiantly, deftly evading each fervent swipe. Sylvain combated from the rear, dividing his men to approach the Kingdom loyalists who took shelter in the mountain shadows. And Lysithea loosed a repeated salvo of magic bolts, joined by her mounted mages. Slowly, the dragon’s ferocity waned.

We did this once, Edelgard thought. Her assurance grew, heart and head abuzz with exhilaration. We’ll do it again. The beast shall fall as it did at Fhirdiad. As if wise to her certainty, the dragon’s grotesque skull whipped to stare in her direction. Its icy wings spread, beating rapidly as it took to the sky.

Then, the Immaculate One soared across the field. It landed violently a few meters from the Emperor, cashing against the snow in a burst of earth and ice. Edelgard clenched her teeth as its sightless eyes fell upon her. She shivered at the milky hue of the beast’s serpent gaze. Its maw opened, slick with viscera and rotted blood.

Dimly, she grew aware of the panicked voices of her soldiers. She could not fault their fear. Few had faced the Immaculate One when it was among the living, and none as a putrid corpse. However... Edelgard pursed her lips as she lifted her axe skyward.

“Stare into the face of death and embrace the one unalterable truth. All things must die, even this.” She glowered at the undead monstrosity. “I slew the Immaculate One at Fhirdiad. Warriors of Adrestia, help me slay it again!”

The soldiers stirred, bolstered by her words. She heard the sing of blades as they pulled from their sheathes before the soldiers joined her. They stood as one to meet the beast’s fury. The Immaculate One roared at their defiance, scales pulling upward from its cracked snout. Then, with a horrid tremor of its wings, it bore down upon them.

With a gnash of fangs and a swipe of black claws, the creature rent flesh from bone. The soldiers halted only a moment as their comrades fell, yet Edelgard was undaunted. She fell upon the dragon with her axe, sinking metal fang in retribution. The rear guard followed her example in kind. They railed against the creature’s bestial might, weapons bound in a chorus of war.

And so the final conflict truly began. Edelgard knew not how long they grappled for supremacy. She was surrounded by booming snarls and cries of human agony. Her strikes against the beast were ceaseless, hands drenched in foul blood and joints quivering from each impact. She yelled herself hoarse, striving to match the shrieks of draconic rage.

Just when she thought its furious assault began to cease, Edelgard found herself staggered by the beast's tail. She was knocked a few yards away, teeth rattling from the blow. Her vision blurred, and the Emperor was forced to grasp for purchase atop the snow. Edelgard glanced upward, panting. The dragon loomed over her like a grisly obelisk, steadfastly ignoring the soldiers hacking its flesh.

Do you recognize me even now, Rhea? Edelgard grit her teeth. You could not defeat me then and will not fell me today. She climbed to her feet, shaking off the ice from her frame. The beast opened its terrible maw, iridescent light gathering upon its tongue. However, the Emperor refused to balk. She stood to face the threat, digging her heels into the frozen earth.

Suddenly, a rider swept their blade against the Immaculate One's flank. Its frosted skin tore, dark ichor spilling onto the snow. The beast screeched with pain, unholy magic sputtering to nothingness. Edelgard watched with amazement as Byleth, beautiful and bloodied, rode to her side.

“El—” The general’s blue eyes were grave and inquiring. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” Edelgard allowed herself a moment of relief before she regarded the creature once more. It snarled at them from afar, wings flapping in furious beats. Any trace of intelligence was truly lost upon death.

“Will you stand with me, Byleth? Will you give me your hand as we put an end to this dragon forever more?”

Byleth’s features softened. Her blade rose towards the Immaculate One’s animated remains. “I am yours. Where you go, I follow.”

Certainty renewed, Edelgard rushed across the field. Her axe was held high, proud and unafraid. At every step, Byleth trailed near. They had conquered this very beast once upon a time. And they would again for as many times as needed.

* * *

Within her memory, Ingrid regarded Estrid as a force of nature. Pegasi and men alike lauded her, from the guards of Galatea to the earnest admiration of the young. She never failed to command respect, even if Ingrid’s father for reasons unknown spoke of Estrid with a trace of unease.

The few times Glenn deigned to visit Galatea, the young man was in awe of her talent, both with a lance and atop a mount. Ingrid had felt so much pride. ‘I’ll be just like her,’ she had exclaimed. Glenn just laughed and teased she wouldn't need him then. After all, it was his duty to protect her.

She knew he meant well. Glenn and everyone she knew always meant well. However, they assumed her place was to be a wife and mother; destined to lead Galatea as a figurehead and nothing more. She wondered what it was Estrid saw in her that they didn’t.

From the beginning, her aunt taught her to be strong, ride, and fight as a knight should. Estrid never assumed her birthright and betrothal were the only interests she would nurture. And Ingrid recalled a quiet conversation held on a winter eve much like this—where Estrid asked what it was she wanted and Ingrid responded with all the earnestness of youth.

‘Do you want to sow?’ she questioned simply. And even then, Ingrid knew the question was layered.

‘I want to protect as you do.’ the young girl answered. Her aunt’s face was still, ever placid. Estrid did not share her father’s mercurial temperament, and Ingrid was drawn to that composure. Yet it was a welcome surprise nevertheless when a smile graced Estrid’s features.

‘Then I’ll show you how.’

In the present, Ingrid ducked beneath her aunt’s lance. It missed her by a hair, startling Llamrei. Ingrid veered away as Estrid conjured a salvo of flame. She caught her breath, lance heavy within her palm. Her fingers were stiff, numb from the cold.

“You’re not wielding Lúin,” Ingrid heard Estrid comment. She sounded frustrated and more than a little appalled. “After everything, you’re still treating this like a game.”

Ingrid riled at the implication. “I don’t need it to defeat you.”

She dove for Estrid, striking at her torso. Estrid deflected the blow, her expression marked with surprise as Ingrid pressed into a swift assault. She was forced higher within the clouds, the younger Galatea granting no quarter.

“A relic of the past has no place in the present,” Ingrid continued firmly. She angled her lance towards her opponent. “I will match you as an equal, not relying on a power I never asked for. If I did so, it would be spitting in the face of everything my liege stands for. I refuse to dishonor her.”

“Despite the sentiment, you sound like a true knight.”

Ingrid frowned at the words, frustrated Estrid focused on how the words were spoken and not on their meaning. Finally, she understood why Felix always hated that phrase when describing Glenn’s sacrifice. When next they met, she would make a point to apologize. Ingrid raised her lance again.

“The Empire has no knights. And I’m beginning to understand we do not need them.” She darted for the older woman. “Not the kind Faerghus bred and not as you insist!”

Rather than attack from afar, Estrid chose to meet her lance. Their weapons clashed and eyes held. Ingrid was close enough to see the sweat beading her aunt’s brow, but also the emotions staining her expression. The sorrow, resolve, and burning desire for victory. And Ingrid knew her own face would be the same. They were always of a kind, far more than Ingrid was to her father.

So why can you not recognize it as I do? Why must you lay down your life for a man who cannot possibly deserve such devotion?

So incensed, Ingrid voiced these objections. “Why, Estrid? Her Majesty will succeed and crush Blaiddyd where he hides. You said as much last we met! Do your oaths extend to a man marked by death?"

“Not a man,” Estrid replied. The response was confusing enough to give pause. Ingrid found herself forced repelled away. “I swore once to show you what it meant to protect. Do you recall?”

“I could never forget.” Ingrid swallowed, struck by the memory. She watched, pained, as Estrid nodded solemnly.

“Then allow me to grant you one last lesson. For I am Estrid Galatea—” Estrid’s hand sparked with magic, the other hefting her lance with ease. “The Last Shield of Faerghus.”

“And it’ll be my honor to break you.” Ingrid gripped Llamrei’s reins tighter, certain this would be their final bout. She would need more than words to knock sense into Estrid’s head. And so Ingrid aimed to unseat the woman from atop her proud steed. No one had ever unhorsed her aunt, whose riding was legendary. Yet Ingrid would today.

* * *

During the academy, Byleth had little thought for anyone beyond her students and father. And while peculiar in manner, she had always excelled at completing tasks. Managing the students and training them was well within her abilities. Her station as a teacher was not very dissimilar to being a mercenary, though less bloody. It was only the personal interactions she struggled to grasp.

As for the Church staff or fellow professors, Byleth paid them little mind. The person she deigned to interact with most besides Alois was Shamir, and simply to request tutoring as an archer. That was one aspect of warfare she had sparingly dabbled. Catherine’s envy was recognized in hindsight, though she faintly recalled feeding the Knight burnt pieces of rabbit. Her favorite, or so Shamir had said.

Yet the rest of the faculty inspired dim recollections—faint twinges of camaraderie and nothing more. Perhaps even that word was too generous of a description. As for Rhea, before the Holy Tomb Byleth hadn’t given her much consideration. However, when the woman posed an indisputable threat to Edelgard, Byleth finally took notice. A part of her despaired she hadn't conversed extensively with the Archbishop if only to gain the answers she now sought.

Yet would that have only led to her being persuaded from El’s side? Byleth couldn’t bear the thought. No amount of illumination about her past was worth the cost. Of course, there was Rhea’s journal, but the information it contained was marked by bias and unknown script. She did glean some connection tying her both to Rhea and a woman she referred to as ‘Sitri’. Jeralt might’ve known what it meant, but he took those secrets to the grave.

Truthfully, Byleth tried not to think of what could have been nor what once was. It was fruitless to ponder things she would never gain answers to. Yet as Byleth regarded the creature before her, the last remnants of Rhea and her mysteries, she felt rueful.

She would never regret following El, but she wanted to know how far this connection to Rhea went. The woman knew her father, but how about her mother? Was she somehow related deeper than assumed?

A mountain of conflicted feelings roiled within her. No matter the truth of the matter, one thing was certain. Arundel, or Thales as El named him, had desecrated Rhea’s corpse in pursuit of his aims. And no one deserved such a terrible fate. She pictured the same being done to her father’s body and immediately bristled with ire. Byleth could only imagine how Catherine might feel.

Pushing these musings aside, she focused on the monstrous figure looming over them. El, in all her resolute glory, pushed onward to meet frozen fang and claw. Byleth rode beside her, sword scoring every inch of dead flesh she could reach. The dragon flailed, incensed by their defiance. It struck many in its wake, scattering imperial soldiers across the icy plain.

It swiped at them madly, naught but animalistic wroth fueling it. Byleth circled its scaled flank, frowning. It would be a kindness to end this decaying phantom. Seeing an opening, she thrust her sword into its snout, blade slick with ink dark blood. El joined in with a heavy fall of her axe. The dragon reeled, scaled lips tearing from its skull. It stared at them with glassy eyes, maw now bared in full. The sight was unnerving, all the more for the lack of pain displayed.

Byleth kept vigil as El caught her breath. The younger woman was fatigued, worn down by fighting amid the dreadful cold. It took all of Byleth’s restraint not to advise retreat. But she knew El would never abandon them, nor would she be content leaving a foe like this alive. Byleth placed herself between the terrible creature and her lover.

“Do you need a tonic?” she asked, deeply concerned. El shook her head fiercely, gaze alight with wroth as she eyed the dragon.

“This beast won’t get the best of me,” she replied. “Keep attacking. It’s beginning to slow.”

Byleth obeyed, facing their scaled opponent. However, the dragon did not care to halt as they conversed. It bore upon them, fangs gnashing the air where the general rode. Then, it raised its claw to the sky, poised above the Emperor. Alarmed, Byleth struck at its flank, desperate to change the creature’s focus. It ignored her as if she were a gnat.

She yelled to gain its attention, and still it paid her no heed. Just when Byleth feared it would flatten El, an arrow pierced the beast’s eye. The dragon wailed and thrashed, claw falling inert to its side. Byleth looked beyond its hulking frame and spotted two riders atop a hardy destrier. The dark tide of Shamir’s hair was spotted against the setting sun, as was the pale gold of her partner’s.

Byleth looked at Catherine with surprise, not expecting the former Knight to take the field at all. She observed, incredulous, as the duo rode up to the creature before Catherine threw herself atop its back. Her sword struck true, piercing its frost-covered hind. The weight of her body dragged a deep gouge through its flesh. All the while, Shamir snared its attention with a rapid flurry of arrows.

“Don’t just stand there, Eisner,” Catherine barked. She beckoned Byleth with a wag of her sword. “Help us kill this infernal thing!”

Byleth spared a brief moment for relief before dashing to assist. Then she and Catherine charged the dragon as Shamir struck from afar. Soon after, Byleth became aware of El rejoining the assault. Appearing to regain their courage, their soldiers were quick to assist.

Somewhere to the east, Byleth heard the telltale sounds of magical discharge mingled with the voice of Lysithea. And northward, she recognized the thunder of cavalry, heralding Sylvain and his men. Leonie appeared eventually, lance steady and true. Yrsa, Frode, and all their Srengian allies leapt in as well. They were bound in this struggle together—from the common foot soldier to the Emperor of Adrestia. This was what they had fought for since the beginning.

Byleth met El's eyes from across the field and knew she felt the same. Within moments, the ferocious beast lost its enraged fervor. It slowed to a crawl, weakly twitching atop the pelt of snow. Byleth pitied the person and majesty of what once was, but the time for regret was over. She raised the Sword of Seiros above its skull. El joined her, mirroring the stance with her axe.

Together—just as it was in Fhirdiad—they slew the dragon once more.

* * *

The wind and icy air were cold enough to steal the air from her lungs. Her face felt numb, frozen in place. Still, Ingrid spared no thought for these base pains. She fought hard and long, grappling against her aunt in a seemingly endless battle for supremacy. She strove to knock away the proud expression Estrid wore and unseat her, yet the woman was akin to a mountain; immovable.

Eventually, Estrid appeared to grow wise to her game. She evaded Ingrid’s reach as the younger Galatea aimed for her chest. Ingrid cursed Estrid’s agility even as she boggled at it. Some things never changed.

“Do you think to make me tumble, Ingrid?” Estrid asked with bemusement. “No one has ever torn me from a saddle. It’s a waste of energy to try.”

Ingrid didn’t respond, her irritation and nagging despair deepening. Just when she was on the cusp of resignation, an orange blur spiraled between the women. Leonie darted forward, lance ready to thrust. Estrid parried the blow, forced to retreat. Ingrid could only spare her fellow captain a startled glance.

“Leonie, what—?”

“I said I’d help you.” Leonie flashed a smirk before her expression hardened. “We’ll force her to surrender, I promise.”

Ingrid chanced a halting smile before she nodded. Then she switched her attention to Estrid. The older woman was regarding both captains warily, recognizing the odds had changed in Ingrid’s favor. As one, Ingrid and Leonie attacked her aunt. Estrid was forced onto the defensive, unable to retaliate as they struck in tandem. Any time she forced one of them away with lance or magic, the other was quick to press onward.

Then, a clear opening finally revealed itself. As Estrid busied herself by fending off Leonie’s attack, Ingrid flanked her. But instead of taking this chance to gut her aunt, she acted on instinct. Ingrid leapt from Llamrei’s saddle, arms wrapping tight around the older woman. The momentum stole Estrid from her proud seat, sending both plummeting to the snow.

It was lucky they weren’t hovering higher, as Ingrid’s impulsiveness would’ve likely damned them both. Yet it was still a hard enough drop for the wind to be knocked from her lungs, bones quaking. Ingrid caught her breath with some difficulty. Blearily, she heard Leonie shout her name.

“Go,” Ingrid said. She slowly rose onto her elbows. "Help Her Majesty. I'll do the rest."

She heard a flutter of wings accompanied by Leonie’s voice. “But what if…?”

“Please, Leonie. This is my fight.” Ingrid wobbled to her feet, glancing up at her friend. Pain shot through her ankle, but Ingrid ignored it. She could spot Leonie chewing on her lip, but the other captain gave no further protest. Leonie flitted towards the dragon and their liege. Ingrid turned her gaze to the limp frame of Estrid.

Her aunt seemed to have fallen harder than she, fair hair askew and brow pinched with pain. Estrid tried to crawl to her feet, but Ingrid stopped her. She placed her lance to Estrid’s throat. Green eyes, the same mossy hue as her own, cut to Ingrid’s face. They stared at each silently for a time.

“Do it then,” Estrid spoke. Her tone was even, if husked from the cold. “End me, Ingrid. As a knight would.”

Ingrid did not move. She held her lance steady before finally lowering it. “No.”

“Don’t be a child. End it now.”

“No,” she repeated. “You said you would show me how to protect, Auntie. Yet all I see is a woman pleading for death. Is this what the Last Shield of Faerghus is made of? You cannot protect anything from the grave.”

“I refuse to beg for my life,” Estrid replied. Her gaze was flinty. “Nor will I stand aside as my king is butchered. End me here, for both our sake.”

“This world needn’t be made of uncompromising truths, Estrid. My Emperor and teacher taught me that.” Ingrid held out her hand plaintively. “We can find a solution to this mess together. Because I truly believe there can be a happier end than the one you've written."

She didn’t know if the plea had reached her aunt. Estrid wore a frown, her dour look deepening with each second that passed. Suddenly, a dissonant keen echoed across the battlefield. Ingrid looked toward the noise instinctively. It was hard to define if the wail was human or animal. Yet Ingrid had heard a similar roar once; weak with pain and fatigue both. And she knew that the Immaculate One had fallen again.

“That was ever a flaw of yours, my girl.” She heard Estrid move atop the snow. “You always wanted a storybook ending.”

Ingrid faced her but caught a handful of ice to the face instead. She wiped at the cold slush, wincing at the cold agony upon her cheeks. By the time she recovered, Estrid was already darting across the field, headed for the mountain pass. Ingrid moved to pursue, but the spike of pain in her ankle stopped her. She could not run like this, and would likely get herself killed following Estrid alone.

Ingrid watched her depart, disappointment curdling in her belly. Estrid may prove troublesome later. But for now, nothing could be done. Duty demanded she return to Edelgard.

* * *

Edelgard couldn’t quite describe her precise feelings after the Immaculate One fell. The first time, she was jubilant but it quickly soured to fear as Byleth collapsed. However, no such thing happened upon its second death. She was relieved certainly, and happy her friends survived relatively unscathed.

Edelgard mustered a hesitant grin as Lysithea threw herself at whoever she happened across. The nearest to her was Sylvain, who awkwardly patted her back before bursting into a peal of relieved laughter. Leonie descended from her mount before she was also swiftly taken in Lysithea’s arms. She returned the embrace with a smile, though Edelgard gleaned from her a trace of worry. The reason why wasn’t clear.

As for Catherine, she stabbed her sword into the snow and knelt. She hadn’t looked away from the dragon’s corpse since it fell still. Shamir hovered near her side, fingers winding through Catherine’s hair. While Edelgard wasn’t privy to the precise nature of her thoughts, she knew Catherine must be grieving. The woman had changed, Edelgard admitted. But she still cared for Rhea greatly. To witness her liege in such an awful state… Edelgard could only imagine her sorrow.

Someone walked beside her. Edelgard didn’t need to look at them to know who it was. She spoke to Byleth softly; mired in thought. “And so ends the last remnant of an era. It’s strange. I held so much anger for her in life; for what she did to you, Fhirdiad, and as the head of the Central Church. Nonetheless—”

“I know,” Byleth replied. She held out her palm for Edelgard to take. Her fingers were dark, stained with the creature’s blood. Edelgard took them despite this. “I’m sad for her too.”

“Even after death, she was caught within a terrible scheme." Edelgard scowled as she thought of Thales. "As were countless people of Sreng. We need to find him so he can never spread his poison again.”

“Rufus?”

“Rufus is ultimately a bit player. Lord Arundel—Thales must be stopped here.” She met Lysithea’s gaze as the younger woman stared at her. Edelgard nodded subtly. “It’s time to put an end to this chaos.”

“Agreed,” Sylvain chimed in. He looked at the Immaculate One’s lifeless body, then turned to the icy field where countless corpses lay—Adrestian, Kingdom loyalist, and Srengian. “We were all victimized by this mess. Rufus and his mad mage of a benefactor will pay.”

“And he shall,” Lysithea responded firmly. The imperial advisor tossed Edelgard a meaningful glance. “He won’t escape us this time. I swear upon my family’s name.”

“I might not have experienced everything you lot have, but I’m itching to get even.” Leonie sidled between the two, though the Emperor didn’t miss the nervous look she tossed to the west. “By the way, we should check on Ingrid. I left her to settle things with that aunt of hers. She insisted on handling it alone, but…”

Edelgard frowned at this bit of news. She knew Ingrid would be eager to square things with the woman. Ingrid might be formidable, but capability meant little when facing someone you cared for. Family, no less. Though estranged by more than years and circumstance, Edelgard had been reluctant to kill Dimitri. In the end, she could only pity the man he became. Ingrid must suffer a worse struggle.

Before Edelgard could command them to search for the wayward captain, she heard the rhythmic beat of wings. They all looked up as Ingrid descended from the clouds. She looked able, ruffled by wind and battle, but otherwise hale. Her complexion was wan. Whether it was from the dismal climate or the grisly task of parricide wasn’t evident.

“Ingrid,” Edelgard greeted. She approached the captain, trying to read her somber expression. Ingrid blinked before meeting her gaze.

“Your Majesty, Estrid is…” Ingrid looked away, face falling. “I failed to apprehend her. I’m sorry.”

“Apologies aren’t necessary,” the Emperor declared. “We’ll encounter her again. I assume she’s still determined to protect Blaiddyd?”

“It would seem that way.” Ingrid shook herself before straightening her posture. “She headed in the direction of the pass. With their forces routed, Rufus will be scrambling. I separated Estrid from her pegasus, so she can’t fly him to safety.”

“Then this is our chance to corner him. We should press onward before he tries to flee.” Byleth sheathed her sword, expression severe.

“Well spoken, Eisner,” Catherine said, breaking from her wistful silence. Shamir looked vigilant, eyeing her partner carefully. “We should hunt him down fast. Don’t give the wretch any chance at escape. The same for your cretin of an uncle.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of his slippery nature.” Edelgard cinched her cloak tighter. Byleth offered her hand, gesturing to climb atop her mount. The Emperor took it gladly. “Now, everyone. Let’s end this rebellion.”

Night had fallen in full, leeching any shred of the sun’s warmth. The imperial forces congregated just before the mountain pass, making camp away from the bloodied field. The remains of Blaiddyd’s knights and Sreng allies were quickly stripped and burned. Animals, large and small, would not be granted an easy feast.

As for Frode and his people, they did not join the search. They bedded near the imperial camp but kept a respectful distance. Though they shared a common cause, that didn't mean they fully trusted the Adrestian troops. However, Frode wished her well and congratulated her prowess.

“You are truly Hraesvelgr’s blood,” the man had stated with a bow. “Fly swift and gorge yourself upon Skuggahátalari’s flesh.”

Edelgard didn't rightly know how to respond but thanked him all the same. She wasn't comfortable with the near-divine regard the Srengians bestowed her. Still, if it meant peace with their people, Edelgard wouldn’t complain.

As they rode towards the enemy settlement, she felt a flame of anticipation alight within. Byleth was by her side as always, Lysithea and Sylvain trailing just behind them. Leonie and Ingrid held the skies as they scouted ahead. Edelgard was uncertain about taking the former Knights along, yet both were insistent. She presumed they wanted Rufus dead more than anyone. Shamir in particular looked keen to pursue the man.

The pass was still, marked only by the lingering sight and smell of bloodshed. Sylvain’s cavalry had been thorough. The settlement itself was ghostly, lacking visible occupation. Those who banded with Blaiddyd had already perished or fled. Edelgard silently hoped it was mostly the latter. She vaguely remembered the village layout, along with the longhouse where she heard the cries of a babe.

So Edelgard led her company through the disquieting stillness, steps sure atop the moon-kissed ice. As they trekked through the dark trees, a strange noise caught their attention. It was an odd whistling rasp, and Edelgard held her axe at the ready as she neared. To her shock, it was not another horrific beast brought to life by dark magic, but rather the prone and bleeding form of Rufus Blaiddyd.

The man was slumped against a mottled spruce tree. He wheezed upon every breath, lungs rattling with spittle and perhaps blood. He clutched his chest as blood poured from his gut. Had Thales done this? Yet Blaiddyd’s wound was not caused by magic. That much was clear.

Edelgard had pursed her lips in thought when the dying man looked up at them. His dark blue eyes were hazy with delirium. Still, Rufus had enough sense to recognize her.

“...Emperor Edelgard,” he rasped. The man coughed violently. “So we lost. Arundel failed me.”

“You failed yourself, Blaiddyd.” Edelgard scrutinized his features. Save for his fair coloring, he didn’t look much like Lambert or Dimitri. She shook herself of these idle musings. “Did you truly believe you could win?”

“I thought… the Goddess was with me.” Rufus blinked at her hazily. Sweat, or perhaps tears, trickled down his face. “My son was born… with a crest. Shouldn’t that be a sign of Her favor?”

“Crests do not portend anything, Blaiddyd.”

“You’re wrong,” the man insisted, growing momentarily incensed. “Just… as it was for Lambert. And Dimitri. They were blessed… and I wasn’t.”

Edelgard clenched her jaw as Rufus laughed weakly. “I couldn’t have won… It wasn’t my place. We can never forget our place, right Emperor?”

“I know your measure now. I told you before, Blaiddyd. Crest or not, you believed yourself lesser and it became a self-fulfilling prophecy.” Edelgard exhaled, empathizing despite herself. In the end, Rufus was just another victim of crest inheritance. But after this, people like him would not be raised to fear and obey the Goddess.

“Do you surrender?” she demanded.

“Asking a dying man to kneel for you?” Rufus choked on a cough. “If I do, will you make it end? I want to greet my brother and nephew. Though I know... I’ve disappointed them.”

“I can give you a quick death,” the Emperor replied. Blaiddyd had caused more harm than good in his miserable life. However, Edelgard pitied how he became another pawn in Thales’ games. Rufus nodded weakly.

“Then, I surrender. Please…”

Edelgard raised her axe, aiming to take his head in a clean swipe. His dark eyes held hers for a time.

“Tell me... how shall I be remembered?”

She hesitated, thinking over the request. Then Edelgard gave the only answer that felt fitting.

“Misguided.”

The man deflated, accepting her reply for truth. Yet before Edelgard could bring down her axe, an arrow split his throat. She watched, shocked, as Rufus slowly choked on blood. He thrashed against the tree, a font of scarlet spewing from his lips. It felt like an age before he finally stilled, chest and jaw twitching in bursts. Edelgard faced Shamir, at a loss for words.

“He deserved worse, Edelgard.” The Dagdan woman looked thoroughly unrepentant. She lowered her bow. “Consider it a debt repaid.”

Edelgard found her tongue caught, unable to refute her logic. Regardless, savagery upon a conceding enemy felt in poor taste. She caught Catherine’s predatory gaze. Her stare spoke for them both. You owe us this, she seemed to say. So Edelgard let it go, knowing their enmity wasn’t for her to judge.

There was no time to linger on the matter further and as they pressed deeper in, Edelgard discovered how true that thought would be. She caught the tail of a fervent exchange, Thales’ grousing voice easily discerned from afar.

As Edelgard broke the tree line, she spotted the dreadful creature trading furious whispers with Estrid Galatea. The woman guarded the longhouse where Blaiddyd’s son was presumed to be. Above, the Emperor thought she heard Ingrid gasp in alarm.

“—me the child. We can win yet,” Thales husked. He had forgone the pretense of disguise, wearing his true face. To Edelgard's satisfaction, a sunken pit remained where his left eye once was. “Hurry. I can move us beyond the Emperor’s reach. All you need to do is give me him.”

“Never,” she heard Estrid reply. “So long as I breathe, nothing shall harm His Majesty.”

“Foolish beast,” Thales spat. “Then you shall suffer the fate of all who oppose me.”

His hands lit with a malignant pulse of energy, threatening to blast the woman away. Edelgard took that moment to reveal herself.

“You stole the words from my mouth, Thales.” She observed with relish as the creature halted in place. His unnaturally pallid features pinched as he turned. Estrid chose that moment to flee, darting within the longhouse to protect her would-be king. Yet Edelgard’s attention wasn’t for her presently.

“You have opposed me for far too long,” she continued stridently. “For countless years, I suffered within your choking grasp, but now the winds have shifted in my favor.”

Thales’ expression was unreadable, but she noticed the minute twitching of his jaw. The creature was more unsettled than he would admit. “Brave words; a shame they’re wasted upon me. I don’t know when I’ll take my vengeance, little niece. However, know it will be when you feel the safest.”

The mummery of a man raised his arms aloft. He appeared to await something that never came. A look of horror slowly dawned upon his pale face.

“You sense it now, don’t you?” Edelgard closed the gap between them. “Would you care to meet another whose life you’ve ruined? She’s a brilliant mage of no small talent. One could say prodigious.”

She beckoned Lysithea forward. Her friend, advisor, and fellow victim approached. Her expression was foreboding as she held a glyph in her hands. It hovered in the night air; a magical tether, negating any magic. Lysithea had worked ceaselessly to perfect its usage for this very occasion. Edelgard thought it brilliant, though judging from Thales’ face, he didn’t agree.

He stumbled backward, crowded on all sides by the Emperor’s generals. Byleth was not kind as she forced the creature to his knees. He stared at Edelgard, a bead of sweat working down his face despite the cold. Edelgard stood above him, savoring his panic.

“Look how you quiver,” she said, repeating his words back at him. “You finally fear my hand, as you should have all along.”

“You will die,” Thales hissed angrily. “The dark will claim you again. I swear—”

Edelgard didn’t allow him to finish. She cleaved his head, snapping his spine like a twig. And then at long last, Thales’ body fell to the ice, forever silent in death. She felt Lysithea and Byleth by her side, the former clutching her fingers tight. Edelgard returned the grip, knowing it was to seek comfort as much as to provide. Byleth pressed against both of them, trying to help where she could.

It was over, but this war hadn’t truly ended just yet. Estrid Galatea still resisted them, and it was plain the woman would not cede her charge for anything. Edelgard looked to Ingrid for advice, yet found her captain missing. It was probable she had gone to plead with her aunt. Whether she would be successful was undecided.

* * *

Ingrid pursued Estrid, hoping this would be the time her aunt would listen. There would be no more chances. No close calls or daring escapes. Estrid’s life would end here unless she surrendered. Knowing this, Ingrid moved all the quicker. The longhouse was large, but not winding. She heard a pitiful whimper coming from an enclosed room, recognizing it as a child's.

Ingrid entered cautiously, peering inside in slow increments for fear of Estrid spooking. Yet the older woman was motionless. She stood vigilant over a wooden bin, perhaps the facsimile of a crib. Ingrid couldn’t see Estrid’s expression from where she stood.

“Estrid, it’s over.” Ingrid moved closer. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Is that a warning?” Estrid turned, face hard as stone. The woman looked harried; undone in a way Ingrid had never seen before. Her heart ached at the sight. She took another step, only to halt as Estrid brandished a lance.

“Please see reason. Her Majesty will not harm the boy, I swear to you.”

“Meaningless words,” Estrid denied. “Your Emperor has killed everyone who’s crossed her path. The Archbishop and King Dimitri can attest.”

“Claude von Riegan lived, even after the trap he orchestrated in Derdriu." Ingrid raised her hands plaintively. “Edelgard is not a warmonger as you believe. She has spared all who knelt and she will for you as well.”

“I will not kneel for her.” Estrid’s gaze darkened. “Even if what you say is truth, His Majesty is a threat because of the crest forced upon him.”

“Forced?” Ingrid asked, hesitant. The older woman just stared at her levelly.

“I know not Arundel’s foul methods. Not entirely. Yet I know the wounds the child bore after he was done. I’ve seen each painful scar marking his flesh. And a crest was left where once the babe had none.” Estrid looked aside, regret washing over her features. “I trusted Lord Rufus to do what was best for his son. I didn’t see how far grief had poisoned him until it was too late.”

Ingrid took another step, wishing to embrace her aunt. “You feel responsible, but it wasn’t your fault.”

“You wish to rid me of guilt, but I stayed after I knew he was wrong.” Estrid held her weapon in a ready stance, keeping Ingrid away. “For my vows as a knight. For the country Rufus claimed to protect. For the Goddess who stood aside as these atrocities were committed beneath Her eye."

“Estrid… you needn’t let these regrets drag you into the grave. Rufus is gone; dead. Arundel’s work, I assume.”

“No, I gutted Rufus.” Estrid appeared nonchalant, ignoring the younger woman’s surprise. “He desired to sacrifice the babe to raise King Dimitri. I couldn’t abide that.”

“—Then it seems I owe you twice-over.” The familiar voice of Edelgard sounded from behind. Ingrid whirled, allowing her Emperor to pass. She bowed, even as a large part of Ingrid wanted to shield her aunt from Edelgard’s gaze. Meanwhile, Estrid didn’t react. She kept her lance raised in front of the makeshift crib.

“Come no closer. Kill me if you can, but I will not allow you to murder His Majesty.”

“Why does everyone think I condone infanticide?” Edelgard sounded exasperated, but her face was clean of emotion. “Lay down your arms, Ser Galatea. No harm shall come to your king. My only grievance was for Rufus Blaiddyd and Lord Arundel.”

“I’m no fool. His crest endangers your rule so long as he lives.”

Ingrid moved to protest but stopped as Edelgard raised her hand. The Emperor looked at Ingrid meaningfully before she strode to the crib. She stopped just short of Estrid’s lance. They stared at each other for a prolonged instant. It felt like an eternity had passed before Edelgard unraveled her coat, revealing her armored torso.

“My body is a ruin, but not simply of war.” Ingrid blinked as the Emperor disrobed further. Strips of scarlet plate and mail were shucked to the ground. Eventually, Edelgard stood before the last knight of Faerghus, upper body on display. Ingrid had to smother a gasp at what was revealed.

Pale skin was crossed in a myriad of scars; some silvery and barely visible, others garish and red as a rose. The most significant of which lay over her chest, the wound mottled and raised. Edelgard was unshaken beneath their scrutiny.

“Does this not appear familiar? My uncle… Arundel’s doing. He experimented on me the same as he did your king.” Edelgard folded her arms. Ingrid watched wordlessly as Byleth wrapped the Emperor within her coat. “I survived his madness and swore to protect all who might suffer the same fate. The tyranny of crests is but one part of this.”

Estrid’s expression was cool, but the set of her shoulders seemed less hostile. Sensing her conflicted thoughts, Ingrid pleaded with the woman again.

“Please, Auntie… You can protect him more living for him than you ever could as a corpse. He’ll need you.”

Green eyes blinked before averting to the floor. Then Estrid pulled back her lance, allowing Edelgard to approach. It took all of Ingrid’s restraint not to sob on the spot. She swallowed her cries, relieved as Estrid retreated. Still, she remained alert.

“Harm him, and I’ll gut you,” Estrid remarked, attention upon Edelgard. Byleth, who was shadowing their liege, just glowered darkly. It reminded Ingrid of Hubert, and she fervently wished they would not come to blows. She was sure Byleth would be more bloody and twice as savage. Of late, Byleth did not favor efficiency as Hubert did.

“And I would allow it,” Edelgard replied without pause. “But don’t fret. I have no intention of ever causing him harm.”

Then Edelgard moved to the crib and peered within, but Ingrid spared little thought for Rufus’ son. She trusted her Emperor to be kind and gracious. Ingrid’s gaze fell upon Estrid, marveling at her survival. It pained her the woman was so content to perish.

However, because of Edelgard’s conviction, Estrid wouldn’t. She should have known the Emperor could reach the older Galatea. Edelgard had touched Ingrid’s heart, after all. It was only natural she would do the same for Estrid.

* * *

Ever since this rebellion began, Edelgard had wondered at the child who sparked everything. She didn’t blame him, of course. He was innocent of his father’s idiocy and Thales’ awful machinations. Regardless, she nursed a well of curiosity.

How would he look? Akin to all sons of Blaiddyd—gold of hair and blue of eye? Would he be scored in countless wounds, evidence of crest implantation?

As she approached, Edelgard prepared to face a babe with Rufus' coloring, or perhaps Dimitri of all the cruel twists. Yet that wasn't what she saw. Instead, a cap of thin brown hair greeted her. Streaked fairer in places, yet darker than any known child of Blaiddyd. He slept deeply, so she could not see the hue of his iris. Yet it was clear he favored his mother; whoever the poor woman was.

“Who is his mother? Does she live?” she asked. Estrid shook her head curtly.

“A courtesan who Rufus kept as his mistress. He never wed.”

The child’s a bastard, then. Edelgard could have guessed as much. The man’s hedonistic exploits were well-known in the Kingdom. The gossip even reached the Adrestian courts as they mocked their neighbors. If the northern lords knew of his crest, his heritage would be ignored. But a baseborn child without one would be a non-issue. Edelgard was twice determined to keep it a secret.

She reached within the crib, touching his hair. The color was almost the same as… Edelgard swallowed hard, phantoms of memory rising despite her attempts to suppress them. She leaned away, taking in the ruby tinge of his complexion. The child was sickly, though how much was yet to be determined.

“He needs a healer.” Edelgard looked at Estrid again. “Have you no able bishops?”

“Rufus refused Church support. He did not trust them after the razing of Fhirdiad.” Estrid frowned, but her aggression seemed to evaporate at the Emperor’s apparent concern. “I never dabbled in faith magic, nor my valkyries.”

“My advisor knows some,” Edelgard revealed. Her head tilted as she considered her knowledge of Shamir. “As does someone else within my employ. I don’t know if they can do anything but it’s worth a try.”

“And allow you to abscond with His Majesty?” The blonde woman rankled, mossy gaze lit by renewed aggression. “I will not leave him defenseless.”

“Then come with us.” Edelgard’s swift reply visibly caught Estrid unaware. She observed the woman grip her lance tighter, hesitating. “You swore to protect him, didn’t you? Yet we both know he won’t last if he remains where he is. So keep your vows, Ser. I'll allow you to follow and hold me to my word."

Eventually, Estrid bowed her chin in concession. She nodded as her eyes fell upon the child. It didn’t escape Edelgard’s attention how Ingrid perked at this offer. She wondered if that played a part in the woman’s uneasy acceptance. Still, this was a satisfactory conclusion as any.

Edelgard met Byleth's inquiring glance. The older woman smiled tentatively, blue stare soft despite her prior agitation. She knew all was well now, and so did Edelgard. The Emperor faced the crib once more, peering at its lone occupant. Her fingers curled around the babe’s dainty hand. He sniffled before opening his eyes.

Teary blue met lavender. Perhaps it was silly of her to think so, but Edelgard didn’t think that color matched Rufus at all. Instead, she saw only the blue of her mother’s hydrangeas and the curious eyes of a beloved cat.

Next chapter: Epilogue- Whispers of Spring

Chapter Text

It was a curious experience to stand in the courtyard of Cernunnos beneath the eyes of Sreng and Empire alike. Sylvain stood tall as he could manage. He was dismayed to find their chieftain topped him by a finger, build thick as a bear. Sylvain shifted uneasily atop the snow. The covering was thinner than it had been since their arrival; a sign of winter waning at long last.

His stare fell upon the deceptively small figure of Edelgard. She had yet to don her crown, hair favoring a simple braided tail instead of anything elaborate. The Emperor’s posture was unyielding as she met the Srengian chief. But he expected no less. Though slight of frame, Edelgard’s force of personality matched those of giants.

Sylvain gripped his lance tighter as Frode’s people spread before them. They were insistent upon staying outside Cernunnos' walls. He assumed out of distrust and to ward off a potential conflict between their people. Edelgard had accepted their caution without complaint. However, Sylvain remained conscientious of the implications.

Sreng had taken this fortress once from his family—all because he refused to face his duty. Gautier wasn’t like Galatea; he had known from the start he was the only viable option with his Father infirm and the northern lords in discontent. Sylvain knew he couldn’t be like Ingrid whose family had plenty of able claimants, yet he selfishly wanted to ignore the obvious. Edelgard would gladly reassign governance had he asked. Still, Sylvain owed it to his people to try.

Now here they were, meeting Sreng on equal ground as representatives of the Empire and House Gautier. Frode held a modest army, and he didn’t suspect treachery. It was only the ingrained prejudice of his father telling him to slay the heathen horde. Sylvain grit his teeth, ashamed. He avoided the steady gaze of Frode and his seer.

They were right in their estimation of him; though Srengian in blood, his upbringing was strictly that of Faerghus. He wanted to be better than that. He needed to be. Sylvain roused from thought as Edelgard spoke.

“Chieftain Frode.” The title rolled from her thoughtfully. “...Or will you be king now?”

“We know no kings. Sreng or not.” Frode answered. Despite the claim, he folded himself into a bow. “But we know you, Hraesvelgr. Our common enemy lies dead and our people can now heal without Skuggahátalari. His stain is gone.”

“And he cannot rise?” The matronly völva regarded Edelgard intently.

“I cleaved his head from his shoulders. The rest was burned where he lay.” Edelgard’s features were impassive, yet her words were dark with concealed hatred. She didn’t dwell upon the deed as most might’ve; preferring to remain a pillar of composure. But Sylvain knew Edelgard wasn’t quite as unaffected as she portrayed. She had her demons, and he sensed Arundel had been one of momentous proportion.

“You feasted well and showed us your might.” Frode relaxed a margin. His dark eyes glittered with unsung appreciation. Sylvain was leery of it. Faerghian folk tales abounded of Srengian men stealing women from their beds. The moment the thought appeared, he silenced it. His father’s bigotry and ignorance had bled into his sons, but Sylvain would not let it prevent peace. It would take time before his mind could be cleansed from those ugly assumptions.

He returned his attention to Frode as the man stepped closer to Edelgard. She didn’t react as she held his gaze. Ever at the Emperor’s side was Byleth. Sylvain observed the general’s hand grazing Edelgard’s back.

“Your strength and cleverness are recognized,” Frode continued. “And we are not eager to test them. But our people suffered and still endure winter’s bite. As the conqueror of our old enemy, what will be done with the spoils you claim? Can we trust you to honor our desire for land and peace?”

“I am a woman of my word. Our previous terms will be honored in writ and enforced in steel if disobeyed.” Edelgard’s stare hardened as her voice grew in strength. “Arrive in peace and you will be welcomed. Raids upon the populace will break our pact. Be sure all your people are aware of this. As for the existing forts, their operations shall be dismantled. The land will be yours to settle as you please.”

“Then your people will be shown the same mercy,” Frode said. He folded his large arms, favoring Sylvain with a circumspect glance. “Gautier will honor this?”

“I will.” It was Sylvain’s turn to be strong. He met Frode’s leery gaze evenly. It was a harsh reminder that while he remained wary of them, they had more cause to be afraid. “My House will no longer patrol the pass and slay your people on sight. Those were the laws of my father, and I refuse to continue this tradition.”

“Hmph... We will see." Frode's beard twitched. The man turned back to Edelgard only to halt as Sylvain continued.

“That’s not all I offer. From here on, Cernunnos will be repurposed into a hub for trade—as well as a neutral place for our leaders to gather for negotiation.” Sylvain could feel Edelgard’s shocked gaze upon him. He hadn’t discussed it with her before making this declaration, but Sylvain had faith she would approve. He cleared his throat.

“The road to lasting peace is long and winding. It might take years before we reach a place where all are content. Frequent communication will be vital in the coming years.”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Edelgard remarked. He could hear the smile she did not wear. “Perhaps in time, we could find solutions for cultivating this harsh environment. Agricultural innovations needn’t be constrained to Adrestia alone.”

“With time…” Frode replied gruffly. Yet the weathered planes of his face gentled. “I am no king. But my people will spread knowledge of this pact. Our people will know peace. This is my promise.”

“As it is mine. Ours." Edelgard inclined her head, eyes darting to Sylvain. He nodded with her; fist placed over his heart in solidarity. Frode appeared content with the display. He bowed again, glancing at Sylvain. This time he felt no underlying suspicion or spite.

Sylvain couldn’t say how things would progress in the future. Still, it was a new beginning for all their people. And it was more than either of them had in decades, possibly centuries.

“There are many who seek to sow life in the south,” the völva chimed in. Her painted veil fluttered in the wind as she addressed Edelgard. “For them, Sreng is tainted. Should they creep beyond the lands of Gautier, will they be welcome?”

“You have my word they’ll be free to live anywhere the Adrestian Eagle soars.”

“Within Hraesvelgr’s domain. We understand.” The elderly woman’s veil faced Sylvain. It was different than the one she previously wore; this time bearing the pronged horns of their ‘wild god’ in blue paint. She spoke again after a long pause. “There are debts your family must pay for there to be peace.”

“And I will work to clear them,” Sylvain said. He focused on where he assumed the völva’s eyes to be. “Your people and mine have suffered because of it. But on my honor, the next generation shall be free of grievance. It’s what we both desire.”

“Coming from a son of Gautier, I would not believe such things. But you serve Hraesvelgr, and so we grant you trust.” Frode rolled his shoulders before motioning for his party to retreat. His next words were in a rush of Srengian, meant for Sylvain alone. "Do not fuck us, boy. Hraesvelgr's favor can wane at any time. We won't be kind to your corpse.”

Sylvain just nodded, stilling his tongue. Smart gibes would not serve them here. The Empire would need to prove itself trustworthy—reverence for Edelgard aside. He kept his gaze trained upon the departing group, pondering all that had happened and what was to come.

His father would’ve never brokered a truce, let alone allow any Srengians to ‘invade’ Faerghus. Idly, Sylvain wondered what his mother would think. Would she be proud; Incredulous? Or still quietly resentful as she had been since Miklan’s death? He refrained from lingering on the possibility.

“That sigil she wore…” he heard Edelgard murmur. “Do you know of it?”

“You mean the veil?” Sylvain shrugged, puzzled by the inquiry. He faced the Emperor. “It’s the mark of Cernunnos; that horned god of theirs. They might have a different name for him, eventually changed by Faerghus. I’ve only known Mother to refer to him as the Horned One—lord of the wild and nature. And supposedly, the one who molded the first of humanity”

“Wild, hm.” Lavender eyes blinked slowly before narrowing. Edelgard shared a look with Byleth. “It reminds me of the Crest of Flames.”

“Does it?” That was news to him. Sylvain considered the sigils in his mind, conceding they shared a similar profile. Then again, his memory of the aforementioned crest was murky. “Maybe a bit. I wouldn’t think too hard about it, Your Majesty. It’s possible Nemesis or a descendant invaded the north and started up a cult. I imagine a crested warrior could run amuck as a god if they played a bit of trickery. And if not, it’s a mild coincidence.”

“We can never know what secrets lay in the past,” Byleth commented suddenly. She stared off into the crowd, expression distant as it often was. As a foolish boy, Sylvain recalled thinking of her as a challenge. She was attractive, mildly interesting, and a thrill to possibly conquer. The reveal of her crest added a hint of indignation and a healthy slice of bitterness to the pursuit.

Yet now, he was grateful for her disinterest. She cared nothing for that vapid idiot he had been—who had joined the eagles in search of conquest and found only questions about the life he led. Sylvain was grateful he didn’t ruin her as many of the girls he played with. He deeply regretted ever being so callous. Byleth and Edelgard shamed him. All the eagles did. Ingrid too; his latest and nearly greatest mistake.

“I’ll speak with them about future arrangements,” Byleth offered then. She swept away, striking in her armor and dark furs. Edelgard eyed her with palpable affection. Sylvain averted his gaze, in courtesy as well as guilt for the vindictive ambition he once held. He jumped once Edelgard spoke, irrationally fearing she read his mind. Knowing her, one never knew.

“You surprised me today. I didn’t expect you to convert Cernunnos’ operations so easily. I normally don’t enjoy surprises but I’ll allow it this time.” The Emperor laughed gently. She wasn’t the sort for displays of outward amusement and it took him aback. On the rare occasions Edelgard smiled, it was fleeting and always made him wonder if he imagined it. Yet Sylvain observed she seemed lighter of late. The conflict’s end had much to do with that, he wagered.

“I just did what was right for both our camps.” Sylvain shrugged off the praise. “With the pact made, Cernunnos can’t function as a wall dividing our people. It only made sense to repurpose the fortress for trade and diplomacy.”

“It’s a prudent decision. Talks must be ongoing if we want this fragile bridge to weather the coming years.” Edelgard sobered. “We must actively work towards peace. Slow and gradual. Acting in haste only brings ruin. Without a central figurehead in Sreng, this truce may be tenuous at best. However, I’m willing to be optimistic.”

“Well, if you think so, who am I to disagree?” Sylvain shot her a quick smirk. It widened as Edelgard rolled her eyes. “You have Frode's people willing to play nice. I'm sure they'll spread the tale of mighty Hraesvelgr too. That should buy a few decades of ceasefire, if only out of intimidation.”

“I suppose it’s a start,” Edelgard replied. “We should work out a schedule for future visits. I trust Frode’s word, but a lax presence would leave us too vulnerable for my liking. We’ll need to sort the particulars once we’re in the south.”

Sylvain tensed, preparing for her reaction to his next reveal. “About that… I won’t be returning with you.”

“Oh?” A pale brow rose in silent query. It always threw him how effortlessly she could intimidate. Gaining Edelgard’s disapproval wasn’t a death sentence, but it often felt like one. Sylvain tried and failed not to be fond of it.

Since when had this intense and frightening woman commanded his unfettered loyalty? Perhaps the same day he heard her speak of equality in blood and left Faerghus behind.

“I plan to stay and oversee the fort's conversion, as well as proceed with negotiations. As Margrave—” Sylvain considered the title as it crossed his lips. “As the Lord of Gautier, it’s my duty to help integrate Sreng with Adrestia. I cannot do that while leaving it for someone else to solve.”

“Are you certain?” Edelgard asked. It was a layered question, he knew. The Emperor had refrained from stripping the title of Margrave from his house, leaving it for Sylvain to decide. He rather suspected it was a test on her part. It was just like Edelgard to gauge his worth through indirect means.

“Aye,” he eventually said in the northern tradition. Sylvain beheld the congregation of imperial and Srengian people with an approving smile. “You know, for the longest time, I was ashamed of my heritage. My father made us think we were half animal; sullied. Maybe Mother began to think so too. I hid out of shame, but now I want to learn about these people we were raised to despise. Not just tales or myths, but who they are as a culture.”

“And they will come to know you in return.” Edelgard appraised him, smiling openly. “More than one bridge will be erected today. Keep me informed. I’ll be curious about your progress.”

“I won’t fail you, Your Majesty,” Sylvain avowed. It was the truest promise he ever made; a fact which carried its share of shame. However, the boy who lied his way into a woman's graces was no more. A man would take his place and lead his people into a brighter future.

That evening as he walked to his quarters, he mulled over what that future would look like. A longing rose in his breast as he thought of the strain with his mother. The situation with Miklan wasn’t easy to solve. Truthfully, he maintained his silence because he couldn’t voice his conflict. The man had been a terrible wretch; cruel and unreasonable to the end. Sylvain had borne the brunt of it as a boy and never dared complain. After all, it was his fault for being born with a crest.

Nonetheless, Miklan was his brother and Mother’s firstborn. Family, for all his dreadful faults. Yet his silence only caused the gap between his mother and himself to widen. Perhaps it was time he finally broke it. As Sylvain considered the words he would pen, he caught sight of an unwelcome figure. Ser Shamir strode down the hall, expression impassive. He instinctively bristled.

“Gautier,” she greeted. To his surprise, Shamir paused beside him. Sylvain didn't know what the woman could want. She was cold to almost everyone besides her partner, but that was nothing new. Even at the academy, Shamir kept to herself. He had briefly considered trying his luck—she was a great beauty despite her frosty personality—but her incisive regard cut him to the quick. It was the same reason why Sylvain never propositioned Edelgard; they would see through him at a glance.

“Ser Shamir. Good evening to you,” he said with forced civility. Shamir’s lips pursed.

“I never took a title.”

“My mistake.” Sylvain chuckled before trying to move past. A hand was placed on his arm. Her grip was hard, refusing to be shaken.

“Whatever grievance you have, I don’t care to know.” Shamir slipped a rolled bit of parchment from her coat. She placed it within his palm. "For your people and Sreng. Galatea could also benefit. Check beneath the fort when you can. There’s a shrine there.”

Then, Shamir whisked away without a parting glance. Sylvain palmed the length of paper before unrolling its length. Within lay descriptions of crops cultivated within harsh environments. Most were assuredly Dagdan in name and would need to be researched for their Fódlan counterpart or similar. Still, it was a shocking gift from the taciturn woman.

Sylvain rolled the parchment; conflicted. Ingrid had wondered why he had taken issue with Shamir, but there was no easy answer. At first, he hadn't given her presence much thought. But then he would recall their days spent learning under Byleth and Shamir, and his anger grew.

She had seen the same things as he, and far more than Sylvain could ever know. Yet Shamir chose to return to the Church all the same. She abandoned them for the promise of coin. In Sylvain’s mind, Shamir was no better than the opportunists who tripped after nobility. He thought she hadn’t cared for anything than filling her pockets, but this gift belied that assumption.

Sylvain held the parchment carefully, sighing as he entered his room. He wouldn't think about the past any longer. He was grateful for the knowledge, and it would help mend relations between Fódlan and Sreng. The reveal of a buried shrine intrigued him. Had Cernunnos’ builders deliberately masked a site of worship? In his letter home, Sylvain would make a point to ask.

* * *

It was a struggle not to dwell on the babe’s declining health. Each day he seemed limper than the last. Edelgard dreaded she would find him still and immobile; ice beneath her touch. The healers did what they could but it wasn’t enough to keep the sickness at bay. They were mystified by his symptoms, though Edelgard suspected the ill-bestowed crest was at play.

It was also possible the ailment was by design—Thales’ final insidious plot. Whether magical or not, one thing was evident. The boy required more than they could provide at Cernunnos. Edelgard gazed into the hearth, hands steepled atop her lap. The study was warm but the northern gales wailed ceaselessly outside the walls. At least the snow had stopped.

“He’s sleeping soundly,” Lysithea revealed. Her advisor settled into the other armchair. “That Estrid is like a hawk. She never took her eyes off me. Are you sure she won’t abscond with him?”

“Doubtful. Her pegasus is locked in the stables and under constant supervision. The same can be said for Estrid herself. I have Ingrid keeping an eye on her formidable aunt.” Edelgard unfurled her legs, basking in the fire’s heat. Small pleasures meant everything after coming so close to death. “From what I can tell, she trusts me with the boy. I won’t give her cause to flee.”

“Something tells me Estrid’s trust is fragile. I’m astounded you convinced her to surrender at all.”

“I doubt it was my actions alone,” she admitted. At Lysithea’s inquiring look, Edelgard explained her line of thought. “Ingrid showed great resolve in their encounters, sparing her each time. In the end, it was her entreaty for survival which caused Estrid’s lance to lower. I merely assured her that I meant no harm.”

“Ingrid’s interpretation differs.” An amused sound escaped from the younger woman. “Fine, keep your humility. I wager Estrid won’t confirm it for us either way. She’s a hard person to read.”

“But dedicated. Her loyalty to the babe is heartening… and a potential problem should he pass.” Edelgard worked her jaw as she stared into tumbling flames. If things continued as they were, the child would perish with his father. An awful, taunting voice she recognized as Thales whispered this was for the best. No claimants for an empty throne meant she stood uncontested.

Edelgard sneered silently. She would save him. No matter his blood, the babe did not choose this painful existence. If she allowed him to die, Edelgard would be little better than her tormentors. We were both abandoned. She pressed a hand over the scars beneath her clothes. I will not let you fade into the dark as my siblings did.

Edelgard felt Lysithea’s considering gaze and knew she shared these thoughts. The loss they bore echoed between them; an ache only they understood. She heard a long exhale escape from her friend.

“Cernunnos’ library was of little help in this matter. It contains rudimentary bishop writings along with church sentiments such as leaving it in the hands of the Goddess.” Lysithea’s nose wrinkled, annoyance plain. “If Linhardt were here, he might have some ideas. And I suspect the Grand Imperial Library would be far more serviceable. However, both are in Enbarr.”

“What do you suggest?” Edelgard asked. Her eyes fell upon Lysithea once more, only to drift beyond as movement snared her attention.

“We should move for Culann,” came a crisp voice. Shamir stepped forward, shadows draping her frame. Lysithea stiffened at her sudden appearance.

“—Honestly! Someone should place a bell on you. Announce yourself next time.”

“This suits me better.” Shamir settled against the hearth. She wore a placid expression, but her stare was keen. Edelgard knew better than to dismiss the Dagdan woman. Shamir never minced words and wouldn't approach without reason.

“There’s a healer of great knowledge and experience in Culann. It would be a shorter trip than Enbarr.”

“Conveniently located in your new home? How fortunate for you.” Lysithea’s tone was flat as her expression. Shamir spared her a brief shrug, arms crossed.

“Believe what you want. She’s older than the healers you have on hand and taught me a fair share of tricks.” Shamir looked at the Emperor pointedly. “Even if you fly, the babe might not survive the wait. He needs swift attention.”

“You make a convincing argument,” Edelgard said. Lysithea looked primed to retort, so she held up a hand. “There’s no need to hedge an innocent life on one solution. We can try both and hope it’s enough. Lysithea, you will speed for the capital with Leonie. Search the archives with Linhardt; as you said, he might know of a remedy. The rest of us will make for Culann.”

“I don’t like the thought of leaving you in a viper’s nest.” Lysithea’s glanced at Shamir’s dark frame. Her concern wasn’t without merit. While Rufus’ threat was over, the fate of the former knights was still in question.

Edelgard didn’t fear a knife—or arrow—to the back. After everything, she trusted the pair to not seek her demise. Catherine’s actions before and during the final battle had burned that worry. However, that could change if Edelgard decided to put her to the sword. She held Shamir’s cutting stare.

“I have fangs myself, Lysithea. Hopefully, I won’t need them.”

Shamir seemed to accept the subtle warning. With a curt nod, she took her leave. Lysithea scrutinized this interaction silently; disapproval palpable. She audibly sniffed.

“How long do you think Shamir waited there? One would suspect she takes pleasure in startling people.”

“It’s probable she does. We’re lucky her behavior is innocuous and not deadly.” Edelgard paused, recalling the countless ways Shamir used her talents for the Church. She wasn’t a fool; had Shamir wanted her dead, she would be. “You shouldn’t fret, Lysithea. I’ll be fine in Culann. If anything happens, Byleth and Ingrid are with me.”

“Along with Ingrid’s murderous aunt, a notorious assassin, and her temperamental counterpart.” Lysithea loosed an ungracious snort, but her words lacked heat. Edelgard quirked a brow at the tame insult. “I won’t say I’ll pray for you; we both know it would be a lie. Yet I’ll hope for the best and anticipate the worst. I’ll send you anything of worth I find.”

“I’ll await your correspondence. If Shamir’s healer cannot help, then your findings will be invaluable.”

“Wary as I am, I’ll hinge my thoughts on the former for the babe’s sake. Although, it would be yet another debt owed to her. Aren’t you worried?” Lysithea sounded thickly apprehensive and straining not to be. Edelgard feigned nonchalance, crossing her ankles. The night had grown long, and she was not of a mind to entertain superfluous worry. Perhaps tomorrow, but not in the wake of their victory.

“Always, but I’ll deal with any trouble as it appears. Come, Lysithea, let us discuss what you’ll do upon reaching Enbarr. I’m sure Hubert and Ferdinand will be ravenous for answers…”

* * *

The roads were less inundated with snow than Catherine remembered. The trees were scored by frost, their bark stripped and leaves buried. Yet the branches were not toothy with ice. Roots poked through the pale quilt as if saluting the warming climate. These were signs of spring; a welcome reprieve after so many months of frigid winter.

Catherine fidgeted atop the saddle, wondering at the people they left behind. Shamir looked calm as ever, though her grip on the reins was tight. Her partner could feign stoicism like no one else, save Byleth. However, Catherine recognized her minute tells. Shamir was anxious to know how the village fared too.

Edelgard and Byleth trailed at a steady clip, Ingrid soaring overhead. Like before, they left their soldiers along the Danu and traded heraldic armor for travel garments. No one could determine who they were at a glimpse. The Emperor’s coloring, while unusual, would not draw undue questions. People in the north were much too solitary and suspicious of newcomers. Culann had been the same with Shamir and Catherine when they first arrived. Only Bothild and her wards had treated them warmly at first.

Catherine perked upon catching a glimpse of two figures with curly, red hair. The two children were conversing, Connla far more animated than his subdued sister. Both trailed at the heels of their minder, who looked to be perusing the market stalls. They were stocked high with goods, alluding to the Empire’s constant aid. Surprisingly, the village also looked fully repaired—perhaps better than before.

Catherine reminded herself to be politer when speaking to Edelgard. The Emperor didn’t have to do all that she had for this place. Without a moment more, she slid from the saddle and rushed to greet the children. Catherine only stumbled once, nearly tripping into a snowdrift in her haste. Her frantic charge hadn’t gone unnoticed, the siblings blinking at Catherine’s sudden appearance. Connla was the first to break his silence.

“Cassandra!” The boy threw himself at Catherine's waist. Aife followed with a shy wave. They were taller, Catherine noted. Though not by much; only enough to be noticeable.

“Cassandra,” Bothild greeted. The nun looked much the same—stout and hardy with her broad, lined face creased in a pleasant smile. She looked tired but happy regardless. “Welcome home.”

Catherine nodded, suddenly choked by a rush of affection. Shamir had voiced a similar sentiment a bit ago. Both named this village her home; theirs. Rufus had nearly robbed them of this, but he failed. Catherine held the children tighter as she grinned.

“We’re home.” She felt Shamir’s hand settle between her shoulder blades. The children beamed, ducking around her to embrace the quiet woman. Shamir tensed before accepting their affection. Pale fingers wound briefly through auburn curls. She always acted like she couldn’t believe they enjoyed her company.

Ridiculous, Catherine thought, when Shamir was the best person she knew. As Aife and Connla returned to Bothild, she caught her partner’s hesitant smile. It wasn’t like the wicked smirks she favored, designed to prick as much as her sharp retorts. Instead, it was wholly unguarded and genuine. Catherine refrained from drawing attention to it. Shamir loathed having her feelings on display.

“I helped Weyland while you were away!" Connla raised his arm and puffed his chest. Catherine humored the boy's preening with a pat on the head. "He only yelled at me once, so I must've done good."

“Better than me,” Catherine mused. She took a moment to think of the ornery smith who served as her mentor. “That cantankerous goat used to blow my ears out. Didn’t call me anything but girl for months.”

“You’re both stubborn fools. It was a poor mix.” Shamir smirked in her knowing and sly manner. Coming from anyone else, Catherine might be offended. But she enjoyed these jibes from her partner, knowing they were spoken with fondness.

“You all look well,” Catherine commented. She eyed the nearby stall, taking in the bins of various fruits and vegetables. “Growing fat on the Empire’s generosity? This is a better selection than Baron Friuch provided. That’s Adrestian bounty for you.”

“With the border dissolved, our fields may grow bountiful too." Bothild tipped her head in Shamir's direction. She seemed to take stock of them. "You’re both finished tending to the Empire’s affairs?”

“Much as we can be,” Catherine replied, trying to make light of it. She felt like she missed something important as Shamir held the older woman’s stare. Her partner’s jaw worked in silent bursts.

“We were assisting the baron, not the Empire,” Shamir corrected. Belatedly, Catherine remembered the fabricated cover they adopted. She hid a wince. Subterfuge wasn’t her strength. Flush with triumph and overjoyed to be home, deceit hadn’t even occurred to her.

“My mistake.” It was hard to discern if Bothild was convinced. The nun’s features were composed, smiling per her custom. Catherine found it eerily similar to Byleth’s vapid attempts. She shoved aside the notion; Eisner was nothing like the kindly nun.

“Are you back to stay?” Bothild asked. Catherine leapt to answer, aiming to correct her prior mishap.

“We’re free of obligation now, so we won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

“Not quite. There is one last task.” Shamir looked to where the Emperor stood along with her favored general. Even dressed simply and unadorned, Edelgard exuded authority. She was leveling the group an unflinching stare from afar.

“Those are the scouts you left with, aren’t they?” While phrased as a question, it didn’t sound like one. Bothild’s expression was oddly pensive, and Catherine wondered at the cause.

“They need your help,” Shamir said. She gestured towards the sky where the Galatea women were hovering. It was a gamble to allow Rufus’ right-hand to keep possession of the boy. Niece or no, she could shove Ingrid from the saddle and glide off with her infant liege. Yet Edelgard trusted the woman, for whatever reason. “I told them you might be able. A child is dying."

“Theirs?”

“Just a child.” Shamir’s lips slanted in a familiar, stubborn way. “Will you help or not?”

“It’s not my way to turn aside a pleading hand. Let alone for the sake of an innocent life.” Bothild bowed then. Catherine caught the hesitant glance she sent the Emperor. She could have recognized Edelgard, despite the common dress. Still, the nun gave no mention of it and proceeded down the snowy road. As she departed, Bothild tossed a parting demand over her shoulder.

“Meet me at the chapel and I’ll do what I can. Children, with me. I’m sure Cassandra and Shay don’t want to be pestered by you two.”

Connla darted after his caretaker, sparing the women a frantic wave. Aife lingered. She gazed up at Shamir, big eyes glossy.

“...Can you sing to me again? I can’t sleep.”

Shamir’s expression softened. “I will. We have some things to discuss with Bothild. Afterward, I’ll sing for you.”

Aife nodded before scurrying in pursuit of her brother. Catherine watched them go, simultaneously fond and pained. They had lost so much already. Young as they were, she pondered whether they would understand. The children were familiar with death; their mother lost to illness, and their father to war. Could they possibly reconcile her demise as necessary?

Catherine prayed they wouldn’t need to. Yet it comforted her to know that Bothild and Shamir would be there for them. Her partner did not share her pains easily, but she might need support as well. Catherine stirred as a gloved palm pressed against her cheek.

“You’re wearing that face when you think too hard,” Shamir said. Her gaze was coolly analytical, but underneath lay a spark of worry. Catherine muffled the urge to shy away.

“I’m just happy to be home. They did well without us.” She gave a subdued laugh. “Looks like I owe the Emperor a hefty favor. Though… perhaps this is how it should be. Trading a life for the good of all—the opposite of Fhirdiad.”

Violet eyes blazed. "Don't speak as if it's a certainty."

“I’m sorry,” Catherine replied. Her morose smile fell. “Self-pity isn’t a good look for me, is it?

“You’re lucky I find your insufferable nature to my liking.” Shamir leaned in to kiss her jaw, unconcerned about the imperial eyes upon them. Leather-clad fingers wound briefly through Catherine’s hair. “I saved you before. I’ll do it again.”

But that was the problem, she thought. Catherine had fled from Rufus’ judgment and straight into the sanctuary of the Church. For years she ran from her past as Cassandra and hid from the hard truths of her life as a Knight of Seiros. It was only when she stopped running that Catherine, a flawed woman to the core, discovered who she wanted to be. If she allowed Shamir to save her from culpability, then it would be regression, not growth.

It was a different sort of bravery than flinging herself at the enemy and swinging a blade. Shamir begged the Knight to face her deeds—the truth of her being—all those months ago. So she did and became a being of creation rather than destruction. Soon, it would be the Emperor’s turn to see Catherine and judge the person she found.

Edelgard’s regard was searing as lavender eyes met the smith’s. Catherine embraced the silent accusation, breathing in her partner’s leather and ash soap. Better Edelgard than Blaiddyd, she considered gravely. Better that I face the sword for a crime done in malice.

* * *

The village of Culann was more modest than Ingrid had anticipated. Rustic and quaint; nothing like what she pictured. She found it hard to picture the infamous knights living in quietude without the excitement of battle. Ser Catherine, in particular. Yet both looked content in this unremarkable place. No—happy.

They appeared starkly mundane when interacting with the villagers. Catherine smiled so easily, nothing like the illustrious Knight with her leonine grin. Even Shamir was softer. Ingrid wasn’t sure what to make of it, but her orders were to keep watch of Estrid and the last child of Blaiddyd. Everything else was Edelgard and Byleth’s concern.

The chapel which housed the village healer was large, perhaps alluding to a once greater occupancy. It was surprising to learn this ‘Bothild’ worked alone, Shamir’s assistance notwithstanding. Ingrid assumed the other church staff had fled in the wake of Fhirdiad. Peasant revolts ousting Seirosian presence had become increasingly frequent, helping the Empire’s spread after the war. Where Adrestia was decried by the nobility for heresy, the common embraced them with verve.

Ingrid pondered what Estrid thought of this. She stood within the threshold to the babe's room, provided graciously by the chapel healer. The elder Galatea was settling her charge within a modest crib. It was pillowed with blankets for comfort and warmth; he would not freeze here as he might’ve in Sreng. Estrid’s face gave away nothing as she finished swaddling the child.

His pallor remained sickly, only a mite better than before. He still ailed in reams of sweat and soft whimpers. Lysithea and their bishops had done their best. Ingrid fretted over his fate, and what might happen should he perish. Perhaps Estrid sensed where these concerns had taken her. The older woman glanced at her askance.

“You look as if you have something to say.”

Ingrid flinched, chagrined she was read so neatly. “It can wait until the boy is better.”

“There is virtue in patience,” Estrid agreed. Green eyes darkened as hair fell across her brow. “But I’ve found waiting too long serves no one. Say what you need, Ingrid. Neither of us has the luxury of more regret.”

“Then... why?” Ingrid saw Estrid’s frown and hurried to finish her thought. “Why did you protect Rufus, knowing what he allowed? If vows were all that lay between you, I don’t understand.”

“Rufus was kind, in his way. I saw in him a potential he never recognized in himself.” Estrid peered distantly at the ceiling. “He could have been a great man; an honorable lord. However, Rufus was too absorbed in what he lacked. He fixated on Dimitri ascending the throne, not daring to steer the Kingdom beyond where Lambert had left it. I think he felt Dimitri should play the savior.”

“That sounds like him excusing his indolence to me,” Ingrid stated. Estrid didn’t seem to mind. She tipped her head slightly.

“It can be both. At his heart, Rufus was a fearful man. He disdained disappointment from his brother and the Goddess. If he acted like a wretch on his terms, then he could maintain the illusion of control. Yet if Rufus tried with all his might and failed, his ego wouldn’t survive.”

“You knew him well.” Ingrid considered her aunt’s assessment briefly. “I still say that’s a poor excuse for his actions.”

“I’m not excusing it. I wouldn’t gut him otherwise.” Estrid’s gaze fell upon the child. Her brow furrowed, perhaps in memory of her betrayal. “I served and watched him for years. He was kind to me and gave me a place when no other lord would. So yes, I knew him. And I knew what he could’ve been. It is that man who I mourn.”

“Father might have…” Ingrid began. But she knew the moment the idea left her lips, it was false. Had her father accepted Estrid entirely, they wouldn’t be holding this conversation. Ingrid quieted, unable to finish. Her aunt nodded knowingly.

“We are all searching for a place where we can belong. For years, mine was in Itha protecting Rufus. For all his faults, he was my lord.”

“Yet you betrayed him in the end.”

Estrid’s mouth pursed. “I betrayed the threat he became. I knelt for this child and swore to protect all that might harm him. A shame his father became his greatest danger. Would you do any different, Ingrid?”

I wouldn’t, Ingrid admitted privately. If the situation was reversed and Edelgard descended into madness… Ingrid reeled at the impossibility but knew she would do the same as Estrid. Surely, the Emperor would want it too. Ser Catherine had done the contrary and only fell to disgrace for her complicity. The conceit of absolute loyalty was assuming your lord to be infallible, but that was often not the case.

Normally, such thoughts would come to her in Edelgard’s voice. It was becoming more frequent to hear them in Ingrid’s alone. Estrid looked to be done with her then as she strode past the younger woman and towards the hall. Suddenly, Ingrid grabbed her arm.

“Answer me one last thing,” she begged. Estrid’s features were stony; intractable as her will. Ingrid tightened her grip. “Why did you surrender? Because of the Emperor’s past? If he dies, will you turn on us to avenge him?”

“That’s more than one,” Estrid said. “The academy did nothing for your arithmetic.”

“Don’t jest! I’m serious.”

“Are you?” Perhaps it was merely a trick of the light, but a great exhaustion seemed to pass over Estrid’s face. “I don’t see why it matters. The end won’t change just by knowing.”

“It will for me. Please.” Ingrid held her gaze until finally, Estrid heaved a sigh. It was a painfully overwrought noise.

“Your liege calmed my fears, but it wasn’t her alone. I never imagined you would defeat and spare me in the same breath.” Estrid looked at her niece with eyes creased by time and untold bloodshed. “You were right. It hadn’t occurred to me to live for him. Once you planted the idea in my mind, it sprouted roots. From there, I was undone.”

“You say that as if that’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not how I imagined defeat,” she replied ruefully. “It’s impossible for me to say what will happen if your Emperor cannot save him. I must hope she can. However...”

Ingrid flinched as she was wrapped in a firm embrace. Estrid’s frame was solid and familiar, the fragrance of her hair nostalgic. “You won against me at last, my girl. How does it feel?”

A rush of incredulous joy filled Ingrid’s heart. Her reply was choked by emotion. She returned Estrid’s embrace, finally accepting this was real and not a bittersweet dream.

“Like I’m soaring again for the first time.”

* * *

The village healer was a dedicated woman, Edelgard observed. But one would need to be as the lone bishop in such an isolated locale. Bothild held the babe with care, looking him over in periodic spurts as she searched within an old text. She offered no quick judgments or eloquent laments; preferring silence as she worked to discern the cause.

Edelgard respected her for it. She was long exasperated with the previous healers who were quick to claim the illness resolved to no avail. It took Lysithea’s frustrated intervention for them to finally concede ignorance. Edelgard thought of her friend’s possible findings. If Bothild was stumped as the rest, Lysithea would be their last chance to save the babe.

Shaking her head, the Emperor returned to her vigil. Shamir hovered in the background as the healer worked. Her presence wasn’t wholly alarming. To Edelgard’s understanding, she served as Bothild’s assistant in the village. Yet her scrutiny was constant and unsettling in its focus. Even before their torturous ordeal together, Shamir had never acted so watchful. Edelgard could guess at the cause.

“Fever. Hives from face to belly. Sporadic spasms.” Bothild nodded to herself as she murmured the symptoms. “How is his urine?”

“We’ve hydrated him constantly,” Edelgard said. “So mostly pale, but it's tinged red on occasion."

“And his stool color?”

“Normal as far as I know.”

At the confirmation, Bothild hummed and bundled the child tighter. It didn’t escape notice how unmoved the nun was by his chest wound. Thales’ work was awful yet precise, leaving a single vertical scar. Edelgard had been grateful for the lack of inquiry but even as Bothild perused him further, no questions came. Was it merely discretion on her behalf? Edelgard tried not to eye the healer with suspicion; alienating a helping hand would be unwise.

“Does he bleed internally?” she asked, postulating.

“Not in the way you might think. His body is in rejection.” Bothild’s demeanor was matter-of-fact. She didn’t seem panicked, steadying Edelgard’s nerves.

“Rejection how?” This time, it was Shamir who asked. She peeled her attention from Edelgard for the first time since entering the room.

“As one does anything that doesn’t belong,” Bothild answered. Edelgard’s stomach swooped unpleasantly in response. “I’ve seen it before in others. This illness is indicative of it.”

Again, Edelgard noted the lack of prying questions and her reluctance to give specifics. If the nun was alluding to what she suspected… Edelgard narrowed her eyes. “Is it treatable?”

“Treatable, yes. Curable is another matter. However, that can be discussed in time. I can brew a tonic to calm his body’s reaction. Goddess willing, the boy will live.” Bothild looked at Shamir. “Shay, my dear, can you fetch the ingredients? Most you might find at the stalls but one will need to be located in the wild. I’ll make you a list.”

“I’m going with her,” Edelgard interjected. She glanced at the slumbering babe, aching at his unconscious mewls. Tiny Professor had sounded much the same when she had tumbled from a shelf as a kitten. A human child should never sound like a pained animal.

The nun traded a look with her assistant. A wordless agreement seemed to pass between them.

“I await your return. Hurry, both of you.”

Edelgard wasn’t certain she trusted the appraising look Bothild adopted. The woman was unknown for all her willingness and knowledge. Perhaps the stress was making the Emperor paranoid, forcing her to see oceans in puddles. All of her friends could attest to this unfortunate habit. Yet Edelgard had to believe the nun’s intentions were pure. An innocent life depended on them.

With a parting word for Estrid, the boy’s steadfast and tireless protector, Edelgard departed the chapel. Byleth was off scouting the grounds or pestering Catherine, leaving her alone with Shamir. She tried not to find this daunting; it was her idea to follow, after all. Edelgard didn’t wish to place the child’s fate in someone else’s hands, no matter their capability.

She trailed at Shamir’s heel, only hesitating a moment as the other women ventured into the woods. There wasn’t a delineated path, leaving the pair to push against the wild stretch of northern land. As Edelgard trudged through the ice and undergrowth, she stifled a grumble. Warm as this past week had been, spring couldn’t arrive fast enough. She was amazed people willingly lived here.

Though, for the common folk that wasn’t quite fair to think. Most could not uproot their lives on a whim. Edelgard gave Shamir a covert glance through clouds of breath. The Dagdan woman was graceful, steps light atop ice and prickly bush. She appeared to belong in this frozen, white wood—pale and fleet as a winter sprite. Yet Edelgard hadn’t been oblivious to Shamir’s displeasure with the climate. While hardly grumbling audibly, her disgust was plain.

Edelgard commiserated, but she wondered why Shamir settled in this miserable place. Did she enjoy playing healer, or was all this a ruse to feign docile and escape punishment? After everything the group had experienced together, Edelgard hoped they were being genuine. Shamir and her obnoxious counterpart, loath as she was to admit it. Catherine would never be her favorite person, but the smith’s skills were an unexpected benefit in Sreng.

“Have you considered what you’ll do if the child lives?” she heard Shamir inquire. Her tone was neutral but she caught Edelgard unaware regardless. It was a fair question, one she should have considered without prompting. And yet…

“No," Edelgard admitted. "I've been so focused on saving his life that it didn't occur to me."

“Then you should start unless you’re resigned to a funeral.”

Shamir paused mid-step, head craned to the east. Edelgard followed suit, barely managing to keep her footing. Adrestian winters hadn’t prepared her for such a wealth of frosted brambles. Enbarr’s streets, while occasionally slick in winter, lacked the north’s wild landscape. A beautiful chaos, maybe, but Edelgard preferred organization.

“What are we hunting for?” she managed to ask. For a time, it looked like Shamir might ignore her. The Dagdan woman pressed eastward, stopping at the edge of a babbling brook. She knelt and cracked ice around its edge.

“A certain kind of root,” Shamir finally provided. “It’s edible, though not popular for its taste.”

“And it has healing properties?”

“So it seems.” Shamir’s expression was as cryptic as her words. Edelgard resisted the urge to make a face. She hunched her shoulders, warding off a shiver.

“Pardon my skepticism, but I doubt you’ll find anything in this weather. Everything is dead.”

“On the surface, maybe.” Edelgard watched as Shamir continued to shovel away snow and dead leaves. Her gloves looked thin, hardly enough to shield her from the cold. Yet Shamir stripped away the ice without flinching. “Yet once you peel away the rot and death, you can find life; persistent despite the odds.”

“I didn’t take you for a philosopher,” Edelgard replied. It was half a jest, yet Shamir didn’t appear to recognize that. The older woman halted, momentarily disgruntled.

“Anyone can make simple observations.”

“About nature or people?” Edelgard held Shamir’s gaze. That alarmingly intense look upon Shamir’s face reappeared. She didn’t immediately answer, but it was unnecessary. Edelgard wasn’t always accurate when reading people, but she felt Shamir’s actions spoke plenty.

“I’m not naïve,” Edelgard went on to say. “I know why you were so quick to bring us here. Why you’ve been eager to help at every turn.”

“Can you fault me?” To her credit, Shamir didn’t hide behind denial. She continued cracking the brook’s edge. The clamor of shattering ice raised the hairs upon Edelgard’s nape.

“Shamir, my judgment won’t be stemmed by a mere favor. No matter how many you might accrue.”

“You know she’s changed. Seen it.” Shamir’s stare cut to her, bright with frustration. “She had every opportunity to help Rufus in his plot, yet she obeyed you instead. You cannot tell me that means nothing.”

“And I’m grateful to you both. But I must think of the greater justice at play here. Does a murderer’s regret outweigh the lives taken?”

“She’s not a danger to anyone.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Edelgard said firmly. Shamir looked away, hands buried to the wrist in ice. She remained immobile as she fixed her sight upon the trees. A stiff wind stirred the dark tide of her hair and Edelgard was caught by the desperation she wore so plainly. Despite her resolve, Edelgard spared a moment for sympathy.

“I am not cruel or unreasonable. And my refusal doesn’t stem from spite. Catherine herself requested I judge her deeds objectively, regardless of any debt.”

“...I thought she might.” Shamir’s voice trembled, uncharacteristically thick. “She wouldn’t have before. Too proud; afraid.”

“I know, and I will consider that as well.” Edelgard joined her on the cold ground. Still, Shamir kept her gaze averted.

“You don’t. Can’t.” The older woman subtly wiped her eyes before she returned to digging. “I’ll stay out of it from here.”

“So easily?”

“It’s Catherine’s choice. I won’t disrespect it.” Shamir’s hand stilled upon something in the dark mud. Gloved fingers curled around it before tugging upward. Edelgard blinked at the root. Its flesh was a light tan, curling in finger-like appendages. Shamir held the root by slick weeds at the cap.

“It’s small,” Edelgard commented dubiously. “Winter aside, I’m stunned to see anything grow in this sludge.”

“Hm. We’ll need more.” Shamir placed the root next to them. She eyed the Emperor sidelong. “I won’t kill you.”

“I hadn’t expected you to. As the last who saw me, you would be the first suspect,” Edelgard said dryly. Shamir shook her head.

“Not now. I meant if you decide to execute Catherine.” She plucked another root from the soil. Her expression was cold, any trace of vulnerability gone. “For my people, freedom of will is everything. In the Church, she ceded control over her life. Even my actions at Fhirdiad took a choice from her. So this decision must be yours and Catherine’s.”

Edelgard wondered how much it pained Shamir to admit that. From the beginning, she was obvious in her intentions. Slaying Rufus, of course, but also keeping her lover alive. Shamir did much to ensure she had enough leverage for both, yet the latter was entirely beyond her control. Truthfully, it was easy to say Catherine paid for her crimes by helping to save Fódlan. A part of Edelgard wanted to make that call, but would it be just?

She needed to consider the issue further. Until then, Edelgard dug her hands into the cold mud. The water from the stream kept the soil pliable and she was able to find a root after a brief scour. The two women worked in silence until a pile of roots lay beside them. Some were shriveled and deadened, but hopefully enough for a healer’s purposes.

As they exited the forest, Shamir didn’t raise the subject of execution again.

* * *

Of late, Byleth tried to reign in her curiosity. She had a habit of restless hands and feet as El often said. And more so when nothing could be done on her part. Byleth had kept vigilant since El’s return, faithfully guarding her against any perceived threat. However, the younger woman was stubborn and insistent.

In a slumberous village such as Culann, Byleth didn’t mind respecting El’s fierce independence. Worrying over the child’s health took priority and she knew her lover would not rest until he recovered. Byleth had faith El would find a solution. So when she woke alone in the room they were given, Byleth only fretted briefly. El was safe here, perhaps more than when they were in Sreng. She didn’t need to stress over her whereabouts—the Emperor was assuredly in pursuit of a remedy.

Speaking with the healer confirmed that assumption. Byleth did not balk as Bothild revealed Shamir accompanied El into the forest. Though a former enemy, she had an unspoken code of ethics and a softness for children. Shamir would be the last person to pursue bloodshed when a babe’s life hung in the balance.

Nonetheless, Byleth felt restless. She considered following the two women to offer her assistance, but that might come across as overprotective. El disliked smothering. She read it as perceiving her as weak; inadequate. In time, Byleth aimed to settle her fears. For now, she would abide by her lover's will and seek something else to occupy her attention.

She nearly requested a spar with Estrid or Ingrid. Sadly, the latter was busy keeping watch of the former and Estrid didn’t look in the mood for a friendly duel. She guarded the room where the babe rested, expression flat as Byleth strode past. Estrid dutifully shooed away everyone besides the chapel healer and El. Her regard for Byleth in particular was frigid. Perhaps she caught wind of the whispered infamy of Adrestia’s ‘wolf’.

Her behavior in Sreng would not soon be forgotten, defense of Cernunnos aside. It reminded Byleth unpleasantly of her father’s mercenary band. They respected her skill, but also feared her. Most kept a healthy distance, wary she would change her blade to them. Byleth remembered hearing a few such murmurs, though they never said it to her or Jeralt. Back then, she hadn’t cared enough to be fazed. The same couldn’t be said for the person she had become.

Byleth walked idly across the icy paths of Culann, drinking in her surroundings. The village was in a finer state than when their initial visit. There were no charred, empty structures; only pristine homes and stalls. She had noticed the market was flush with goods, and more people flocked to-and-fro about the village. A healthy collection of Faerghians, but also Adrestians per the Empire’s intervention.

Directionless and certainly unintentionally, Byleth found herself walking towards Catherine’s forge. Later, she would determine it was the spindles of smoke that caught her wandering interest. Byleth followed the trail like a hound on a scent and blinked dully at Catherine’s frame. The smith was shaping a length of metal, hair tied and clad in an apron. She paused as Byleth neared.

“Eisner, as I live and breathe—” Catherine’s face pulled with a wry smile. “I thought I washed my hands of you. Yet here you are, rearing your head like a tick I can’t shake.”

“I’ve never had a tick,” Byleth replied. She thought for a moment. “Are they painful?”

“Figure of speech. Don’t think I’ve felt their bite either.” She watched Catherine set aside her hammer. The smith rolled her neck as she faced her sudden guest. “You here to make sure I don’t run off? You can keep a chain on me if you like. Just don't get in my way. The empire’s builders helped greatly, but it looks like they weren’t much for mundane tasks.”

“I know you won’t run.” It was true. From their time spent together, Byleth had a clearer picture of who the other woman was. She couldn’t say what Thunder Catherine would have done. However, this Catherine wouldn’t vanish. She heard a crackle of the forge as the smith stoked the coals.

“I ran plenty once. First from the crown—Rufus, more accurately.” Catherine’s jaw was tight as she spoke. “Slew a noble to save a group of people. Duscur civilians; women and children mostly. Rufus branded me a traitor for it, and I fled to the Church.”

“I hadn't heard that," Byleth said. Catherine didn't look surprised.

“It was hushed up and sealed. No one knew the full story save me and the men I brought from Charon. After, I got mixed up in something worse. My fault, again." She laughed. To Byleth, it sounded more like a choking gasp than anything else. "Each time I tried to act on my own, it ended in misery. So I gave in and chose to cede my will to Lady Rhea. And that was a mistake also. Do you see, Byleth? I know my time is overdue, so I won’t run anymore.”

“I did something awful recently. El forgave me, though I wonder if I deserve it.” Byleth swallowed, thinking of her grievous and bloody rampage. “Even those I harmed exonerated me of blame, but I don’t feel it’s earned. Your plight sounds similar.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be rid of that feeling. Regret, true regret doesn’t work off reason or forgiveness.” Catherine looked at her fingers. They were stained with soot from her craft. “I still feel that terrible heat; the hollow rage which blinded me. I can’t help but wonder if that’s how she felt. In her last moments, did she feel regret?”

“Rhea?” Byleth asked. Catherine seemed to sense it was rhetorical. She simply waited for Byleth to continue. “I’ve considered the same. But I didn’t know her as you did, so I can’t say.”

Catherine scoffed then. “No one knew her. She didn’t allow us that close. I thought it prudent at the time. The lady was blessed; untouchable. We fully believed she was the Goddess’ voice. Yet after Fhirdiad…”

Byleth refrained from interrupting as Catherine inhaled. She looked to be gathering her thoughts.

“Our mistake was thinking she was infallible. But I need to believe it wasn’t a complete lie. That all her kindness wasn’t a mask.” Catherine shook her head. A few strands of hair fell across her brow. “She didn’t deserve the indignity forced upon her by Rufus and Arundel.”

“How did you feel? You appeared clear-headed at the time,” Byleth prodded, both curious and empathetic. She didn’t quite grasp Catherine’s dynamic with the Archbishop, but she knew her loyalty was immense.

“Honestly? I barely had any coherent thoughts. If not for Shamir keeping me steady, I’m not sure what I would’ve done. Shamir is…” Catherine visibly searched for the right words. Byleth was quick to fill the gap.

“Your anchor, like El is mine.”

The smith glanced at her, bemused. “I wasn’t going to go metaphorical with it. Not everyone is as flowery as you. But fine, I guess it fits.”

That was a fair observation. Byleth noticed that Catherine was more direct than herself. It was a point of commonality between the two partners. There were both practical people, whereas Byleth enjoyed symbolism as El did. It was a comforting idea to share something with the woman she loved so endlessly.

Catherine picked up her hammer, seeming to dismiss the general outright. Yet curiosity being her greatest flaw, Byleth peered around the workshop instead. She had tried her hand at smoothing El’s crown, to no avail. Still, she found the process interesting. Perhaps she only required the right tutelage.

“Might I try?” She waited for a breath, certain Catherine would deny her. Yet the older woman merely crooked a brow before rearing backward. She pushed the hammer into Byleth's chest.

“Ha! You? This I need to see. Give it a few swings.” Catherine reclined against the forge wall, arms crossed. She was quiet as Byleth tested the hammer’s weight. “You know… I never told anyone besides Shamir about my thoughts on the Church. My regrets.”

“Then why did you tell me?” Byleth swung downward. The hammer sang against the heated metal, vibrating hard within her grip. She held it awkwardly, unsure she liked the jarring sensation. Catherine shrugged within her periphery.

“You have a way about you—trustworthy. Close-lipped. You don’t share things casually.” Her eyes were a brighter blue than most, but they were positively murky then. “I wanted someone to hear me speak without coloring it with their opinion. To understand foremost. If these are my last days, I wanted the truth to be known.”

“Oh.” Byleth swung again, this time softer. She offered Catherine a hesitant smile. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

“High as sea-level,” came the peevish response. “Focus on the metal. You’re letting it cool too fast.”

“Alright, but we should go fishing again. One last hurrah in the event El takes your head.”

“Eisner, what makes you think I want to spend my last hours with you?”

Byleth allowed the remark to bounce off her. “You called me trustworthy. That's high praise, isn't it?"

Catherine didn’t follow with a swift reply, deigning to frown instead. Byleth wasn’t deterred by the reluctance. They had settled their grievances during their scrap at Cernunnos, or the majority of them. She half-suspected Catherine feigned irritation to keep her at arms-length.

“Eyes down. And stop pounding on cool iron, it needs to be reheated or—”

With a hearty snap, the length of metal gave beneath Byleth’s arm. She stared at the split pieces, sheepishly looking up into Catherine’s face. A long sigh burst from the smith’s mouth. Byleth could tell from Catherine’s pinched brow that her vexation had changed from affected to genuine.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth said with a frown. “I don’t think smithing suits me.”

“It was my fault for giving you a hammer, but you didn’t break anything important.” Catherine shoved the metal under the coals. She swept the hammer from Byleth’s fingers, giving the other woman a once-over. Byleth had trouble deciphering the reason behind her sudden hesitance.

“I don’t know what comes next. For the longest time, I was afraid of that answer. But if your Emperor deems me worthy of living…” Catherine sounded tentative, as if afraid to voice the possibility. “I wouldn’t hate fishing with you again. Don’t badger Her Royal Fussiness though. I want an honest verdict.”

“I promise not to bother until after she decides,” Byleth vowed. Catherine eyed her askance.

“After?”

“You might not believe me, but El is fair. I suspect she'll come to the same conclusion I have." Byleth moved away, taking in the other woman in all her flawed intricacy. She looked at home here; peaceful as the Knight had never been at Garreg Mach. Catherine's care for this place was steeped in everything she did—from revealing herself to working diligently even as she suspected her life forfeit.

Byleth would share these observations with El in the event her assumption was wrong. Objectively, of course.

* * *

Patience was not a virtue Edelgard nursed easily. It was required of her station, within the laborious tedium of paperwork combined with the disgruntled hawking of former nobility. As Emperor, she exercised great restraint to ensure her country was safe from all manner of dangers. That did not mean she endured without strain.

After bringing the healer the necessary ingredients, Bothild worked fast to brew the necessary tonic. The only thing anyone could do was wait. Edelgard busied herself where she could. A scout had recently brought her correspondence from the capital in Lysithea's waspish scrawl. Frustration bled from each work as she detailed the countless hours spent in the royal library, Linhardt sparing time to assist.

The letter came with numerous theories and possible cures, yet no definitive answers. If Bothild's tonic failed, their findings would be invaluable. Edelgard penned her gratitude in return, also sending a separate letter meant for Hubert and Ferdinand.

Lysithea had relayed all was well in Enbarr, but if she knew her oldest friend he wouldn't be so neatly appeased. It was a miracle Hubert hadn't sent a contingent of spies after them. Perhaps his trust in Byleth was more than mere lip service. Edelgard made sure to stress the danger had long-concluded. With the last firm reminder for Ferdinand not to overfeed her darling cat—he had a nasty habit of spoiling her rotten—Edelgard finished writing.

She sat in her borrowed quarters, flummoxed about what to do next. Edelgard could check on the babe, but she had done so fairly recently. Estrid might think her mad if the Emperor paced impatiently outside the door. The hour was too late in the evening to go for a stroll or visit the market. Culann might be a sleepy settlement but dangers still lurked in the woods.

Edelgard tensed as the door swept open. It was sudden enough to cause her hand to settle upon the knife atop the desk. Her anxiety promptly drained as Byleth entered. The older woman blinked, undoubtedly catching the movement. She appeared wind-blown and pink from the cold but otherwise placid. Byleth stood in the doorway, eyeing the knife.

“Have I upset you, El?”

“You could never.” Edelgard dropped the meager weapon and slumped in her chair. She took in the damp drape of Byleth’s cloak. She left misty footprints as she moved closer. “Where did you go? I was surprised to find you missing.”

“I took a walk through the village. It’s truly remarkable how different it is from before. I could tell…” Byleth fell silent, abruptly evasive. It wasn’t like her to shield any idle musings from Edelgard. Byleth’s rambling observations were a joy. This reticence on her part was concerning.

“Byleth, don’t leave me in suspense. You could tell what?”

“Oh, nothing.” Byleth smiled airily in her winsome way. Edelgard had nearly forgotten the sight of it, laden with dark thoughts as they both had been. Byleth took a moment to peer into the growing darkness. “I could tell people were happier; less doleful. It’s good to see.”

"I’m sure the warming climate has something to do with that. They certainly look more comfortable.” Edelgard sighed, unable to stop herself from thinking of the fitful infant a room over. He had stirred and cried as Bothild administered the tonic. She wanted to view it as a positive sign, and not simply because of the taste.

“Maybe he’ll appear happier too, given enough time…”

From Byleth’s expression, she understood where Edelgard’s mind had drifted. She sat on the bed, hands beckoning. “El, rest a moment. The village might not look sad but you do.”

“I’m just tired,” Edelgard denied. Yet her heart betrayed her, and she glided into Byleth’s waiting arms. She smelled damp and earthen, like the great northern wilderness itself. Her hair felt wet with a trace of sweat. A deep ache for Enbarr took hold, and Edelgard dearly awaited the days when her love would smell of sea-salt once again.

“As you insist.” She felt Byleth card gently through her hair. Her touch was as loving as her voice. A pang of guilt caused Edelgard’s throat to tighten.

“No. I swore I wouldn’t do this anymore. I suppose it’s true what they say about bad habits.” She relaxed into the curves of her lover’s body, taking a moment to find the right words. All the while, Byleth waited patiently. “Bothild, the healer, said he had a good chance of survival. She said his body is rejecting anything foreign—the crest. She brewed him a tonic, but it’s not a cure. It’ll need to be taken regularly for the rest of his days. And that’s assuming he doesn’t build a tolerance.”

“It’s a hurdle, but when the alternative is death…” Byleth squeezed Edelgard’s hand, eyes glittering with sympathy. “He’ll grow accustomed. It’ll be just another facet of his life.”

“But that's where I faltered, Byleth. Life, but not death." Edelgard averted her eyes. "Shamir asked me what I would do if he survived. Shamefully, I couldn’t provide an answer. I have contingencies aplenty in the event he should die, if Estrid turns on us, or the north gets wind of his crest. Yet I never properly considered the alternative. What does that say of me?”

“That you’ve tasted tragedy,” Byleth replied. She cupped a pale cheek. “Drank so deep of its well you can’t recall anything else. Misery was all you knew for years, and I believe Sreng reminded you how bitter it could be. No one can fault you for preparing for the worst.”

“I’ve known happiness too,” Edelgard breathed against her lover’s wrist. “Joy in love, the friends who’ve weathered the dark by my side—”

“New happiness. New joy you don’t quite trust.” It felt as if Byleth had slid a blade between her ribs, piercing her heart. They were truths Edelgard couldn’t refute, so she recoiled shamefully. Yet Byleth did not regard her with disdain or censure. She held Edelgard with compassion.

“We don’t know if he’ll recover for certain. He might slip away during the night.”

“You’re anticipating the worst again. El, would it be so horrible to picture the best outcome?”

“Yes,” Edelgard said, raw and afraid despite herself. She could face any manner of ghastly beasts without flinching, but hope? Hope would always be her greatest weakness. As a child, she had placed faith in the Goddess. Silence was her only reward. “I think it would wound me intractably if I dared to hope and found a corpse. I’ve suffered that blow before with my family.”

“It wouldn’t be your fault.”

“Perhaps. But my heart wouldn’t know the difference.” Edelgard allowed her eyes to drift closed. “I’m still there in some ways. Lysithea too. We can only ward off the darkness we faced, not banish it forever. I see in him the ruined bodies of my siblings and dread their fate will be repeated. That’s why this means so much to me. I can’t hope too much or I’ll crumble.”

“I’ll be here with you. No matter which path fate leads us.” Byleth kissed her once, consoling. “I understand we’ll need to wait until we know for sure.”

“If it worked, I’m told he should show signs of recovery within days. I just hate this period of uncertainty.”

“Then you have plenty of time to rest and plan for the child’s survival.”

Not for the first time, Edelgard marveled at the simplicity in which Byleth viewed the world. It didn’t always work in her favor, she knew. Byleth would never be adept at political maneuvering or weighing motivations based on silly things such as titles and ambition. However, she had a natural talent for seeing people as they were, unaffected by self-important airs. Edelgard loved her for it.

They held each other throughout the night. She took solace in the steady thrum of Byleth’s heart, reminding herself that hope had its rewards. When Edelgard woke the sun had yet to crest the horizon. She raised her head from Byleth’s chest but her lover didn’t rouse. She climbed out of bed slowly, throat parched.

Edelgard expected the chapel to be dark and silent, most wouldn’t stir so early in the morn. So it was a shock to see the fire pit ablaze, two figures huddled around it. Bothild's habit and stocky frame were discerned at a glance, but the second was someone unexpected. Catherine chatted with the older woman, boots raised in comfortable repose. Both looked up as Edelgard entered.

“Looks like your guests need you. That’s my cue to leave.” Catherine stood, the fire casting a glow upon her silhouette. She gave Bothild a nod before heading for the main door. Before she left, Edelgard caught the bold grin Catherine aimed at her. She wasn’t sure what to make of the woman’s recent behavior; no longer hostile but her friendliness always came with an edge. But maybe that was just how Edelgard read it.

“Is something amiss, Elise?”

It took a moment for her pseudonym to register. Edelgard shook her head as she approached the healer.

“I only rose for water. What did Ca…” She paused. “Cassandra. What did she want?”

“Oh, she came to bring the hinges I requested. This chapel falls apart at the most inconvenient moments and we always have trouble with the shutters.” Bothild smiled fondly. It felt private, as if she recalled a fond memory. "Used to be you had to make a voyage into the woods to have any metalwork done. Old Weyland lives there, the other smith. With Cassandra living so close, we’re well taken care of.”

“So she’s not just a smith for appearances,” Edelgard said in half a jest. She had wondered why the former Knight chose metallurgy. She figured Catherine wouldn’t have the patience for the craft. “With two smiths, your village is better off than most in the north.”

“We’re lucky to have them,” Bothild replied. The nun shuffled atop the bench she occupied, patting the wood. “Would you mind sitting with me for a spell? I have something I want to share.”

“I suppose so. Is this… about the babe?” Edelgard took a seat, suddenly uneasy. After her conversation with Byleth, she didn’t know if she could bear any terrible news. To her immense relief, Bothild shook her head.

“Not at all. He’s sleeping peacefully. Already, his color is better.” Bothild gazed into the fire. “This is a personal tale. One neither Cassandra nor Shay knows."

“Then why are you telling me?” Edelgard’s brow furrowed. Her bafflement grew as the nun appraised her. Instinctively, Edelgard returned the scrutiny. The woman’s eyes were heavy as their color, dark green like the shadows of trees. It was difficult to tell her exact age. The broadness of her cheeks lent youth but the lines marking her face denoted the woman as older. Grey streaked her dark hair in milky rivers.

“You don’t recall me, do you?”

The Emperor tensed, nape suddenly cold. Her gaze narrowed. Bothild, or whoever she truly was, smiled.

“I thought not,” the woman said. “We only conferred directly once as a group. The rest was through your agent, Myson.”

“Not mine. He had his own strings.” Edelgard scowled in remembrance of the aforementioned man. He followed Thales along with several others. She had allowed his machinations with the Western Church, to a point. However, she cut the faction free at the first opportunity. Their radical actions were a liability as was their association with Those Who Slither. She held Bothild’s stare evenly.

“You’re with the Western Church.”

“I was.” The nun spoke freely, but her expression held a great melancholy. “After you forced our patron to break ties with us, we couldn’t stay in Adrestia. So we headed north.”

“I remember. I also remember what your people did next.” Edelgard held herself back from a heated outburst. She didn’t want to wake the building unless required. “You sowed chaos in Faerghus, ran amuck, and forced your victims to flee for their safety. And they, in turn, spread death in their wake."

“I heard of Erd; a tragedy and I accept my culpability for it.” Wrinkled hands pressed together as the nun closed her eyes. “The man who led us… He was my husband. Our son was put to death by the will of the Archbishop. He clung to Myson’s assurance we would bring her to justice. I was foolish enough to believe it too. And so my husband took to dark methods, taught by Myson.”

“And this resulted in the Faerghus massacres,” Edelgard responded. It was a horrific sequence of events, and she wasn’t sure whether to be glad for the clarity. Still, she recognized the manipulation at play. It was the same in Sreng, desperate people blinded by false promises made. The craggy grooves upon Bothild’s face appeared deeper beneath the firelight.

“I saw countless ailments then, including the one seen within your boy. My husband had no true talent for the dark works he employed. Failures, all. And when they finally took him to the torch, I fled.” Bothild waved a hand toward the fire. “I wandered northward, lost in my guilt. I stayed my hand because I loved him, but I should have stopped it. After, I finally found myself here. I couldn’t correct what I had done. Yet I could help these people, so I have.”

“You worked to undo the harm you caused elsewhere.” Edelgard frowned, uncertain how she should feel about the nun’s tale. “...Why did you tell me this?”

“Cassandra is a good woman,” Bothild said. The seeming non-sequitur made Edelgard squint. Her companion’s lips twisted wryly. “I know she wasn’t always. But this place has been good for her, as she has for us. She saved us in more than one way. Shay, too.”

“It’s clear you know who they are. Why do you call them that?”

“It’s what they want me to call them. It’s what we know them to be.” The explanation was simple enough. The fond way Bothild spoke of the two revealed how close they were. Edelgard knew what the nun was pushing her towards, and a great part of her agreed. Still, was it enough? Edelgard balled her hands.

“The conflagration of Fhirdiad is no small crime to pardon.”

“As are my crimes. Yet which is greater, justice for the dead or protection of the living?” When the Emperor couldn’t offer a swift response, too stunned by the similar question she had asked herself once, Bothild’s head bobbed. “Without her, this village would have perished twice over. I don’t request her pardon; it’s not my place. I only ask you to measure the threat Cassandra poses to you against the good she’s done and will continue to do in the future. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Elise. I have a few shutters to mend.”

The nun rose and left, hinges jangling in her hand. Edelgard remained seated. She pondered the conversation in silence. Eventually, she made her decision and belatedly recognized it was the one she was leaning toward all along. A person couldn’t correct the past, no matter how much they desired. They could only move forward.

* * *

It was verging on the afternoon when Shamir heard a knock at the door. She hadn’t thought much of it—villagers often came to seek aid from her or Catherine. Though for the latter, most knew to approach the forge instead. She heard the rear door clang open followed by the tap of footsteps.

“Did I hear a knock?” Catherine sauntered in, wiping her hands clean of soot and metal shavings. A black smudge stained the bridge of her nose. Catherine looked foolish but Shamir refrained from informing her. She found it charming.

“I’ll check the door.” Shamir closed her book with a snap; the medical journal she abandoned before they left. The child's illness seemed to be managed, but one couldn't be certain. She would broaden her knowledge just in case.

Their home had not suffered any substantial damage in the attack and they were luckier than the vast majority of villagers. However, a horizontal gouge lay in one of the door planks. Evidence of an axe, most likely. It was barely wide enough to peer through, granting Shamir a glimpse of their unexpected visitor. She bit her cheek upon spotting the familiar ashen coloring of Edelgard and the wild teal of Byleth.

Shamir nearly barricaded the home. There were scant reasons why the Emperor would seek them out. With the babe in the presumed midst of recovery, the possibilities were even slimmer. Edelgard had made her decision at long last. And Catherine, the vexing idiot, desired her judgment. She chose an inconvenient time to rediscover her lost honor. Shamir glowered at the wood bitterly.

“Anyone important?” Catherine asked. Her grin faded as Shamir hesitated. Understanding bloomed across her features. “Let me fetch a drink. I have a feeling we’ll need it.”

“I can stall or offer an excuse,” Shamir offered. Her chest felt leaden as Catherine sighed.

“Let them in. If we keep them waiting in the cold, she won’t make it quick. I didn’t think Her Majesty would seek us out. I always imagined she would make a spectacle of this.”

Shamir didn’t reply, hand still pressed flat upon the door. As her partner ambled into the modest kitchen, she finally pulled it open. Her expression was bland as she beheld the Emperor. Shamir had revealed too much of herself already in their private talks. Justice or no, it was a sour feeling to face Catherine’s executioner.

“Shamir,” Edelgard greeted, deceptively casual. She looked shockingly ordinary in her plain garb and knitted scarf. Byleth smiled, flecks of snow peppering her hair. Neither looked armed, but it was hard to tell from the coats they wore. Shamir begrudgingly allowed them to enter.

“Edelgard. Byleth.” She inspected them shortly. “Snowing again?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Byleth said blithely. She shook herself free of the offending ice. “Only a light dusting. It stopped rather quickly.”

“I doubt we’re in for more. It’s getting warmer by the day.” Edelgard gave an ostentatious flip of her hair. Shamir read her mingled impatience and anxiety from the movement. Something was weighing on her mind. “Where’s your worse half? Mucking around out back, I presume.”

“I heard that,” Catherine called from behind. A bottle of wine lay within her grasp. She stood beside the table they received from a thankful villager. Four wooden cups were organized atop its rustic surface. It was a blatant invitation for them to join. Shamir went to her side without a word.

Byleth didn’t need prompting. She sat across from Catherine with a curious glance at the wine bottle. Edelgard wasn’t as amenable. She regarded them all warily, gaze darting between Shamir’s face and Catherine’s.

“I’m not going to poison you. Call me thick, but I know your merry band would quarter me on principle.” Her partner popped the cork with her teeth before filling the cups. Shamir suspected Catherine wasn’t nearly as composed as she looked. The subtle shake of her hand was telling.

“I know you wouldn’t. You’re not devious enough. I’m only conscious of the time.” Oddly, Edelgard sounded somewhat offended. “I didn’t expect you to delay this. You know why we’re here.”

“Sit with us, Edelgard. It’s best to humor her when she gets in these moods.” Shamir eyed the empty chair conspicuously. Edelgard took it after a moment, if visibly reluctant.

“How is the child?” Shamir asked. From the flicker of relief in Edelgard’s gaze, she assumed all was well.

“Alive and on his way to recovery. He’ll need a few more doses of Bothild’s tonic, considering his previous condition.”

“Small mercies.” Catherine raised her cup. “To his health. And the end of Thunder Catherine.”

"Is this toast absolutely necessary?"

"Old Charon tradition, Emperor." Catherine still held her cup high, a tight smirk twisting her mouth. "When one warrior has bested the other, we drink away the bad blood. This is me respecting you."

Byleth joined the toast with a sip. Edelgard mimicked them both slowly. Shamir couldn’t bring herself to join them. It took all she had not to shield Catherine from the Emperor.

“Let’s cut straight to the heart. Ser Catherine—” Edelgard’s voice sharpened. “Do you submit yourself to be judged for your crimes?”

“All that and more.” A weak laugh trickled from Catherine’s throat. Shamir reached for her, gripping a damp palm. While she would never admit it, her partner was afraid. Yet Catherine stayed. It was a bittersweet realization. Shamir might’ve felt pride if she wasn’t so terrified to lose her.

“Very well. Then kneel.” Edelgard stood, beckoning Catherine to approach. Shamir bristled at her audacity. That she would continue this farce within their home was galling. She almost intervened, but Byleth’s expression stopped her. The general looked at Shamir calmly, hand outspread in the universal signal to wait. Despite her growing ire, Shamir listened. She looked on as Catherine knelt.

“I remember vividly the blaze of Fhirdiad,” Edelgard began. “I was aghast Rhea could order such a grisly thing. Even more, that the Knights obeyed."

Catherine’s head bowed lower. She did not react as an axe was withdrawn from the Emperor’s cloak.

“I remember you that night as well. The hungry look upon your soot-stained face; the manic gleam of your eyes, like an animal caught in a fire. You spared words for me and each one was filled with delusion. I pitied and loathed the woman I saw then.”

“I posed you a question—” Byleth interjected suddenly. “If the Goddess you knew would ask this of you. Did you ever find an answer?”

“I did,” Catherine said. The admission was tired, all her fight gone. Shamir gripped the table’s edge. “She wouldn’t. I knew it then, but I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth.”

“Such was the make of Ser Catherine. Such was her blind tyranny and refusal of guilt.” Edelgard loomed over her imperiously. Her expression was unreadable and Shamir thought she would bring the axe to Catherine's neck. "...And if I saw that same Knight, I would kill her without a second thought. However, I don’t see her before me.”

Catherine looked up, eyes searching. She was befuddled yet Shamir knew immediately what Edelgard meant by those words. Her fingers fell from the table, heart galloping from a sudden rush of emotion.

“Let history reflect Ser Catherine of the Central Church perished in Fhirdiad.” Edelgard tapped Catherine’s shoulder with the blunt of her axe head. After, she slid into the chair again. “Seems I found a smith by the name of Cassandra and nothing more. Do you agree, Byleth?”

“Absolutely." Byleth offered a beaming smile at Shamir and then Catherine, who was still gaping in amazement. “I told you El was fair.”

Shamir dragged her partner into the vacant chair, clinging to the warmth she found. Catherine looked poleaxed as if bewildered this wasn't a dream. Her brow pinched after a time.

“That’s it?”

“Well, it doesn’t come without strings,” Edelgard commented with great emphasis. She sipped the wine, nose faintly wrinkled. “You must swear to never take up a sword again in the name of the Church. Ser Catherine is meant to be dead, after all. Second, you must dedicate your life to helping the people you harmed, but you’re already accomplishing that. My additional order is you lend your aid to Fhirdiad until it’s rebuilt. We can set up a schedule as you did with Baron Friuch.”

“Done.” Catherine held Shamir's hand. She felt her partner’s pulse thrumming rapidly beneath the skin. “I'll do anything you ask of me, but… Why the dramatics? You could have told us from the start."

“I wanted to. But then you insisted on your little maudlin toast, so I had a bit of fun at your expense.” Edelgard rolled her eyes. Shamir couldn’t blame her. One of her favored past times was riling Catherine; she was very entertaining to tease. Shamir’s only gripe was that she had been fooled as well.

“We also bring you a task of great import.” Byleth placed a cloth bundle atop the table. She unraveled the knot, revealing a familiar crown. The gold was marred, distinctive horns appearing scored by flame and formerly molten. “We need you to reshape the Adrestian crown.”

“Not as it was before, mind you,” Edelgard cautioned. “A circlet would suffice. The time for grand statements and dragons is over.”

“That it is.” Catherine exhaled at length, thumb tracing circles upon Shamir’s wrist. Her eyes were bright and plaintive. Shamir knew it would take time before she fully accepted this sudden turn of events. Catherine had a complicated relationship with personal forgiveness.

“We’ll be leaving in a few days. I’m sure you’re thrilled to be rid of us.”

“And I’m sure you’ll find a way to harass us somehow.” Catherine grinned and filled her cup to the brim. She slung an arm around Shamir. The touch was welcome as was Catherine’s blatant delight.

Shamir drank in the pleasure upon her features. Blue eyes twinkled, her cheek dimpling as it did when experiencing genuine happiness. Shamir desired to press her lips to that smile. And she would at the first opportunity once their guests left. Yet they didn’t look in a rush to leave. Edelgard scoffed at Catherine’s claim.

“We’ll only harass you if it’s deserved. Need I explain in detail what will happen should you return to your old ways?”

“If she does, I’ll kill her myself,” Shamir said with ease. Edelgard didn’t respond, perhaps measuring her sincerity. Catherine just grinned wider.

“She would too! I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“We shall see.” The Emperor took another sip from her cup. Afterward, she looked between the two. “This wine is awful. What vintage is this? I can’t believe you settled for this swill as your last drink.”

“It’s all we can afford up here. Not everyone has access to the finest vineyards in Adrestia.”

“The gap between nobility and the rest of the north is quite extreme. A problem to sort for another day…"

* * *

Edelgard quietly entered the babe’s room, conscious of every noise she made. She turned an ear to the crib and noted the sound of even breaths. No wet rasps or discomforted wails greeted her. The boy slept on, ignorant of the scrutiny. Several days had passed since they first medicated him. Time would tell whether it would remain an effective solution.

Time… Edelgard considered the concept deeper. She had spent a wealth of hours mulling over what to do with him, even discussing the possibilities with Byleth. There were few worthwhile options to consider; the boy’s crest made simply handing him to an orphanage ill-advised. Tracking down any possible relatives was similarly foolhardy.

To Estrid's knowledge, his mother was a courtesan with no family to speak of. The Blaiddyds were extinguished, leaving distant cousins and marriage ties alone. Edelgard wasn't about to entrust him to a group of unknowns. They could prove to be another Rufus in the making, and she would not suffer another war for a lost kingdom.

So aggrieved by the matter, Edelgard even sought counsel from Catherine. The older woman thought she was pestering her about the crown, only to grow incredulous at the true reason for her visit. Edelgard wouldn’t have bothered normally—she found Catherine’s disposition aggravating on the best of days. However, she recalled what Lysithea had revealed about the smith’s uncanny ability.

Perhaps foolishly, she hoped Thales had lied to Rufus about the crests’ nature. A minor crest, while inconvenient, would not stir much attention. There were those within the lower echelons of nobility who were occasionally born with the lesser blood of Blaiddyd; evidence of the royal family’s waning significance. The Hresvelgs had faced a similar crisis. Among Ionius’ progeny, Edelgard alone held the crest of Seiros.

Yet Catherine did not bear the news she so desperately wished to hear. To her credit, the smith sounded genuinely apologetic.

“Never met someone who had the Major Crest of Blaiddyd myself, but I know the feeling of the minor,” she had professed. “Like the ecstasy of a won duel; a hint of fervor. Dimitri was like that, but not your boy.”

“How would you describe the difference?” Edelgard asked. Catherine had taken some time to consider.

“Major Crests are different but also similar. Take me and Lysithea for example. She feels like the electric prickle before a storm; heady but not overwhelming. I imagine I feel like the storm itself. Just the same, your boy feels like the thick of battle.”

Then, she grinned fast. “Would you like to know how you feel?”

Edelgard declined the offer, simultaneously intrigued and disturbed. She didn’t want Catherine thinking too long about her crest, lest the woman discovers something she shouldn’t. At least the little exercise had served to confirm the truth. There was also his unique condition to consider. The person harboring him would need to constantly manage his body’s innate rejection.

Could she fully trust someone to provide everything he required? Would they resist the urge to use the boy as a claimant to an empty throne? Edelgard struggled with how to proceed. The door creaked as someone entered. It was Estrid Galatea, ever the child’s faithful shield. They regarded each other for a long while. Finally, the blonde woman spoke.

“I can raise him as my son,” she suggested. Edelgard stiffened, not anticipating her thoughts to be so easily read. Estrid continued. “My wife was a nursemaid to nobility. She can learn Bothild’s remedy and knows the importance of discretion.”

“A nursemaid?” Edelgard asked, reticent. The older woman nodded once.

“She’s compassionate and loves children. He’ll grow with a full belly and clothes mended by hand. Not the life of a prince, but a tranquil one.” Estrid tipped into a slight bow. “He won’t be used as a weapon, on my honor.”

“I’ll consider it, Ser.” Edelgard looked at the slumbering babe, still no closer to a decision despite the sound offer. It was a wise option, perhaps the safest for him overall. Estrid had done her utmost for his well-being. As a caretaker, she would be ideal. Edelgard knew this chance should be taken with both hands, so why did she hesitate?

That night, she found herself ruminating alone in their room. It was late enough for the waxing moon to sit high atop the heavens and for the stars to spill like shards of glass. Edelgard contemplated the darkness, unable to place her conflicting emotions. Byleth turned in bed, alert and not asleep as she assumed.

“You’re restless tonight,” Byleth observed. Her eyes glowed within the dark intimacy of their room. “Awful dreams?”

“No, I’m kept awake by thought alone.” Edelgard sighed. She stared at the ceiling, unwilling to share where her musings led. Surely, Byleth would think her selfish. But she had promised to be more forthcoming with her worries so instead of changing the subject, Edelgard relented. “I’m concerned about what I should do. Ser Galatea offered to raise him as her child. Truthfully, it’s not a terrible choice. I know she’ll protect him and the secret he carries.”

“But...?” Byleth knew her well enough to hear Edelgard’s unvoiced objections. The look she sent was patient but sharply pointed.

“I don’t know if I can take that risk. His life is fragile enough as a secret claimant to House Blaiddyd. What if the truth becomes known? I remember how hard it was for Dimitri to control his strength. Such a gift would draw attention.” Edelgard pulled at the sheets, troubled. "Alternatively, what if the tonic stops being effective? Without the proper resources, he'll fade in slow, painful increments. He nearly did with a group of bishops straining to keep him healthy.”

“El,” Byleth called. Calloused fingers grazed her cheek. “I don’t want to hear what you think you should do. Tell me what you want, deeply and truly.”

Edelgard hesitated a bit longer. Her weak, pitiful heart finally spoke for her. “I want to give him the childhood I never had—free of suffering and loss. I want to keep him close so I know he’s safe. I want him to be loved.”

“Then love him.” Byleth’s response was characteristically simple. She hadn’t pressed until this moment, leaving the ultimate choice for Edelgard. It was painfully like her and for once, Edelgard decided to be simple too. She wound her fingers through Byleth’s, knowing whatever came next she would never be alone again. Neither will he, Edelgard promised. We’ll be with him.

* * *

“I don’t foresee this ending well.”

Edelgard looked up from her desk, meeting Hubert’s gaze. The man appeared pensive where he stood, focused on the two figures flying outside. Edelgard knew his attention was not for Ingrid; he had long rid himself of insidious speculation where she was concerned. His unease was for Estrid alone.

“Lose the sour face, Hubert. They won’t drop him.” Ferdinand chuckled amiably. His legs were crossed as he sat, a feather between his fingers. He dangled it in front of Tiny Professor’s face. Predictably, the cat swatted the feather. Edelgard would need to speak with him about his attempts to steal her furry companion. Even a moon after she returned, Tiny Professor trailed by his heel.

Perhaps the cat hadn’t quite forgiven her for the extended absence. Or maybe it was the introduction of a wailing terror who liked to yank upon her tail. Every time Edelgard left her ward alone with Tiny Professor, they came to figurative blows. But she trusted the fussy animal would warm to him eventually. Most likely when Aelius was old enough to not grab whatever was in reach.

“I’m not worried about the boy plummeting from the sky,” Hubert said wryly. The tall man favored Edelgard with a covert look, lips pursed. “You’re courting danger, Your Majesty. Taking a strange orphan as your ward? Naming him something so thoroughly imperial is shocking enough. The court is abuzz with speculation. His coloring alone—”

“And what does the court have to say?” Edelgard used her letter opener to reveal correspondence from Sylvain. She scanned it briefly, noting with interest a mention of Lady Delphine. She heard Ferdinand clear his throat.

“Nothing scandalous or beyond the pale. They figure him for a foundling. I’ve heard no one suspect the truth, right Hubert?”

“That’s not entirely factual,” Hubert replied swiftly. “There are whispers, small for now but worrisome. They say you stole the boy from a Faerghian noble family and intend to use him as collateral.”

“They’re not precise in their wild guessing, at least.”

“Quite, but combined with a certain knight of House Blaiddyd suddenly in your employ, someone might stumble upon the truth.” An exasperated frown marred Hubert’s face. “Lady Edelgard, if I may be frank, this was not your wisest move.”

“I rather think it clever,” Ferdinand countered. “He’s the greatest potential threat to Adrestia so why not keep him close? Secrets often don’t stay that way forever. If the truth somehow comes to light, he’ll be disinclined to revolt against his mother.”

“Guardian.” Hubert raised a brow.

“Semantics.”

“We’re leaving it for him to decide. I won’t force the matter.” Edelgard flushed, abashed by Ferdinand’s word choice. “Your concerns are noted, Hubert. I may yet decide he’ll be safer with Ser Estrid alone. However, his uncertain health leaves us at an impasse. Here he’ll have the finest minds of Adrestia assisting, and perhaps a cure if Linhardt and Lysithea’s research proves fruitful.”

“I concede you’re set on this.” Hubert bowed. He gave the window a final lingering look. “I suppose it would be good for your public image. You would not like what malcontents have claimed of you. Something about gnawing on the marrow of children…”

“You jest!” Ferdinand was aghast, tawny gaze wide. His hand lowered inadvertently, allowing Tiny Professor to catch the feather between her paws. Her whiskered face preened with feline satisfaction.

“I suspect they would say those things regardless. Still, I’m always amenable to proving people wrong,” Edelgard said. She returned to her papers, happy to be home at last. There was a wealth of work to be done, both in the newly minted northern Empire and the capital. Sylvain’s letter was a hefty reminder of the former.

Tension in Gautier among the Sreng settlers was inevitable, but she trusted Sylvain to act gracefully. The Emperor made a mental note to formally ask him to be her northern advisor. Edelgard switched her attention to her conversing friends, smiling at the familiar rhythm of their easy banter.

Once Hubert and Ferdinand had vacated and the sun nearly crested the horizon, the door to her study opened. Edelgard expected to see the fair head of Estrid. Instead, it was Byleth. She ambled inside, carrying a groggy infant. Aelius had filled some in his face and body, taking on a healthy pudginess. A steady diet from a wet nurse rather than animal milk was the likely cause. His blue eyes blinked dully, cap of brown fuzz askew.

“Is something wrong? I thought Estrid had him.” Edelgard smiled faintly as Byleth neared.

“She did, but Ingrid took her aside to discuss something. Galatea matters, I believe.” Byleth shrugged, careful not to jostle her sleepy companion. “I think she's finally warming to me. Estrid only glared briefly as she handed him over. Little Ael didn't seem to mind."

"Careful not to call him that in public. The court may mistake him for my illegitimate child, or yours for that matter."

“That wouldn’t be so bad.” Byleth perked as something appeared to dawn on her. “We could give him my name. Ael Eisner. Unless you prefer von Hresvelg.”

“Claiming him formally would make him a target. I already chose a traditional Adrestian name.” Edelgard swept a hand through wispy strands atop her ward's head. She had wanted to honor her father or perhaps Byleth's, but the statement that would make was unwise. "Eisner… It's something to consider."

At the mention, Edelgard’s hand flit to the parcel atop her desk. She had received the reshaped crown from Catherine before they left Culann, but she had requested another job in secret. A gold ring, made from the spare metal that had once formed magnificent horns. She rubbed the ring Byleth had given her idly. She had taken it off before out of guilt and fear she was trapping her lover with the chains of duty. Edelgard knew better now.

“Darling,” she began with forced nonchalance. “Would you set him down a moment?”

“Of course.” Byleth obeyed, tucking their ward into the cushy pillows of the divan. Aelius didn’t stir, fully asleep. She faced her lover with a puzzled smile. Edelgard took a breath, summoning her courage.

“Byleth, I don’t know where I would be or who I would have become, if not for you.” She tried in vain not to warble her speech. It was shockingly hard. “Being held in captivity made me realize how much time I wasted. And how much I stood to lose. Life is too precious to linger upon what-ifs.”

Edelgard opened the parcel, shaking the ring into her palm.

“I want to bind us together in more than just words. Perhaps not while I remain Emperor, but afterward—”

“Ah." Byleth made a faint noise, but it wasn't the pleased utterance Edelgard envisioned. Noticeably, she didn't appear shocked at all. "I… had assumed we were engaged. I did give you my mother’s ring.”

“What?” Edelgard’s eyes widened with dawning horror. “But you never mentioned it!”

“I thought it would be rude to pester you,” Byleth admitted. “Love is still new to me and I’ve never been married before. I assumed you wanted a long courtship before we sealed things officially.”

“Byleth! That’s, you—” Edelgard bit her tongue as she floundered. She held her breath and counted. “I suppose my clumsy proposal sounds ridiculous in hindsight.”

“You sounded wonderful.” Byleth took the offered ring, sliding it onto her hand. “Bit big for the proper finger. Catherine’s work?”

“The same. I’ll have it resized,” Edelgard said stiffly. Despite her lover’s assurance, the Emperor recalled her lovelorn mooning with great chagrin. She shook it off, deigning to focus on the positives. It might not have happened as envisioned, but Byleth had accepted her proposal. That was enough cause to celebrate.

"Of course, it might be for the best if we delay a formal wedding. The politics of it all would be a mess, to phrase it mildly.”

“I can wait, El. We have the rest of our lives. Until then…” Byleth dipped, stealing a kiss. She smelled of the sea, Edelgard noted. The sea and flowers from the palace garden, as if touched by the whispers of spring. “I am yours faithfully.”

“As I am yours,” she returned. Edelgard gathered the sleeping child within her arms. Together, they swept out of the study and into a new chapter in their lives. A day may come when the various secrets they carried would come to light. Perhaps Rufus was just a cog in a greater machine, designed to destroy everything she had built. Yet they could live in undisturbed serenity.

The future would arrive in all its blessed unknowns. Only forward. Edelgard entwined her fingers with Byleth's. We’ll keep moving forward.