Archive of Our Own

“Form defensive lines and hold them to the death. Strike down all who approach!”

“It’s getting late…”

Her husband looked up from where he sat hunched over what was practically a mountain of paperwork, the irritable furrow to his brow smoothing over almost instantly. “Ah. I suppose it is. I’m afraid time has slipped me by.”

She chuckled softly. “Even the prime minister of Fódlan needs to rest every now and then.”

He had the decency to look abashed at her half-teasing statement, standing up with a soft whoosh of breath escaping his lips as he smiled and walked over to take her hands in his own. “You are very right. Please forgive me, my love.” He lifted her hands to his mouth to press a kiss to them. “Let us retire.”

Byleth blinked, shaking the memory away with a small shudder, Edelgard’s shouted order ringing in her ears. The man across the battlefield, astride a magnificent wyvern mount, was not her husband, but an enemy, dead set on reclaiming the place he once called home.

An enemy that was flying straight to his death.

Strike down all who approach, she thought grimly. She could only imagine how that command would be taken by some of the more bloodthirsty of the Empire’s soldiers, much less the Agarthans among their ranks. Perhaps if I reach him in time, I can convince him to… She shook her head again, irritably, anxiously. Of course he would never. You aren’t his wife this time around. You’re the woman his sister took into confidence, only for you to betray her. The woman who betrayed him.  

No, she had to come to the conclusion that Seteth would never back down. Not with his family’s well-being at stake. Byleth could only thank Sothis and whatever other gods may exist that Flayn was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had stayed with Rhea and Dimitri, safe in Fhirdiad for the time being. Facing her had been hard enough when the Black Eagle Strike Force led its assault against the monastery five years before.

I must face Seteth myself, she realized. The gruesome scene that had awaited them in the chamber underneath Jeritza’s quarters stood out starkly in her memory. As far as everyone else knows, he is the only known bearer of a Major Crest of Cichol. Goddess knows what the Agarthans would do to him if he was captured. She tightened her grip on the Sword of the Creator and, with that thought in mind, stepped into the fray as the battle began to rage around her.

“He is rather fond of you, you know,” the small green-haired girl piped up from her spot next to her on the pier. “He tries to hide it, but I know his thoughts more than he cares to think.” She let out a soft little giggle. “My brother is many things, but despite what he wishes to believe, being good at hiding his emotions is not one of them.”

“How do you mean?” she asked with a small smile.

“He may not act like it, but he has held you in extremely high regard ever since…” The girl trailed off, her face growing somber. “Since what came to pass five years ago. When you saved my life.” She sighed, kicking her legs absentmindedly as she gazed out over the water. “He does irk me to no end some days with his hopeless fretting…” 

Here the girl smiled, a tiny, wistful thing, as she looked around before leaning in closer, lowering her voice. “But he is my father. And I love him dearly. As I know he loves me.” She took in a breath. “Since Mother died, he has seemed so distant. Always with such sadness behind his eyes.”

“As can be expected.”

The girl hummed affirmatively. “Perhaps.” Her smile grew. “But lately I have noticed something.”

“What’s that?”

“When he is around you, his smiles seem more real again.”

She was acutely aware of the Agarthans swimming through the battle around them, their low cackles grating on her ears even above the war cries and clanging of metal. I may agree with your motives, El, but I don’t think I will ever understand your methods, she thought with a wince as the noise of rending flesh sounded in her vicinity once again. She flashed out the Sword of the Creator with a snap of her wrist, cutting through the next Knight of Seiros without hardly a second thought. Sothis preserve me.

Her eyes locked with Seteth’s across the field.

His smiles seem more real again…

Not a trace of a smile graced his face anymore, only a ferocious snarl that hinted at the dragon buried deep within. His intention was clear. There would be no mercy against those who had harmed his family.

She clasped the hilt of her sword with both hands and prepared to charge.

“The time is now!”

Her blood ran cold.

“As long as we stand here, you shall not pass!”

No, oh, Goddess, please…

The feminine voice, usually so quiet and soft, now brimming with anger and pain, came from the copse of trees to her left.

“Come at me,” she heard Edelgard shout in response, “so that I may put you out of your misery!”

“Oh, Goddess,” Byleth whispered. “Flayn…”

Compared to her ascension as the queen of the reunified Fódlan, the wedding was a surprisingly modest affair. Only a few of the Knights of Seiros and the remaining Black Eagles students who weren’t caught up in the chaos surrounding the Fódlan reunification were in attendance. And Flayn, of course, in a soft pink sundress, beaming bright as the setting sun, with a vermillion sash to match, holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots to her chest.

Seteth looked as happy as his daughter, a rare sight on its own, the softness in his eyes only rivaling the gentle way he held tight of both of her hands as she reached him at the altar.

“You…” he breathed, his eyes wide.

She laughed quietly, squeezing his hands before lacing her fingers through them. “Me...?”

“You look… divine.”

She looked down at her feet, her face flushing slightly, fully aware of the hidden meaning behind his words. “Thank you.” She looked up, amused to see him looking back at her with a face as flushed as her own. “You as well.”

He shook his head, that familiar look of mixed exasperation and amusement overtaking his expression.

“I love you,” she whispered. 

He disentangled his left hand, a new band gleaming next to the old, and brushed her hair aside to cup her face. “And I you.”

With Flayn came a host of reinforcements, nearly blocking Byleth’s view of Seteth, and forcing her to switch to the defensive. Her Crest flared as she cut through a Knight screaming from an arrow through the neck. 

If I take down Seteth, will Flayn flee? she thought wildly. Or will she follow El’s command and die fighting a hopeless battle?

She let out a furious cry, slinging the Sword into another Knight, cutting her clean in half. The blood splattered on the ground,

-blood against the already-dark stones-

and Byleth struggled against the urge to be sick. So much death, so much loss.

-broken, heart-wrenching sobs from behind closed doors-

She found herself missing Dimitri in that moment. Not even his crazed rant towards the defeated Randolph had turned her stomach quite like this. Goddess, El, I hope you know what you’re doing.

-forest green hair in a disarray, surrounding equally green eyes, terrified and reddened by tears-

Please, Sothis, she found herself begging, let this nightmare end.

-those eyes filling once again, this time with tears of relief, pulling the little bundle from her secure hold into his own-

A sickening red flash as Sublime Heaven activated within her sword, slashing through three enemies at once, finally giving her view once again of her wyvern-mounted adversary.

Goddess help me, she thought weakly, preparing to charge once again.

A terrible, agonized scream rang through the air, piercing Byleth through her unbeating heart.

“Seteth?”

No response.

“Seteth, please,” she sighed, placing her hand against the wood of the door. “I know you’re in there.”

The door opened abruptly, nearly ripped from its hinges under the force of the man opening it. 

“What could possibly be so important,” he snarled, his eyes bloodshot, headpiece missing and hair mussed, “to cause you to make such a racket?”

Only years of being a mercenary stopped her from flinching back. 

It really was strange, she found herself thinking, that no one yet had figured out their secret. The distraught man in front of her was no frightened older brother, but a desperate father, feeling every moment of separation pass by like another knife to the chest.

“What,” he continued, his voice cracking, “do you want? Please tell me, Professor, because I fear I am at my limit.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“It is hardly I who merits concern at the moment.”

“I could hear you,” she whispered. “From my room.”

His face twisted. “I apologize. Pay me no mind.”

“I want to help.”

“The only way you can help me is to find my - sister.” He caught himself noticeably on the last word. 

“We will. I promise.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I am afraid my life has been much too full of empty promises, Professor. Forgive me if I do not dare hope.”

The door slammed shut in her face, leaving her with a sharp pain in her chest and tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

Byleth burst through the trees faster than she could even register where her feet were taking her.

“Foolish girl,” hissed the grinning Agarthan standing in front of her. “Our reign is absolute.”

The small green-haired girl impaled on the sword in the Agarthan’s grip let out a tiny sound, tears streaming down her face. “F-Father...”

The Agarthan hummed, pulling the sword out of Flayn’s body with a horrible squelching sound. “Your father is as foolish as the rest of your kind.” She swiped her sword through the air, sending blood -Flayn’s blood against the stones- across Flayn’s face as she crumpled to the ground. “No more of you to pollute this world.”

“Please…” Flayn choked out.

Oh, Goddess, just take her!

The Agarthan smirked, sheathing her sword, moving back a step, and crossed her arms.

She’s going to just stand there… Oh, Goddess, no!

“Mother,” Flayn whimpered. “It hurts…”

The Agarthan laughed.

Byleth saw red.

She tripped over the doorframe, nearly falling if it weren’t for the steady hands that found her waist. 

“Oh, dear,” she laughed, wrapping one of her arms around his neck. “I really have fallen for you.”

His answering laugh ghosted across her lips. “Please tell me you did not get that from the Gautier boy.”

“Mmm…” she hummed, reaching up with her other hand to trail down his chest. “And what if I did?”

“I would be rather offended,” he murmured, eyes going dark in spite of his words. 

“Why is that?” she purred, one finger slipping through his top button. He let out a low sound, almost like a growl, hands unconsciously squeezing her waist.

“You do enjoy teasing me, don’t you, my love?”

“Only when I get a reaction out of it.”

He kissed her, then, hungrily, pressing his hand into the small of her back and pulling her close. 

She let out a satisfied noise, tangling her fingers into his hair, brushing past the pointed tips of his ears. Another secret he had finally shared with her.

He sighed into her mouth, turning his head for a better angle, and she let out a soft sigh of her own as the backs of her legs bumped against the bed.

“I love you,” she gasped out when his lips left hers to settle into the crook of her neck. “Goddess… I love you.”

He looked up at her, his eyes sharp and filled with desire. “I never thought I would feel this way again,” he admitted.

“I know,” she said, her chest heaving. “And I know that I can never replace her. For you or Flayn.”

“You don’t need to, my love,” he said, giving her a small, affectionate smile that contrasted yet accentuated the look in his eyes. “You are your own person. And we both of us adore you just as you are.” He pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “I love you, Byleth.”

The Agarthan tumbled to the ground, her sick humor still pasted on her face, cleaved in half by the Sword of the Creator before Byleth even realized what had happened. She gripped the sword so tightly in her hand she swore she heard it crack.

“P…Prof…essor…”

Byleth let out a choked noise and turned to where Flayn still lay on the ground, blood pooling out of the wound on her chest. “Oh, oh, Goddess,” she cried, dropping her sword. Rushing over and falling to her knees next to the girl, heedless of the dark stain underneath her, she put her hand under her head. “Oh, Sothis, Flayn, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

“W…why are you…”

“Shh,” Byleth whispered, stroking her head. “It’s okay, I didn’t… I couldn’t have known…”

You did know, a voice in the back of her mind sneered, so different from the familiar and teasing voice of Sothis. You chose this path.

“Hurts…” Flayn whimpered, tremors passing through her body. “Hurts… Professor…”

“I know,” Byleth said through the lump in her throat. “I know, hold on, Flayn.” She looked up at the sky, blinking back tears threatening to fall. “Goddess, the one time I don’t study Faith.” She looked back down at the girl in her arms, putting a hand over the wound on her stomach and calling up what Faith she knew. A weak healing spell. Not nearly enough for a fatal injury like this. “Flayn, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t get here in time to stop her…”

“She...was...on your side…” Flayn panted. Her eyes were growing glassy. “Why did you…”

“Shh… It's… it's not important now.”

“I am… returning to Mother now…” the girl choked out, her breaths coming quicker, her entire body shuddering through her convulsions. “Am I not…?”

Byleth sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Returning… before… Father…” Flayn said, eyes slipping shut. “Please… it hurts… please make it stop…”

Tears slid down Byleth’s cheeks, landing on Flayn and mixing in with her blood. “Oh, Flayn… I… I can’t heal you. And… Linhardt, he's… I don't know where. I'm sorry.” 

“I… know. I know,” Flayn rasped. “Please.” 

Byleth shut her eyes and looked up at the sky again. Please protect her.

She slipped her dagger out of its sheath on her belt, and with a final whispered apology to both the girl in her lap and the goddess, plunged it into Flayn’s chest.

She let out a quiet cry of pain, then fell silent, her body stilling under Byleth’s hands.

“Oh,” Byleth squeaked, then burst into tears.

“What was she like?” she asked, the question, though whispered, rippling through the quiet night air.

He made a vaguely inquisitive noise.

“Your wife. Flayn’s mother.”

She felt his entire body tense briefly, then he let out a sigh. “Why do you wish to know?” There was no malice in his question, only genuine curiosity.

“Flayn always speaks of her so highly,” she hummed, tracing her finger across his chest. “I wish to hear more about her.”

“Flayn adored her mother,” he said softly after a small pause. “We were both devastated when she passed, of course, but Flayn had never known life without her.”

She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder and splaying her hand out on his chest. He wrapped one arm around her waist, putting his other hand over her own, and nuzzled into her hair for another moment or two.

“She was kind,” he finally continued. “And brave. Quiet, but not afraid to speak her mind when necessary. She fought as valiantly in our war as any one of us did. And she loved Cethleann with all her heart.”

She didn’t point out his slip-up. He was half-asleep, and it was only the two of them in the room anyway. 

“Was she pretty?”

He let out a small yet undignified snort, feeling her smirk against his shoulder, then sobered once again. “Yes. She was beautiful.”

“She loved the sea.”

“She taught Cethleann to fish when she was young,” he said, his eyes opening to look her directly in the eye, and she realized in that moment that he hadn’t slipped up at all. “We went to the sea together often. It’s why she loves it so much, still.”

“It reminds her of her mother.”

“Very much so.” He pulled her close to kiss the top of her head. “And, I daresay, it now reminds her of you, as well.”

She lifted her head, startled. “Of me?”

He chuckled at her flabbergasted expression. “She is extremely fond of you, my love. Surely you have noticed. She has been fascinated with you since you first came to the monastery.” He lifted his hand to stroke her hair and cup her face. His wedding ring was cold against her skin. She cherished it. “It is not just anyone who could steal both my heart and my daughter’s so completely.”

Byleth didn’t know how long she sat there, the war fading in her ears, tears dripping down onto the body of a girl she had once considered her daughter, hand still on the dagger that had taken what little had remained of her life.

She came back to herself to the sound of a grief-stricken yell.

“Flayn!” 

She looked up with a gasp to see Seteth slipping off the side of his wyvern, pale as a sheet, gaze locked on her lap.

“Please, no!” he yelled, stumbling on his feet as he landed. “NO!”

“Seteth,” Byleth said dully, her voice cracking. “I’m so-”

His eyes finally focused on her, and his entire countenance changed. “You,” he spat. 

“Seteth-”

“What have you done?”

“Seteth,” she whispered. “Please…”

“Get away from her,” Seteth said lowly, his shoulders shaking enough for her to see even from a few feet away. “How dare you.”

She stood up on trembling legs, leaving her dagger in Flayn's body.

“She trusted you,” he bit out. “Rhea trusted you.” His grip tightened on his spear. “I trusted you!”

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice catching on tears again. “I'm so sorry.”

“Get away from her,” Seteth repeated. He took in a rattling breath. “I won't ask again.”

She took a step away from Flayn, and then another. The back of her boot brushed against the body of the fallen Agarthan. She forced herself not to look at just what her foot had hit.

Seteth fell to his knees next to his daughter, and Byleth closed her eyes.

“Did she suffer?” he rasped. “Did you at least give her that kindness?”

“I…” Byleth’s words froze as she opened her eyes again. “I couldn’t…”

“She looked up to you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, unseen by the grieving man. “I know.”

“Yet you could not even give her the mercy of a painless death.”

“I-”

“Save your breath. I do not wish to hear it.” Byleth saw his hands clench tighter around Flayn. “I was foolish to ever believe you would bring anything but misery to my family.”

“I don’t see why all this fuss is necessary,” she huffed. 

Dorothea tutted. “Oh, come on, Professor. Not even Ingrid gave Mercie and I this much trouble the night of the ball. It’s a dinner with the former Empire and Kingdom lords; we want you looking your best. Not,” she added quickly, “that you aren’t already gorgeous.”

She chuckled. “Still the flatterer, I see.”

Dorothea laughed. “I missed you, Professor. Let a girl flatter who she wants.” She hummed, tugging on her hair lightly. “I think I’ve almost got your hair, then we can pick out a dress.”

She sighed. 

“Don’t make that long-suffering noise at me, or I’ll add more for you to try on.”

She laughed despite herself. She was quite looking forward to seeing the rest of the Black Eagles that night. She’d missed them even more than she had expected.

“Oh! Dorothea, that looks lovely!” 

Dorothea turned around, beaming. “Thank you so much!”

“It makes me miss my long hair,” said Mercedes wistfully, reaching out a hand to lightly pat the soft curls Dorothea had managed to give her short locks. “But it is so much less of a hassle short like this.”

“I think you would look amazing with any hairstyle, Mercie,” said Dorothea with a wink.

Mercedes clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You’re too kind.” She held up a hand to her mouth, beginning to laugh. “My, I’m so happy to see you all!”

She let a soft smile find its way to her face. A hundred loops down the line and she would still probably hold a soft spot in her heart for the students originally from the Blue Lions house, no matter how fond she grew of the others.

Dorothea placed a few golden pins in her hair, then stepped back. “I think that should do it.” She turned back around to Mercedes. “What color dress are you thinking?”

“Hmm…” Even without turning around herself, she could see in her mind’s eye the thinking pose Mercedes took for a moment or two. “Definitely something light.”

“Ooh, I brought that soft coral piece, what do you think?”

“The one with the pretty white shawl?”

“That’s the one!”

“Oh, my, that would be perfect!”

She allowed herself to space out as the other two women talked fashion. With the arrival of the Kingdom lords, including the once-Blue Lions, she couldn’t help but wonder about the faces that she knew would be conspicuously absent.

She sighed. Dedue… Dimitri…

“Oh, Professor, it’s not the end of the world,” Mercedes said with a little giggle. Dorothea had left the room, presumably to retrieve her dress from her room. “I thought you’d enjoy this a bit more.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “I was actually thinking about… Dedue.”

Mercedes’ mouth pulled into a tiny frown. “Oh… Yes, I suppose I have, too, recently. Dimitri, too.”

The name cut through her like a knife. 

“Do you ever wonder what might have happened if his life had turned out differently?” Mercedes asked sadly. “I do miss him so. I know the others do, too.”

I’ve lived that life, she didn’t say. I loved him, once.

Looking over her shoulder, at the forlorn expression on her former student’s face, her heart clenched. 

“The memories of the feelings stay,” she’d told Sylvain one night in her previous life. It was only the second time she had lived through the war. She had fought alongside Dimitri both times.

Ferdinand had wondered earlier that day, a month or so after Gronder Field, what might have happened had he not joined her class. She had very nearly lost her composure. Memories of her first life came rushing back; of his fallen body, of so many of the other students’, stark red against the war-torn backdrops they had found themselves. She had calmly excused herself from Ferdinand’s presence and retired to her room, where she stared unseeing at her ceiling for hours. Later that night, she had finally emerged, and had run into Sylvain, on his way back from, well, who knows where.

 “I remember them clearly. But the feelings themselves…” she had shaken her head. “It’s like a dream, really. They have to be rekindled on their own. But I never stop being fond of them, and sometimes, I genuinely don’t know if that only makes it worse.”

“So not only do you remember… everything… about battles that we don’t,” he’d replied, for once his face not holding a trace of humor, seeming to realize the full gravity of that statement, “but you remember loving people? And people loving you back? And realizing that that love doesn’t exist anymore?”

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea.

He let out a puff of air, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. “Damn, Professor. That’s horrible. I don’t know what to say.”

She sighed. “I loved Dimitri last time. And I still do, just not…”

“Not in the same way,” Sylvain finished, nodding. His mouth quirked up slightly. “Is there someone else this time?”

She kicked his leg under the table, shaking her head fondly and making him snort. 

“We must not get caught up in sad thoughts,” Mercedes said, bringing her back to the present. “They would not have wanted that.”

She hummed noncommittally. “You’re right.”

“I'm back!”

“Oh,” Mercedes gasped, perking up again instantly. “Oh, Dorothea, that’s so beautiful!”

“I also picked up a guest,” Dorothea laughed, and a head of green hair popped out from behind the dress she was holding out.

“Ah! You look so pretty!” Flayn exclaimed, beaming. 

Her face softened again. Leave it to Flayn to cheer her up and make her dark thoughts fly away. “Thank you, Flayn. Dorothea did a wonderful job.”

“That she did!” Flayn said, nodding once decisively. 

“All those snooty nobles are going to get their worlds rocked,” said Dorothea with an unladylike snort.

Flayn tittered. “Not to mention my brother.”

She flushed. “Flayn!”

The green-haired girl flashed her a deceptively innocent smile, then chirped out a goodbye and scampered out of the room. I knew we shouldn’t have told her our plans to marry… she thought wryly. 

“Oh, my,” said Mercedes, trying to hide a laugh behind her hand and failing miserably.

“Wow, Professor, did you and Seteth finally-”

She groaned and slumped over, putting her cherry-red face in her hands. “Just give me the dress.”

“You are to eliminate me, now, I suppose.”

“Edelgard wants you gone,” Byleth replied quietly. “I don’t.”

“Frankly, Professor,” Seteth said, finally looking up and smiling humorlessly at her, “it doesn’t matter to me what you want anymore.”

Byleth’s throat closed up and she nodded. “Understood.”

He looked back down and took in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, Cethleann…” he whispered, brushing his hand over the girl’s face. Byleth blinked, unsure if he had meant for her to hear, or if he truly no longer cared. “I couldn’t protect you.”

He gently pulled her up, taking care to avoid the dagger buried in her chest, and pressed a small kiss to her forehead. “Go safely to your mother.” He took another deep breath, face pressed to her head for a moment longer, then lowered her back to the ground and looked up again. Byleth’s heart wrenched at the look in his eyes.

He stood slowly, grabbing his lance off the ground, and carefully maneuvered around Flayn like every limb had turned to stone. “Goddess knows, I’ll be joining you shortly.”

“Don’t make me do this,” Byleth pleaded.

“Ready your weapon,” he said.

“Seteth, please…”

“I said…” He fell into a battle-ready stance. “Ready your weapon.”

Byleth moved over to where she had dropped the Sword of the Creator. “I don’t want to kill you.”

Something painful flashed in Seteth’s eyes. “I know. But you have made it so.”

“I never wanted this to happen,” she said. “I… Flayn was… She was precious to me.”

His eyes hardened again. “As she was to me.” Byleth picked up the Sword slowly, hesitantly. “Prepare yourself, Professor.”

Byleth had seen Seteth fight firsthand, more times than she could count. She’d seen him take down enemies in a single hit from one swipe of his lance or axe.

Seteth did not want to win this fight.

Within minutes his lance was knocked from his hands. He made no movement to retrieve it. Byleth pointed the Sword at his chest and he put his hands up.

“You have bested me,” he said dully. “It appears you have truly gained mastery over the Sword of the Creator.”

Not like this, she wanted to scream. Goddess, please…

He moved to lift the Sword to his neck with one finger. “Finish it, then.”

“I… I…” 

He laughed once wryly. “You cannot.” He shook his head, stepping back. “Of course you cannot.”

She watched him walk back over to Flayn’s body, kneeling down once again.

“There’s still time to run,” she said, knowing even as she said it the statement was a hopeless one.

He shook his head again. “No.” He reached out a hand to place it on his daughter. “I will die defending what matters to me.” 

She stepped closer. “I… I loved you. You and Flayn meant… so much to me.”

Seteth didn’t physically react to the admission, beyond a dry chuckle. “Fitting, then, isn’t it?” He turned his head around, a tortured look in his eyes. “I had grown rather fond of you, myself.”

Byleth saw a gleam of silver as his hand twitched, and reacted without thinking.

His eyes flew open wide, the bloodstained dagger falling out of his hand and dropping to the ground beside him. 

“Oh, Goddess,” Byleth gasped, letting go of the Sword buried in his lower chest to catch him by the shoulders as he began to pitch forward, falling to her knees in front of him. “Oh, Goddess, I didn’t mean to-”

He laughed dryly once again, wincing and letting out a low sound of pain. “It does not…” He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. “It does not matter.”

“No, no, no,” she cried. “This isn’t what I wanted!”

“And yet,” Seteth said quietly, “this is… what you have.”

“Seteth…” she said, tears springing to her eyes again. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

He huffed, taking her hands off his shoulders. “Don’t apologize.” The movement dislodged the Sword slightly, and he let out a quiet groan of pain, tipping to the side. “You… you truly did not wish to… kill her?”

“It was… someone on our side.” She let out a shaky breath. “Not a student. Never a student. I didn’t get here in time.”

“You…”

“The bastard laughed at her,” Byleth whispered. “At her pain and terror.” She clenched her fists. “I… couldn’t tell you what happened. One moment she was watching Flayn die in agony with a smile on her face…” Her brows came together at the memory. “The next that smile was cleaved in two.”

“So… you killed her… out of mercy? Kindness?”

“I couldn’t heal her.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “But she was in agony.”

“Profess… Byleth.” He coughed up red, his eyes falling shut. “Why?”

Why indeed?

“I…” Byleth closed her own eyes. “I don’t know.”

The knock on her door came far later than she was accustomed to, though still an hour or so before she usually turned in for the night. 

She looked up from her lesson plans for the next week, where she had been ironing out the last few details. “Who is it?”

There was silence for a moment or two, which she used to glance over her plans one more time, then finally a response.

“It is Seteth, Professor.”

She nearly dropped her pen. Well, this is new.

“Oh. One moment, please.”

She stood, brushing the papers neatly to the side of her desk and sticking the pen absentmindedly behind her ear before walking to the door and opening it.

“Ah, Professor,” he said, nodding. “I hope I have not disturbed you?”

She shook her head. “Just finishing up plans for instruction next week.”

He made an indiscernible noise. “Prudent.”

She took in a breath. “What can I help you with?”

“Ah.” His expression changed to one of discomfort, and she raised her eyebrows. “Yes, that.”

“…That?”

Seteth glanced away with an almost silent huff, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was almost endearing, seeing his normally so carefully-crafted stoic personality at an impasse with his clear uncertainty. 

And suddenly she understood immediately why he was here.

She hummed. “This is about Flayn.”

His head whipped back towards her, shock written on his face. “How-”

“You have the same look you always do when you worry about her,” she laughed softly, cutting off his bewildered interjection.

“I– Well–” 

She hadn’t expected quite as strong a reaction, but she let him stumble on his words for a few moments. 

“I… hadn’t realized you had been watching my face so closely that it was that obvious,” he finally said.

She felt her face flush. What? She hadn’t expected that at all.

Seteth cleared his throat, slightly louder than normal, and continued, “That is–I don’t mean to say…” He cleared his throat again, and was his face as red as hers as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers? “I simply wished to express my unending gratitude for saving my sister, and have seemed to only make a fool out of myself in doing so.”

She couldn’t help it; she started to laugh. 

“Oh, Seteth,” she said, reveling in the long-suffering expression he turned on her then, “that has to be the most awkward thanks I have ever received.”

“Yes, that may very well be,” he muttered, and his face was definitely as red as hers, “but awkward or not, I am in your debt.”

She shook her head, smiling fondly at him. “You aren’t.”

He didn’t voice his confusion, the only hint towards it being a slight twitch of his brow.

“Sister or not your sister,” she continued, voice growing darker, “I would have gone through hell and back to save her.” She reached to grab a lock of her hair, twisting it lightly between her fingers as she returned to her normal register. “I swore to you I would. So I did. You don’t owe me anything.”

He cleared his throat again, blinking noticeably as he turned his face away. “Gratitude,” he repeated. “Gratitude, and…repentance.”

She made an inquiring noise. Odd choice of words, coming from him.

“It has been made clear to me that my distrust in you was misguided at best, and malicious at worst.” His voice was clear again, and he turned to look her in the eye. “You have my deepest apologies for how I have treated you in the time since you arrived here.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Especially,” he continued, his mouth twisting, “within the past week.”

She bit her lip, looking away. She could almost hear the slam of a door echo between them. “You were… frightened. Distraught.” She smiled softly. “Only a monster would hold that against you.”

He made a noncommittal noise. 

“Oh,” she said suddenly, noticeably startling him as she stepped back further into her room, heading towards her desk. “That reminds me…”

She could feel his curious gaze on her back as he said, “...I fail to see what possibly could have reminded you of anything.”

She couldn’t hold in an unladylike snort as she plucked the envelope from her desk. “I have something to ask of you,” she said in her best impersonation of him as she turned back around, and she didn’t miss the aborted roll of his eyes. 

He took in the outside of the envelope, once again turning curious. 

“That is a formal request of utmost importance to me,” she said, voice serious. 

His eyes narrowed.

She shook her head. “I’m not joking. That is a request that one of the nobles of Adrestia not be permitted to watch the battle at Gronder next month.”

He blinked, looking down at the envelope, then back up to her. “...May I ask why?”

She crossed her arms. “This noble is the one who caused a student of mine to fear for their life any time they so much as look at anyone, or anyone looks at them.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another. “It would vastly improve my student’s performance knowing this noble will not be allowed in, as well as prevent any…” she cleared her throat, “...irrational acts on my part.”

His eyes flashed. “Very well. I will see to it that this is taken care of.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “Thank you very much. Oh,” she said again, looking down at the envelope in his hands one last time, “I forgot to sign that, give me one moment…”

Her eyes scanned her desk as she brushed papers gently to the side. “Now, where is my…”

The sound of a throat clearing for the third time had her turning back around.

As she did, she felt a hand moving past her ear, brushing her hair gently away from her face.

Her face blazed, and her sentence fell away into a near-incoherent stammer.

Seteth pulled his hand away from her ear like her flush had set it on fire, taking a step back. “I. That is.”

“My pen,” she wheezed, with flushed realization. “Right. Yes. I forgot.” Taking the offending utensil off its perch, she scrawled her name on the envelope and handed it back, face still burning. 

“My apologies,” Seteth said for what felt like the twentieth time that night. “I did not mean to… that is, I…”

“It’s fine!” she yelped, louder than intended. “It’s, I mean.” She looked away. “I didn’t mind.”

Seteth let out some kind of strangled cough. “Yes, well. I hope you… that is.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Good night, Professor.”

And he bustled out the door, the back of his neck as red as her face.

She let out an aborted noise as the door closed, face burning and hand finding its way up to the side of her face, where she could still feel the ghost of his hand.

“I have… lived many years.”

The war was a sidenote, the battle long since forgotten. Byleth’s attention was focused solely on the man dying in her arms.

“And yet…” said Seteth faintly, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, “there was still… more I… wished to do…”

“She’s waiting for you,” Byleth said, stroking his hair softly. “They both are.”

A hint of a smile. “I can… see her again.”

Byleth nodded, her tears falling on his face. He didn’t react. “Yes.”

“It’s been… so… long…”

The sensation of a soft nudge in the back of her mind prompted Byleth to recall a soft tune, despite the lump in her throat.

“In… time’s flow…”

Seteth’s eyes fluttered.

“See… the glow…”

He exhaled softly, the rise and fall of his chest gradually slowing.

“Of… flames… ever burning…”

A victory cheer came from behind her, and Seteth fell still in her arms.

“...bright,” Byleth managed, beginning to cry in earnest, reaching to clasp her hand onto Flayn and holding them both close. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

She didn’t realize her voice had risen to a wail until she felt someone shaking her.

“Professor! Professor!”

She looked up through her tears to see Edelgard, holding Byleth’s shoulder gingerly with her hand and looking down on her with wide, scared eyes. 

“My teacher… what has upset you so?”

She looked down, and then back up again. Beyond Edelgard were the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force, former Blue Lions and Golden Deer students alike, all with identical looks of fear and concern.

She looked back at Edelgard. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

Edelgard blinked, and time froze with a blast of green light.

She dreamed of war, of Seiros and Sothis.

She woke to her father calling her name.