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Soft humming breaks the silence of a dusty tent.
Darya drums her fingers on dusty stone tablets to the beat. The archeological site she has been sent to study at has been busy from dawn till dusk, working on unearthing ancient records -and of more notable interest- forgotten runes. Scholars from all over Almyra had been overjoyed when the site was discovered, and more kept flooding the ruins each passing day.
Her mother, Ruler of Dawn, had taken an interest in the ruins, and her father, ever a sucker for his wife, allowed her to take Darya along. Not that Darya was complaining, she liked history and dusty tombs as much as her father’s wyvern loved lamb. But if she had to sit through another meeting hearing her parents flirting incessantly with each other, she’d sooner jump off one of Almyra’s many cliffs.
She brushes her fingers over carved words, fidgeting with a fallen piece the same way her father does. Her temples ache with the promise of a headache, and her eyes feel drier than the desert sand. But she is close to translating all of it, and she wills her body and mind to keep awake.
The flap to her tent opens, and Darya lets out an instinctive hiss at the bright afternoon sun. An airy chuckle comes from the figure at the entrance.
“My little vampire. How long have you been sitting in here?” Byleth kindly drops the flap to allow her daughter peace from the harsh afternoon sun.
“Hello, maman.” Darya grumbles, head in her hands. Byleth pats her on the back, eyes scanning the scattered papers, all scribbled with Darya’s nearly intelligible handwriting, weighed down carelessly by excavated rocks Darya had deemed useless. Byleth picks one up to read.
“That one’s almost done.” Her daughter fidgets with a rock paperweight, dark green eyes trained on the stone tablet in front of her, her frown mirroring Byleth’s impassive expression. Sometimes, Darya looked too much like Claude, and other times too much like her. A wave of fondness made Byleth pat her daughter on the head.
“Maman, baba does that enough,” Darya complains, shifting herself to avoid Byleth’s head pats. Her hips crack loudly in the silence of the tent, and she winces as Byleth raises an eyebrow.
“Take a break.” Byleth takes her daughter’s hand, pulling her up from the wooden bench Darya has occupied since morning. Her joints protest, and with each snap and pop, Byleth’s eyebrows raise higher and higher. Darya’s ears tinge pink.
“You’re just as bad as your father,” Byleth grumbles. “Walk with me.” She strides out of the tent, dragging her protesting daughter along.
They pass workers dragging large slabs of stone and scholars arguing about the accuracy of a half-translated phrase. The sun beats the sand relentlessly, forcing anyone not on duty into the shade of tents. Darya curses and kicks away the hot sand that has flown up on her sandals. Byleth, wearing boots, has no such problems, and laughs softly at the angry and colorful insults Darya is muttering about the sand.
They walk into the yawning entrance of the ruins, bracketed by elaborately carved pillars. Darya, already having seen them every day for two months straight, walks by the architectural wonders, while Byleth lags behind to stare.
“They don’t have any meaning,” she calls to her mother. “I think whoever made them just wanted them to look fancy.” Darya kicks sand off her sandals again. The long, straight corridor that leads deep into the ruins is lit by torches, and Darya grabs one out of its sconce.
“Come on, there’s cooler stuff to see down there,” She points with the torch at the length of the corridor. “It also has the added bonus of being cold.”
Byleth follows her, and both women trek into the dimly lit depths. Sometimes a flicker of light or a shiny bauble distracts Darya, and Byleth has to drag her back like an overly curious puppy on a leash.
They reach a room filled with glowing stone tablets. The walls are scribbled with carvings, and a few archeologists are working by torchlight, moving thin slabs delicately. They bow as Byleth and Darya pass.
“Are these enchanted? Is that why they’re glowing?” Byleth brushes her hand across some inscriptions, briefly dimming their soft blue glow. Darya pauses in her inspection of a load of tablets.
“We’re still trying to figure that out, but they’re harmless. There’s one they just discovered, and it’s larger than the rest. Come, maman, let me show you.”
Even deeper into the ruins, the stale underground air becomes thick with dust and some glowing particles. Darya sneezes, but Byleth remains unfazed.
They reach an open door, the stone previously blocking it set aside.
Past the door, a large blue stone sits in the middle of an empty room, devoid of carvings and vases that adorned previous chambers. The whole stone glows, casting the area in a soft shade of blue.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Darya beams at her mother, who looks stunned. “No one’s allowed to touch it. Some idiot did and poofed into nowhere. But we can read the runes from a safe distance. But so far no one can translate them. That’s the only thing I hate about this rock, I guess.”
Byleth pats her daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve done a lot.”
They walk closer to the stone. A drawn chalk line is a reminder previous archeologists left behind to not step too close. A written message, also a warning, is smudged beyond literacy.
The glowing blue stone is mesmerizing. Both women pause and stare at it in silence for a minute before their peace is interrupted by the scuffling of boots.
“Hello, ladies.”
“Baba?” Darya whirls around, mouth open. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the palace?”
“Nader’s got it. Plus, Judith’s around, and she threatened to call my boy if I didn’t come and visit you.” He smiles at Byleth. “Hello, my star.”
“No, no, none of that.” Darya pokes her father’s side. “No lovey-dovey stuff. Put it away. Back to whence it came.”
Khalid lightly smacks her hand away. “If the court can put up with it, so will you.” He turns his attention to the glowing pillar, ignoring Darya’s muttering. “What’s that?”
“A dangerous rock,” is Byleth’s flat reply. Darya nods in agreement. “It makes people disappear.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Yes. No touchy, baba.”
Khalid dramatically folds a hand over his chest. “You hurt my feelings. I don’t touch suspicious things, least of all a glowing rock.”
Byleth raises an eyebrow. “Last week, you touched a slime trail when I told you not to, and it gave you rashes so bad they nearly scarred.”
“Curiosity must be sated, Teach. I was curious, and I had to do it.”
“Hope it was worth it, baba,” Darya calls, reading runes on the pillar.
Khalid mutters something that sounds like “little shit.” Byleth smacks him on the head.
“What’s so interesting, Darya?” Byleth moves to stand by her daughter’s side.
Before Darya can respond, a blast shakes the earth, throwing all three of them off balance.
The Sword of the Creator is in Byleth’s hands, glowing a burning red, and Khalid draws his bow faster than he can think. Darya pulls out a dagger hidden in her skirts.
Shouts and war cries echo overhead, and Khalid curses in Almyran.
“Bandits,” Byleth says, calm and ordered. “They think this place has treasure.”
Darya thinks back to the maps of the ruins she drew. “Not much. Most of the chambers just have rocks.”
A bandit bursts into the room, scimitar in hand. His shout is cut off by an arrow in his throat.
The man gurgles, choking on blood, before slumping to the ground.
More rush in, and both Byleth and Khalid hold their ground, dispatch them with the ease that comes only from having seen too many battles to count. Darya watches, getting a few jabs here and there, but never straying far from the pillar.
She has seen violence, yes, and her parents train her, but she’s not built for combat. The battle blurs around her, and the only clarity she feels is her own breathing.
A large, burly bandit barrels towards her. She sees him too late. An arrow pierces his leather armor, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stray, and rams Darya straight in the gut.
The last thing she sees are her parents, faces painted with horror, before everything fades to blue, then darkness.
—---------
“She’s awake!”
Darya opens her eyes to bright light. Her ears ring. Her vision is blurred, but she can make out a girl, sitting in front of her. The ringing in her ears fades, and Darya is treated to a cacophony of noise. Voices, male and female, overlap each other. Two of them are particularly loud and annoying.
The girl in front of her wrings her hands. Her light blue hair is pinned in a messy bun, and escaped strands frame her face. Her eyebags give Darya’s a run for their money. But her brown eyes are full of worry, and Darya relaxes, sensing no danger.
“How are you feeling? Anything hurt?”
“Fine, I’m feeling fine, just…” Darya looks around. She’s sitting in a middle of a clearing, and seven faces stare down at her. A pink-haired girl with pigtails turns around and hollers.
“Professor! Claude! She’s awake!”
Claude? Darya pricks up at the mention of her father. Did he come here too?
A boy with glasses looks at her and smiles. “Hi there. My name’s Ignatz. Do you remember anything?”
“Uh, just a lot of blue.” She stares at him. “I feel like I’ve seen you before.”
He looks surprised. “I- I don’t think we’ve met. Are you a traveler?”
Darya observes their faces, then their uniforms. “No, I’m not. I’m a scholar.” Princess of Almyra would be the correct answer, but she keeps it to herself for now, until she can trust these people.
A white-haired girl examines her with a fierceness unbefitting her small frame. “You came out of thin air and landed on Lorenz here.” She points at a purple-haired boy with an atrocious haircut. “Where did you come from? There was no portal, just a flash of blue light.”
Blue light? The stone, Darya recalls. She was shoved into the stone. Darya blinks, looks at the faces around her, and instinct tells her to play dumb. “Uh, I don’t remember anything. Just a lot of blue.”
The girl looks disappointed, but her expression quickly changes at the arrival of two new strangers. “Professor! She says she doesn’t remember anything.”
The students- Darya assumes they’re students- part for their professor, who strides into the clearing. Darya’s eyes widen.
“Maman?”
The woman halts in her tracks, impassive expression breaking into one of confusion. The boy behind her halts too, his eyes wide with shock.
Darya’s eyes dart between them. “Hold up. Maman? What are you doing here? What happened? Why is your hair blue?”
The woman frowns imperceptibly. Except for the color of her hair, everything about her looks like Maman. The Sword of the Creator at her hip, the set, stern gaze, the way she holds herself. It’s definitely Maman.
“I- I’m not your mother. I don’t have any children.”
The boy behind her laughs awkwardly. “I mean, she kind of looks like you, Teach.”
Darya gapes, then looks past the woman’s shoulder. “Baba? Is that you?”
The boy chokes on his shock. Her not-mother’s eyebrows raise, and she turns to face him. He recovers from his coughing fit, cheeks blazing red.
“Okay, time out.” He holds up a hand. “There’s a lot to process here. Should we bring her back to the monastery?”
“No, wait.” The white-haired girl looks back and forth, analyzing Darya’s face. “What’s your name?”
“Darya.” She looks at her mother, searching for any signs of recognition. She doesn’t find any.
“Are you Almyran? Your name, attire, and accent-”
“Lysithea.” Not-maman cuts off the girl mid-sentence. “Let’s go first. She looks confused.”
“Ah- yes, Professor.”
Ignatz helps Darya to her feet, and she dusts sand and dirt off her dress. She stares at Not-maman, observing her demeanor.
Her mother hasn’t changed much, but she does look a little more aloof than usual. She hands Darya water and some bread.
Claude, on the other hand, is wary of her. He smiles; passes off her earlier blurting as confusion, but she sees the calculation in his eyes. The same eyes her father has, maybe with fewer wrinkles, and a lot more suspicion. He looks like a younger version of Baba.
Younger? Oh boy. The realization hits Darya like a truck, and she spins to observe the rest of the party. Ignatz, Lysithea… and Marianne and Hilda. How did she not recognize Auntie Hilda? That Goneril pink was unforgettable!
“Um, excuse me,” she nudges Hilda on the arm. “Can you tell me what year it is?”
“The year? 1180. Man, you must be confused, huh?”
1180?! Darya blanches. She was born in 1188. That must mean…
She whirls to stare at Claude and Byleth, chatting at the head of the group. She meets Claude’s eyes. He waves at her cheerily, and the reality really sinks in.
She’s gone back in time. And she’s staring at the younger versions of her parents.
—------
A month had passed since Darya was brought to Garreg Mach monastery, and for a while, she couldn’t control her excitement of exploring a historic ruin brought to life. Her ramblings made many of the Golden Deer confused, but they blessedly chalked it up to eccentricity and kindly guided her through the halls.
The fact that this was the place both her parents fondly spoke of made exploring it even better.
Speaking of her parents, her father is seventeen, using her grandmother’s noble name, and is known as the heir of House Riegan. He is also, by society’s standards, extremely attractive, and Darya has had to (secretly) bat away more giggling girls from her teenage dad than she can count. Sometimes she curses him for having so much charisma and giving none of it to her.
Her mother is twenty-one, a famous mercenary-turned-professor, and has earned the attention and favor of the Archbishop, is more competent than most Knights of Seiros, and keeps receiving love letters and confessions. From staff, knights, and students alike. But Darya has less trouble with her, thanks to her mother’s nonchalance and lack of emotional depth. She once saw Byleth using a love letter as a fire starter. That had been hilarious.
But due to their single status, Darya’s efforts can only hold off the admirers for so long. It never gets less awkward or nauseating to see Sylvain chatting up her mother at the dining hall in front of witnesses, or hearing Annette singing to Claude in the greenhouses.
So Darya, after two weeks of verbally bashing Sylvain, has decided to get her parents together.
Which, to her shock, is easier said than done.
She had become so used to their affectionate chatter that their cordial, completely platonic, teacher-to-student discussions completely throw her off balance. Darya vows to herself that she will never hit Baba again for calling Maman “my star”.
But at least his young counterpart calls her “Teach” while everyone else calls her “Professor”. That’s a little link of affection she could exploit.
Darya’s mind whirs with schemes and tricks enough to make Baba proud. But he might not be so proud of what she’s using her intellect for.
The next morning, she seeks out Byleth, who is sitting on a windowsill feeding a cat.
“Morning, Professor!”
It tastes weird, calling her mother “Professor”, but she bears with it after having called her “Maman” in the middle of class twice. Darya had never wanted to wither away so much.
“Morning, Darya.” It hurts a little, to hear her name called in the same voice, but no affection. But it is a stark reminder that Darya is not when she is supposed to be.
“I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Byleth nods, scratching the chin of the cat. “Ask away.”
“What do you think of the Golden Deer?”
Byleth’s eyes widen imperceptibly. She wasn’t expecting this kind of question. “They’re good kids. I like them a lot.”
“Yea, they’re really friendly.” Darya tries desperately not to let the conversation fall. Curse her mother’s direct, few-worded answers. “But I meant what you think about them, as in personality, skills, whatnot.”
Byleth ponders a bit. “Well, all of them are rowdy enough, except for Marianne and Ignatz. The Deer are a lot more varied than the other houses, I would say.”
Darya thinks about the colorful hair of each member, and wholeheartedly agrees. “Yea, I see that. How do they fare in battle?”
“They have their own niche. Lysithea’s magic is brilliant. Manuela forbade her from practicing with others after one of her Miasmas destroyed a wall. Raphael is good at brawling, but he needs to work on dodging. He likes tanking hits too much.”
Shifting her position on the windowsill, Byleth continues. “Marianne is good at healing, Ignatz’s accuracy gives him an advantage. Lorenz can be a good mage, and Leonie works hard at training with all sorts of weapons. Hilda pretends she’s weak, but I’ve seen her carry Claude and throw him down the stairs.”
Darya doesn’t know what to do with that information. “And what about our resident house leader himself?”
Byleth stares at Darya long enough to make her sweat. Was it too much?
“You look a lot like him.”
“Ahahaha.” Darya stares down the cat purring in Byleth’s lap. “I’ve been told that a lot.”
“You called him Baba when you first met.”
“He looks a lot like my dad. And you look like my mom. It gets confusing.”
“Mmm. And were you close with them?”
“Very.” Darya fidgets with her hands. “They loved me, and each other, a lot.”
“Do you miss them?”
Darya looks into Byleth’s eyes. They’re an unfamiliar shade of dark, dull blue, but they are her mother’s eyes all the same.
“Yea. I do. But I know they’re safe. Pretty far away, but safe.”
“That’s good.” Byleth looks down at Darya’s fidgeting hands. “You move like Claude.”
“Huh?”
“Your demeanor, I mean.” She gestures at Darya’s hands. “You even fidget like him, although he does it when he’s thinking, not nervous.”
Darya has to remind herself to keep her mouth closed. “Oh, hah. I guess we’re like siblings.”
Calling her dad her sibling was something to never do again. Ever. Even if he did look like her older brother.
Byleth pats the cat in her lap. “Claude is a bit of an enigma to me. He keeps prying me for answers about my past. He likes solving puzzles, and maybe, to him, I’m one of them.”
Damn it, Baba. Maybe, to balance his copious charisma, fate gave teenage Claude not a drop of subtlety when it came to Byleth. Darya wants to beat him soundly around the ears with a book.
“But he is a good person. The Deer complain about him a lot, but they rally under him anyway.” She picks a clump of loose fur off the cat. “He’s good at surviving, at mind games. I don’t understand him because of that.”
Darya doesn’t respond. She churns answers in her mind, chews on her lip, before sighing and going for it.
“You can trust him.”
Byleth looks up, surprised.
“I haven’t been here long, and I don’t know much about this place, or its people, but I know you can trust Claude. Yea, he’s shady as hell, but that’s an act. Most of the time. Sometimes he’s actually shady.”
Byleth smiles, and Darya takes it as encouragement. “Maybe that’s why the Deer follow him. Despite all his acts and riddles, they trust him because deep down he cares. A lot. He’s just shit at showing it.”
Darya gets a little swat on her arm for the cursing, but the soft smile on Byleth’s face is worth it.
“Thank you, Darya. I have to get going now. I promised Hilda I’d help her pick out sweets for Marianne.”
Byleth places the cat on the floor, who yawns and trots away. Darya waves at it.
“I’ll see you later then, Professor.”
Byleth watches Darya go until she turns the corner and disappears from sight. Only then she starts moving, but not towards the marketplace, where Hilda is waiting. Her steps take her to the library, where a certain heir of Riegan is bound to be, asleep on some forbidden tomes.
—------------
“You want to get Claude and the Professor together?”
Darya slurps her tea to avoid answering.
Hilda sits across her, legs folded elegantly, head perched on her arms. A platter of tea cakes sits in front of her, forgotten, in favor of staring at Darya, who looks like she wants to drown in her tea.
“I am absolutely down for that.” Hilda pops a cake into her mouth. “But you have to tell me why. You and Claude avoid each other on a daily basis. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in the same room as him the whole month!”
“They look good together,” Darya mumbles into her teacup. She absolutely cannot tell Hilda that the real reason she wants them together is that she hates the notion of other people going touchy-feely with either one of her parents.
“I agree, but I’m not buying that.”
Darya inhales deeply, sends a prayer to the heavens to please, please let this lie work, and looks Hilda dead in the eyes. “Claude likes the Professor.”
Hilda screeches with joy, and Darya gulps down another mouthful of piping hot tea.
“I knew it, the little sly bastard! Why else would he be so interested in the Professor?”
A lot of reasons, Darya thinks. Byleth is just an extraordinary person in general. Even Dimitri and Edelgard are interested in her.
“How did you know this? Tell me everything!”
“I saw them meeting in the Goddess Tower two days ago.”
That was a lie. Byleth was out the whole day with Jeralt. Claude happened to be curious enough about the Goddess Tower to enter it. Darya saw him skipping up the steps with a book in hand.
Hilda squeals again, and Darya is slightly regretting her decision to ask her for help.
“Ugh, I’m gonna get a toothache like this. How long have they been meeting?”
It’s easy enough convincing Hilda that Claude was head over heels for Byleth. The pair spend so much time together that Darya wonders how rumors haven’t spread yet. But she is more incensed at the fact that the avalanche of flowers Byleth was gifted actually blocked the doorway to the Golden Deer classroom.
“I’m not sure but they hang out a lot.”
“Oh, they do. He hogs the Professor to himself! Lysithea’s been complaining to me that she never gets a full report of her skills from the Professor because Claude is always there, but I think she’s just asking for too much.”
“Mhmm.”
“So, what’s your plan to get them together?”
“That’s…why I’m asking you.”
Hilda looks flattered at the notion that Darya would come to her for advice on being a wingwoman.
“Alright, I’ll help you out. For a price.”
“Name it.”
“Help me get the things I need. I’ve got some ideas in mind, but I’ll need the materials before I start.”
Darya blinks. This should be easy. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
“Good. I’ll give you a list later. Tomorrow, same time, don’t be late, and we’ll discuss.”
“Duly noted.” Darya chugs back the dregs of her tea like a shot, leaves and all.
—-------
Darya watches Hilda and Marianne braid colorful strands together, lounging on a couch like a cat.
“That’s pretty.”
“Of course it would be. It’s made by me and Mari, after all.”
Marianne blushes at the compliment. “Yours is better, Hilda.”
“Nonsense! Darya, look, isn’t it the same?”
Darya picks up the two completed bracelets, both gold and blue, shot through with green glass beads, and little golden deer heads hanging off the clasps. “They are. If these weren’t for the greater good, I’d take them for myself.”
Marianne looks up. “Greater good?”
Hilda shoots a knowing look at Marianne. “Yes, Mari. The greater good.”
Darya and Hilda sit in solemn understanding. Marianne awkwardly untangles the strands.
“What’s the rest for, then?”
“Ah, those are for us!” Hilda picks up white and purple threads. “These colors are for Lysithea, the purple is for Lorenz too, I hope it clashes with his hair. Red and orange for Leonie, yellow for Raphael, cause he’s a ray of sunshine. This light green for Ignatz, that blue for you, Mari, and this pink for me!”
Marianne nods slowly. “And what about Darya?”
“She gets the rest of the gold.”
Darya places a hand on her heart. “You spoil me, Hilda.”
“Don’t act like Claude, I’m gonna revoke it if you continue.”
Darya drops her hand and pouts. Marianne laughs softly, and adds beads to Raphael’s yellow bracelet.
“Anyway, Hilda, what are you planning to do with these?”
“Give them to Claude and the Professor, of course!”
“I mean, how will it work for… the greater good.”
“Oh.” Hilda looks at Marianne. “Don’t tell this to anybody. We’re planning to get Claude and the Professor together.”
Marianne looks horrified. “Um, what?”
“No, it’s not that bad, Darya’s confirmed Claude has feelings for her.” Hilda turns back to Darya. “It is confirmed, right?”
“Yes. Yep. One hundred percent.” Darya hopes Hilda doesn’t sense the lick of doubt in those words.
“So, we’re gonna nudge them together using these.” Hilda points at the bracelets in Darya’s hands. “Why do you think only those two are matching?”
Both Darya and Marianne let out a combined “Ohhhh.”
“I’m gonna get Claude to give one to the Professor.”
Marianne worries her lip. “Wouldn’t it be awkward? Claude giving the Professor something like this?”
“That, my dear Mari, is the point.”
“Oh.” Marianne looks conflicted, and Darya pats her on the arm soothingly.
“It’s okay, Marianne. I’m pretty sure my mo- the Professor, will accept.”
Hilda grins, almost diabolically. “And then I’m gonna host a little Golden Deer party, and let them see that they’re the only ones matching!”
Darya raises an eyebrow. “And how does that help?”
“Tsk, tsk, Darya. Sometimes it’s not an outright thing. It needs to be subtle, get the little snowball rolling, and soon it’ll become a boulder by itself.”
“Ah. I see.” Darya does not see. But she’ll trust Hilda with it.
Marianne goes back to braiding. She won’t get too scandalized; it’s just some bracelets, what could go wrong?
—--------
“Uh, Teach?”
“Claude.” Byleth turns to see the Golden Deer house leader striding down the halls toward her at a brisk pace.
“I, uh, have something to give you.”
Byleth tilts her head, like a curious cat, and Claude’s heart jackhammers fast enough he’s afraid she might hear it.
“It’s actually from Hilda, but she wanted me to deliver it to you.”
Hidden in a corner, out of sight but within hearing range, both Hilda and Darya facepalm.
Byleth’s interest is piqued, and she steps closer. “What is it?”
“It’s… just a bracelet. Here you go, Teach.”
Byleth smiles softly at Hilda’s handiwork. She removes her wrist guards, holding them in one hand and baring her other to Claude.
“Here.”
“What?”
“Put it on me.”
At that last sentence, both Darya and Hilda dare a peek around the corner. She sees Claude’s hands moving, clasping the bracelet on Byleth’s wrist. Despite his darker skin, Darya can see that his ears are tinged pink, like hers when she blushes.
Darya smiles to herself. Still a sucker for her, in every life, past and future.
The clasp fits, but Claude doesn’t release Byleth’s wrist. Instead, he stares at the colorful braid against her pale skin.
“It’s pretty.”
Byleth nods. “It matches yours.”
Claude’s blush spreads to his cheeks, and he drops her wrist. “Uhm, yea. Hilda wants us to go to the dining hall. She wants to throw a party for us Deer.”
“I’ll be there.” Byleth glances at her new gift, the deer charm glinting in the dim evening light, and walks away.
When she’s out of earshot, Claude heaves a deep sigh, runs a hand over his face, and goes the other way.
Darya clamps a hand over Hilda’s mouth to muffle her cackle.
—--------------
The party is less of a party and more of a gathering, and Seteth repeatedly shushes the rowdy Deer before Flayn (bless her) escorted the grumpy advisor away.
Raphael lifts Hilda into the air when he receives his bracelet, and her laugh echoes around the dining hall, causing more than a few heads to turn. Lysithea fiddles with hers and mutters something about magic and “arcane focus”. Lorenz refused to wear his, but Leonie wrestled him into a corner and clamped it on his wrist like a fetter.
Ignatz gratefully receives his from Marianne, admiring the quality and the golden deer head prominent on all their bracelets. Darya wears hers proudly, letting the girls admire Hilda’s fine handiwork.
When Claude and Byleth arrive, bracelets evident on their wrists, all the Deer ooh and aah over them, complimenting the colors and the beads (“It’s so glittery, Professor!” Raphael had exclaimed, drawing the attention of Dorothea). Hilda had snagged a bunch of cakes for snacks, and Claude wastes no time stuffing his face full of cream. Darya, having learned to never underestimate her father’s appetite- teenager or not- joins him.
“You’re going to suffocate yourselves,” Byleth says reproachfully.
“Not a bad way to go,” Claude manages through a mouthful of cake. Darya nods in agreement and holds out her free hand for a fist bump. Claude obliges.
Lysithea screeches at them for inhaling most of the cakes before eating as many as Claude and Darya combined in less time. Lorenz, nibbling daintily on a fruit tart, scolds them like a tired babysitter, and Darya, caught in the manic adrenaline of the atmosphere, laughs her stomach into cramps at his expression.
The gathering continues long after the cakes are finished. Leonie and Raphael arm-wrestle, jostling the table, until Hilda smacks both of them with her supposedly weak and delicate hands. They stop after that, sporting red slap marks on their forearms.
Marianne, under the coaxing of Claude, Darya, and Byleth, refrains from bolting off to bed. Ignatz becomes a victim of Lorenz’s droning lectures until Claude flicks open Lorenz’s coat buttons and nicks his wallet. Darya appreciates the masterful sleight of hand, Byleth does not. She cuffs Claude around the head and drags him off by his collar, presumably to lecture him.
When Hilda sees Byleth dragging Claude away amid the chaos of the Deer and some other students, she gestures frantically at Darya, mouthing “Follow them!” before turning back to watch Dorothea sing a duet with Ignatz.
Darya channels both her parents and slips into the night after them.
—--------
She sneaks after them, Claude’s protests and wild tugging against Byleth’s iron grip covering her footsteps.
Byleth herds him to the Goddess Tower. Darya sees her lips moving, probably calmly reprimanding Claude, but she’s too far away to hear. She waits until the pair is fully up the staircase, counts to sixty under her breath, and climbs the stairs.
Darya climbs slowly and steps carefully, waiting whenever she hears a noise, only moving when there’s silence. After what feels like an eternity, she reaches the top of the tower, dripping with sweat, legs burning from squatting.
She sits at the last step, careful to block herself with the wall. She peeps around the corner to see Claude and Byleth sitting together.
Claude looks more relaxed than she has ever seen him, arms thrown behind his head, leaning against the balcony rail, legs straight. Byleth sits across from him, legs crossed, leaning back on her hands as she stares up at the stars.
While it is sweet, the realization that she is seeing her parents on a date nearly gags Darya. She takes a minute to compose herself before focusing on eavesdropping. “Y’know Teach, I think the Deer are up to something.”
“Aren’t they always?” is Byleth’s instant reply. She trains her gaze on him. “And aren’t you always?”
Claude raises his hands. “Hey, I get a pass, scheming is my thing. Hilda, maybe, is a contender.”
“Yes, but her schemes often concern matters of the heart and matchmaking. And she’s too lazy most of the time unless the reward meets her standards.”
“You know us so well, Teach.” Claude leans back again, eyes closed, face tilted upwards. Byleth continues staring at him. “But I know she’s scheming because of these.”
He holds up the two similar bracelets, clasps undone. Byleth looks at her wrist, bare of ornamentation.
“Sneaky,” she mutters.
Claude shrugs. “It was harder to pinch this than Lorenz’s wallet, actually. I had to wait until you were sufficiently distracted.”
“When?”
“When you were dragging me, actually.”
Byleth sighs deeply. “Don’t steal stuff from me.”
“Actually Teach, I should. Because you’ve stolen something of mine.”
Darya hates herself for not seeing the cliche, overused, god-awful pick-up line coming from miles away and grinds her head against the rough stone in an effort to physically express the pain in her heart.
Fucking hell, how is she directly descended from this man. She thanks the stars, the Goddess, and many of her Almyran deities for her mother, who gave her some semblance of dignity.
She misses most of the conversation in her anguish. After a few minutes she turns, forehead red and tingling raw, and continues listening.
“I have what could be considered a pipe dream, Teach. I think most would laugh and tell me to give up before I even start.” Claude turns to Byleth sitting up straight. “But I know you wouldn’t. I think my dream won’t be that out of reach with you around.”
All Darya can see of Byleth is her back. “I wouldn’t discourage you, Claude. And I will help you achieve your dream, no matter what it is, or what it will cost.”
Silence rings loud in the tower. Darya, out of the corner of her eye, sees a glint of blue.
“That… means a lot to me, Byleth.”
The blue light flashes brighter, bigger, and both their heads turn to stare at Darya, silhouetted against the portal, teeming with runes. She smiles, and steps through.
The last thing she sees are her parents, frozen, eyes wide with shock, before everything fades to blue.
—-------
“Darya!”
She wakes to see Baba and Maman, brows furrowed in worry.
“Baba, Maman-” She is cut off by her parents enveloping her in a tight hug.
“You’re safe, you’re safe,” Khalid mutters into her hair. Byleth presses her lips together, tears spilling from her eyes.
“Baba, Maman, I’m safe. I’m alright, really!” Darya waves her hands as much as she can. “No injuries or nothing!”
“Then what’s this?” Byleth brushes her fingers over Darya’s forehead, scratched red.
“Oh. That’s Baba’s fault.”
“Me?” Khalid looks at her in surprise. “I did that?”
Byleth raises a hand to smack her husband. Darya stops it midway. “Yes, Baba, you. Or I could say a version of you.”
“What?” Byleth frowns, going back to caressing Darya’s face.
“Long story.” Darya glances around the room, and meets Lysithea’s eyes, her hands glowing blue. “Hello, Aunt Lysithea!”
“Hi.” Lysithea shakes the remnants of magic off her hands. “Don’t mind me, I’m gonna take this rock for safekeeping.”
Khalid glares at the rock in question. “Please, do.”
“Explain,” Byleth demands, hands glowing with white magic, soothing the red rawness on Darya’s forehead. “What did you go through?”
Darya stares at her parents, both looking at her with affection enough to fill the room.
“You look better with the beard, Baba.”