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As a child, Dorothea never had nightmares. Struggling on the streets for survival, she never had the time or energy to entertain them. At the opera house, her unhappy thoughts were expelled venomously at men needing scorn. Once she stepped onto Garreg Mach’s hallowed grounds, pure luck kept her dreams torment-free.
Against the backdrop of war, Dorothea’s luck was only enough to keep her alive. The nightmares finally wormed their merciless way in and ate away at her like flies on carrion. Buzzing, their little bodies grew into a fog, and when they scattered, the dreamscape siege of Arianrhod had returned, all tall stone walls and—old friends and familiar faces, corpses broken and cold like crumbling gargoyles. She saw them now: A father and son skewered while they fought back to back. Hadn’t that been strange? Dorothea remembered Felix always at odds with his father. Lúin was among the spoils. That was a shame. She and Ingrid had gotten along.
With the sound of splitting rock, Felix and Ingrid rose from where they fell and raised their weapons to avenge themselves. The sharp edge of a sword pierced her bruised heart and—
Dorothea woke up.
Killed again.
“Get over it,” Dorothea muttered to the roof of her tent, but she didn’t know if she was talking to her ghosts or herself. “It’s been a whole moon since Arianrhod.”
The march to Fhirdiad was grueling, and they still had to cross the Tailtean Plains before Edie’s army could reach the northern capital. With such a consequential battle upcoming, it was unsafe for Dorothea to be waking up at all hours of the night. Her sleep deprivation put her battalion of mages at risk!
It was imperative she got these nightmares under control. How did someone kindly tell their subconsciousness to knock it off? Dorothea simply needed to delude herself into thinking her circumstances weren’t as bad as they were. Who did she know that could teach her that?
Her first thought was Caspar, but that was wrong. Caspar was glorybound with a love for battle, fully understanding and respecting all its dirty aspects. He didn’t ignore them. Her second was Hubert, but he weaponized bloodshed, which Dorothea did not want to do. Mentally going down the list of people she trusted, she continued writing them off, recalling tear tracks on their weary faces. Finally, her thoughts stalled on one person: Ferdinand von Aegir. As his name fluttered across her thoughts, his handsome grin flashed behind her eyes, and she fought back the fondness falling across her shoulders like a blanket. It was not the time to entertain her quiet affection, not when her circumstances were so dire.
Dorothea stalked out of her tent, tiptoeing through the encampment. It wasn’t long before she found his tent, a red sash tied on one of the ropes to identify it as a general’s. She stood there for a long moment, considering the man inside. Their rocky relationship had smoothed out for the better; on slow days, Dorothea and Ferdinand often met for cheap tea and made plans to visit their favorite tea houses in Enbarr for anything that tasted better. This charming gentleman brought about a sense of peace—but this war had taken his father, and Ferdie hadn’t mourned once. Disconcerting, but perfect.
“Ferdinand!” she whispered, tugging the sash. The whole tent shook.
A shocked noise came from within. Ferdinand peeked out from the tent, astonished. “Ah, Dorothea? Are we under attack?” he asked, oddly alert for the late hour.
“No,” she said. “Move, move, let me in!”
Quickly, Dorothea shoved her way inside. These tents could comfortably fit a few packs and a bedroll but little else. Settling with her back pressed into the slanted wall behind her, she watched a stupefied Ferdinand curl up on the opposite end with his arms looped around his knees.
“This is…” Ferdinand faltered after a long, pensive silence. “I am always pleased to see you, but should you not be sleeping? And your night clothes… ”
Dorothea refused to flush. “It’s a shift, Ferdie,” she deflected. If anything happened, she could throw something over it and be considered dressed. It was practical! “Do you blush at bare ankles? You’re more dressed down than I am!”
And he was. The plain, cotton shirt hung loosely on him except for his shoulders, where it sat comfortably. Sharp collarbones peeked out of the wide collar, and the bottom hem trailed over his hips to touch bare thighs. If he moved—
All Ferdinand had to do was stay still. Dorothea just wouldn’t look. If they completed these simple tasks, no one had to worry about her eyes falling on a man who was not her husband.
(But what if…?)
“I did not come here to discuss sleepwear,” she dismissed, packing away that treacherously alluring thought. “Ferdie, tell me. How do you do it?”
His confused expression was endearing. “Do what?” Ferdinand wondered.
There was no kind way to ask, but she needed to know: How did Ferdie smile at her when they sat down, exhausted, for tea? Ferdinand’s relationship with his father was not fraught like hers, so how did his death not break him? How did General von Aegir pick up his lance to cut ribbons through their foes and continue to shine like the sun?
“Every day on this campaign,” Dorothea croaked, “I see you running around, raising morale and… and you still make time to meet with me for that sorry excuse for tea, and you’re fine! You lost your father, and it’s like you never noticed! How? How are you just… okay? With—with the killing? The war?” She paused. Breathed. “The nightmares?”
Ferdinand always loved to chatter. Why was he now so quiet, staring at her like he’d seen a ghost? Then, he lurched onto his hands and knees, leaning forward.
She yelped, raising a hand to block him from her sight. Ferdinand was supposed to stay still!
“Dorothea, what do you me—”
“Breeches, Ferdie!”
“O-oh,” he stammered. “Of course!”
Dorothea heard hasty shuffling and the sounds of a bag unclasping.
Fabric swished, and Ferdinand said, “I am unsure about succumbing to a bare ankle’s temptation myself, but you appear rather flustered.”
“Just—are you decent?”
“One moment… There!”
Slowly, Dorothea lowered her hand. The breeches Ferdinand covered himself with were an unhelpful shade of taupe that was too close to his skin color, but he was presentable. Her eyes flicked up, freezing on his serious expression. It was quiet and contemplative, unlike the radiant smiles he rained upon her whenever they crossed paths.
“What do you mean,” Ferdinand asked again, “how am I okay?”
“It’s a little late for me to ask, isn’t it?” she acknowledged. “Once we take Fhirdiad, everything’s over.” She hoped, at any rate.
“Your timing is not something I worry about,” he assured. “I… I believe you are confused, and that is my fault. You see, I am not ‘okay’ at all.”
“Huh…? But you… No, you’re fine!” Dorothea objected. “You’re… you’re not supposed to say that.” You’re supposed to help me.
Edie’s war was marked with victories; this must be what defeat tasted like—charred black and difficult to swallow.
“It seems I have misled you,” Ferdinand continued, ignorant of her sinking hopes. “I did not mean to, but I apologize regardless. I only… What man chooses to show his weakness to his peers? One must be strong and reliable to attract the attention he desires.”
“Attention,” Dorothea parroted, swallowing past the charcoal in her throat. “So you wanted to impress people—your peers?”
“No, just the one—forget that.” Ferdinand’s face was gray in the low light, but his cheeks had taken on a darker shade. “Will you listen to me, Dorothea?”
“I’m all ears,” answered Dorothea, steeling herself.
“I believe we have been lied to,” Ferdinand confessed. He waited, expecting a rebuke for his honesty. When none came, he continued, “The lie is glory. It is how battles are depicted by their winners, and all the dead are footnotes. My father is a footnote. We must win for a better Fódlan and all her people, but war is difficult. I do not sleep well anymore. It is quite exhausting, but I would never let anyone know. Especially you.”
“Me?” she questioned.
Ferdinand smiled ruefully and said, “I did not fully hide my discomfort because of foolhardy shame, but rather … I wanted to bring strength to others. To you! Once more, it seems I have given you the wrong impression of me.”
Dorothea almost laughed. “At least you can clear it up quickly this time,” she teased.
“I will,” he replied boldly. With so much confidence behind his declaration, it sounded like a vow.
If Ferdinand wanted to make a different vow, Dorothea reasoned with a fuzzy sense of distance, then she wasn’t sure she would refuse him. As a prospect, it was… exciting. She’d always wanted to marry up, but it had always been something owed and taken with hooked claws. It wasn't supposed to be this soft, offered by gentle hands.
(What would a home be like with a husband like Ferdinand von Aegir? Warm, peaceful. He would be the kind of father to throw himself on his lance before he cast out and disowned his daughters.)
First, they had to survive this final stretch of the war. Fhirdiad was so close, right across the plains. There would be freedom and justice and happily-ever-afters after pulling the weeds from their garden of crimson flowers.
“Dorothea,” Ferdinand spoke, scattering her imaginings like petals, “I had hoped to bolster you, as I always have, no matter what you may have once assumed. Instead, I fear I have isolated you. However, unless I am mistaken, we feel the same, do we not? About how we feel in our roles, or how…”
How we feel about each other came to Dorothea’s mind unprompted. The words were locked behind her teeth, waiting for the day they would burst free like birds spilling from the aviary. She had so many unspoken thoughts barred away, cushioned in downy feathers.
“Again, I apologize,” continued Ferdinand. “By hiding my… discontent, I have done you a great disservice. That I have done this to you will rank highly among my greatest regrets.”
Oh, she realized suddenly, Ferdie’s dancing around us, too. He had more words for it than she did, considering how much she wasn’t saying. The birds demanded freedom, beating their wings on the bars of their cages.
Would it be bold to ask, “Will you make it up to me?” It was definitely selfish.
“I would be honored for the chance!”
She hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Mortified, Dorothea squeaked, “I don’t—I just want the nightmares to stop!”
Ponderous, Ferdinand took her flummoxed words at face value and began to think. His eyes roved in his head, chasing thoughts with the same fervor he applied to every endeavor he undertook. Dorothea watched his pensiveness abruptly shift to eagerness.
However, he kept his tone even and calm when he said, “There is something we can try. Although, I have not yet had the opportunity to test it.”
“Curious. What are you thinking?” Dorothea encouraged, feeling a flutter of hope in her chest.
Ferdinand’s throat cleared, and he prompted, “Perhaps sleeping beside another person could soothe your dreams?”
Eyeing his breeches trepidatiously, Dorothea hedged. “Are you volunteering?” Her heart thundered, and she told herself she wasn’t enticed.
She was becoming very good at lying to herself.
“I–I should not,” objected Ferdinand. “It is not appropriate.”
“And if none of that mattered to me?” she pressed.
“Then I would not hesitate.”
A strong wind blustered through the camp, beating on the tent’s walls. When it died down, Dorothea shrugged and said, “Forget bare ankles. Let’s try.”
Astonished, Ferdinand rasped, “You would…?”
Dorothea knew Petra would be happy to share her tent. Bernadetta might even sacrifice her solitude to help. Edie would—no. She was busy, tied up in the war council every day. Still, there were more appropriate candidates for this.
She wanted none of them.
“Please, Ferdie?”
“I… I did say I would not hesitate,” Ferdinand mumbled more to himself than her. Decisively, he offered, “By all means, make yourself comfortable.”
Cautiously, as if Ferdinand would revoke his permission, Dorothea slid away from the wall, aiming for the bedroll. It was tousled, and she could see where he’d crawled out of it to meet her. Dorothea slipped into the blankets and hoped they would fit comfortably together even with his taller, broader frame. She was certain she was going to die when Ferdinand and his stupid breeches joined her, chest-to-chest and legs tantalizingly tangled. Without an inch to spare between them, Dorothea rested her head in the cradle of his neck and shoulder, listening as his racing pulse slowed. Their combined body heat warmed the blankets quickly, assuaging the tension strung taut between them until it slackened, wispy as a spider’s thread.
In this fledgling peace, Dorothea was reminded of her first few nights with the Mittelfrank girls. She’d been so used to life on Enbarr’s streets that when they gave her a bed and blankets, she’d gone boneless with relief, having forgotten such softness existed in the world. She was comfortable and—
“Warm,” she whispered. This intimacy demanded delicacy. “You’re warm.”
“You are rather chilled,” Ferdinand replied just as softly. “I am glad to warm you.”
Breath shuddering shakily out of her, Dorothea said, “Thank you. Let’s… let’s sleep. I hope we sleep. I hope this works.”
“As do I. Good night, Dorothea.” Ferdinand sounded endlessly fond.
“Sweet dreams, Ferdie.” She hoped she came across as the same.
With the distant sounds of a patrol returning to camp in one ear and Ferdinand’s heart in the other, Dorothea let the scrappy tendrils of her disrupted sleep wrap around her once more. Exhaustion was a curious ailment, tricking its victims into believing things that couldn’t possibly be true; just before drifting off, she imagined she felt lips press a gentle kiss to her hairline.
Within a blink, she was pulled awake by pleasant birdsong and the not-so-pleasant sounds of soldiers bustling around outside. Morning light streaked through the tent flap to cut a white stripe across her cheek. There was a buzzing energy in her bones, a restlessness that would not subside, and Dorothea realized she had slept undisturbed by ghastly faces and drawn weapons. She was so grateful it took her breath away.
The cages in the aviary rattled.
Ferdinand mumbled when he woke, stretching with a high whine in his throat. His eyes cracked open, hazy with sleep, and then he jumped when he remembered how they’d spent the night.
“Oh! Dorothea, ah—”
The birds must be freed.
“Hey, Ferdie?” she interrupted.
Cages creaked open.
“Yes?” Ferdinand's focus was galvanizing.
After a deep breath, Dorothea declared, “I think it's about time to talk about us.”
A thousand birds took to the sky like a scattering of doves.
“Yes, perhaps we should,” he agreed breathlessly. The golden dawn rose in his eyes.
“For starters, I prefer gold to silver if you’re going to buy a ring.”
“I—!” Ferdinand barked a laugh. “I will keep it in mind. Although, if you find one first, I, too, prefer gold.”
“Oh, a race then?” Dorothea suggested. “After Fhirdiad, let’s see who finds the perfect wedding ring first. Although, when I win and find one, I’m loosening your noble purse strings to get it.”
“Far be it from me to deny you. I suppose we have no choice but to survive the battle, then.”
“It’ll be easier if we’re well rested, don’t you think?” Dorothea hinted. “Perhaps we should… do this more often?”
The pink flush the night stole from his skin bloomed brightly across his cheeks. “I would not object,” he murmured, shy.
Dorothea nuzzled against his collarbone. “Call it practice. I’ll see you tonight, and many more.”