#And Edelgard fretting about the risks

[inkperch]

Just saying, a lot of Edelgard's White Clouds interactions with TWSITD are a hell of a lot more forgivable when you remember its not just an Emperor and the devil she made a deal with, it's also a deeply traumatised teenager forcing herself to continue to interact with her abusers because she's trying to convince herself that her suffering at their hands meant something.

(with a side of a very clearly displayed implication that they won't hurt her while she's useful to them-)

[fiction-box]

Okay, so I just saw the one about the wyvern and I loved it!!!

Hear me out: can you write for the same reader and Claude but she actually does fall? It can be after the time skip when she falls, and then Claude remembers their conversation about it from when they were at the academy together?

I'm not too good at context, so I'll leave exactly how it happens up to you!

I felt quite inspired by this prompt, so you got to jump the queue this week, my lovely. It makes me so happy to see that people are getting their inspiration from others on this blog!

Even just regarding the ask itself, there was so much I could have done with this. There were quite a few areas I wanted to explore, so I decided to do a bit of perspective switching, this fic.

Thanks for sharing, and thank you also for supporting both your own ideas and those of others on this blog! Requests are open!

The story will be continued under the cut.

His mind flooded with nostalgia as he led you, Lysithea, and Lorenz on a charge into the Red Canyon.

What had it been, five years since you all were last here? He and the Golden Deer, reunited once more under the orders of their old teacher. Claude wasn’t exactly sure what their goal was this time, but the demonic beasts in the area told him enough about what needed to happen next.

You four had been assigned to clear the canyon of the monsters Edelgard (now the Emperor of Adrestia) let loose. Once the job was completed, Byleth was to be notified and further instructions were to be given.

The original roster, however, had been modified. It was meant to be you, Ignatz, Raphael, and Lysithea. Plans changed when a stray imperial troop found the monastery, catching Raphael, who was out collecting wood, off guard. Luckily, Leonie was able to hear the ruckus and brought the professor in time to prevent him from getting into any further trouble.

With skilled healers like Marianne and Lysithea around, the injuries weren’t anything to fret over. Since he was brought back and treated quickly, the blond brawler turned out fine. Their main issue was how far back on supplies that put the army. Raphael and Leonie were the only ones capable of gathering any decent amount of firewood, so the professor insisted they stay behind.

That left Lorenz, Ignatz, Marianne, Claude, and Hilda. Marianne qualified for a position as their best healer, so it was definitely a safer bet to keep her at the monastery in case anything went awry. Naturally, Hilda didn’t want to do any work, so Teach sent Lorenz and himself on the Red Canyon mission while Ignatz received a list of items to find in the marketplace. Something about not risking the death or capture of their noble figureheads by imperial ambush.

Nice to know she cared, in her own way.

Not that it mattered to Claude, anyway. The better he could watch over you, the more reassured he would feel. He wasn’t the biggest fan of you heading anywhere too far from him in the hellscape Fodlan had become. Sure, he knew you could handle yourself…

Claude just didn’t know how he would handle himself if anything really did happen to you.

Upon the group’s arrival, the leader of the Golden Deer insisted on doing a small reconnaissance check. He flew up into the clouds, looking across the canyon to spot a bird and a crest beast of notable size. Not bad, but it wasn’t going to be quick, either.

“Alright, it doesn’t look like much. The four of us should do just fine,” he declared.

Lorenz craned his neck to glare at him, “It would be far more helpful if you could actually inform us of our opponents.”

“Yeah,” Lysithea shouted, “how are we meant to form a plan if you keep fooling around up there?”

“Quiet down and be patient, will you? You’ll attract their attention,” Claude hushed. “There are only two. One of them is a bird, which I’m pretty sure I can handle myself.”

“And the other?” you pressed.

“We’re not dealing with a lightweight, I can tell you that much.”

He watched as the three of you looked to the bridge you were meant to approach. Sitting peacefully on it was a crest beast of a slightly larger size than the one you faced here half a decade ago.

“Listen up! Here’s what we’re going to do. Lorenz, you’ll ride onto the bridge and attract its attention. Veer to one side to get it to move towards you.”

“Let me guess,” you started, “you want me on its other side?”

Claude nodded, “Yep. Lysithea, you stay near the entrance of the bridge. It should be wide enough to fit both of the others if you three can keep diverting its attention by varying the timing of your attacks.”

He waited a moment for any objections or complaints. Hearing none, he began to fly towards the canyon mouth.

“Lorenz, make sure you wait until after I attract the other one’s attention. This won’t work if it notices you guys, first.”

Flying out of earshot before Lorenz could retort, the Almyran Prince moved steadily towards his target. It was a careful process, though; he couldn’t risk garnering the attention of the other beast.

“Hey!” he shouted. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here! Now's your chance to leave before things get ugly!”

The avian monster roared at him in response, flapping its wings faster in aggression.

“Suit yourself.”

His task would have been easier if his friends could help, but he knew you needed all the help you could get to fight the creature on that bridge. Honestly, even with three people, you all were still liable to struggle more than he did.

As more and more arrows lodged themselves into his opponent, Claude maneuvered in a way that allowed him to check on your progress. His plan was going flawlessly, it seemed. You were on the side of the bridge closest to him, with Lorenz on the far side of the beast and Lysithea attacking from the bridge’s mouth.

But observing wasn’t helping anyone. It was time to get in there and do some damage, himself.

Claude shifted his gaze from just past the bird to its left wing. There were enough arrows in it already that he knew a clean shot would prevent it from flapping properly. Then, the only thing left would be to watch it descend into the abyss of the canyon.

“Let’s finish this!”

Easily, he nocked an arrow onto his bow and pulled the string taut. The release sent it flying into the bird’s arm, giving him the result he was looking for.

Well…not quite.

Perhaps he should have paid a bit more attention to where he was positioned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claude's plan was working much more effectively than you originally thought it would. The best part was how cooperative everyone was about it. You had never seen Lorenz and Lysithea so focused outside of battle.

Anytime someone would attack, the others would take it upon themselves to shout as loudly as possible. The behemoth became so confused that it could hardly decide on who to fight, let alone who to defend from.

Lysithea’s placement was more fortunate than you had originally realized, what with her blocking off the only visible exit. In the heat of the moment, it seemed your attacker had forgotten about the escape route directly behind it.

Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed.

Once the mage had taken her turn, it was Lorenz’s time to take a stab. The crest beast moved away from you, approaching the violet noble only to freeze at Lysithea’s loud shouts.

But as something slammed into the bridge not two feet away from you, you couldn’t help but omit a scream of your own. Its impact shook the bridge, and you lost your footing.

“AH- WHAT-?!”

Only when you had fallen to your knees did you look to the side, watching as the bird that had fallen next to you was shot in the eye. It was dead now; Claude had done his part.

Lorenz and Lysithea called out your name in concern, and the attention placed onto you seemed to intrigue the beast the three of you were fighting.

You could have sworn Lorenz had shouted some insult toward Claude (something about being careless?) but you didn’t hear. There were more important things you needed to process at the moment. However, your biggest concern was not the crest beast making its way toward you, though you suddenly wished it was.

No, you were more focused on the cracks beginning to form around your knees on the bridge.

It seemed that architecture built thousands of years ago was not built to withstand such a hit. All you wanted was to get off the unstable structure, but each time you tried to get up or move, you could feel the fissures spread.

“Get off the bridge! RIGHT NOW!” you shouted, desperate to at least save your friends, “QUICKLY!”

They followed your orders without much thought, and you were certain it was only thanks to their position that they made it anywhere in time. Lorenz was on a horse and traveled faster while Lysithea was mere steps away from solid ground.

You had no such hope, though. Not with the demonic beast making matters worse with each step in your direction.

What were you meant to do? Shout at it in hopes to confuse or scare it? That would be ridiculous; you weren’t even a tenth of the size of that thing!

Unfortunately, the only thing your voice did was grow smaller. You pleaded with it, knowing well that it was fruitless. The monster couldn’t understand you, and it didn’t know enough to save its own life, either.

You were effectively trapped. If it attacked or came too close, you would fall. Any attempts to escape it by moving on the crumbling bridge would condemn you to the same fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since you yelled at the other Golden Deer, Claude had been paying close attention to your predicament.

The wyvern rider had been trying to come up with some solution to get you out of there, but not all roads lead to Garreg Mach, apparently. Distracting the beast wasn’t an option since he figured out you were on unstable ground (a story told by the fact you weren’t running away). Not only would any approach on his part rile the beast, but he’d inevitably be too far away to help you if something went wrong.

He knew he had no chance of swooping in to pick you up, either. The monster would probably panic if he saw another beast and a rider. It wasn’t as though he could land to let you mount safely, either.

Stress and fear were overtaking his ability to think straight. Claude had no plan, and the worst part was that he knew he was the cause of all this. The best he could think of was to wait for you to fall from a safe distance away, then diving in for the save.

But then he remembered. A conversation from many years ago stored in the back of his mind.

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“I’m not afraid of heights, I’m afraid of falling.”

Instantly, he hated himself for it. He knew he was out of time and he hated himself for it. What sort of leader, what kind of friend, would just sit back and watch as someone that would call him such titles faced their greatest fear? A fear that was confessed to him several years ago and likely had not changed, for that matter?

He watched anyway, though. It was all he could do as the beast approached you, damning you with every step.

When his eyes turned to you, though, he knew you hadn’t gotten over your fear. You knew what would come next, and the signs of panic and fear without acceptance were setting into your form.

Your own eyes were looking all around, taking in the beast in front of you, the cracks on the bridge, the end of the bridge that you had no chance of escaping to…

As the wretched thing came ever closer, Claude leaned forward on his wyvern, placing a hand on its neck to warn it of his incoming command.

A claw was raised, and once it came down, you dodged forward past it.

The bridge began to collapse at the impact of the missed attack, bringing the beast down with it.

Not you, though. Not yet. He flew closer with his wyvern as fast as he could as you fought for your life against the collapsing structure, running as fast as you could muster.

But it was clear that your plates were weighing you down, and when you lost your footing and joined the descending rubble, he dove in hopes of saving you.

Your scream would find its way into his nightmares for a long time after.

The catch wasn’t pretty; Claude had to practically slam into you at an angle to safely slow your momentum.

Once he could get enough air back to his lungs to process his surroundings, he registered your arms clinging to him for dear life. Your breaths were coming at a rapid pace, but the Duke of Riegan couldn’t have been more thankful for it.

“I’m so sorry,” Claude managed. He needed you to know; he would never forgive himself if you didn’t. “I’ve got you, now. I promise I will never let you fall again.”

You were alive. You were safe.

You were crying.

“Ah-” for once, he had no idea what to say. He had made a similar promise five years ago, hadn’t he? So really, what were his words worth?

He settled for using his actions, instead. Claude wrapped his arm around you, placing his free hand on your head and holding you to his chest.

It only lasted for a moment, though. That’s all he allowed himself before he returned his arm to where it was, both of you flying high enough to get over the cliff.

The two of you landed, Lorenz abandoning his horse and Lysithea running to you while you both practically fell off the wyvern. Claude felt you let go of him and roll over, attracting his notice as he watched you cough up blood onto the ground. 

Apparently, the impact between you two that had stopped your momentum induced its own form of shock into himself. He barely felt Lorenz when the knight practically pulled him off you. Lysithea needed space in order to heal you properly, after all.

She laid you down flat on your back, hovering her hands over different areas but focusing mostly on your upper body.

Your chest and your head. You really were lucky, then.

Once her overall evaluation was done and a bit of magic was used, she announced, “Her body seems fine at a surface level, but I promise she’s much worse than you think. It’s a miracle she's still able to move properly!”

Lorenz released him as Claude regained control of his own body, getting up and moving ever so slightly closer to check on you “Can you hear us alright? How do you feel?”

You coughed once more after you incoherently moved to sit up, “...I…what? This isn’t…”

Claude thought back on the past events in a panic, “Hey, you didn’t actually hit your head, right?”

“No…no…it’s fine,” that wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear. “I just…I think I need a moment.”

As it turned out, a moment was all it took for your form to go limp.

Lysithea rushed forward, checking your pulse and the area in front of your nose and mouth, “She- she’s passed out.”

“Well then,” Lorenz thought, “I believe our next best option would be to head back to the monastery. It would do no good to remain out here.”

The mage knelt beside you, “Can you stand guard for a moment, first? I want to make sure she’s stable before we head back.”

After her quick once-over on you (and on him, as per her insistence), the group finally seemed ready to head back. To return as soon as possible, Lysithea rode on the back of Lorenz’s horse as Claude made sure to secure you in front of him on his wyvern. Altogether, the four of you headed back to Garreg Mach in hopes of getting you some proper rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn’t scream.

You were falling, the rubble of stone far older than your family name joining your descent.

It was terrifying. There was nothing you could do. All that was left for you was to wait for the end. For the surface of whatever waited at the bottom of the canyon.

Maybe you couldn’t scream because, deep down, you knew no one would save you.

Only, you swore you remembered screaming. Your throat hurt.

…hurt…? You didn’t feel anything.

While your thoughts were busy muddling together, you only grew more restless and confused.

It was only when you felt something slam into your chest that you awoke in a panic.

“H-help! I’m falling! I…I don’t-” you panted, your eyes scanning your surroundings for anything that made sense-

“Easy there. You’re alright,” a familiar voice called to you.

Slowly, your body allowed itself to take everything in. This was the old medical ward in the monastery. You were on one of the beds, and from what you could see, you were the only one in the room.

“...what…?” you suddenly felt dizzy, even more disoriented than before.

Arms from behind you coaxed you back down onto the bed. On your way down, you caught a glimpse of a face to which you couldn’t match a name.

“Seriously?” he must have noticed you didn’t recognize him. Or maybe it was the confusion in your blank expression. “After everything you put me through, you’re gonna act like you don’t remember me?”

Act? Was this his idea of a prank?

You watched as his green eyes lost their playful glint, a look of concern slipping into place.

“Hey, come on. You do remember me, right?”

“I know you, but I don’t…” you hesitated, not quite sure how to put it, “...your name…”

“I’d go get Lysithea, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone in this state.”

“Lysithea…” some distant parts of your memory resurfaced at the name. “She was with me on the bridge. It was her, me, Lorenz, and…you.”

He nodded, “I still can’t believe you remember Lorenz and not me. Not that it’s any easier to believe how he and I got assigned to help you, in the first place.”

Was this…a test? No matter, you didn’t think your memories from before the incident were tainted.

Well, not that much, anyway. You felt like you would remember a bit more about the person you were talking to if you could recall everything from before.

“Yeah, thank goodness Professor chose the two of you to join us after Raphael got hurt. I don’t think anyone without a horse would have gotten out from the middle of the bridge in time.”

Your friend(?) gave a dry laugh at that, “I suppose it was lucky, in some twisted way. I doubt I could have saved you both.”

“I think your reckless actions were the reason we found ourselves in such a mess.”

“Ouch! Even when you’ve forgotten all about me, you still know how to lecture me.”

“For lack of better term, I remember you ‘fundamentally’. It’s just your name that eludes me.”

He raised a brow in challenge, “Oh yeah? Prove it, then. What am I like?”

A different kind of test, you thought. That was fine, you supposed. It wouldn’t hurt him to know what a friend thought of him.

You just hoped saying these things wouldn’t hurt your future self.

“Well, you aren’t the most loyal, nor are you always honest. At least, not from what I remember seeing of you. Sometimes, you don’t think things through all the way, despite the fact you call yourself a schemer. It’s as though…you’re too busy living in the present to ever truly learn from your past, I think. You become too blinded by the good you might do to see the harm behind your actions.”

You noticed he didn’t really have anything to say to that. Did you mess up?

His expression changed, and he gave what you classified as a “knowing smirk”, but some part of you felt certain he wasn’t as pleasantly amused as he pretended to be.

“Can you give me some examples?”

Enough with the tests, you thought. Haven’t I shown that I know enough?

“Just now, with the bird. I’m certain you thought you were doing a good thing by killing it and rushing over to help us, but you didn’t think it through. You could have positioned yourself better, or you could have trusted us to keep it at bay long enough for you to do your own job properly.”

“That’s why I have you though, right? You’re here to let me know when I mess up, and how to make everything that much better in the initial stages of planning.”

The sheets you were lying on suddenly fascinated you as you twisted them between your fingers, “No, you don’t really need me for those kinds of things. Honestly, I’m certain you could do all those things yourself if you just applied everything a little better. You’re charismatic and cunning; you have no problems recruiting others and getting them to follow you.”

A small laugh left you at that, “It’s easy for people to want to stay when you’re so good at what you do. You’ve succeeded far more than you’ve failed, and that was even before you let me in to help you.”

“Oh? And can you give me some examples of that?”

Now your laughter fell from your lips in a larger amount as you swatted at him, looking up from the sheet, “I can’t stroke your ego too much, Claude! You’d never let me hear the end of it!”

“So you do remember my name!” he teased. “Honestly, you hurt me a little, there. There’s pulling a prank, and then there’s being just plain mean.”

You supposed you did recall, now. It was strange how many memories and emotions were attached to a name, and how much forgetting one could affect you and those around you.

Your expression turned somber as you began to realize the gravity of your previous situation. You could have died, or you could have forgotten everyone you loved. Even just failing to remember Claude was a horrible thought.

“I never meant to forget you. I would apologize, but looking back, I don’t know what I would be apologizing for. That whole time on the bridge…I just did what I thought was right.”

“That’s because it was my fault, as much as I hate admitting it. I should have been more aware of my surroundings. I got the three of you into quite a bit of trouble.” he grimaced ever so minutely, you almost thought you imagined it. Before you could think too hard on it, he continued, “If things went any worse, I probably could have handed my head to the emperor, myself.”

“Well, as much as she might appreciate the thought, I’m not prepared to let you give up, yet,” you smiled.

“Sure,” Claude grinned as he stood, likely to go fetch Lysithea, “but don’t you dare think I’m planning on it. Once you recover, you can help me work toward making sure nothing like this ever happens again.”

You gave a curt nod at that, and Claude waited a moment longer before finally leaving you alone.

It seemed your greatest lessons were learned at the worst times, but with him at your side, you were sure you could manage to stay one step ahead of misfortune. It was better to be taught by crest beasts than by the Emperor or her advisors, you supposed.

So as you shut your eyes on your pillow in the empty room, you assured yourself there wouldn’t be a next time. Lysithea could heal the bruises, but she couldn’t take away the experience and what you gained from it.

That mistake was just another shadow to be eliminated before the new dawn could come. You had no doubt you would get there, but first, you needed to end this war.

[bouwrites]

Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 58

Blood of the Eagle and Lion

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

Veery doesn’t expect Claude to be happy when he and Lysithea give their report on what happens in Ordelia territory with Dimitri. And he is not. Every new word that comes from Lysithea’s lips makes Claude’s scowl deepen until he lands on a face that Veery doesn’t think he ever sees on Claude before.

When all is said, Claude takes a long, slow, deep breath. “I heard from Judith about a group flying House Blaiddyd’s banner, but… damn it. If we could have gotten Dimitri on our side…”

“He’s unstable,” Lysithea says flatly, no happier to say it than anyone else present is to hear it. “I’m sorry, Claude. I would have liked to bring them here, too, but I had to make a call, and I have to put this campaign first.”

“No,” Claude sighs, “I understand. I’m not angry with you. Either of you. I’m just… I just wish the news weren’t so dire.”

“He needs help,” Professor Byleth says. Her jaw is tense, lips drawn into a firm line. She’s angry. Veery grabs his tail and sinks a little into himself. “We can help him. You should have brought him here, not left him alone.”

“With all due respect, Teach,” Lysithea says, head likewise lowered, “we’re at war. We can’t afford that kind of unnecessary risk. Especially not at such a critical moment in our campaign.” She hugs herself for a moment, then quietly adds, “I want him to be okay, too, but you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgement.”

“It’s not the choice you would have made, Teach,” Claude says diplomatically. “Honestly, I’m not even sure it’s the choice I would have made. But it’s been done, and they didn’t completely abandon him. They left him with Ingrid, Felix, and Sir Gilbert, and did all they could to help Dimitri get better. For now, all we can do is believe in Ingrid and the others and trust that they’ll manage to reach Dimitri before they do anything stupid.”

Professor Byleth frowns at the map on the table between them. As her hair falls to shroud her eyes, she says, “We’ll be seeing him soon, anyway. I’ll save him then.”

Claude eyes the map, too. “At Gronder Field, you mean? …Yes, that seems likely. Even if they’re crossing the Airmid in Ordelia, if they want to reach Enbarr to get at Edelgard, the easiest way would be to come back this way. Besides, a massive army is gathering at Fort Merceus, possibly led by Edelgard herself. If they hear wind of that, there’s almost no doubt at all that we’ll see Dimitri at Gronder Field when we engage the Empire.”

Veery hopes not. Claude and Professor Byleth are absolutely right, of course, but Veery still hopes not. Even if Dimitri does start listening to his friends over the voices in his head after their meeting, he cannot be nearly well enough to throw himself into battle again.

Warring, especially in a battle like what they’re expecting, especially when the object of his obsession may be present and within reach, will only worsen his condition. For Dimitri’s sake, Veery hopes vainly that he will grow sense and retire from the war, at least for now.

“That’s a few days out yet, though. While we wait for the last of our reinforcements, Lysithea, Veery, you’re dismissed. If you want to help draw battle plans, you’re welcome to, but otherwise rest up. Once we begin, we won’t have much opportunity to rest until we take Fort Merceus.”

“I’ll help,” Lysithea says. “We spent nearly this whole month at rest already.”

“That’s clearly a lie,” Veery groans. “You spent all month organizing spies and fretting over the next battles.”

“True, but I did so under no serious pressure. Remember, us humans are used to sleeping through the night and working all day. Just because I’m not napping doesn’t mean I’m not rested.”

Veery goes to retort but then realizes that he does sometimes forget that. He knows it consciously, of course, but still when he sees Lysithea regularly working before he settles down to nap and working when he wakes up and he starts growing concerned.

But if Lysithea says so…

Claude laughs at him, understanding the mistake, but Veery tries to ignore him. He shakes his head and says, “Well, I’m going to take a nap. See you later.”

He’ll leave the planning to Claude, Teach, and Lysithea. They’re good at that, anyway.

Only a few days later, the time for battle has come.

The army is gathered on the Empire side of the Great Bridge of Myrddin, organized, and given their orders. Then, they march.

It’s not far to Gronder Field, where they expect the Empire to meet them. In fact, it’s so close that, when they set off, Veery is frowning at the sky, anticipating what is to come. This fog will make fighting more difficult. If they don’t find Dimitri before it starts, there’s a good chance the limited visibility will lead to a few skirmishes between Faerghus and the resistance in the midst of the fighting. Everyone is briefed, of course, so that kind of situation will hopefully be avoided, but Chaos is powerful.

On the bright side, it will allow them to move their army closer to Gronder Field without giving away that now is the time of invasion. Edelgard is already preparing her massive army to meet them, but the timing can still be advantageous. Or, that’s what Claude says, anyway.

Speaking of Claude, he’s quiet ever since hearing about Dimitri. Professor Byleth doesn’t speak much, usually, if she has nothing to say, but she hardly looks at Veery or Lysithea since their report. It feels very much like they’re being chastised, even though she is not actually saying anything.

Because of that, and because of their previous venture to Ordelia together, Lysithea continues to spend a lot of time with Veery. They continue their work in Ordelia, attempting to decipher anything they can on Crests, Crest Stones, the effects they have on the body, and the Agarthans as a whole. Between that, training, and resting, they have quite busy schedules.

And they don’t have to deal with Claude and Professor Byleth’s disappointment. It’s easier to focus on work than it is to watch their leaders struggle to try to find a way to get Dimitri on their side, when it’s them who push Dimitri away to begin with.

But Veery stands by his decision, as does Lysithea. He thinks, perhaps, they could have found a better way to test it, admittedly, but he is firm in his belief that Dimitri is too dangerous and should not be accepted into this resistance force.

The few days between their report and the start of their march feels like years, and Veery knows there’s a schism here now. It hurts almost as much as he expects, but marching to battle is not the proper time to linger on this fracture.

It’s not hostile, at least, but it is quiet. Ordinarily, Veery appreciates the quiet, but from Claude – when Veery knows the quiet is because Claude doesn’t quite know what to say beyond what’s relevant to the war – it feels exceptionally lonely.

Lysithea doesn’t say it aloud – that she feels the same way – but she shrinks into herself as well, and sticks close to Veery’s side. He doesn’t complain because he feels a little better to be alongside the one other person in the same situation right now.

“Lysithea, Veery,” Claude calls to them as they walk. They slow to match his pace and ask what he needs. Claude frowns, eyeing them both with… something far off before he shakes the expression away and gets down to business. “I don’t like this fog. It reminds me too much of Magdred Way five years ago.”

“The Gaspard Rebellion?” Lysithea hums. “No, I don’t believe so. This fog feels natural, and it’s the right season to find it in this area.”

“I think so too,” Veery says. “Active magic like that makes my skin crawl. And it’s still early morning. It’ll probably burn way by the afternoon.”

Claude runs a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m just being paranoid. If that’s the case, though, our enemies are subject to the same conditions. Once we get into place, we’ll just have to wait for the fog to clear up.”

“With everything shrouded by fog until the moment we start,” Lysithea says, “it’s hard to predict this fight. There’s no way to know what will happen.”

“There never is,” Veery says. “Just stay calm and survive.”

“Of course,” Claude says. “Always.”

They walk in silence – awkward silence, which makes Veery shuffle anxiously, wanting to just step away but not wanting to be obvious about it. Only after some time of this does Claude audibly sigh and purposefully slow down himself, quickly dropping back away from Veery and Lysithea.

Veery shares an understanding look with Lysithea, brows furrowed as they cast surreptitious glances back to Claude and, joining him, Professor Byleth. (She does not even try to approach while Claude is still near Veery, he notices, and that is a knife to his heart.)

Neither Veery nor Lysithea utter a word.

Everyone is in position. With Edelgard no doubt already perched on the hill and holding the southwest towards Merceus and Enbarr, Dimitri possibly approaching from the east, and Claude commanding their own forces approaching from the north, Veery can’t help but be reminded that these are the same positions they fought in years ago during the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.

Of course, Veery was not a part of that battle. He was in the healing tent. Or, outside of it, anyway. Funny how that works – he seriously doubts anyone here today would refuse healing from him just because he’s inhuman.

And he remembers talking to Dimitri that day. The Blue Lions were the first to be defeated, and Dimitri refused to enter the healing tent, instead insisting on Veery tending to him despite his lack of experience, all because he was offended for Veery, unable to suffer the injustice of prejudice. Ironically, at the time, Veery didn’t even think twice about it.

And now, what are they fighting for? Veery, to protect a land that is not his home, all for a hope of one day building an Arcadia where that prejudice which Dimitri cannot accept no longer exists, and Dimitri… for what?

Maybe Veery really does make a mistake. Waning nostalgic like this, remembering the Dimitri of their academy days, tugs at the heavy, hanging doubt in Veery’s chest. Dimitri is one of the people who protected Veery, back when Veery was too new, too unfamiliar, and too scared to protect himself from what he viewed as inevitable.

It’s not inevitable for Dimitri. That’s why it outrages him. That injustice is something he can’t let stand, and he protests it because he is capable of imagining a world without it. And that’s good, until it leads him to where he is today.

“The fog isn’t clearing up…” Caub murmurs, gaze so far into the thick blanket around them that he cannot possibly hope to see anything. “How’s your nose working?”

Veery hums and tests it, even though he knows already how useful it will be. “No good,” he says. “Too wet.”

Caub stands by Veery’s side. “Are you worried about Dimitri?”

Veery cringes, and the thick fog weighs heavier on his lungs. “I’m just… reminiscing.”

Caub hums gently. “That’s right, all of your academy houses had a battle here once, didn’t you? Leonie mentioned it. It sounded like it was kind of a big deal.”

“The biggest mock battle of a student’s academy days,” Veery says. “Winning is apparently very prestigious, or something. I don’t know; the competition never made sense to me.”

“Of course, it doesn’t,” Caub chuckles. “I get it, though. You know I can be competitive sometimes. How’d you do, back then?”

Veery takes hold of his tail in both hands. “I didn’t fight. I wasn’t technically enrolled, so I was hired as an assistant healer. But the Golden Deer won.” It was close, though, if Veery’s memory is correct.

After a short moment of quiet, Caub tosses one arm over Veery’s shoulders and squeezes him gently. “Veery…” He sighs, then switches to Albinean, for the sake of the soldiers close enough to overhear. “I know what’s really bothering you. And it’s going to be okay. Trust me, every time you’re together with Claude, I’m jealous of how much you trust each other.”

Trust. Veery laughs hollowly. “But did I just break that trust?”

“Why would it? You did what you thought was best for this army. Claude knows better than anyone that- that sometimes, you have to make sacrifices. He’s in charge of this whole thing. I’m sure he’s been making hard decisions that we haven’t even thought of.

“And he trusts your judgement. With Lysithea backing you up, that’s doubly true. He’s upset because Dimitri is his friend. He doesn’t know what to say because he’s conflicted. He wants Dimitri with him, but he knows you’re right. But he’s not angry at you, and you didn’t break his trust. You just made a decision he’s not sure he would have agreed with, and Claude, of all people, would not lose trust in you just because you disagree.” Caub gently nudges the edge of Veery’s lips with a knuckle. “Smile. Give him time and he’ll be begging to nap in your fur again.”

Veery does smile. “Maybe. But… What about Teach?”

Even Caub’s smile drops. “Honestly… I can’t read her at all. I don’t know a thing about her. But what I do know is that you’re precious to her. You’re as precious to her as you are to me, and so I know that she won’t stay mad at you – if she even is. She may just be angry with the situation, not at you in particular.”

“It feels like she’s mad at me. Or… maybe worse. Disappointed.”

“Teachers are like that,” Caub grins. “I mixed up some herbs once and accidentally ended up ruining Yrsa’s whole stock. You won’t believe how bad that woman can make you feel with just a look. I swear it’s magic.”

Despite it all, Caub drags another smile out of Veery. “It is something like that, huh?”

“And who knows,” Caub says. “Maybe, if we see Dimitri today, he’ll be a little better. It’s not too late to ally wit-”

A commotion interrupts Caub, snapping both of their attentions to the source of the noise. They’re far enough away that the fog blocks any visual, but it doesn’t take long to rectify that.

“Calm down, Dimitri!” A familiar voice shouts. “What does it achieve, us killing each other here?”

Shit. Veery gets just close enough to see Areadbhar’s sinister glow when he hears Dimitri’s response. “Move, Claude. I have no time to exchange words with you.”

“Don’t fight us, Dimitri,” Professor Byleth says calmly. “Wait with us until the fog clears, then we can fight Edelgard together.”

Dimitri scoffs and does not lower Areadbhar. “If you wish for her head, too, then join the fight. But I will not wait for you.” His eye turns to Veery, emerging from the fog, and Caub at Veery’s side. “You!” Dimitri roars. “What did you do? Where is Father? Where is Glenn?”

Surprisingly, despite the pained fury in his voice, Dimitri doesn’t move to approach or attack.

Caub gapes for just a moment before collecting himself. “I helped you see the proper place of things for a while. That’s all.”

Something unreadable writes itself across Dimitri’s face. “…Will they return?”

“Without continued treatments? Yes.”

Dimitri lowers Areadbhar, leaning on it like a walking stick. His eye stares into the distance at nothing. “…I have not been able to think this clearly in a long time… This silence…”

“It’s okay, Dimitri,” Claude says gently. “You don’t have to carry that weight anymore. We can help you.”

“Please, Your Highness,” Ingrid, who Veery barely noticed standing next to Felix and Sir Gilbert, “listen to him. We can fight the Empire together.”

“I…” Dimitri shakes his head like a dog. “No… This is mine to bear. Even if the dead have no will… I will be their will for them. I chose this path – not Father, not Glenn, not Stepmother… Even if they cannot speak to me any longer, my path remains the same.”

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Felix groans. With a glance to Veery and Caub, he says, “We tried. Thought we were getting somewhere for a moment. Then he heard Edelgard might be here at this battle and it all just fell apart.”

“If you all wish to hide like cowards in this fog, then hide. I will hunt,” Dimitri growls, already picking himself up to continue stalking towards Gronder Field.

“You only have to wait a few hours at most.” Claude protests. Only his agility and grace keep him from tripping over himself trying to keep up with Dimitri. “But going alone is suicide.”

“I will not fall,” Dimitri says. “Not until her head is removed from her shoulders.”

“Be realistic, Dimitri,” Professor Byleth pleads. “You cannot fight this large of a force on your own. Even with the Sword of the Creator, I couldn’t hope to do this by myself.”

“The time for waiting is over. Edelgard is too close. If you mean to stop me, I’ll kill you, too.”

Professor Byleth stops dead in her tracks, looking completely heartbroken as Dimitri trudges on beyond her. “Dimitri…”

“What now?” Felix sighs. “I’m not following him to my death. If he can’t be stopped, I’ll break off here, join the resistance army instead.”

“Felix!” Ingrid protests. “We cannot abandon His Highness! Even if it means dying for him.”

Sir Gilbert, slower than the rest, catches up with them and quickly assesses the situation. “Byleth, Claude… I hesitate to ask something so significant of you, but…”

“You want us to strike now,” Claude says grimly. “Dimitri… it seems like he’s at least aware enough that he won’t kill us if we join the battle alongside him. Still, that’s a huge risk, and the fog…”

“I understand if I am asking too much of you,” Sir Gilbert says. “But for His Highness’ sake, I must.”

“Let’s do it,” Professor Byleth says firmly. Her eyes find Claude’s. “I won’t let Dimitri die. If you won’t charge, I will. He’s not going in alone.”

Claude sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really going to force my hand like this, aren’t you? It’s not as if I’m completely against it, but… well, I suppose there’s no time for indecision. Fine. We’ll attack now. Give the signal, Teach.”

Now? They really mean to attack now? Damn it, Dimitri! This is why Veery can’t trust him in this army! This is why he and Lysithea make the call that they do! Sure, he doesn’t kill anyone on their side, but his erratic behavior is leading them to fight in this fog, which will surely lead to more death and injury than a battle in fair conditions would.

And this battle is already shaping up to be a bad one.

Cursing, Veery runs with Caub to their positions. Claude hopes to take advantage of their mountain-dweller sure-footedness and set them upon the central hill, which means that Veery’s group is essentially leading the charge into the most dangerous area of the field.

(Ordinarily, Veery might question it. But really, he feels like maybe it’s Claude’s punishment. Not that that means he accepts it, but someone has to take the hill.)

They move swiftly, stealing through the fog, doing all they can to turn the terrain to their advantage rather than against them. Unlike Veery, Caub, Hoarvug, and Sadi are unfamiliar with the area, so the fog is even more perilous. But they follow him without question, trusting him to know where he’s going.

An earth-shaking crash appears behind them, and moments later the fog glows orange (and the damn fog makes it impossible to pinpoint the source of that light). A few minutes later, while Veery is still picking his way closer to the hill, all senses on alert, picking up the first hints of smoke over the oppressive damp in the air, there’s another crash from behind them.

Screams.

It’s probably the ballista. Aiming in this should be impossible, but if whoever is on it is just throwing fire far enough that it has to be beyond enemy lines… Then Veery, at least, is safe from it. He can’t waste time worrying about everyone else.

Ethereal orange glow in the fog disorients like will-o-the-wisps drawing them off course. It takes so much of Veery’s focus just to maintain the map of Gronder Field in his mind through the fog and fighting that he almost stumbles right into an Imperial knight’s axe.

Sadi saves him by catching their attention so that Hoarvug can leap and, together with Caub and Veery, overwhelm the poor knight.

Then, Veery has to reorient himself and hope he hasn’t lost track of where he’s going.

It takes longer than it should, not because they move at all slowly – though their allies, for the sheer number of soldiers alongside them, do slow them down – but because they actually wander into the more forested area of the east before switching gears and finally finding their way to where they should be.

Five years ago, Veery tells Edelgard that the forest is where he’d be. It’s where he has the greatest chance of survival. He’s adapted to guerrilla warfare. Ambush and the hunt. Not open battle, and certainly not an uphill one.

It’s with a deep, fleeting sense of longing with which Veery turns his back on the forest and ventures to where he now knows the hill to be.

(Someone has to take out that ballista, because even blind shots can destroy their army if the Empire is lucky enough. This is what Claude is trusting him to do. Something deep and desperate within Veery screams that he cannot fail Claude’s trust here. If he messes up, if he steps out of line again or fails to prove his usefulness… Not while Claude is already doubting him. Not while Teach is already doubting him.)

When the grass turns to old wooden planks and the flat field turns into an incline and the scattered soldiers around him turn into a packed force, Veery knows he’s in the right place. He fights his way all the way to the top. A slow, steady ascent through waves upon waves of opposition.

Then he finally sees the ballista through the fog, and next to it, operating the controls…

Bernadetta.

Veery chokes sharply as his throat seizes shut at the sight of her. Little Bernadetta. Scared, trembling, cowering Bernie.

She looks so strong now.

It’s stupid. It’s the stupidest thing possible to feel here on this hill, in this bloodbath, staring down an old friend, the timid little girl who is a second away from loosing her arrow into his eye. It’s so stupid that, when he sees her, his chest puffs up with pride.

She is so strong, now. That look in her eyes as she trains her bow on Veery… it’s scared, yes, but it’s brave.

Oh, Bernie. Flashing through his head, Veery sees the scant few times he really interacts with her. Five years ago, she is so frightened of him that those moments are rare, but even so he remembers them. Adjusting her by the fire so she won’t get cold after she faints because he accidentally scares her. Walking with her to the ball, where he doesn’t even get a chance to dance with her because she taps out long before the Golden Deer release Veery from the dance floor.

She sees him. She steps off the ballista, preparing herself to face her enemies head-on. “Veery. I’m sorry,” Bernadetta says, voice hard, but not cold. And not trembling. “But this is war.”

He understands. There are no hard feelings. Not from Veery. He’s going to try to kill her, too. This is war, after all.

Veery has to admit, he had hoped that, if it comes to facing an old friend like this, he will at least be able to frighten off Bernadetta. He can be quite intimidating when he wants to be, after all, and Bernadetta has always been afraid of him. Maybe, if he scares her enough, she will put down her bow and choose not to fight.

But these are not the eyes of someone who will be cowed. Bernadetta is stronger than that, now. It’s a shame that her growth will lead to her death, but Veery finds himself proud of her all the same. From one coward to another, who have both found themselves lionhearted on the battlefield, Veery has only respect and admiration for this girl in front of him.

The white flames of Abraxas lap at Veery’s lips. She apologizes to him, wishing for no hard feelings. Veery would do the same, but… maybe it’s Claude’s influence, or maybe it’s just Veery’s own pragmatic view on death, but it doesn’t matter much. If she wants to hate Veery for what he’s about to do, then that’s okay. He will accept that hatred. It is not undeserved.

And once she is dead, it won’t matter.

Bernadetta’s arrow flies. Veery does not flinch. He already knows that Caub is there to deflect it with his shield. Hoarvug barrels towards her, but Bernadetta is not the same Bernadetta from five years ago at the academy. She faces the massive golden lion without hesitation.

It’s a distraction. Veery releases Abraxas. A massive pillar of pure white flame erupts around him as he leaps ahead of his line, into the enemies. Bernadetta, by the skin of her teeth, bats Hoarvug away with her bow and slips out of range of Veery’s spell, but she is not his aim, anyway.

No, Veery’s pounce is not on the commander here on this hill, but on the ballista. He lands aside the wooden contraption and brings his spell down as hard as he can, trying in all his effort to recreate the scorching sea of Brigid after it is touched by the flames of Ragnarök.

And then, because this is the Empire, led in this battle not only by Edelgard herself, but more of the old Black Eagles, and thus Veery knows that a dazzling display and the loss of the ballista will not be enough to break these platoons’ ranks, Veery tears through space itself, using Rewarp, to land right on the armored helmets of the poor fools just past the crest of the hill.

No matter how orderly and well-trained these men are, no one will react with grace to a flaming, teleporting, predator like him. Simply jumping in to destroy the ballista, sure, they can handle it, but when he jumps in a heartbeat from the ballista to behind their lines?

Veery can only smile, because this is the selfsame pandemonium that wins Claude the Battle of the Eagle and Lion so long ago. Chaos favors the Deer. Veery isn’t sure when he realizes that, but he can only conclude it to be true. And Veery is very much one of the Golden Deer.

The Empire quickly loses its hold on the hill. It only takes a moment. A moment when the Empire’s line breaks, when they’re distracted, and there is Leonie. There is Raphael. There is Lorenz, with Lysithea, Thyrsus thrumming, to capitalize on that break and shatter the force here completely.

Veery supports Sadi. Her opponent is Bernadetta, still fighting despite the chaos, wickedly dangerous with a thin blade. Bernadetta’s bow is broken, and from the stinging, bloody line on Hoarvug’s leg, he snaps it and gets the string in retaliation. Her quiver is fallen, cut off from the same swipe that leaves her with a gash on her hip.

But Sadi and Hoarvug are hurt, too. Bernadetta is not someone to be overrun and underestimated, as she has proven. Veery, with Caub ever at his side, jump in to assist. Bernadetta may be strong, strong enough, even, to hold out against a pair of agell, but not for long.

Bernadetta knows this. Veery can see it in her eyes. He hears it, when she murmurs, “Wish I could have at least died at home… not in this big, stupid field…”

All the same, she raises her blade, prepared to accept that death for the person she trusts the most. And that is where Bernadetta and Veery are different. Even for Claude, even for Caub, Veery does not believe he can face down certain death and stand as bravely as she does now. Maybe, just maybe, if their lives are on the line, Veery might do something stupid and put himself on the chopping block ahead of them. But he will not simply fight to the death for their cause.

Veery gathers his legs under him, preparing to pounce and put an end to this. It’s Bernadetta. If he takes the lead here, he can cripple her and save her life. He can save her life. She doesn’t have a say in it. She doesn’t get to fight to the death, if Veery and his friends can subdue her even if she’s fighting to kill. Then, they merely have to imprison her until the war is over. In secret, if necessary.

But Veery has to try. He can’t just outright slaughter her. He has to give her a chance. The odds are such that he can give her that chance. Even if she refuses on the field of battle, he’ll keep her alive and she’ll be thankful when the war ends and she’s still breathing to see it. Bernadetta will not be the next Ferdinand. Veery will not look on helplessly as Dorothea and Petra cry over another lost classmate. Not while he still has a choice in the matter.

And then Veery hears the distinct release and swing of trebuchets, and his heart falls straight through his chest to the blooded earth.

Hoarvug and Sadi, of course, hear it too, and Veery yowls for the rest and directs his gaze upwards. There, sailing through the air, aimed right for the hill they stand on… he can’t see through the fog, but Veery can hear them in the air, and he has a fair guess of what’s coming. Flaming barrels of pitch.

It’s the same damn strategy that the resistance uses in the second battle of Garreg Mach. It’s basically the same damn strategy that Claude uses in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion five years ago, except that was a practice battle, so they had to make do with only the shock and chaos of the explosion rather than literally setting the whole hill on fire.

Veery can’t get off the hill fast enough. The best he can do is watch the barrels so they don’t land on him, and navigate through after.

If he can.

He checks his allies. Hoarvug, Sadi, and Caub all grimly watch the sky, at the ready but unwavering at Veery’s side. Lorenz is pulling Lysithea atop his horse even as he hurdles down the hill at full speed, heeding Veery’s warning whether he understands the threat or not. Leonie is doing the same with Raphael. The latter pair catches Veery’s eye but can’t afford to hesitate if they want to be clear of the flames.

Veery does not hold it against them. He would leave them, too. Better that they get clear and try to open a path from the outside than get trapped in the middle like Veery. He can tell from both Leonie and Raphael’s expressions that they are not planning on leaving them to their fate, regardless, so it’s not as if they’re being abandoned to the blaze. They just need to survive the impact and find a way to regroup.

The rest of their allies, the resistance soldiers, as the silhouettes of the barrels appear through the fog, are scattering, running like chickens without their heads, fleeing for their lives when they realize what’s bearing down on them. That’s if they aren’t frozen in sublime horror.

Then, there is only just enough time for Veery’s eyes to land on Bernadetta, and for his heart to plummet, before fire consumes all.

Screams drown out everything else. Veery pins his ears back flat against his head as the flames lap at him. He burns. He can feel it, a splashing of pitch, sticking to him. Flaming tar that sinks into his fur and sets it alight. Caub’s shield blocks much of it, but it’s just a small thing, and cannot possibly protect them from the black spray of the barrels’ impact with the earth. At best, it protects them from the larger debris, though even then Veery knows that a shard of one of the barrels finds its way into his flesh. The stinging in his leg is hardly of note over the searing of his flesh and stench of burning bodies and fur, but Veery is a healer, trained to notice these things.

His best guess in the moment? Veery has debris in his leg and the pitch splashes across his hip. That’s on fire. He needs to smother it.

Veery growls and, lacking options, tears his claws through the earth. There is some wooden planking here on the hill, but it’s old and half-destroyed already from the battle, so it takes but a moment to rip through it and expose bare dirt. It’s good. The planks protect the earth, for the most part, from the pitch, so the dirt is dry and not on fire.

He would use Blizzard to conjure some ice in the little fire pit he makes – is still making, expanding it just enough to flop down into, and turning over enough dirt to get rid of the pitch that does seep through the wood – but he has no idea what this pitch is made from. Some fire mediums react explosively to water, and the smoke and death and burning are far too overwhelming for Veery to so quickly identify this specific formula by scent, if he knows it at all.

So, he just gets enough clean dirt showing and rolls aggressively into it, first focusing on his hindquarters, where he knows he gets the pitch on him, and then for good measure ensuring he gets a complete, rushed dust bath just in case.

With this much adrenaline, so much that he hardly registers the pain his body has to be under, even he might miss something. It won’t do to have his fur burn off.

It’s an embarrassing flailing. Scrabbling, really. Not as purposeful as Veery intends in his panic, but it gets the job done. Once he’s sure he’s not on fire, he sees that Sadi and Hoarvug are following his lead, rolling in their own self-made bowls of clean dirt.

Caub, however, is still on fire – or his clothes are, not him, except for a small patch on his arm where the pitch splashes over his shield – and stares fixated in horror at something just beyond the nearest flames.

No time for that. Veery grabs Caub with his teeth – he can’t really singe his whiskers any more than they already are, but it’s still not nice – and hauls Caub down into his own dirt sanctuary, batting as softly at he can without burning himself at the side of Caub’s pants, which is burning from the pitch and trying to force Caub’s pitch-stained and burning arm into the dirt.

Caub gets the hint and does a much better job of it himself.

Okay. Good. He and his friends are no longer literally on fire. The others are off the hill. The soldiers? Gone. Those screams are a lost cause. At least, so long as Veery has himself and his Albineans to look out for, they’re the priority, not the everyman soldier.

…That’s exactly why Veery isn’t a commander. Even so, it’s his priorities, and it’s the truth. He doesn’t want to be a commander either way, but he has to take command now. Of his group.

Oh, there’s the pain. Fuck.

Fight it. Veery grits his teeth. He feels like he’s still on fire. There’s really no more apt description than what literally happens – that it feels like he’s been splashed in pitch and set alight. Thank goodness the dirt gets that off of them fairly well. He’s sure the rubbing doesn’t help the injury, though.

A wave of cool, of soothing, overcomes him, and Veery glances over to see Caub grimacing as he holds a hand to Veery’s flank. It’s not so much a proper healing of the burn as simply easing the pain so that Veery can examine the situation and think, and that isn’t lost on Veery. It’s just the sort of thing Caub would do.

Okay, so think. The screaming isn’t helping. If the pitch doesn’t react with water, a Blizzard spell can open up a path, at least momentarily. But that’s a gamble. He can kick dirt up making a path slowly, but they’ll all likely die from the sticky smoke burning their lungs before they can make it all the way off the hill.

Damn it. Fire is not Veery’s specialty. In fact, he famously sucks with fire.

And that screaming isn’t helping!

…Oh, gods. That’s Bernadetta.  He catches sight of her through the flames and stills, transfixed. Veery watches, unable to do a thing, as Bernadetta burns alive. Veery and his friends have small, temporary shelters from the flames. They won’t last long, but it’s enough to give them a moment to think, but Bernadetta is covered in pitch. She has no shield to protect her, and apparently gets unlucky, too. She wails, and burns, and sobs, and when she says something halfway coherent, it’s just an anguished cry out to Edelgard.

Edelgard.

This is Edelgard. Bernadetta is still alive and fighting when she gives the order to set the hill aflame! Bernadetta’s death, this haunting, horrifying scene of pain and despair, is Edelgard’s doing. Not in the abstract, for starting the war and bringing Bernadetta into it, but in the very real, literal sense that it is Edelgard who is killing Bernadetta. Not the resistance.

This… is a new low. This is the kind of low one does not rise from. How can she do this? Veery wants so desperately to save Bernadetta. With the odds as they were, he would have saved Bernadetta! But Edelgard makes the decision to throw away her life for this blood and flames.

It only hurts more, knowing that Bernadetta fights here, so bravely, because Edelgard is the person she trusts the most.

Would Claude burn Veery along with his enemies, if it means winning the war?

The terror in Bernadetta’s burning eyes, her frantic, anguished wails as she collapses and does not rise, terrify Veery beyond all imagining. He wonders if Edelgard, at some point, promises Bernadetta that she can count on her. He wonders if Edelgard, at some point, calls Bernadetta a friend. Or a sister.

Veery cannot breathe, and he does not know if it is because of the smoke. He does know that it is far more than that which brings the tears to his eyes.

A large hand roughly scruffs Veery. No one is quite so large that they can actually pick him up by the back of his neck like that – even Hoarvug needs two hands to lift another fully grown agell, even a small one like Veery – but they give him a firm, painful yank that snaps him quickly out of his horror.

Caub knows not to do that. Caub has never done that before, always knowing without even asking that something like that is far beyond his bounds. But Caub does that here because Veery is the one who is supposed to be thinking of a way out of the flames, and instead he’s staring helplessly, thoughtlessly save for the unspoken doubts that sink into his heart as his… friend? Enemy? Someone he cares about, for whatever reason, dies.

And that is a fair enough reason to scruff Veery, honestly. Caub has the right of it. This isn’t the time to lose himself.

It’s not as if Veery will ever stop seeing Bernadetta being eaten by those flames, so he’ll have plenty of time to linger on it later.

So, what does he do, when they’re still trapped by the fire? Blizzard? He hesitantly sniffs at the burning pitch. The smoke given off should tell, if he keeps his wits about him and scents carefully. But his nose is singed and breathing in the smoke only burns him, so it is difficult to be certain.

Veery doesn’t think water is an option. That sticky texture of the smoke, that tangy smell… he can’t be certain, but if he risks it and it is what he thinks it is, Blizzard might blow up right in their faces and kill them all. The winds of Fimbulvetr might just as easily fan the flames as extinguish them, even if Veery can be sure he’s capable of casting it right now, and even then, they run into the same water problem.

Claude flies overhead on that beautiful wyvern, breaking through the black smoke sky, calling out to him but unable to land to retrieve him. The wyvern can likely lift them out if they have enough rope, but putting that together requires Claude landing, assembling the lift, then coming back, and Veery is already lightheaded.

Which leaves only one option, really. They have to go through the flames as-is.

Veery shifts back, gasping, then coughing, as his throat scratches him from the inside. With a raspy voice, all he can muster, he tells Hoarvug and Sadi to shift as well, then rips the debris from his leg, stifling his scream as he does so, and quickly ensures no pieces remain in his flesh. What they’re going to do won’t be good for them either way, but leaving that in him will only make Marianne and the other healers despise him. They won’t be able to maintain the control it will take not to accidentally heal the debris into him.

Even as he works, he turns to Caub. “We’ll heal through the flames.”

“What?” Caub gapes. “Are you mad? Do you know how much magic that would take?”

“The Albinean way. Like Celica taught us.”

“Like Celi- You want to test that now?”

Veery growls and snaps, “Do you have a better idea?”

Caub opens his mouth to protest, cuts himself off with a coughing fit, then, grimacing, concedes.

Veery grabs Hoarvug and, settling one hand on his back as Caub arranges Sadi the same way, and then placing his free hand on Caub’s back, and feeling Caub’s hand on his, Veery opens his heart to Hoarvug.

This way is faster than explanations.

In their square arrangement, Hoarvug and Sadi lead the way into the flames. They each reach behind them to grab their respective healer’s wrist, holding them firmly to their backs, and step forward steadily. Quickly, but not rushing. Steady, but taking care. The ash and their boots protect their feet from the flames but kicking up embers will burn everyone in the party even worse than they already are.

But if they do, Veery and Caub are focused entirely on healing. And by the gods, it hurts. As if the flames don’t hurt enough, Albinean magic tears through the body, ripping it apart from the inside out. They walk, one hand on their guide, healing them continuously, at full power to keep pace with the damage the flames do on the way, and the other hand on the other healer, pushing beyond their limits to heal both the burns and their self-inflicted magic tears.

Of course, it’s brute force healing. None of the careful stuff that needs doing when internal structures are damaged. Neither Veery nor Caub, while doing something like this, can possibly do any careful work. It would be one thing if they can soothe pain this way, but under the pain inflicted by their own magic alone, they cannot do something even as delicate as that. They can’t even walk forward on their own, instead having to rely on Sadi and Hoarvug to pull them out.

They feel every burn, every tear, and then they’re healed to feel it right over again. Simply put, it’s pure agony. They are, quite literally, being burned alive and torn asunder at the same time, all while being magically healed in perpetuity to ensure that the torment doesn’t simply kill him.

In theory, this strategy can go on all day. Albinean magic is exceptionally magically efficient, and though this form of healing isn’t technically Albinean, it’s derived from the same principles. If they can tough out the pain and stay standing, they can fuel even this overt overexertion constantly for at least a few hours. And that’s considering Caub’s small magic pool and Veery already using powerful magic in this battle.

For a simple walk off of the blazing hill? Magical exhaustion is so far from a worry that it may as well not even be a concept. The hard part is not passing out from the pain. Or lack of oxygen. The smoke is getting really bad.

Veery really hopes that Hoarvug and Sadi will be able to get them out before he passes out. Not that he’s in much of a state to consciously hope for anything. All he is is the pain. It is so overwhelming that it is the only thing his brain is capable of processing. There’s just no room for anything else.

It feels like forever. The agell don’t have the concept of the Eternal Flames, a form of hell bathed in constant fire, where sinners are punished for eternity. Even Caub’s Helheimr is a frozen place, but the agell don’t have a concept of hell at all. Even so, that is what it feels to Veery. Eternity and all.

But, eventually, they do emerge on the other side of the flames. Much of the nearby fog is burned away, and Veery thinks, on the other side, he can even see a blue sky.