#When youre byleth and ask him to join your house

[kimikaami]

hi. fic below the cut :3

AO3 link

f!byleth/seteth || teen+ rating || angst || regency au || period appropriate ignorance irt gender and sexuality

this is a regency AU in which f!Byleth disguises herself as a man to join the army, who then meets Seteth and Flayn when she retires in her late 20s. It's an idea I've had for a long time, but one that I don't love enough to do a longfic for, so I thought I might try and do little scenes here and there whenever I feel like it. This is the first of them :)

“Walk with me?”

Seteth lifts his hands from the pianoforte’s keys, the last notes plink-plonking into the air as Flayn finishes the measure. “Now?” he asks, looking up.

From the couch, Mr. Eisner — Byleth — eyes him over the top of his book, the smallest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “The afternoon is drawing long,” he says, “and I could use some fresh air. What do you say?”

Seteth stares. Byleth holds his gaze, daring him. This is a ritual that he knows by heart, and yet he finds himself stumbling through the first steps every time — wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers is not part of the dance. 

His eyes drop, forfeiting the staring contest to glance at Flayn who now shuffles her sheet music to the next song.

“Go on,” she encourages, flashing him a smile, and Seteth imagines that she can read his mind at this point. He has certainly done enough worrying over her since her kidnapping scare for the both of them. “I will be fine here for a few moments.”

“Are you quite sure? I am happy to play with you a little longer.”

“There is always later, Father.” Her voice is almost gentle. “The sun and exercise will do you good. It is good to be out of the house, as you well know.”

“Quite right, Flayn,” Byleth says, now smiling in earnest. He closes the book and sets it aside. “I expect to be treated to your latest solo when we return. In the meantime however…” he says, standing, “Get your things. I will wait outside.” And without another word, he takes his leave.

“Well?” says Flayn, nudging his shoulder when he does not move. “You heard the gentleman. I have a piece to prepare.”

The jostling knocks something loose in him, leaving his heart in anticipation of something. “Quite right,” he mumbles to Flayn as he rises to follow his friend. “I imagine we will return shortly.” 

Flayn just hums an acknowledgment and pushes him away when he bends to press his face to the crown of her hair, drinking in the warm scent. It’s equal parts a goodbye and an apology. He falls into lies of omission all too quickly these days, and the regret is gone even quicker.

Seteth follows in Byleth’s footsteps.

—

He waits until they are out of sight of the house to move closer to Byleth, their knuckles brushing together as they walk. Looking down at the shorter man, Seteth admires the way his eyelashes settle against his cheek and resists the urge to trace his jaw with his fingertips. 

“The way she cares for you is sweet,” he says.

Seteth blinks, drawn out of his admiration. “Flayn?”

“Mmhm.”

He sighs and frowns. “She took on too much responsibility when her mother died — responsibility that I should have been the one to shoulder.”

“But she is kind and clever, and selfless.”

“All that and more,” he says. “And yet, were it not for you, I would have lost her. I was neglectful for so many years…” Seteth shakes his head. “No child should have to care for their parent the way she cared for me.”

At the gnarled oak that overhangs the path — a familiar landmark —, Byleth takes Seteth’s elbow and pulls him off the road and towards their spot. “Maybe so,” he says, leading, “but you are that much closer for it.” Holding the branches back, Byleth ushes Seteth through a line of bushes into their little grove lying just beyond. “In many ways, I envy you.”

Seteth pauses, waiting for him to make his way through. “The grass is always greener on the other side, I suppose. Your parents…?”

“I never knew my mother. My father died when I was young.”

“I am… sorry,” he replies, not quite knowing what to say. “I cannot imagine.”

“No, I should not have brought it up. I let my jealousy get the better of me,” he says, and in this moment, Byleth looks so profoundly lonely that his heart nearly breaks for the young man. 

Even after months spent escaping into gardens and secret groves to be with one another in peace, he still knows so little about his friend’s background. Seteth takes a step, trailing his fingers along Byleth’s sleeve. “Do not apologize.”

“Sometimes I think that no one knows me at all.”

Furrowing his brow in thought, Seteth looks down at him. Tipping his chin up so he has nowhere to look but at him, he ghosts his lips across Byleth’s, just as he had done to him for the first time months ago. It’s the kind of kiss that asks permission — feather-light, a sign that he cares. “I have ears to listen, my friend,” he says.

Byleth’s eyes shine, watery. “There are things about me, about my past,” he says, hands braced on Seteth’s chest to keep him upright, “that I have deliberately kept from you.”

The seriousness in his gaze is enough to make his breath catch, enraptured. “Please,” he almost pleads, heart in his throat with anticipation. Seteth had followed Byleth here with the promise of time spent enjoying one another’s company, but the prospect of getting to know his companion’s heart more intimately is an alternative that he treasures for its rarity.

On this day, however, it seems he is lucky enough to have his cake and eat it too. Grasping him by the shoulders, Byleth pulls him down and kisses him firmly, and Seteth’s arms reflexively wind around his waist, angling his head to make their position more comfortable.

“Say you trust me,” Byleth says when they part.

“I do. Of course I do,” he promises. Only a year ago, he had been a shadow of himself. To think, one man’s presence could provide him with all this — a desire to see tomorrow. Trust is the least of what he owes him.

Almost hesitantly, Byleth shrugs off his coat and drops it on the grass. The loose white shirt he’s left in compliments his figure, slender shoulders narrowing to a cinched waist that makes Seteth swallow as his heart races, especially as Byleth takes his hand and lays it over his own racing heart. So many times his hands have accidentally wandered here only to be firmly guided away. He relishes the warmth bleeding into his palm, closing his eyes and committing it to memory.

“Seteth, open your eyes,” Byleth says. When he does, Byleth looks into them unflinchingly. “Take it off.”

“Pardon?” he asks, surprised.

“My shirt. Please,” he reiterates. “Trust me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Do it, Seteth, before I lose my courage.”

“Okay. Okay.” Removing his hand from his chest, Seteth takes Byleth’s hands in his and kneels in the grass, pulling the other man along with him and drawing him into another kiss.

Byleth’s entire body shakes under his touch and Seteth backs off, concerned. “There is nothing to fear,” he says, trying his best to be soothing despite his own misgivings. They’re both in uncharted territory here, both fumbling along.

“I know,” Byleth answers, a bit of desperation leaching into his voice. He pulls out his ponytail with a toss of the head, and Seteth has just enough time to register how it softens his features before he is pulling him close once more, teeth clicking, tongue venturing forth. An embarrassing noise makes its way past his lips and into Byleth’s mouth as he plants his hands on his hips, encouraging him to make a move.

It’s enough to spur him onward. Fully giving into his desires, Seteth wastes no time pulling Byleth’s shirt out of his waistband, and then fumbling with the buttons. He starts at the bottom while Byleth starts at the top, and when their hands meet Byleth laughs into his mouth, worry forgotten until he finishes the last bit and pulls the shirt off for good.

What he finds surprises him. A thick layer of bandages, wrapped around his upper torso. His mind searches for some logical explanation. Byleth had told him when they first met that he had been discharged for heart problems, but surely that’s not the reason for all this…?

Reaching behind his back, Byleth fiddles with something, eventually bringing a loose end of the wrapping forth to hand to him. Seteth holds it, blinking.

“Come on,” Byleth encourages. “Finish it.” There’s an unmistakably vulnerable look in his eyes, almost scared, so he does. Back and forth, he passes the bandages around his body until they fall loose.

He leans back on his haunches. “Byleth?”

He can’t believe what he’s seeing. The wiry frame, the slender shoulders, the soft facial features —

“I — my father — he died when I was small. I couldn’t take care of myself,” Byleth says. “But he was an old soldier, and I knew I could pass if I tried —”

He’s only half listening, too shocked to comprehend. His — her? Byleth’s chest lies exposed in the springtime air, angry red marks pressed into her skin from being bound so tightly for so long.

“I never wanted… mislead… sorry…”

All at once, Seteth is confronted with two truths.

The first is that he wants her.

The second is that he has wanted her for months now. There is no real difference between what he feels now, looking at this woman half-naked, and what he has felt gazing at… him… across the room since that very first kiss.

His lungs ache. This is not — has never been proper. No. Some part of his mind must have known all along, must have recognized her as her and had been overcome. It makes too much sense — a sad, old, widower like him just looking for a replacement for what he had lost.

None of this has ever been real, has it? He’s made it all up. All of his emotions, only what he wanted to feel.

“Seteth?” His vision spins as he looks at her, speechless. “Say something, please.”

“This isn’t right,” he says, staggering to his feet before he’s even registered the action. “No — no, this isn’t — I have made a grave mistake. I have violated — I am sorry.”

“‘Violated’?” she asks, incredulous. “Is that what you think? Seteth, I wanted this from the very beginning.”

He swallows. “Put your shirt back on.”

Her face falls, hurt. “You won’t touch me now, because I’m a woman.”

His silence is confirmation enough. “I thought you cared for me.”

Seteth winces. “I did — I do. You are my dearest friend. Now, I don’t… you are a woman, Byleth, and we are unmarried.”

“Can’t you see I don’t care about that?” she protests. “I have lived as a man for nearly the past two decades. If I gave a damn about tradition —”

“I do!” he says. “I care. For the Goddess’ sake, I have warned my daughter against the evils of men who lust after women without any intent to marry, and look what you have made of me! How can I face her now, knowing the depth of my hypocrisy?”

Clamping her jaw shut, Byleth breathes heavily, willing away the tears that are beginning to spill down her cheeks. “All of this, it did not mean anything to you because I was a man.”

Closing his eyes, Seteth crosses his arms. “That is not what I said. But encounters between a man and a woman and two men — they are not the same.”

“They are!” she protests, voice wavering. “For me, they were.” Then, quietly: “I thought I meant something to you.”

“You do,” he answers, arms falling. “But you are incorrect. Things are not the same now, nor will they ever be.” Staring down at her, Seteth opens his mouth to speak, then clamps it shut again. Silently, Byleth wills him to speak. Whatever he’s struggling to articulate, he gives up on and releases a frustrated sigh instead. “I must go,” he says. “Flayn will be waiting for me.” With one final, pensive glance back towards her, he stalks back in the direction they’d come, leaving her in silence.

For a few minutes, Byleth just stares at the spot he’d been standing, mind blank.

Shortly, the shock turns to anger. It is mostly self-directed, but as she forces herself into moving and yanks her undershirt back on, it turns in his direction too. All these secret meetings, they meant nothing to him?

They had meant everything to her.

In an attempt to put him out of mind, her thoughts turn to her father. If only he had not died so young. If only she had gotten a normal childhood, maybe none of this would have happened. They could have been happy from the beginning. No need for secrets.

If there’s one thing Byleth knows, it’s that time spent wishing for a different life is of no use to anyone.

Still, in some instances, there is nothing else to do.

Pulling her knees to her chest, Byleth weeps bitterly until there are no tears left to cry.

[fantasyinvader]

I keep thinking about how people want the Agarthans to be victims. Not so much that people are saying they did nothing wrong, but a lesser evil compared to Rhea and the Nabateans. I'd ask myself why people would want such a thing, as even in the route where you side with them they're made out to be evil that will be exterminated, but I wouldn't have to think about why that as. The answer is simple, they validate Edelgard's killing of Rhea.

And, really, it fits with stuff I've seen since the game came out. The people claiming that despite Silver Snow and Verdant Wind being routes where big reveals to the lore are given to the player they, alongside Azure Moon, lie to the player and that Edelgard is the only one to tell them “the truth.” Or that said lore pops out of canon once the player decides to side with Edelgard. They want to ignore that the same route not only paints Edelgard as a liar often enough that a chapter titled “Lady of Deceit” begins and ends with her lying to her army, but also reveals that Edelgard herself knows that her source was an Agarthan puppet yet she is still clinging to that narrative. They'll claim it's all a matter of what the player believes to be true and tell people to disregard the game's creators saying that they built Fodlan to support the story of Silver Snow, and that while Flower is about believing something else, how that leads to not only mowing down everyone who stands in your way because of those beliefs but also ends up with tyranny and oppression under the path of supremacy.

Or we'll get people who ignore that Claude's route talks about how we need to let go of misconceptions we may have about others by getting to know them, and how Claude's misconceptions about the Church may have been caused by the Agarthans feeding him info to turn him against Rhea. No, instead Claude is a manipulative schemer who should have killed Rhea as his final boss after learning about her past and how his ancestors profited off the slaughter of her people, and that Golden Wildfire is who Claude really is and his good route.

Because people want to believe that Houses is this morally grey game, where everyone is a hero from their POV. But let's look at that. As mentioned, Claude's POV blaming the Church is ultimately framed as him having misconceptions, and once he got to know them he realized that Rhea didn't have to be his enemy in achieving his goals. Not only that, he realizes the Agarthans tried to manipulate him like he says they did to Edelgard, and ends up taking them out before finishing off Nemesis. Dimitri's POV is based on his survivor guilt and belief that he needs to live for the sake of avenging those who died. He grows out of this thanks to Byleth teaching him he needs to live for the sake of the living and for himself, all while taking the Agarthans out by complete accident while Edelgard's ideals are presented as demonic while Dimitri's beliefs make him a savior. Meanwhile, Edelgard's POV is based on what her father told her despite her knowing he was an Agarthan puppet. She can't be swayed her path as she tries to lie and manipulate those around her, and the world supports the route where Byleth leads the Black Eagles away from her influence (making it so that the Black Eagles are the only class who can get their story-related character development joining any other class). It's either that, or you ignore the world building to walk a path that is based around hadou, which has negative connotations especially when contrasted with oudou, which is what Dimitri's route is supposed to lead to.

You can ignore this growth if you play Hopes, but Hopes is supposed to show how much of an influence Byleth has on their class and is not supposed to replace that experience. Shez can't give Dimitri or Claude the character growth they would have gotten to see the problems with their POV, nor can they stop the Eagles from supporting Edelgard. Shez just seems to go with whatever the lord says, adapting to the route being played, and as such enables each lord's behavior. Not to mention that Shez is hinted to be from Agartha himself, and even then the Agarthan POV doesn't paint them in a positive light.

So, really, what are people saying when they want the Agarthans to be the sympathetic villains rather than the game wanting us to feel sorry for the Nabateans? That they feel the game not doing so is a flaw despite the Agarthans being so racist that they view everyone else as non-human animals and therefore it's okay to experiment on them? That we should support their genocide of the Nabateans because Edelgard said things used to be better despite the reveal that they're the ones who gave mankind Crests while making themselves out to be gods? We should still think that the Church are the bad guys when the Agarthans are the ones behind the experiments, Duscur, the death of Claude's uncle, and so much more? Or that Nemesis was a good king who was demonized by history rather than the power-hungry asshole he's depicted as, the only real misconceptiont here was that he ever was a hero in the first place rather than the tyrannical bandit he actually was.

In the end, it's just people not wanting to let go of their own misconceptions about Fodlan. They don't want to see Fodlan for how it really is. If anything, Houses can serve as a deconstruction of the idea of Death of the Author. It's a game with some very direct messages, but the routes where the player diverges away from those messages (Flower and the entirety of Three Hopes) it leads to bad endings because, at the end of the day, Fodlan was built around those messages. It was built about the need to see people for who they really are rather than who we think they are, as Edelgard being revealed not to be the heroine but rather the villain is the twist of the game who needs to be removed from power. Also that people supporting each other is a far better outcome than everyone being left to fend for themselves, especially when the people at the top use their power to benefit others. But it's up to people to do that themselves, to figure things out for themselves rather than fall into the trap.

Otherwise, we're left with people defending the likes of the Agarthans.

[dpsisquared]

Hopesverse dimileth love triangle except it's not a love triangle but a bunch of nobles fighting each other to hire her under Dimitri's nose to their own houses.

Silvain: If you don't hurry to propose your own friends will steal her away...

Dimitri: ...They would never!!!

Anette: ... I AM SO SORRY!! But her aura is so amazing...! and I really need help with my faith to become a gremory.

Ingrid: I once saw a girl from her personal batallion jump from soldier to pegasus knight in less than a single month! I am not skipping a chance to get miss Eisner!! She is coming with me to Galatea!!

Felix: If she asked me to get a dancer certification I'd sew my own ballgown. I already offered her a house by Fraldarius coast and enough worms to fish a whale, you are not getting between us, boar.

I kept this in my queue a bit cause I REALLY want to write a snippet but July is turning out to be insane so maybe someday? 😭

But fr the most unrealistic part of 3 Hopes is that Felix didn't instantly call dibs on Byleth when she joined them lol. If Dimitri wouldn't kill him, he would legit marry her just to keep his best training partner around.

[yellowocaballero]

Fire Emblem Three Houses: Byleth and Three Houses Search For Rat People

The only downside was that Byleth was feeling the usual background discomfort of spending time with all three House leaders at once. Something about mild knowledge of all the mutual murder attempts really put a crimp in the relaxing smoking sessions.

Alternatively, this could be a good opportunity to address the problem. Damage control was the name of every game. 

“We should bond,” Byleth announced. 

Half of the students tripped on their own feet. 

Dimitri, who was already walking at her elbow, turned to her and beamed. “That’s a great idea, Profesor! What do you want to talk about? I understand you and Felix talk about your feelings quite a bit. Maybe we could also -”

“I meant all of us.” 

“Oh.”

I'm playing Ashen Wolves. This fits into the continuity of Weekenders but is not canon and absolutely no knowledge of Weekenders is needed. This is just four pages of stupid jokes. Written in less than an hour. It's a goof. A gag. A chortle, even.

The tunnel was musty and obviously structurally unstable, and flecks of dirt rained down from the ceiling with every step they took. Hilda squealed whenever she imagined she heard the rustle of what might be a rat, frightening Ashe each time, making Lindhardt say something disparaging about dramatics, making Hilda look straight at him and squeal about the ugliest rat in the world in front of her, frightening Ashe, etc, etc. 

Byleth hadn’t expected to find herself here. Most of the time, when you were out after dark with a gang of teenagers getting tremendously high, the student yelling and ranting about the giant rat person who disappeared into a wall wasn’t actually onto anything. Claude was a trustworthy person, which was why Byleth believed him completely when he claimed the monastery encouraged students to smoke after curfew and that she should join them - oh, right, what’s up Prince Dimitri, forgot you follow this one around, etc. It went to show that a reputable man like Claude wouldn’t lie about giant rat people. But even the most trustworthy student could fall off a cliff and die in the underground tunnels, so Byleth reasoned that a good teacher followed students on their adventures.

The only downside was that Byleth was feeling the usual background discomfort of spending time with all three House leaders at once. Something about mild knowledge of all the mutual murder attempts really put a crimp in the relaxing smoking sessions.

Alternatively, this could be a good opportunity to address the problem. Damage control was the name of every game. 

“We should bond,” Byleth announced. 

Half of the students tripped on their own feet. 

Dimitri, who was already walking at her elbow, turned to her and beamed. “That’s a great idea, Profesor! What do you want to talk about? I understand you and Felix talk about your feelings quite a bit. Maybe we could also -”

“I meant all of us.” 

“Oh.”

“Wait,” Lindhardt said, “Felix talks about his feelings? I thought all he did was growl and insult people.” 

“Byleth has feelings?” Hilda asked. “Whoah.”

Surprisingly, it was Edelgard who thought carefully for a few seconds before nodding. “That is an excellent proposition, Professor. Inter-house unity is one of the noble goals of Garreg Mach, and I feel as if our year has failed in that regard.” Left unsaid: what did this year have that the previous years didn’t have, huh? Byleth? “Why don’t you go first, Claude? Tell us about yourself.”

“I love it! I’m a Gemini and my favorite food is - what’s your favorite food, Dimitri?”

“I would have to say cream soup -”

“Cream soup!”

“Wow,” Ashe said, fully genuine, “that’s such an interesting coincidence!”

Dimitri visibly struggled to determine if he was being made fun of. 

Edelgard turned to Byleth, who was currently fighting waves of pity for her most pitiful student. Or so the others had elected him. “What about you, Professor? What causes do you believe in the most?”

“Keeping my students alive.” Byleth had thought it was a relatively innocuous sentence, but it made Claude and Edelgard look thoughtful. Whoops. She hadn’t meant to actually give Edelgard anything to reward her obvious fishing efforts. It would just encourage the behavior. Byleth was trying to encourage less murder here. “Bonding idea. Why don’t we go around and say something we like about the other houses and its students?”

The crew fell awkwardly silent. Their footsteps echoed in the encroaching tunnels, only shuffling a little as Lindhardt struggled to avoid walking into any walls. Right. They might all still be a bit high. That would explain a little. 

As always, it was Dimitri who jumped to her rescue. “That’s a great idea, Professor.”

Quietly, Lindhardt moaned, “Does he think every idea of hers is good…”

“The Professor only has good ideas!” Ashe said heatedly. 

“I admire the Blue Lions sense of loyalty to their Professor,” Edelgard said, straight faced. 

“Who wouldn’t be loyal to the Professor?” Dimitri cried, fired up. Ashe nodded empathetically and pointed at him. “Her virtues are endless! Even setting aside the sublime nature of her physical form, I -”

“She’s in the room with us this time, Your Highness.”

“I am very strong,” Byleth said thoughtfully. 

“She’s very strong!”

Claude leaned back, speaking into Hilda’s ear. “I thought this would get less funny. It’s still funny. It’s getting even funnier.”

“Really?” Hilda said. “I think it’s sadder.”

“Give me three bullion and I’ll ask her out.” 

“Please! I have makeup to buy. And is three bouillon really a good price for your life?” She patted his head lovingly. “Charge five, sweetie.”

“You strike a hard bargain -”

“I can hear you,” Dimitri said. 

Immediately, Claude said, “I really admire the auditory talents of the Blue Lions!”

“Even if none of you choose to take the Professor’s request seriously, I recognize the value in reinforcing our old relationships.” Dimitri looked straight at Edelgard, who met his gaze evenly. “El. I haven’t had the chance to say it often, but I really do admire you. Your sense of justice, your strength, and your kindness - not many people hold all three traits, and not enough people find them all so equally important. I understand our lives have taken us in different directions, but you will always be as close to me in my heart as you once were. If that is something you consent to.”

Edelgard was staring fixedly at a wall. Her back was straight, but her shoulders were a little hunched.

Dimitri faltered, and his shoulders drooped too. “Ah…never mind. I’m sorry. I actually am sorry, that must have crossed a boundary. Please disregard -”

“You are a good person, Dimitri,” Edelgard said stiffly. “Forgive. My. Ah. Hm.”

Bored, Lindhardt said, “She’s awful with compliments.”

“Thank you for your contribution, Lindhardt.”

“Thanks, I didn’t want to give it.” 

But Dimitri just smiled again, half-shadowed by the dim light of Byleth’s lantern. “You mustn’t feel obligated to reciprocate. It is just a sentiment I wished to express.” Dimitri turned to Claude, who has an increasingly strange look on his face. “And Claude, I -”

“Please, please, please don’t -”

“ - think you’re very handsome.”

“Thank fuck.” Claude paused a beat. “Wait, what?”

Dimitri shrugged, as if he had said a normal thing. Hilda, Lindhardt, and Ashe were losing their minds. Edelgard had her face in her hands. “I don’t know much about you. What I do know…if you forgive me for saying so, I don’t overly trust it. But I can tell that you take a great deal of care in your appearance, and your efforts have paid off.” Quickly, he added, “I would not have complimented that if you hadn’t, or if you would not like others to notice your appearance, but it’s clear that you’re very proud of your looks, so I assumed it would be an appropriate point of compliment.”

Claude was undergoing a complex emotional journey, which Byleth could easily recognize for its sheer familiarity. Many who met Dimitri experienced the journey. It roughly approximated - ‘Is he so smart he’s stupid or so stupid he’s smart? Does he know how the words coming out of his mouth sound? Does he have an ounce of self-awareness? How is a real human being actually that nice?’. Byleth sympathized. 

Hilda brightened, pointing unnecessarily at herself. “Am I cute, Your Highness?”

“I spend my allowance on charitable organizations, Hilda.”

“Damn, you’re useless.”

Ashe gasped, waving his hands. “You can’t call His Highness useless, Hilda.”

“Why not? He’s not my highness.”

“It’s a fair statement.” Dimitri paused a beat. “I mean - her freedom of speech is fair.” 

Byleth gave him a supportive pat on the back for his attempts to obscure his abysmal self-esteem. He blushed. 

“I admire the Blue Lion’s sense of cohesion,” Claude said, having seemingly recovered from Dimitri’s earnest barrage. “I wish the Golden Deer and the Alliance knew how to work together and get along like you do. And I think you’re attractive too, Dimitri!”

“You do?” Dimitri asked, pleased. “That’s - very polite of you to say.”

Incredibly, Claude sobered a little. “Do you have any idea where you ranked on the polls, man? Stand tall.”

“Polls?”

‘ “Where am I on the polls?” Byleth asked, fascinated. Hilda made frantic slashing motions at her throat. “Oh. Not a teacher thing. I understand.”

“There’s a separate teacher one, Teach.”

“Yeah,” Hilda said, “and she’s on both.”

“And I admire the Empire’s passion!” Claude said loudly - either covering himself or covering Hilda. Byleth wondered vaguely if she should investigate this or if it would be, as Sylvain would say, ‘uncool’. Best not to make a big deal. Sylvain would start crying if he wasn’t at the top. “Edelgard, I also think you’re -”

“Think carefully about the end of that sentence, Duke Reigen.”

“ - a strong, independent woman!”

“I don’t think Dimitri’s attractive,” Edelgard said. This seemed to cheer Dimitri up. “I admire the Blue Lion dedication to hard work and training. I think the Black Eagles could learn a lot from their efforts.” She paused a beat. “Maybe that’s why Petra Macneary requested the transfer. Perhaps if the Black Eagles had satisfied her -”

“Oh Goddess,” Lindhardt moaned. “Get over it, Your Highness, it wasn’t personal.”

“Of course it wasn’t personal,” Edelgard said stiffly. “I just wonder why she returned my exit survey unopened -”

“What, did you ask her why she was canceling her subscription to Adestria? Do you think the political ho -”

“Regardless of the political motivations, Petra Macneary had an exceptional educational opportunity with us, and I am simply curious as to what was more important than her -”

“I’m just wondering who was hotter than Dorothea,” Hilda muttered. She glanced at Byleth out of the corner of her eye. “Nah, never mind.”

Dimitri glanced at Byleth out of the corner of his eyes. Byleth shook her head.

Dimitri coughed, gathering everybody’s attention. Delicately, he said, “We know how private Petra is. I’m certain she hasn’t been transparent about her motivations with any of us.” Everybody around them nodded slowly, even the dejected Edelgard. “But if I may hazard a guess…based off some overheard conversations, you understand. This is highly confidential. Perhaps I shouldn’t -”

“We don’t tell anyone!” Hilda cried. “Come on, what’s the dish!”

Dimitri sighed and leaned into Hilda’s ear, whispering loudly. “I understand her breakup with Dorothea was…explosive. Apparently they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as each other anymore. She took drastic action, and Dorothea herself begged the Professor to help give Petra some space from their heartbreak. The Professor was sympathetic, and she helped Petra file the paperwork for the temporary class relocation the next day.”

Edelgard perked up. “You’re certain? The reason for her departure was romantic turmoil?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Dimitri said humbly.

“It wasn’t a matter of my leadership?”

“Your leadership’s amazing, El.”

“Or the political hostage situation?” Lindhardt asked, somewhat dubious.

Dimitri widened his eyes guilelessly. “Of course not. The Black Eagles gave Petra an exceptional educational opportunity. She said many times how grateful she was to receive the opportunity, yes?” Most of the team mumbled assent. Claude had a mysterious half-smile. “It was simply an unfortunate measure of circumstance. Her family opposed it, but…well, you understand a young woman’s heart.”

“Sounds about right for girl drama,” Claude said cheerfully. “You’ve had your own struggles too, huh, Hilda?”

“Oh, that’s so sad.” Hilda sighed, pressing her hands over her heart. “Of course I have. There’s this one boy in my class who I hate. I hate him so, so much. And yet I have to sit next to him in class. Every day. No matter how terrible he is. He’s so handsome and rich and such a great leader, but he doesn’t do a thing for me. If I could switch Houses too I would. Every day this man doesn’t ask somebody out for three bouillon I cry myself to sleep -”

“Five and I’ll do it.”

“Deal.”

“Ask who out?” Dimitri asked.

Before Claude could lie as quickly as possible and save his own skin, a chorus of voices broke in from the darkness. Their entourage halted, hands flying to their weapons. Dimitri moved to cover Byleth. Hilda cowered behind Claude, holding an ax taller than she was behind her back. 

“What the fuck are you guys talking about!” 

[lellu]

Thanks you for entertaining my request :] I don't mind if it's not "novel" as long as it is about your own taste!

- What are the quality you like about Edelgard ( About her as person and about her ideology )? Is there any personal flaw she has that is compelling to you?

- What's your favorite line of dialog from Edelgard? Is there any Edelgard line that seems more mundane than her more popular one that you particularly enjoy?

- Which Edelgard support is your favorite? Why? On the contrary, is there any support she has that feel like it could have been better than it is, gone in another direction or went further than it did to you?

- What's your favorite Edelgard endcard?

- If you had to pick one character for each house ( including the Ashen Wolves and the Church of Seiros staff ), who would it be? Why did you pick them and what would their support be about?

- If you had to make Edelgard join another route as an important recruited character, which route would it be ( it can be Houses or Hopes routes )? Why? How would it happens?

- Is there a particular aspect of Edelgard you love to analyze?

- Is there any details or obscure trivia you'd like to share about Edelgard?

- Is there another setting you would like to see Edelgard in? Why? ( It can be anything, from placing her in our world, any kind of AU, a crossover with another game, etc )

Also questions that might be a bit sillier to you, I am a fandom girl at heart ^^"

- Do you have any headcanons regarding Edelgard?

- If you're into shipping, who do you ship with Edelgard? What do you like about them? Do you have any rarepair?

- Is there any song you associate with Edelgard?

- Do you read fanfic, and if so what is ( /are ) your favorite Edelgard fanfic?

- Do you have any AU including Edelgard?

Feel free to skip any questions you do not want to answer for any reason and take any time you need to answer! I tried to be somewhat short, but if this too long do not hesitate to cut the ask. I can also send the questions in multiple ask so you can answer bit by bit when you feel like it! ( Or if you want MORE ask I can do that too-)

( Also I'm glad you like the reblog on my blog, I don't mind the spam rbing :] And if you ever need more cool Edelgard/fe3h related post, I've accumulated many *high-caliber* artwork and analysis over the year that I'd love to share! )

- okay for starters. i love the intense belief she has in people's ability to be great given the opportunity and her commitment to giving people that opportunity -> best instance of this is linhardt's a and a+ supports with her where it's like. especially with how their relationship starts out, you expect the two of them to be irreconcilably at odds with each other. but edelgard believes in him and puts in the effort to create a job tailored to him that *literally no one else* would be able to do because she knows he is capable of amazing things, but she recognizes that he would not be able to thrive in a traditional environment. and i Adore how this shining bit of hope contrasts with the way she so often lies to people and pushes them away. edelgard is constantly balancing wild dreams with horrible fear and it makes for such an interesting character. what else is there. im obsessed with her moments of ruthlessness. im obsessed with her moments of kindness. im obsessed with the way that she has never stopped running from her past and fighting towards a future that she might be able to live in (but she knows she probably won't) and the cowardice and the courage are two sides of the same coin. she cant face herself so she faces out at the world and dares it to try her.

this is already long lmao ill put the rest of my answers under a cut:

- okay maybe a weird answer but i actually love her little speech to byleth after jeralt dies. its harsh and its not wrong and its unnecessary and it shows exactly how she copes with things herself and. it is just such a lovely character moment. i love her a support with bernadetta and the way that she admits bernie has made her kinder, how the two of them allude to their backgrounds through talking about flowers, the line about how she can't wait to see the flower's true colours. there are so many more but my memory for lines is not great and these are the ones on my mind.

- another probably weird choice but i have to say that i adore her support chain with manuela. the way she's so out of her depth with the faith because she Doesn't want to destroy something so important to so many people but her own experiences make it difficult for her to understand, how manuela helps her to be able to respect it much more honestly. i don't know if its my very favorite support of hers (almost all her support chains are equally fantastic to me, though i don't care for constance's, and I think hubert's b and a supports are alright but not up to the standard of most of the rest. his c is really good though) but it's one that doesn't get much fandom focus so i wanted to spotlight it.

- my favorite endcard is probably a tossup between byleth and lysithea. i think that her and byleth's ending is very sweet and i adore the sheer catharsis of her and lysithea taking down the people who hurt them together and taking back their lives. her solo ending is also important to me of course, on account of it giving us a hint of what comes next. i think her stepping down and retreating from the public eye is very important and i wish it was made explicit in more endings than just her solo and hers with hubert. also a shoutout to her caspar end card which i think is really funny. who let them get married

- if i were to make edelgard recruitable on any other route i'd make her a last minute recruit on verdant wind. i think the concept of her coming to support claude once he's proven his resolve to her (and claude being willing to spare her, because he's the only lord i think could do that and have it come off well) would be fantastic, because ive always wondered what she would look like in a supporting role. i think she could do it really well if she got past herself. obviously she would have to have different supports (though not manybecause the timing is tight; maybe a heavily boosted support growth so she could reach b with claude and a potential different paired ending with lysithea– if we're feeling spicy maybe we can finally let her and marianne talk, or make dedue recruitable as well and have them conflict over dimitri's death). and this gives us the bonus of having a route where she can help face down the agarthans, and maybe even come to something of an understanding with rhea! honestly this might be my ideal route lmao

- a better question would be is there a setting i *wouldn't* be interested to see edelgard in. she's a fascinating character and so much of what she does is heavily reliant on her exact canon circumstances so any really well done au would be able to explore some interesting aspects of her.

- headcanons! ok most of my headcanons are not easy to articulate and the ones that are are very much projection. absolute biggest projection hc is that shes a lesbian but would chill with claude in a <> way. for other hcs? she would love modest mouse. her homestuck classpect is prince of rage. once she's older than any of her siblings made it to she begins to think of herself as the eldest. sometimes she just has to turn her brain off and let muscle memory and some odd residue of incredible willpower move her forward. stepping back would be incredibly hard on her and for a while she'd be the worst off mentally she had been since the experiments because she never really learned to stop running and as soon as she stood still it caught up with her Hard.

- top 3 edelgard ships for me are edeleth berniegard and edelclaude. edeleth is narratively really fun on both cf and ss but for me it's also what happens when you play a dating sim but kin one of your romance options so hard that the player character just becomes "what would i want someone to do for me". berniegard is such a good opportunity to let edelgard be a little soft and let bernie be a little brave and they both do art and like stuffed animals and have so much to work through and. augh. squishes them. edelclaude just has so much incredible fanwork and the snippets we do get of them are to me the most interesting relationship between the lords. they talk about how similar their goals are they flirt on the battlefield they think each other are the most annoying guy ever. ive got a little spot reserved for edelys and i think rheagard is. Well. rarepairwise i think hapi/edelgard, edelgard/marianne, or all three together could be fascinating, especially if you throw the hegemon husk into the mix.

- songs i associate with edelgard: the crow and grade school games by dessa, caliber by wintersleep, november by sparkbird, make up your mind by florence + the machine. probably a billion others but since i started playing fe3h ive only been listening to a few songs on loop lol

- favorite edelgard fic? probably The Stars Will Be Watching Us by onnari. time loop fic that was my introduction to edelclaude and Boy Was It Ever An Introduction.

- my big brainrot aus are an animorphs au (lords + byleth and flayn as the animorphs, the yeerks are those who slither and the church are the andalites) and a no byleth!au where hubert dies early into white clouds that forces edelgard to lean into her other relationships.

[sevarix-blogs]

16th of the Lone Moon. Sunny, with nary a cloud on the horizon.

As you join me to sit beneath the gazebo in the airy courtyard I slide a delicate china cup across the table. Finely frothed ceremonial matcha with just enough milk added to colour the drink a lovely shade of green matching enlightened Byleth's hair*. I give you a moment to take the first sip before delivering my poignant opener.

"Cats…"

A dissonant note plays. You appear displeased and move to pack up your things. This is my last activity point and I need one more Charm to recruit Hilda, so I hurriedly smash LR+-.

The scene resets. I offer you another cup of tea, this time a subtle honeyed-lavender blend. For my second try, I deign to consult my notes, in which I have listed a number of conversational tips, tricks, and topics with which to carry out an exemplary and completely normal social interaction.

Molly…**

Hopes for your future…

Yuri…

The opera…

The conversation is wildly engaging! Emboldened by my success, I lean forward and adjust the zoom on my primary lenses until they reach their full 8.0x capacity, protruding several inches from my head. You laugh nervously. Not to worry! I am merely observing - respectfully, of course!

I Tease. You look displeased. I Joke. You look displeased. Desperately, I Nod. To this, you pump your fist and smartly rejoinder, "Still fighting the good fight?"***.

Alas, the day grows long and there are tasks to complete. I retract my lenses and stand to go.

*I am unsure a matcha of this colour would actually be a good matcha. **I wrote this before you actually answered the ask. She is not there :C I ask anyway. **A real quote Catherine says when you Nod at her in Three Hopes.

I drink the tea happily, wondering why you have a conspicuous notepad in front of you. But then I hear a name that makes me perk up.

MOLLY

"She is the best girl," I reply. "Recently though she has been scared of bugs in the house. It is distressing."

You nod. I sip my tea.

"Hopes for the future..." you say.

"I hope Molly feels better soon," I reply. "I also hope work continues to go well. And I hope that the laws in my land do not force me to move. But that's a rather depressing topic."

You nod again, frantically looking down at the notepad. "Yuri..." you say.

"OMG I LOVE YURI SO MUCH," I reply. "He is my blorboest blorbo."

You nod sagely.

"I was just looking at art of him again. Art I commissioned of him! "

You click the link. You are amazed. Then you look at the notepad again. "The opera..."

"I need to go again," I reply. "it's been too long since I've gone to the opera. I love opera! They're doing Carmen this season. I should go."

You nod again. Then you get out a lens and point it at my face. You look at it incredibly closely:

(yes this is a real picture of my face very close up)

You do a few actions that displease me. Then you nod. I eventually say "Still fighting the good fight?" because I heard someone say that once and wanted to try it out. I'm still confused as to why you are zoomed in on my face.

Then you suddenly retract your lens and stand. I thank you for the tea and watch you go.

I sit there and wonder if I got a good score in Social Interactions which is something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

(lol ty friend this was fun)

[randoimago]

I’m so sorry! I just saw your post and realized I misinterpreted your post :( instead of my ask for an affectionate S/O, could I have something with Lorenz with the “I wrote you a Christmas card 15 years ago confessing my feelings. Now it's time to send it.”? Thank you!!

“I wrote you a Christmas card 15 years ago confessing my feelings. Now it's time to send it.”

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Characters: Lorenz

Type of Request: Headcanons, ❄️

Notes: No worries!! This is a very cute prompt and so I’ll do my best!

Lorenz

Lorenz was just trying to decide what kind of tea to have this evening when you came up to him. You seemed flustered but also had a look of determination on your face. He opened his mouth to ask what happened, but you held a letter to him to cut him off.

He was waiting for you to say who you were delivering the letter for since he’s seen Professor Byleth delivering letters for students and thought you were doing the same. But you stayed silent so he took the letter and began to read it.

As he read, his heart sped up and he felt his body go warm. He was honestly speechless.

“I wrote you a Christmas card 15 years ago confessing my feelings. Now it's time to send it,” you told him and gave a smile when he finished reading and looked up to you. He felt himself become very flustered at your explanation and the fact that you gave him a love letter.

“Would you like to join me for tea?” He asked, doing his best to keep from stuttering. The only proposal letters he’s received had been for duty and status. The fact that you wrote this with actual feelings towards him made him feel warm and so happy.

[unxpctedlygreat]

Three parts of a wip I'll probably never finish for dmlx week 💔

Day 7, Another Time and Place, it's time for Golden Deer Felix 💛🦌

(1)

"Ah," Byleth starts when he sees him approaching, "finally decided to join our house?"

Byleth's voice remains flat as ever, but Felix is pretty sure he is joking. He certainly hopes for him that he was.

"I've already told you," Felix still replies, just in case, "I have no intention of leaving the Golden Deer." The professor has the gall to look disappointed at that. Felix tsks. "Don't make that face. You knew my answer before you even asked."

Prince Dimitri, who had been talking to Byleth until Felix interrupted them, chuckles lightly.

"Can you blame the Professor? Your skills and knowledge would be a formidable addition to our class. In all honesty, if I thought I had a chance of convincing you, I would be asking you the same."

The earnestness with which he says it makes Felix's heart treacherously skip a beat.

(2)

Felix doesn't usually join in the celebrations after the missions. It never feels right when he's just here as an aid and not part of the class. Today more than ever, he feels a pang of loneliness. The Golden Deer would also be all over each other, and Claude and Hilda would be forcing him to join regardless of how he felt about it.

"You should be there, as well," Dimitri eventually replies.

"I don't belong there," Felix says, deciding to be honest for once. He expects the prince to tell him he does, to maybe reiterate that he'd love for Felix to join their class; it just sounds like the sort of thing he could say.

Instead, the prince surprises him.

"I feel the same." A bittersweet smile. It turns a little more genuine when he asks, "Maybe we could comfort each other? As people who don't belong."

Felix feels his cheeks burning. What kind of nonsense is Dimitri spouting?

(3)

Sylvain comes to find him when he's training with Claude and Hilda. Though 'training' is a generous way to put it, when Claude is trying his best to not have to fight, and Hilda watches from the sidelines.

"Your brother's nuts," Sylvain says in lieu of greeting. He's sporting a wide grin, but Felix can see it's not entirely genuine. It often isn't, to be honest.

Without missing a beat, he, Claude and Hilda answer in one voice, "Yeah."

It seems to take Sylvain by surprise, making him blink at them for a moment. He lets out a laugh.

"Huh. So that's common knowledge, then?"

"What did he do now?" Felix asks. Glenn's foolishness is rather well-known across the Alliance.

Sylvain takes a purposefully laid-back stance. Felix narrows his eyes, expecting the worst.

"He's taking Miklan under his wing."

[big-sapple]

Chapter 4: An Old Friend

“Aren’t you… going to attack me?”

“Probably not.”

Zagreus lowers his sword. Across the wispy greens of this particular chamber of Elysium is a severe looking man in unusual clothing. He sits on the base of one of the decorative planters nearest the exit, legs spread leisurely and leaning over the hilt of a downturned ax. The man considers Zagreus with only passing interest.

“Didn’t my father ask you to stop me?”

“Yeah. Didn’t mention why, though.”

“I’m trying to escape.” Zagreus gestures vaguely, “You know, like, ‘there is no escape’? It’s sort of the premise of this place.”

The man furrows his brows, “Aren’t you a god?”

“I mean. Technically. I suppose.”

“And you need your old man’s permission to leave the house?” His gruff face breaks into a smile that looks very close to laughter. It nearly shatters his intimidating affect.

Is he messing with me?

“Well, I’m not asking for it.” He replies a bit defensively, “Look, if you’re not going to try and stop me, I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The man grunts as he lifts himself heavily from his seat, using his ax for leverage, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I was actually hoping to ask you for a favor.”

“A favor?” Zagreus asks dubiously. What could this man possibly want from him? “Look, I don’t exactly have a lot of pull with my father-”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He waves a hand dismissively as he uses the other one to lean his ax against the planter, “I’ve got a daughter. And she’s made up her mind to escape, too.”

“My father doesn’t exactly look favorably on mortals who try to escape.” Zagreus warns, “Haven’t you ever heard of Sisiphus or Orpheus? They’re still paying their dues for defying my father.”

“Ha! You haven’t met my daughter.” Zagreus starts a bit at the volume and irreverence of the man’s laughter. “The thing is, there’s a war going on up top. And my daughter would really like to get back to it as quick as she can.”

I guess it’s true that mortals love their wars, then. “So, you want me to help her escape?”

“The two of you are going the same way anyways, right? As I understand it, you’ve had to go through a hell of a lot just to get this far. If you run into her on your way, why don’t you join her? I bet you’ll have an easier time of it together.”

Zagreus has a brief internal struggle between inviting more of his father’s ire, and wanting to piss him off out of spite.

The spite wins, and he shrugs, “Sure, why not.”

“I appreciate it.” The man smiles warmly, “She left not too long ago. Her name is Byleth. She favors a sword too, but she can throw a punch when she needs to. She’s a bit… I think the word you lot use down here is ‘stoic’.”

Zagreus might have used the word on the man himself not two minutes ago, if not for the jarring shift in his demeanor.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

[galeforged]

Absence Makes Us Fonder (Forwin and Vi Paralogue)

Upon learning of his mentors’ whereabouts, Forwin prepares to leave the monastery with great haste. Vi initially dismisses the idea of joining him, but curiously changes her mind once she hears of his destination…

—Opening narration

Absence Makes Us Fonder is Forwin and Vi’s Paralogue Chapter in Fire Emblem: Three Houses. This chapter takes place in Albany territory in the Leicester Alliance, and is available on all routes during Part 2 after completing Chapter 15. Like A Cursed Relic and Black Market Scheme, this Paralogue Chapter is only available as downloadable content via the Expansion Pass bundle.

Available until: 8/30

Suggested level: 29

Units: Forwin, Vi

———

Rewards

Weapon: Sword of Fragarach. Sacred weapon (Crest of Macuil) that restores HP every turn. Effect increased with Crest. Effective against Flyers.

Battalions

Gerth Magic Militia: A group of mages that long served as a private army for the noble House Gerth. Associated with Forwin.

Gambit: Resonant Wind. Powerful wind magic that affects a wide area. Range 1-2. Effective against Flying foes.

Nilsson Sedation Corps: An independent group of chemists who once assisted the Eastern Church. Associated with Vi.

Gambit: Poison Wave. Inflicts poison status on all targets in the area. Range 1. Effective against Armoured foes.

—————————

Before Battle

———

Ashen Wolves Classroom

(Forwin enters)

Vi: You appear to be… unusually frantic, Forwin. Did something you eat not agree with your stomach? Should I begin preparing a remedy? Forwin: What? No, Vi, I’m fine. I-I appreciate the concern, but I can’t afford to stick around right now. Urgent personal business and all that. I am only here to grab my things and go.

Byleth:

Choice 1: What urgent business? (continue below)

Choice 2: Are you sure it’s not your stomach?

Forwin: Not you too, Professor. My health is in top form, that I can assure you!

Forwin: Right, so… A while ago, in exchange for a favour of his choice, I asked Yuri if he would keep an ear to the ground for my old mentors. With Fódlan in disarray, I started to doubt whether anything would actually ever turn up. Honestly, I considered giving up on the search altogether, but one of his associates just returned with some troubling news as to their whereabouts.

Byleth: Do you intend to follow up on that lead?

Forwin: Yes. You see, back when I left House Gerth, I was fortunate enough to be taken in by the Leverock Traveling Theatreworks! They were this group of performers led by Davina Leverock, a former Mittelfrank Opera Company songstress, and her wife Tristine, who worked as our coordinator. We toured around Fódlan, up into Faerghus and down through Leicester… but since the war began, it seems as though the Theatreworks disbanded entirely. Vi: I recall a troupe of that name visiting Nilsson a few times, over the years. My… my sisters and I enjoyed their shows together. Forwin: Ha, small world! Perhaps I saw you in the crowd once... though I don't remember you mentioning sisters before. Vi: No one asked.

Byleth: You're planning on going alone.

Forwin: If I have to, yes. I owe all that I am to Lady Davina and Lady Tristine, so I can’t stand idly by while they are in danger. They and the Theatreworks were the closest thing I had to a real family after I left home. Of course, that applies to the Ashen Wolves now too, but... those two are still family to me. Vi: Regrettably, I am currently too busy with an experiment to accompany you. I apologize, Forwin, but I wish you luck all the same in your endeavour. Forwin: It’s alright, Vi. No harm done. I already planned on going by myself anyway.

Byleth: 

Choice 1: Where are you going then?

Choice 2: So Davina and Tristine are… where?

Forwin: Well, word has it that they are currently being chased over treasure of sorts in their possession. Thankfully, though, they’re not far from here. From what I heard, they were last spotted in the Viscounty of Albany, in Leicester. Vi: (gasps quietly) Forwin: If they still had the troupe, I wouldn’t be so worried… though it sounds like it’s just those two by themselves. They’re fierce, sure, but if something actually happens to them… Vi: I will go with you. If the situation really is as dire as you make it sound, then I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to charge in by yourself. Forwin: Wait, did you just change your mind? What about your project? Vi: My sisters… They are in Albany. A lot of time has passed since I last saw them, as venturing by my lonesome outside of Abyss before proved unwise. Now, circumstances have changed. Strength in numbers will better assure success for both of our aims. You will reunite with your mentors, and I will finally visit my sisters. For that, my work can wait. Forwin: That’s perfect! I can’t thank you enough for this, Vi. Vi: Professor. You will join us too, won’t you?

Byleth:

Choice 1: There’s no time to lose. (Begin Paralogue battle)

Forwin: Fantastic! It will put my heart at ease to see them once more. Let’s sally forth!

Vi: Florine, Rusalind… At last, I will see you again. -x-

Choice 2: We can’t just rush in. (Return to previous screen)

Forwin: A-ah… and here I started to get excited.

Vi: Regrettable… However, we did just propose this to the Professor. Once you’re adequately prepared, then?

—————————

Battle

Victory Conditions: Rout the enemy. Defeat Conditions:

Casual Mode: Forwin, Vi, Davina, or Tristine fall in battle.

Classic Mode: Byleth, Edelgard/Dimitri/Claude, Forwin, Vi, Davina, or Tristine fall in battle.

———

Beginning of battle

Bandit Leader: After them! Those two couldn’t have gone far! So help me, if they get away with our big payday-! Vi: Marauders… and many of them. It appears we were already beaten to the punch.  Forwin: No, listen! It doesn’t sound like they found them yet. We're not too late! We can still turn this around! Davina: Great, more enemy reinforcements? …hold on, those ones aren't dressed like they’re with the thieves… Tristine: Love, it’s only a matter of time before those bandits search this stronghold. We have to move!

———

End of Player Phase 1

Davina: Well, well! I guess we’re not total goners. Look alive, Tristine! The cavalry is... Hey, wait a second. Are my eyes finally failing me or is that-?! Tristine: I can't believe it... Forwin!

———

Davina

Talking with Forwin

Davina: Long time no see, little bard. Here I thought you bit it when Garreg Mach fell years ago! Forwin: Let’s just say that reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. It’s so wonderful to see you again though, Lady Davina! Truly. Davina: Yeah, yeah, missed you too. Save the sappy stuff for later, we have to survive this first! Forwin: Right, you can count on me!

Talking with Byleth

Davina: So you’re the infamous Ashen Demon… Charmed to finally make your acquaintance. I can rely on that frightful power of yours to get us out of this mess, right?

———

Tristine

Talking with Forwin

Tristine: It really is you! You’re alive! Oh, Forwin, I thought you lost forever-! Forwin: Lady Tristine! Goddess, I’m SO relieved you’re… Wait, that sword! Is that what these thieves are after? Where did you get that?! Tristine: We… We have a lot to discuss, darling. After the battle is over, I promise you. Forwin: Tristine… A-are you-?

Talking with Vi

Tristine: My, my… Are you a friend of Forwin’s? Vi: Yes. I’m Vi, an apothecary. Pleased to finally meet you. My family enjoyed your shows. Tristine: And a fan, too! It comforts me to no end to see he found such dependable companions. Thank you, Vi, for looking after my son. Vi: Naturally. I am—Wait, did you just say “son”-?

———

Bandit Leader

Vs. Forwin

Forwin: Didn’t your parents teach you better manners? It’s poor form to insist on a woman’s company after she declines, you know. Bandit Leader: What the... A minstrel? Bahahaha!! Whatcha gonna do, play me a little tune?! Forwin: For threatening the lives of my mentors, I think it’s only fair that I get to send you off with a smile and a song. Off to your early grave, that is!

Vs. Vi

Vi: No… I will not allow that same tragedy to repeat itself here. Not here, of all places. NEVER again! Bandit Leader: Don’t you think you’re a little out of your depth here, girlie? A shrimp like you don’t stand a chance against me! Vi: Then let’s put your theory to the test, shall we? Your witless tongue against my poisons. Conclusion? Let's find out together!

Vs. Anyone

Bandit Leader: Playing the hero, eh? I don’t care who the hell you think you are. You are not getting in between me and my mark! Not today!

Defeated

Bandit Leader: Damn it…! Got so close… to finally striking it rich… That sword should’ve been mine…!

———

After all enemies are defeated

Vi: There… I believe that should dissuade others from attempting the same. We’re safe. Forwin: Tristine, I can think of only one other person who would have that sword. You know I have to ask. Just... who are you, to me? Really? Davina: Honey, I think it’s about time we tell him. We owe him and his friends that much for saving our skins. Tristine: (sighs) Very well. You have a right to know.

—————————

After Battle

———

Visconty of Albany | Daytime

Tristine: Davina and I… We were in love ever since I first saw her onstage in Enbarr. We shared this dream of starting a travelling theatre company together, after she retires… but my parents ordained that I would marry another, instead.

Byleth: You were a noblewoman, Tristine?

Tristine: Indeed. Though I am Crestless, any child I carried could potentially inherit my family’s Crest. Thus, my House and land folded into my husband’s. Isolde von Ulrich married Duke Gerth… then the burden of Saint Macuil’s Crest awakened in my only child. In… you, Wyndell. Forwin: So it really is you… Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We were together again, and for two whole years! Mother, you could’ve said something! Why-?! Davina: Calm down, kiddo. Let her finish. Tristine: Roland gave me an ultimatum: either I stay to bear him more children with Crests, or I leave alone with nothing. He already got what he wanted, and I couldn’t stand the thought of mothering more young for someone whom I feel no affection. Leaving you behind, my sweet boy… it tore my heart in twain. Davina: So, she returned to me with a settlement of gold, House Ulrich’s heirloom, and a new name. From there, we finally wedded, made good on our dream, and toured Fódlan together. Still, not one day passed where you weren’t on her mind. Tristine: I couldn’t believe my eyes when we found you in Remire, years later. Frail and frightened over every little thing! I knew then I made a mistake. I should have stolen away with you before. Isolde lost all right to call herself your mother... but as Tristine, I believed we could start over. Davina: Then we brought you in, gave you a fresh start with the Theatreworks… and you know the rest.

Byleth: Forwin, are you alright?

Forwin: Y-yes, it’s… just a lot to take in. Goddess, damn these tears- Tristine: If nothing else, I can finally pass along what was meant for you. The Sword of Fragarach, from House Ulrich, is your birthright. May it serve you better than it did me. Davina: You’re not our anxious, mousey stagehand anymore. You’ve really grown, little bard. We’re proud to see what you’ve become. Forwin: Thank you both… F-for everything you did for me. (sniffs) Thank you. Vi: I did not expect a family reunion for you today, Forwin. I’m… happy. Forwin: Oh wait, Vi! Didn’t you come for your sisters? Where are they? Let’s escort you right now! Vi: See that ridge? Just on its other side, there is forest. Their graves are there.

Byleth: Graves…?

Forwin: Oh no... Vi: We Februs were a family of healers who long worked for the Eastern Church. However, we fled after they committed a taboo for the benefit of medical sciences. We made for Abyss, but the Knights of Seiros intercepted us here… and slew them. Now, Rusalind and Florine are survived only by their youngest sister, Virgilia. Me. Forwin: That… explains a lot. Now I understand why you hate the Church so much… Vi, I-I’m sorry. I must’ve been insensitive just now. Vi: Don’t be. I kept it secret from you and the others all this time. Besides… thanks to your efforts, we three shall meet again. That’s all that matters to me. Forwin: Well, I meant what I said before: the Ashen Wolves are my family. Whatever you need, in thunder, lightning, or in rain, I’ll be there. Vi: Additionally, this would be impossible without your indispensable aid. Thank you, Professor. Davina: Say, you’re not in any rush to leave, right? We’d like to catch up with our boy before we part ways. Tristine: And to get to know his little friend! After she sees her family. Virgilia, was it? Vi: Y-yes, that… sounds delightful.

Byleth: 

Choice 1: We can stay for a little while.

Choice 2: Alright, but not for too long.

Davina: Cheers, "Professor!" You’re alright. Now, Forwin, tell me: how the hell DID you survive that Garreg Mach raid? Where’d you disappear to? Forwin: Wow. I, uh, don't think we'll have enough time for ALL of that...

[weepingcanines]

Homegrown shitpost for y'all this evening

[rqnvindr]

sparkles of envy

pairing: felix fraldarius x gn!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

w.c: 1.7k

synopsis: felix can’t shake off the sour feeling he gets when he sees you dancing with dimitri at the ball. afterwards, he’s met with more certainty for the future when the two of you find yourselves at the goddess tower.

a/n: first time writing for fire emblem let’s gooooo ;D

--

“well would you look at that,” sylvain crosses his arms behind his head, glancing at you and dimitri dancing in the middle of the ballroom. all eyes were naturally on the two of you, having long-awaited the crown prince of faerghus to take the floor. all except for felix, who scoffed in advance of sylvain getting his words out. “he’s a lucky man for sure.”

the blue-haired boy put his hands on his hips. “of course you would fall for the boar’s act. this was one of the many reasons i didn’t want to attend this damn ball in the first place.”

felix wasn’t lying. if it weren’t for the professor’s pleas, he would’ve spent the night training as usual, in complete solitude. especially after seeing that you surely weren’t alone, evident from how you leaned in closer to dimitri to whisper in his ear and laughed in unison with him.

“hey c’mon. you have to admit that they do look pretty good together.”

“you’re just projecting. i’m sure you’d be trying to woo the boar’s partner right now if they hadn’t already gotten swept up.”

sylvain ignores the opportunity for banter when he suddenly goes off on a tangent about how byleth ‘irrevocably changed [his] life’ and how they might actually be soulmates. he then spots her from across the hall and leaves felix alone to ask for a dance. although he felt bad for their professor, he’d settle for his childhood best friend bothering someone else over embarrassing him any day.

the goddess tower seemed like a much better place to be than this suffocating lovesickness. cold, empty, and away from the crowd. even if the training grounds were locked, he could still take the time to reflect on his next steps for the future. there were plenty of people he still had to surpass, and that included you. while you were busy swaying away with dimitri, he’d be getting stronger, the mental preparation making him all the more agile to sweep you off your feet by surprise.

that was it. felix would begrudgingly stay for 10 more minutes in case byleth had come looking for him, and then leave. he figured he might as well grab some refreshments to give him strength too.

“hey!” felix hides his surprise upon seeing you in line for drinks at the same time as him with a blank stare. “where have you been all night? dimitri and i were looking for you.”

“really? sure didn’t look like it earlier.” he really didn’t want to hear dimitri’s name right now. their friendship remained severed for years, but his blood had never ran colder from just hearing his name until it rolled off of your tongue so frivolously.

“oh,” you turn away with a sheepish smile. “yeah but don’t get the wrong idea. it’s just that...it’s traditional for the house leaders to begin dancing promptly..”

felix takes a sip of his newly acquired drink. “spare the details. this is enough proof that i will get stronger than you. you’re out here wasting your time with dances and romance, and i am going to continue to surpass you in the sword and in the way of the warrior.”

to anyone else, felix would be asking for an argument. he was always picking fights with everyone who challenged him, either verbally, or physically (through sparring). since the beginning of the school year, you have watched him stick to his principles, which at first did not appear to include caring for relationships. but after witnessing how he discreetly watches over his friends, and not too long before the grand ball, asked you to join him to try a new technique during training, there was something underneath his disappointment with you.

“nonetheless, don’t stay out too late. we have a big mission coming up and i’d be annoyed if you got sick. i’m leaving.”

“felix wait!” your voice shakes, but you remain firm.

“what? make it quick.” he frowns. the last thing he needs right now is you feigning sympathy for him and begging him to stay longer. he was already mere seconds away for abandoning his feelings for you right then and there without turning back.  

“all this talk about getting stronger....you know you can’t do that all alone, right?”

“there’s no one out there who could keep up with me at this point,” felix scoffs. “what? are you trying to say you’re up to honing your disciplines now?”

you roll your eyes. “i always have been. if i have to follow you to wherever could be more enticing than bonding with my classmates and friends than so be it.”

“fine. it’s not my job to hold you accountable for your word anyway.”

--

“staring off into space and brooding isn’t really ‘mental training’, felix.” you chide, causing him to scowl down at the brilliant view of the monastery from the goddess tower.

you were already feeling anxious about the implications of being alone with him in a secluded place like this. a secluded place with legends of promises of romance and hopes for the future for most people who found themselves in pairs of two at the heights of the monastery.

felix has no words to offer in objection to your implied definition of interpersonal reflection. alas, the lack of conversation leaves you with the sound of crickets. surprising, how the most minute of white noise could either help you relax or be even louder than your own thoughts.

“though, i can’t really blame you for taking in the world from above,” you join him on the balcony, arms crossed over the handrail. “the night sky in the mountains is clearer than the eroded dark skies during the winters of faerghus.”

“i don’t dislike the night. i’ve never been afraid of the dark, any alleged demons that came out would be cut down anyway. speaking of which, we could spar here sometime. there’s a lot more privacy than the training grounds.”

you can’t comprehend how felix could dance around, yet so explicitly express his desire to be alone with you. diving into the dangerous waters of teasing him, you grin mischievously.

“and you’re always going on and on about how dense dimitri is.” you murmur.

“ugh! if you have something to say, it’s better to not mumble, you know?” felix scoffs, a hair’s away from falling for whatever scheme you had up your sleeve in bringing up the prince. “whatever. i don’t want to waste my time prying into something so unimportant that you couldn’t even say it clearly.”

whenever he fires off the cannon of a tongue he was born with, you always have to study his expression. you didn’t expect to end up making direct eye contact with a person who dislikes it, his orange orbs complimenting the galaxies above.

“do you know why i train with you, felix?” you ask.

“no, i do not know. you want to become stronger right?” he exhales, shaking his head as he shrugs with his arms up.

“yeah, that’s a big reason. but also,” now comes the true gamble. no one else would dare to poke a bear, or in this case, a lone wolf. you were probably the first person in years to tenderly touch his cheek the way you did, and without him flinching away.

he could’ve pushed you away. but did he really want to take that risk when you could go back to the ball and cry on dimitri’s shoulder? for the first time, felix suppresses the urge to stay in the shadows, and grants you the honor of pulling him out.

“i admire the strength of your entire being. particularly in your eyes....they’re just like stars. whenever they twinkle passionately on the battlefield or during training, i feel all of my wishes coming true. the legendary powers of this tower don’t even come close to the hope you fill me with.” you gently caress his soft skin under your thumb.

felix is worried. he’s worried that he won’t be able to savor the feeling of your warm hand any longer, as he’s about to melt from your declaration alone. it’s  hard for him to process any form of affection, especially when it’s from his beloved partner in battle.

wait, beloved?

“y-you..!” felix grumbles, his voice cracking as he chokes out the last syllable. he reaches for your wrist, wanting to move your hand away. but he lets it linger, clinging onto you for support. you were the one who caused this mess, it’s your job to fix it.

“you okay?” he hates how innocently you blurt out the question, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“no! i mean, you can’t just say things like that so suddenly!” he facepalms with his other hand. “just...but don’t go anywhere okay?”

you snort under your breath and both of you withdraw your hands. “noted. we might as well get in some dance practice, though. after all i only got to dance with dimitri before you-”

“stop talking about dimitri.” felix snaps. “you’ve mentioned the boar enough for one night, give it a rest already.”

you laugh in disbelief, not because you’re mad at him. you just never would’ve expected your hypothesis to be true.

“i was right. you are jealous after all.” felix blushes. he hates having been caught so easily, but is also relieved that you understand his feelings.

“shut up. now, what’s this dance practice you were talking about?”

you guide felix’s hands and posture into the appropriate positions, based on professor byleth’s brief private instruction on dance. to this day, you don’t know why you were chosen as the class’ representative for the white heron cup, but your fifteen minutes of fame came in handy for wooing the swordsman in front of you.

“well,” you take the lead, as the two of you sway in sync and he grows less stiff as you squeeze his hand. “balance, concentration, chemistry between allies...these are all things you’ll need in battle. you’d do best to focus on other things other than the training dummy that you’ve beaten to the ground, literally.”

“tch.” felix turns away from you, albeit keeping his grip firm on you. “i don’t dislike that idea. if it makes you happy.” his last sentence is void of his usual sarcastic and dry tone, and replaced with a gentleness that you could get used to.

you wish to capture this moment forever. however short-lived just one dance may be, you both vow to live for another one.

[fantasyinvader]

Thinking about it some more.

Naming the scene where the cast pledges to follow Edelgard and fight the church "Path of Thorns" is ultimately putting a judgement call on the route. Thorns represent sin, meaning an offense against morality or religion, an action that is reprehensible or an often serious shortcoming. Like hadou, it does not have positive connotations. Path of Thorns, in particular, refers to a verse in the Bible about how such a path is the path of a sluggard, or lazy person, while the path of the righteous is a clear highway.

The path the game wants the player to take is them fighting Edelgard, while the player is also tasked with guiding their students. The options that unlock Safflower goes against this. The first option is the player dropping their duties as a teacher for a week in order to accompany Edelgard to Enbarr at her request. The second is siding with her after the Holy Tomb, where she tasked her soldiers with killing your students if they got in her way. You've put Edelgard above your other students, selecting the options that are presented as changing the story, and as a result lead them into joining her.

You didn't do your job, hence the Path of Thorns. You've committed sin in the eyes of the game. Likewise, you've prevented your students from fighting Edelgard and her hadou. Hadou, where the people are supposed to rise up and overthrow such a leader. Instead, the BE's enable her and are called the true face of the Empire.

But if you think about it, this also puts Byleth on a similar level to the lords and the themes of responsibility.

Edelgard seeks power, but hates the duties and responsibilities that come with it. She wants to get rid of those duties and responsibilities as well as the institution that promotes them, all while increasing her own power. She would hate Spider-man.

Dimitri accepts his duties, but has the wrong idea about what they mean. After he learns to live for himself and the people present rather than the dead, he realizes he doesn't want to do those things because they're expected of him. Performing his duties as a good king to his people is what he actually wants.

Claude, in the Japanese script, is just learning that nobles have duties after moving to Fodlan. This concept is seemingly alien to him, and in Hopes he rejects it and pushes for the absolution of the Church as a result. But in Houses, he learns from Fodlan and brings parts of it's culture back to Almyra to enact change there. outright says he'll put an end to Edelgard hadou/military rule, while the Japanese makes out that while they both are against the Church initially their ideals/goals are not the same. Not to mention in Hopes when he betrays Edelgard after talking to Byleth/Sothis, he points out how the Alliance joined out of duress and as he fights he talks about protecting the Alliance. Even asks Lorenz to look after it if things go wrong for him. Claude may not join the Church or Kingdom, but he becomes the hero in this path only to be defeated for it. He accepts whatever Sothis told him and opposed Edelgard's Agarthan-inspired outlook.

And that's not even going into the fact Edelgard is brandishing a weapon with the Crest of the Beast on it linking her to the devil arcana, uses demonic beasts as war assets, opposes the Goddess and her children for the sake of those living underneath the Earth's surface who are associated with snakes/serpents and have a history of tempting people away from what the Church teaches. Combine this with Claude's arc and his solution to the path of thorns, getting rid of the thorns (Edelgard and Hubert) while joking about wearing boots, and it's pretty clear.

If you have any understanding of Christian symbolism, the game is telling you Edelgard is the villain just like it does if you have understanding of Buddhist symbols.

[philliamwrites]

TDWC 08: Secrets of the Forgotten

Pairing: House Leaders x gn! Reader

Warnings: canon divergence, slow burn

Summary: “Please, don’t mind me at all,” Claude beams, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s. Dimitri’s scowl deepens more. His eyes turn into the blue of an icy-cold glacier dominating the coastline of Faerghus in the North. “I do, actually. I wish to speak with the Herald in private.” “Then get in line for an appointment. Our Herald is very popular with folks, as you know.” And with that, he closes the door in Dimitri’s face.

Notes: [01] | 07 | 09

Words: 9.7k

A/N: huge thanks to @raindrops-on-the-roof for joining me on this ride and being my beta-reader!!

i lived, bitch. it's been so long but after a year, i'm back with the next chapter and it was ton of fun working on it becase we're finally introduced to a new figure and get some original content. also claude's a menace and that's what we all want. enjoy!

08: Secrets of the Forgotten

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch’s high estate; (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!) And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed, Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.

— Edgar Allan Poe, “The Haunted Palace”

The underground canals running through Abyss, like veins moving blood through the body, are dirty and smell of human waste and decay, but Balthus plays a hand much dirtier and everyone huddling around the small, crooked table in Wilting Rose Inn groans in unison. Except for Byleth. She shows her own cards, a Royal Flush, and earns a round of earnest applause. You try catching her eye to find out whether she has turned time back in her favour but her ever-steady gaze doesn’t betray anything.

“Okay, lesson learnt.” Balthus gets up and stretches, putting his taut muscles on full display. “I never imagined there could be someone worse than Yuri out there. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Is Yuri really that bad?” you ask, throwing your Flush on the table.

Balthus gives you a seldom serious look. “You have no idea.”

It’s certainly not that hard to imagine. He sometimes has this intense, piercing gaze in his eyes when he talks about knights patrolling too close to Abyss’ entrances for his liking, even though his whole body is a picture of relaxed serenity. He’s an amazing actor, you can give him that.

“Another round?” Byleth asks, already shuffling the cards expertly with her slender fingers. Apparently, part of being a mercenary also entails having an amazing poker face and constantly winning at card games.

“Oh, no, no, I think I’m on guard duty,” Marco, the Rogue, says and flees.

“I forgot I promised to check if there’s enough candle wax to … remake candles,” Ethan, the Marksman, says and bolts.

“These are the men supposed to protect us,” Barbara, the Smith, sighs. “Yet they fear their pride won’t stand after losing a game to a woman.” She gives Byleth a scrutinising look that is also approving at the same time and follows her comrades. The rest of the crowd scatters like butterflies fluttering away after being disturbed from their peaceful slumber.

“That Barbara.” Balthus shakes his head. “Can’t say I know anyone more capable of making grown men feel like little boys.”

“I like her,” you admit. “She doesn’t call me the Archbishop’s Lapdog.” Like most Abyssians.

“Just give everyone some time.” Balthus’ grin is part amusement, part pity as he gives your shoulder two hard claps to bid you good night. “They’ll see in no time you’re no church stuck-up.”

You aren’t so sure about that. You have been down here for a couple of days only, engaging in fights, defending the place against the mercenaries and bandits that wander into Abyss—on accident or on order still remains a question. It was obvious that fighting a few battles for them would not change their mind so quickly—a few good deeds did not undo the year-long abuse and persecution most of the Abyss dwellers had to suffer. You doubt you alone can heal those wounds, yet still there is a fierce fire burning inside you, a light blazing to banish all the shadows clinging to their pained hearts.

Not for the church’s sake, you’ve realised quickly, but for the Herald’s, for the first one loved Fódlan’s people; loves Fódlan’s people still. Every night you lie in your dark quarters, a single, tiny room with nothing but slatted frames and a thin blanket for a bed, nothing feels surer and more honest than this feeling Seiros’ Champion allows you to glimpse as if what it means to be the Herald is that simple.

And simple it is, for if you cannot remember your identity, your wishes and dreams and ambitions, you can take his on until you have figured it out for yourself; surround yourself with them just like you donned his ceremonial robes at the very beginning.

If Byleth questions your new-found vigour for battle, for tactics and schemes on the battlefield, she hasn’t voiced it yet. Or, maybe she is simply too occupied trying to understand the cards Fate has dealt her.

The Wilting Rose Inn clears out as the candles burn down until only a few loyal patrons remain in their respective, quiet corners. It becomes easier to talk to Byleth, since you cannot be sure who might be listening in, ready to forward information to Yuri and give him whatever reason to put your head on a stake. Not that he would actually do something like that. At least, you hope he would not do something like that.

You also realise how much you missed just being in her presence, and they become the only short moments during the day when you allow yourself to relax and droop your shoulders whenever exhaustion weighs you down.

Today, Byleth has made it her personal mission to teach you wood-carving. It goes as expected: you’ve cut yourself three times and have nothing to show for but a misshapen try at a cat that bears more resemblance to a stone you might find in one of Abyss’ gutters.

“I am,” you say as the sharp edge nicks your thumb once more, “a danger to myself and everyone around me.”

“Good thing I’m the only one here then.” Byleth gently takes the knife from you as if you are a toddler and only to be trusted with tools that are highly unlikely to chop your limbs off. Like a spoon. You’ll remind her of that next time she pushes a sword into your hands and demands you to participate in another sparring session. “I’m not as practised in magic and Tome wielding as Linhardt or Lysithea, but I am sure you still need all your fingers to conjure spells.”

“I could try it with my toes.” You wiggle your bloodied fingers at her like the boogie man. “Become the first Warlock that casts Dark magic with their feet.”

The smile that tugs at the corners of Byleth’s mouth is a greater victory than having chased off the bandits yesterday. It is followed by a frown though, one so light, the softest shift in her brows that you wouldn’t have noticed it were it not for the long hours during tea-time you spent studying the planes and features of her face like an artist might while studying their muse.

She leans back in her creaking chair and pockets her knife inside the hidden sheath strapped around her upper thigh. “We are making slow progress uncovering who is after Yuri and his friends,” Byleth says. “I know we’ve been through this already, but any guesses?”

“You’d think with how often we got rid of them by now, they would realise trying to drive the underground residents away is a waste of time. Whoever pays them must hold a serious grudge, why else would they spend so much money on sending mercs in here?”

A shadow passes Byleth’s eyes. “Unless these kids know more and are hiding the true reason someone would be after them.”

You understand her concern. You two have agreed to help, but your official duties and first responsibilities lie in taking care of the academy’s students and seeing that no harm comes to them. Which is no easy task as they so readily throw themselves into defending the Abyssians.

“I … I don’t think that is the case.”

Byleth simply lifts an eyebrow, urging you to go on.

“I can’t explain it very well. I just don’t think they have anything bad in mind. I don’t think there is a reason to doubt them.”

It doesn’t make sense, and yet you know Byleth is the last one to argue against a point like that. This quiet, strange connection that exists between you two is undeniable—just like the sun’s travel over the skies and that it lies to rest in the West and rises again in the East, day by day. Everything is connected, you just have to find out who is spinning the thread of your Fates together.

“I really thought they were trouble at first,” Byleth says and gestures to the barman to bring another round. “Especially Yuri. He is cunning and sharp, a dangerous combination for a leader.”

“I’d like to think he is hiding a warm, pleasant core beneath all that scheming and calculating,” you say, taking the drink the moment the bartender leaves it at your table. “Hiding it somewhere very, very deep.”

A corner of Byleth’s mouth twitches. She’s holding her own glass, lazily swirling the amber liquid in circles. “He is young, but I would not put it past him to hold ulterior motives. Promise me to be careful around him.”

“He and his lot helped me before they knew I was the Herald,” you concede, thinking back to Constance’s reaction after you woke up. “They simply saw someone in need of help, that’s all.” Since then, it has not occurred to you even once that they might be criminals hiding away under the church’s nose. You still think of Alfons and Briana’s small faces, their round button-noses and large eyes as they look up at Yuri in adoration. They deserve so much more than hiding away in some dark, rotting cellars.

You swallow your shot in one go, and instantly begin to cough and pound your chest as it goes down burning. Byleth knocks her glass back without any problem and swallows the burning liquid as if it were water. You still blink against the tears stinging in your eyes.

“You sound like you trust them already,” Byleth says and waves for another round. You try to share a mildly concerned look with the bartender, but he ignores you and slides two more shot glasses in front of your noses.

“Trust is maybe a little much,” you mumble, thinking of Yuri’s sharp smile, the way Hapi struggles and fails not to roll her eyes whenever you offer some insight with your Crest. “But I don’t think they’re bad. Or evil.”

Byleth nods, either because she has come to the same conclusion or because she puts trust in your decision not to doubt them. She downs another shot, looks at you expectantly. You scramble for another topic, anything that will save your throat from burning up a second time with this goddess-forsaken liquor.

Inevitably, your eyes fall on the sword strapped to her waist, only to call it a sword puts any blacksmith who has mastered the art of steel and iron to shame, and you have no desire to meet the one responsible for this craft, the one that bends bone and magic to their will. Byleth follows your gaze. Her hand rests on the hilt, hesitantly at first. You don’t think you have ever seen her hesitate before.

“The Sword of the Creator,” you mumble. “What does that even mean?” Has the Progenitor God truly wielded such a thing? What kind of goddess was she to come up with such a hideous weapon, to forge the Heroes’ Relics in such a portrayal and present them as gifts to humanity? It is like receiving an apple and only finding the core rotten and inhabited with worms after you have taken a bite. You wonder if this repulsive fascination is you or Seiros’ Champion, yet he remains silent.

Byleth stares into her glass as if the answers for all her questions lie hidden at the bottom and by drinking fast enough, she can unravel them. You are pretty sure that is how people become drunkards.

“Holding the sword … wielding it.” Byleth searches your gaze. “It felt raw. Unlike anything I have ever felt, and yet...” Her nimble fingers dance across the hilt once more, halt at the round socket where it seems that something spherical is missing. When she locks eyes with you, something tells you this is something she has not even told her students. Maybe she can’t tell them. Maybe, just like you feel with her, she feels that honesty comes easier when only you are around. You take a sip from your glass, welcoming for once the biting heat that forces you to shut your eyes and turn your head away.

Why can’t you tell her about the first Herald? Why do you want to keep his existence within you a secret? You listen for his voice, his opinion on the matter, but Seiros’ Champion is still silent, and you hope it doesn’t stay that way in matters of life or death. What is the use of an ancient dwelling inside your heart when he does not share in his unending knowledge and experience?

“And yet, it felt right,” Byleth finishes, cutting off your thoughts, and somehow you can easily imagine what she had felt—for the very same could be said about meeting the Herald. Right, natural. Like returning home. “I wonder … if there is any truth to the people’s claims that only a descendant of the King of Liberation would be able to use its power the way I did.”

You’ve read the historic texts on Nemesis, the King of Liberation. How the goddess gifted him the sword to use its power to save Fódlan from wicked gods over a thousand years ago. He liberated the people from their thralldom and thus was named King and Beloved of the people until the sword’s heavenly power, too terrifying and mighty for any mortal to bear, corrupted him and he turned to the darkness, waging war across the land and thus forcing Seiros to destroy him. It strengthens your belief that whatever benevolence the Goddess gifts her patrons, the price to pay in the end seems too high.

“I hope,” Byleth continues, “Professor Hanneman will have answers to that when we return. I still do not quite understand why Rhea has allowed me to keep it.”

“Is there any explanation as to why it was her sword inside the tomb and not the remains of Saint Seiros?” you ask. It would also beg the question where they are instead. But Byleth shakes her head.

“There wasn’t much time to go into details,” she says. Her fingers linger just a moment longer on the sword, before she withdraws them—a little reluctantly. “When you disappeared, we moved heaven and hell to find you. It was by mere luck Claude spotted one of the Abyssians disappear inside a passageway under the Abbey.”

“I hate how no one told us,” you say. “You would think a whole bunch of people living under the monastery is worth mentioning at some point after appointing us to our positions.”

“I’d like to think there was a reason for keeping silent about it,” Byleth says though even she doesn’t sound sure, and it strikes you as odd. Not Byleth doubting Rhea, but her not being sure about something. “A reason I can’t wait to hear once we’re back on the surface.” She reaches across the table, presenting her open palm to your hand holding your glass. You surrender and give it to her, watching a little too intently when her throat bobs as she swallows another round.

“Yuri expects another attack on the Abyss soon,” Byleth continues and rises to her feet. She stretches like a cat in the sun. “We should head to bed and rest up. I wouldn’t want a repeat of the last battle.”

“Oh, come on, it was not that bad.”

“You almost fell asleep from exhaustion when those two Grapplers advanced,” Byleth says, using her Professor voice on you.

You can’t help but grin. “And just like I predicted, you came and saved me.” Byleth’s mouth twitches into a flat line, but you can see that she is pleased. “Pulling an all-nighter to study the maps and outline of Abyss and the secrets it has to offer was a good idea. There are some interesting chambers holding traps and pitfalls. Whoever built this place really wanted to keep people away.”

“Makes you think what could be hiding deeper down in Abyss,” Byleth thinks aloud. “And maybe one of the next bandits will be kind enough to tell us.”

You nod. It was Claude’s idea to take someone captive and get answers from them, and hopefully shed some light on what it is exactly that their employer wants from Abyss.

Byleth escorts you to your chamber, your quiet voices bouncing off the damp walls in the dark corridor that stretch away into unprepossessing shadows. Unlike up in the monastery, the walls here are bare of tapestries and sometimes even of torches which makes traversing the tunnels difficult. You’ve let Linhardt show you simple fire spells to have a source of light on you.

“But it would be far easier if you learnt Light Magic,” he had commented as you two bent over scrolls and books, fighting a yawn. “Also much safer and highly unlikely to set yourself on fire.”

You had closed the tome he’d slid across the table to you, smiling stiffly. “Duly noted.”

The flame dancing across your palm now flickers but doesn’t waver, illuminating the corridor and painting Byleth’s face with a sheen of soft, amber light, giving her pale complexion a little colour. She is watching you conjuring the spell; how your fingers close around the flame as if it were a small beating heart, easily snuffed out whenever a breeze swipes through the corridors.

“I see your Magic Prowess is growing,” Byleth notes. “As is your ability to hold your own ground on the battlefield. You’ve grown used to fighting.”

That isn’t a compliment you had ever thought someone would tell you, but coming from Byleth, you know it is true. You have noticed it yourself—how with every battle it gets easier to see the enemy’s movements and abilities, their weapons and gear. Calling upon the power of the Herald’s Crest, usually a taxing and draining endeavour that left you resting up in your chambers, has become much easier since you have met Seiros’ Champion. Whenever he makes his presence known with quiet whispers of where to lead your students next, soft pushes as if he is placing his small child’s hand upon your shoulder to guide you to victory, his support is like wind in your sails, propelling you forward and lifting your courage.

“You are not as scared as you were in the beginning,” she continues. “You have never much wavered in your tactics, but you seem even more sure now.”

All that praise from her makes your ears scald with heat. Though praise it seems, you know that Byleth only speaks truth. “I have finally started to trust in my abilities. If people see me doubt, how can they follow where I lead them in battle?” you say, even though that is not entirely the truth, of course. Which is why you hastily add, “And I trust you. As long as you are by my side, we are invincible.”

“So it is,” Byleth says, turning her head so that her moss-green eyes dig into you like hooks. “And yet I wonder. This courage, is it just because you wish to defend Abyss? To prove yourself before Yuri and his companions. Or is there something else? Something that you want to share with me?”

You both pause in front of the door leading to your quarters, the silence smothering you like a heavy blanket of freshly fallen snow that puts everything into a deep slumber. No matter how much you dig through that snow though, you can’t find the resolve to tell her about Seiros’ Champion. Where would you even begin to explain?

It might seem that I have turned mad but believe me when I tell you the soul of the first Herald resides within me and sometimes, he whispers to me what I should do, and he likes to gossip from time to time as well. He seems fond of Edelgard in particular, and notices whenever she looks at you, but you choose not to see it.

You stare at her, not entirely sure what you are waiting for. Maybe that Byleth learns how to read your thoughts so you wouldn’t have to speak these outlandish things aloud. Instead, you say, “No. There is nothing.”

Byleth considers you for a moment. You make it a point not to shy away from her scrutinising gaze, as one would do with nothing to hide, you assume. In the end, she relents first, but not because she grants you an easy victory. You’re certain she knows when it is wise to return to a battle at a later time. “I see,” she says mildly. “Rest up, then. I will see you tomorrow.”

 You watch her disappear down the hallway, the blade at her side peeking out from under her black robes like a sly wink; like a promise waiting for the right time to jump out of the shadows and strike you in the back. It occurs to you then, for the first time, that maybe the timely meeting with Seiros’ Champion and Byleth activating the power of the Sword of the Creator might be connected.

The Chalice of Beginnings. The way it all ties back to the Rite of Rising, the very same festivities used as a distraction to try and steal Seiros’ remains—unless the Western Church somehow knew what they would find inside the tomb would be something entirely different—and ultimately the reason you are all down here … calling it simply coincidence is like cooing at a fox shortly before it snaps with sharp fangs at you. It is hard to tell what play you are conducting on the stage unknown forces have set you upon. All you can hope for is that it doesn’t end up being a tragedy.

With the scrolls, papers and books Aelfric was kind enough to lend you spread over the make-shift workplace you’ve put together using crates, you’re spending the evening reading up on the Rite of Passing and the Four Apostles. Even though some of the texts are so badly damaged you can barely make out their content, it all matches with what Aelfric has already told you: the ritual is believed to have the power to resurrect a life that was lost using the chalice which only the Four Apostles had access to. After the ritual failed, they bound the chalice so that it would never fall into mortal hands. Capable of something that grand, it is no wonder whoever is after it throws ambush after ambush at the Abyssians in hopes to find crumbs leading to where this treasure of immeasurable worth might be.

But if that chalice really exists, where is it? To search for the Chasm of Bound below Abyss feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack. There is no telling how much time you have left before either Rhea demands everyone’s presence back or you are unable to protect the Abyssians any longer from the mob of greedy thugs.

“Knock knock,” a voice says from the entrance to your room.

You startle, too lost in thought to notice anyone approaching. Claude is leaning against the doorframe, having come up behind you as silent as a cat. He has changed out of his gear, wearing loose dark trousers tied at the waist, and a simple white shirt that stands in contrast against his tanned skin. The first buttons of his collar are open, showing the elegant curves of his collarbones. His dark hair is damp, curling against his temples and the nape of his neck.

“Did something happen?” you ask, moving in alarm to rise from your seat, though surely, he wouldn’t lean so leisurely and relaxed against the door if there was another attack. He confirms as much with a lazy wave of his hand, unhitching himself from the frame. “Nope, nothing to worry about. I just thought I’d drop by and say hi. Do you know how difficult it is to pin you down? You’ve gotten really busy since we’ve come down here.”

“You know, no rest for the wicked.” You try to restore order on your desk by organising the books and scrolls in one corner. You’ve completely lost track of time, and as it turns out, magical fire is incapable of burning candles to their wick, so there is really no telling how long you’ve been holed up in your room, studying the ancient texts. “Do you need something?”

“Just thought we’d have a nice, pleasant chat.” The smile flirting with Claude’s lips is dangerous for it tries to appear innocent, yet the way his green eyes glint with mischief, like the edge of a knife flashing as it is drawn from a hidden sheath, promises nothing good. “Been a while since we’ve had one of those.”

 You can’t remember if you have ever had one with Claude. Maybe all those moons ago after you had awoken with your new power, which now feels like a lifetime ago. You lean back in your chair, allowing your eyes a break after all those hours of reading. Maybe this distraction might help.

“Okay, I’m all yours.” You stand up, waving at the chair to offer Claude a place to sit, and absolutely missing the way he shoots you an amused glance at your choice of words. Instead of taking up your offer though, he steps backward. Suspicion crawls up your back, feathery light like a spider making its way to new prey caught in its web.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Claude says and with a swift kick, shuts the door behind him. You stare at him, tongue-tied. Can students just do that with faculty members? Yuri’s voice creeps up from a dark corner in your memory: “You’d do well to keep in mind that the monastery rules don’t apply down here, Herald.”

“I just have a few questions, is all,” he continues, still smiling but anything pleasant in his voice has made room for an urgency that you can’t remember ever having heard coming from him. Claude crosses the room in quick strides, and leans his hips sideways against the table. His eyes flick over the remaining texts on your table, his head slightly cocking to one side to get a better angle to read them. When you clear your throat, he startles, and looks back up at you.

“Right, sorry.” He knows that you know that he, in fact, is not sorry. “The library here has some pretty interesting things, I gotta say. Books and scrolls you’d never find in the monastery’s library. There are some things that are hard to believe, though. There’s this funny book hidden inside a false cover that talks about a Distance Viewer and Flammable Black Water and a Metal-Hold Printing Machine. Imagine the technological advancement one of the nations would achieve if they could actually build and utilise devices like that.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “To talk about the Abyss’ book collection?”

“What? No. No, I—,” he begins, tapping his slender fingers impatiently against the wood. You don’t think you have ever seen this restlessness about him. Claude has always appeared as steady as his bow-hand, sure that wherever he aims the shot will land true. “I was just wondering if something happened after your fall down here. Something you can’t tell us.”

You feel as if ice water has been dumped down the back of your neck, shocking you to full alertness. Claude must see that he has caught you off guard; a look of hesitancy flashes across your face before you can speak. “And what would that something be, exactly?”

He lowers his voice. “I thought you might tell me.”

You stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of anxiety spreading slowly through your limbs. “Nothing happened. Whatever gave you the idea that I’m hiding something from you guys?”

There is a moment of silence as you two trade a look that feels like a dare. There is something forbidding about the intensity of Claude’s gaze, the tension of his stillness. His fingers stop their rhythmic tap tap against the table, and now clutch onto its edge, his knuckles turning white. “I’ve always figured your reservation towards using your Crest came from the novelty of it. The foreignness of a power that isn’t yours. But in our recent battles, there’s nothing of that anymore.

“I thought maybe it’s because you met the Ashen Wolves and the people from Abyss, and you feel sympathy towards them and that’s giving you a little more oomph to try making use of the Crest. But that’s not it, is it? You’ve changed from despising the powers to fully embracing them. Wielding them as if you’ve never done anything else in your life.”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, and you don’t miss Claude’s eyes quickly jumping down to your mouth for a second. Or maybe it was just your imagination, the flickering shadow of the small candle’s light across his face. “Maybe I’ve just grown used to it,” you reply quietly.

“Herald, you grow used to balding or riding a new steed.” He looks at you sharply, his head tilted to the side. Something in his voice changes in that moment. “You don’t get used to something that changes your life from being a nobody to suddenly standing in the centre of the world. Not really.” His voice has a veneer of calm, but beneath you could hear the vibration of some very different emotion.

What changed for you, then? you want to ask. It doesn’t feel like the answer would be so simple as the appointment to the heir of the Leicester Alliance.

You shift, folding your arms in front of you for lack of a response. As much as you like to discount Claude’s tendency for plots and schemes, there is something disconcertingly earnest about him right now. The similarity is striking you all of a sudden, the shadow passing his eyes one you have already seen in Sylvain’s when he had tried talking about his Crest and its troubles.

“All I’m saying is,” Claude continues, and he takes a step towards you. Instinctively, you take one back. He takes another one. This goes on until it ends with your back against the wall. “All I’m saying is that maybe Teach finding her new shiny weapon triggered something in you,” he says now, propping himself up against the wall, his hand splayed beside your head. “Maybe a memory? Something like that?”

You hold his gaze, not shying away from his scrutinising eyes or the close proximity. So, you are not the only one thinking that the Sword of the Creator and the Crest of the Herald are connected in a way the other Crests are not. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Claude, of all people, is the first to have noticed it. You had simply failed—or underestimated him, rather—to anticipate that he would also act on that theory and corner you like a mouse to get answers. Literally.

“Nothing like that happened, Claude,” you say now, feeling like you’re walking on a lightrope, and a single misplaced word could send you plunging. And then, he is there, his presence like the light brush of soft flower petals against the back of your mind. Do not tell him yet. Do not tell anyone yet, I ask of you. I do not wish the world to know I still exist. Silly Champion of Seiros. You’ve already understood his feelings perfectly without him having to tell you.

“Somehow, I was given this power. I tried fighting it for so long, but there’s no way I can run from this. I realised that, so now I’m just trying to make the best out of it.” It is only half the truth, but that is something Claude doesn’t need to know. It is also something he didn’t want to hearyou realise as you watch his expression turn into something close to disappointment.

“I’m sure Lady Rhea would enjoy hearing this,” Claude says, his voice deep and thin like a knife’s edge—and just as sharp.

“You’re not very subtle, Claude.” You try to move past him, but he doesn’t budge. “What’s your problem?”

“Problem? There is no problem.” The mask of bored indifference slips back on his face, turning his eyes distant, and cold even. An easy smile stretches over his features, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I just enjoy teasing you.”

“And maybe I’ll enjoy sticking a dagger in your side.”

Claude laughs. “That’s not very Heraldy of you.”

You try to see if that laugh means you’re good, but his eyes are closed doors. Your face must be a question mark, because he says, “Herald,” and touches your cheek gently, grazing your skin with the rough pads of his fingers. You inhale sharply, gaze snapping up to his. Claude’s eyes widen, realising what he’s doing only then, and his warm, calloused fingers freeze against your cheek.

Just as he opens his mouth, knocks come from your front door. He lifts an eyebrow at you, asking if you are expecting visitors at this time. You just shrug. You certainly didn’t expect him, and yet here he is.

Claude pushes himself off the wall, allowing you to cross the room and open the door a crack wide. Through the narrow opening you see Dimitri standing in the hallway. When he spies you glancing at him, he gives you a shy smile that quickly turns into a scowl when Claude comes up behind you. He presses his chest against your back and leans an arm against the door frame above your head. “Oh, Dimitri?” Claude drawls.

Dimitri pales as he sees, and certainly misunderstands the sudden intimate proximity Claude is displaying. He presses his mouth into a thin line. “Pardon the intrusion, Herald. I thought maybe this would be a good moment to review the last battle reports. But I see…,” and here his eyes dart over to Claude and sweep over him as if he were a particularly unpleasant surprise he found under his bed, “… you are preoccupied.”

“Please, don’t mind me at all,” Claude beams, his grin as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

Dimitri’s scowl deepens more. His eyes turn into the blue of an icy-cold glacier dominating the coastline of Faerghus in the North. “I do, actually. I wish to speak with the Herald in private.”

“Then get in line for an appointment. Our Herald is very popular with folks, as you know.” And with that, he closes the door in Dimitri’s face.

You’re pretty sure Dimitri on the other side is wearing the same expression of dumbfounded surprise that is on your face. “What is going on with you, Claude?” you ask and turn to him, forgetting how close he is. When you almost bump into his chest, you take a hurried step to the side. “The way you are acting is unbecoming of someone with your station.”

Claude shrugs. “Don’t worry, Dimitri won’t take it to heart. It’s just that things have started to happen that don’t make sense, and I am all about making sense of the senseless.” He looks over at you, smiling. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

You’re spared the eye roll for an answer when distant bell ringing heralds another ambush on Abyss. Claude heaves a long, weary sigh. “No rest for the wicked, huh…” He turns to open the door, but except a little rattle, nothing happens, no matter how hard he shakes at the handle.

“Come on,” you say, unable to contain the urgency in your voice. “Open the door.”

“Well.” He turns around. “It appears that it is stuck.”

Your eyes go wide. “Then unstuck it.”

Claude throws himself against the door. It doesn’t budge. He curses. “My shoulder will never be the same. I expect you to nurse me back to health when this is over.”

“This is your fault,” you press out between gritted teeth. “Just break the door down, we can’t waste more time.”

“That’s what I’m—,” Claude throws himself once more against the hard wood, “—trying.”

There’s a loud crack and the door opens to the other side; not by swinging but by being lifted out of its hinges. Behind it, Dimitri is peeking around the frame, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “I thought you two might be in need of some assistance.”

“Yeah, I was … I was about to do the same,” Claude says.

You push him aside, hurrying down the corridor and waving them after you. “Lucky for us, Dimitri was faster.”

“No, really!” Claude calls after you. “I was just about to do the same!”

The fight lasted throughout the whole night. When you return to your chamber, drenched in grime and blood, you can’t even be bothered with your missing door and fall face first into your bed, remembering too late that it’s as hard as the ground.

After an hour or two of resting, you quickly clean yourself up and meet the others for a short breakfast of dry rye bread and mushy oats, letting them believe the red bump on your forehead is from the battle. There is a little spare time before the meeting to discuss your next course of action, so you head back to your room for some more shut-eye.

“Herald.”

A raspy whisper stops you, drawing your attention to a chamber you walked past on your way to the classroom many times. Not once has it been occupied since your arrival in Abyss. But now it is decorated with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries. Violet lights hang from lanterns on the ceiling, illuminating the heavy furniture and curtains in soft, misty light. You remember Constance mentioning something about a Wayseer’s room, usually empty, but now inhabited by an elderly woman sitting in an armchair too big for her behind a round, mahogany table. You can only see a pair of narrow, dark eyes staring up at you. Her nose and mouth are hidden behind a white veil.

“Please, do come in, Herald,” the woman croons and gestures to an empty, cushioned chair standing before the table. Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “There is so much we have to discuss.”

Something in your chest gives a sudden, sharp tug. Seiros’ Champion? No, this feels different. Somehow … It feels wrong. You shouldn’t be here. You hover within the doorframe, looking down the corridor left and right. It is like everyone except you two has left Abyss.

Curiosity taking you in its reins, you step into the room, your eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. “Who are you?” you ask, cautiously making your way across the room towards the chair.

The woman chuckles.

“They call me Wayseer, Herald. For I see the paths people have walked and how far they still have to march until they arrive at their destination.”

You pause, hand resting on the chair’s backrest. The wood feels impossibly cold against your skin. “You can see … the future?”

The woman chuckles again. It is the sound of dry leaves scattered by the cold autumn wind. “You mean do I have the same ability as you? Making Time bow to me? Oh no. Nothing of the like. I simply glimpse where I am allowed. No one else has what you wield.”

“Of course.” You sit, quickly swallowing your disappointment.

“Oh, but why frown like that, Herald.” The Wayseer places her hands to both sides of a translucent orb placed before her on a dark socket. You could have sworn it was not there a second ago. They were small hands with lithe fingers like spider legs. On each finger she wore heavy rings. “So many would kill for what you seem not to appreciate. Power. Glory. The chance to sit upon the throne of the world.”

“I would appreciate people not telling me how to feel about it,” you snap, irritation lashing out like a cornered beast. Taken aback, you lean away from her, your back pressed right against the cold chair. It feels as if you are pressing yourself against a solid block of ice. Where did this come from? This fury?

The Wayseer’s lip curls. If she’s taken offence at your irritation, she doesn’t show. She shifts in her seat like a child impatient to finally be allowed to play with a new toy.

“What can you tell me about my paths then?” you ask. There is little you hope for, really. If she tells you she sees you living in a nice house by the sea in twenty years or so, that is all you can ask for. A peaceful life. You would simply be happy hearing you will survive the next few years. And, if she can see where exactly you have come from, then maybe luck really is on your side this time and you can finally find some answers.

“Very well.” The Wayseer’s chuckle is drier than crisp autumn leaves. She holds out her wiry hand and says, “Close your eyes, Herald, and give me your hand.”

You aren’t too keen on skinship with a stranger, but just to humour both of you, you comply, and placing your hand into hers, palm up, you close your eyes. You feel her gnarly fingers dance over your wrist, brushing over your open palm as light as a spider’s touch. You fight a shudder.

The pain is so sudden and jarring like a lightning bolt. Before you can pull your hand back, the Wayseer grabs your wrist hard like a vice—surprisingly strong for someone this old. Her head darts forward and she sucks your bleeding finger into her greedy mouth as if it were water and she is dying of thirst.

“What are you doing?” you demand, fighting to free your hand. Finally, the Wayseer releases your finger with a wet pop from her lips, and for a second you believe to see razor sharp teeth before the veil obscures her mouth again.

The Wayseer smacks her lips and scratches her nails against the smooth surface of her orb. Maybe this is all a joke. If Claude and Hilda jump out from under the table any second and laugh about the silly face you’re making, you wouldn’t even be angry. But no one emerges, and you stay alone with this mad woman. She’s moving her hands in strange motions over the orb, and in response colourful clouds swirl inside the ball. First red, then blue, and golden until, like a storm rolling in, all of a sudden it becomes black.

The Wayseer recoils.

She tries to suck in air as if she is drowning, her eyes bulging like a dead fish’s. She spits on the ground and a shudder wrecks through her, one that has her falling from her armchair onto the ground, her body convulsing. She begins to cough, a horrible, rattling sound, as if there is something stuck deep inside her that she can’t get out. Clawing at her throat, digging her nails deep enough into the skin to tear, she kicks and wails as if set in invisible flames. As if something is burning her up from the inside. Like poison.

You jump to your feet, rounding the table to help her but she screeches and scrambles away from you, eyes ripped wide open. “Who … no, what are you?” she croaks.

“I … I don’t know.” Your voice is so quiet you don’t know if she can even hear you. “I hoped you could tell me.”

The Wayseer turns to the side and spits some more. It is so dark that it almost looks black, whatever that is—blood or maybe something far gruesome?

Did I do that? you think, horrified as you watch her climb to her feet, still shaking and shuddering. You are about to apologise, reaching forward to steady her by her elbow, but the Wayseer shakes your effort away impatiently as if you are nothing but an annoying fly.

“Oh, my dear, you seem forsaken to me,” she says, and you can’t hold back your surprise how easily she bears no mind or grudge to whatever has happened. Whatever you might have caused. “Just like—” She stops. Her eyes are fixed on her orb that is now swirling in undistinguishable shapes. She leans over it, her gaze pining you like a dead animal on a corkboard. “It seems to me that the answers you seek lie in the Shadow Library, Herald,” the Wayseer says now, her voice suddenly smooth like clear water. Or the satin concealing a sharp knife. But what makes your stomach churn is the way she purred “Herald.” Almost mockingly, and you realise the spiking fear in your stomach doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the first Herald.

“Why can’t you tell me?” you ask.

“Because it is not my place to tell you.” The Wayseer casts down her eyes now. Her whole behaviour doesn’t make sense. Making light of the Herald’s name first, now acting obedient. You listen inside for the voice of Seiros’ Champion and find one emotion burning like a beacon in the dark. Get out. She is the enemy.

You jump to your feet, almost knocking the table over. “I have to go.”

“Of course.” The Wayseer bows her head slightly, and from the way her eyes become slits, you can see she is smiling underneath the veil. “But don’t forget, the Shadow Library holds answers. Do not let anyone stop you from chasing the truth.”

You give an awkward nod, not trusting your voice.

When you quickly leave the room and throw a last glance back, you think you see the unfamiliar face of a man staring back at you from inside the Wayseer’s orbs, his eyes eerily white.

The Shadow Library is a dark, damp room tucked away at the end of a narrow hall that is seldom frequented by the Abyssians. When you take a look inside, relief fills you that only Linhardt is currently occupying a seat close to a wall, an uneven stack of books his only companion.

The Wayseer didn’t say specifically where to look, but you would start with records on the first Herald and see what you could turn up about him.

But first, you have to deal with Linhardt who’s napping away in his seat, cheek squished against the edge of an open book.

“Linhardt.” You shake him. “Linhardt!”

He jerks up. “I’m awake,” he lies, blinking sleepily against the dim candle’s light. He looks up at you, squints and seems to recognise who caught him. “Oh, it’s just you, Herald. Come to a late study session as well? Or early morning? It’s certainly hard to tell down here with no sun.”

“How long have you been awake?”

Linhardt thinks about that for a moment, his eyes losing focus, then refocusing again. “Forty-two hours, maybe?”

“Bed. Now.”

He leans back, considering the idea. “We can’t say for how long we’ll have access to this hidden knowledge. Did you know it was only with the founding of the Adrestian Empire that we have the calendar as we know it today. They used to call our moons ‘months,’ if you can believe something this extraordinary! You can’t find data like that up in the monastery’s library.”

“Linhardt,” you repeat. “Go to bed. Or do you want me to get Byleth?”

Linhardt doesn’t need to consider this. He raises to his feet, sways a little from exhaustion, and tugs his uniform in order. “Good night, Herald.”

He turns and moves to the exit, but you call him back. “Linhardt!”

He stops. You point at the table. His mouth twitches into an unpleasant line, the only sight of his disapproval, but he returns, drops the books and scrolls he’s hidden in the folds of his robes, and leaves for good.

Quiet settles, and you give it a minute or two to calm your beating heart. “I know you don’t like this,” you say out loud, hoping Seiros’ Champion might finally stop being so anxious inside you. “I don’t trust that Wayseer either, but if I find answers here, I’ll take anything I can get.” He doesn’t know what it is like not knowing anything. Are you even a real person if you don’t have a past; if you don’t have anything or anyone remembering you? “I have a right to know who I am.”

Unfathomable sadness spills at those words—his mixing with yours and you can’t say who started it. But he quickly recedes, leaving you alone. Somehow you feel even worse now. Lonely. You wonder where he left to where you can’t follow him.

You make your way along the walls of books, allowing your fingers to gently journey over the spines. There are so many stories in here that so few people get to read. This library’s collection appears larger than the monastery’s as well, solely for the fact that they don’t have enough space for all the knowledge cramped into every nook and cranny. Wherever there is even some small additional space, someone has made it their calling to fill that blank spot with a book—even when it doesn’t fit.

Without any idea to start, you continue down the aisle and pick whatever sounds interesting. Letters from heirs to noble houses, an antiquated note on what meat to use for a special dish prepared for the new emperor at ceremonies, a novel set in the Adrestian Empire with a date of removal and Seteth’s signature. So this is where the books end up that Seteth doesn’t allow up in the monastery.

You’d hoped to find more about the Herald down here maybe, but there are no records, no memoirs, not even discourse. Why did no one care to keep your records alive? you wonder, but wherever the boy has retreated to, he can’t hear you, or perhaps, chooses not to hear you.

Nothing sticks out as something truly worthy of Seteth’s scorn at first glance. That is until you find the burnt remnants of a report stating some details on a handful of noble houses, another scroll that talks about a False God and the children of men fleeing to the depths of the earth. One paper strikes you as particularly important, but the page is so old and worn that most of the text is illegible. The Truth of Heroes’ Relics. You wonder what it might be, what truth lies within the relics and their Crests that the writer of this paper finished with the words “I daresay the Goddess would not wish for me to learn more than I already have.”

You finally hit a breakthrough when a stack of papers falls to your feet, bundled together with a crumbling piece of wool. When you begin to read, you realise these are the fragments of a forgotten memoir of someone who had fought in the War of Heroes. With clammy hands, you begin to read.

__/15 - Ailell Forest It has been several moons since King Nemesis was defeated, and the tides of war have turned from bad to worse. I have received news that my friend Daphnel has fallen as well. Those zealots are after our heads, and those of our leaders. All that is left for us is to disappear into the muddy waters Seiros has created. My long life may soon come to an end …

__/2 - Itha Plains I somehow escaped with my life, but I fear the end is near. They tell stories of the Shadowlord’s execution and with him gone, what point is there for us, those who have survived? Those who remain and carry a broken legacy. People are worried, for their Herald has locked himself in his rooms, unwilling to speak to his followers or Saint Seiros. They do not understand how he could be so distraught over the Shadowlord’s death. They do not know the truth. Once more, Seiros has chosen to keep secrets, to play with her charges’ obedience and fear. But I know. The world will know the truth at some point and then Seiros will reap the rotten harvest of what she has sown. I misspoke and was driven away to the Fhirid River. They hunt us like animals. I considered leaving Crusher behind, hiding my trails. Maybe it is too late for that. I wish I could see my wife and son again … just one last time.

You read the content of the worn pages once more, trying to make a sense of it. Daphnel was one of the Ten Heroes, as was the author of this letter—if you remember correctly, the Heroes’ Relic Crusher was wielded by Dominic. It must be from after the corruption if King Nemesis was defeated, but from the way those words are framed, the author doesn’t strike you as someone mad for more power or revenge. It is strange but you feel pity for this person.

There is another name that stands out, of course, one that you have not heard in all your moons since joining the church.

The Shadowlord.

The name is like a brush of icy cold fingers against your mind, as gently as a snake grazing your ankle before it springs forward and sinks its venomous fangs deep into your flesh. A shiver passes your body, only it is settled so deep within your bones that you know this is not your fear rekindled.

But as you focus on chasing after Seiros’ Champion before he can disappear back into the murky depths of your mind, a cough comes from the library’s entrance. Your gaze snaps up to see Yuri standing in the doorway. The look of annoyance on his face is something that deserves its own painting to commemorate it.

“I hope you plan on putting that back exactly where you found it,” he says, strolling over as if he doesn’t have any care in the world but the tense set of his shoulders betrays him. “Wouldn’t want any of that to find its way into the hands of someone from the surface.”

“Don’t you get bored?” you ask, folding the papers back together and pushing them back between two books.

Yuri stops, quickly eyeing what you’ve put away to undoubtedly have a look himself once you leave. “Bored of what?”

“Pretending I’m still the villain and here to sell out your people?”

To your surprise, a look of unabashed amusement lights up his face for a moment. It settles back to a somewhat neutral expression, but the glee still remains in the soft dip of the dimple on his left cheek.

“Better safe than sorry,” Yuri replies, shrugging casually. His nimble fingers dance across book spines. “Though yes, even I must admit that your deeds for the people of Abyss are not what I have expected.” His fingers pause. Yuri leans forward, lilac eyes gleaming. His face is predatory, but his voice is gentle. “You are not what I have expected.”

His words feel like the warm flick of a candle’s light. You didn’t realise until now how much you cared for Yuri’s approval. To think he’s warming up to you slowly might still be an exaggeration, but maybe he’ll grant you the generosity of a looser tongue now that he doesn’t see you as the enemy.

Your eyes skim back to where you’ve returned the letters, fingers itching to take them with you until you know every word by heart. “I’ve … I’ve read about this person. Shadowlord. Any idea who that was?”

Yuri raises a slim eyebrow. “The Shadowlord?” He looks a little puzzled, his eyes roaming over the books. “It’s just a story. A boogie man living in the shadows that steals you away if you don’t finish eating all your vegetables. Grandparents used to tell their grandchildren that story so they wouldn’t be naughty.”

“So just the bad guy in a fairy tale?”

“Is what I’ve heard.” He gives a single shrug. “Who knows. All fairy tales have a spark of truth to them though. Maybe he truly existed.”

You’re sure that is what people thought about the Herald as well until the story became reality. You just hope this particular story remains one.

“Also, I would appreciate it if you don’t go around the monastery telling everyone what you’re reading down here,” Yuri says, waving towards the library’s entrance to signal your late-night reading has come to an end.

You hesitate only a moment before you follow him down the corridor, leaving the books and tomes behind. “Okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Great.” He winks at you. “Saves me the trouble of sneaking into your room and slitting your throat.”

“Charming as always.”

Maybe one day you’ll be capable of holding a pleasant conversation with him without any death threats. Though it already feels as if a little of Yuri’s animosity has disappeared in favour of giving you a chance to prove yourself.

He drops you off at the door to your quarters, already flaunting down the corridor to whatever nightly escapade fancies his tastes without so much as a wave at you over his shoulder.

“That Wayseer,” you say before he can disappear into the shadows. “What’s her deal?”

Yuri stops. He turns slowly, his eyes flitting from the dark corners of the flickering lights on the walls to you. There’s a question in his eyes you don’t know the answer to. “What Wayseer?” he asks, and you can feel your blood run cold. “I know everyone going in and out of Abyss, and I haven’t heard about someone like that hanging around.”

“But that room next to the scrap chamber…”

“Hasn’t been occupied in years.” When Yuri answers this time, he turns around and looks at you a little sceptical but also impatient as if he doesn’t have time for whatever pipe dreams you’ve come up with. “I guess someone played a joke on you. Don’t let it get to you.”

You nod, but your mind still lingers in that room, with that person. It would be easy to brush it off as a joke. But this sense of wrongness spikes again, a kernel of goddess-awful flavour that the more you think about it has you gagging. You had felt an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It was recognition.

A/N: someone over at ao3 made fanart of the first herald and i'm absolutely in love!! check it out here!

if you're interested to join the taglist, please let me know! i want to resume uploads every month, so the next chapter should be up on September 15th. thanks for reading and take care!

[clusterfuck-misc]

ANON ASKS:

could i get some yan dimitri from fe3h? maybe pre time skip puppy love ;w;

I AS MUCH AS I LOVE FLUFFY CAPE DIMA, PRE-TIMESKIP PUPPY LOVE DIMA IS FAR SUPERIOR.

Pre-timeskip Yandere Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader

This is in HC format.

The reader is gender neutral.

Content warning: obsessive behavior, delusional themes, overprotective behavior, slightly aggressive behavior.

ARCHIVED POST. @clusterfuck-yandere IS MY NEW BLOG.

PLEASE DO NOT SEND REQUESTS ON THIS BLOG.

— His obsession with you on your birthday.

You nearly forgot about the professor inviting you to have tea, which is why you found yourself running through the halls of Garreg Mach in hopes that you wouldn’t be late.

Being in such a hurry meant you didn’t slow down while rounding the corner.

And that’s how you ran into him.

Both of you stumbled backwards, blinking from the initial shock of the collision. A quick apology was about to leave your lips before you realized who you ran into;

Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

Your mind completely halted.

Uh-oh.

“Y-Your highness,” you stuttered, immediately standing upright. “I’m— I apologize! I didn’t see where I was going, and…”

You trailed off when you noticed how he was staring at you.

It was… weird.

Like he was shocked or in a dazed state.

Worried he hit his head, you took a step closer to get a better look at him.

“Your highness?”

When you reached to put a hand on his shoulder, you could feel his entire body tense as his cheeks flushed.

That’s when the prince’s retainer — Dedue, you remember — appeared, worry written all over his face.

“Your highness,” he softly began, “are you alright?”

Fortunately, the presence of his retainer seemed to snap the blonde out of his trance. “H-Huh? Oh—! Yes… yes, I am.”

The Duscuran turned towards you with a blank expression. “What happened?”

“I was in a rush,” you started, “and—”

“It’s alright,” Dimitri quickly interrupted. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The look he gave you was… well… you didn’t know how to explain it.

“I should’ve been more careful. I’m terribly sorry, your highness.” You gave a polite bow to further your apology.

“All is well,” the prince assured, smile slightly bigger than normal. “I should’ve been more careful as well.”

He continued to stare at you with… those eyes.

Awkwardly, you decide to take your leave, still feeling his gaze on you.

You didn’t even hear what he said to his retainer.

“Dedue… I think I found my betrothed…!”

— If you weren’t in the Blue Lions house before, expect to be recruited by Professor Byleth on behalf of Dimitri.

It was shocking to hear that the Prince of Faerghus specifically wanted you.

I mean, the only interaction you had was when you ran into him on your birthday. Maybe the professor had the wrong person?

“Nope,” Byleth said. “Dimitri asked for you. He said you would be valuable to the Blue Lions.”

You could only blankly stare at the professor. Maybe Dimitri has watched you train?

If you were to take up on the offer, expect a celebration thrown in your favor; not only because the other Blue Lions want the latest recruit to feel welcomed, but because the prince specifically ordered it.

If you were to decline the offer, expect to see other Blue Lion members try to convince you to reconsider.

“The prince really wants you to join,” Ashe will reason with you.

“His highness probably has the hots for you,” Sylvain will wink.

“Prince Dimitri is really nice,” Mercedes will try to persuade you.

If you still decline, Dimitri’s not afraid to go straight to Rhea and demand you get moved to the Blue Lions.

It might sound crazy, but he’s got a few cards up his sleeve to convince the Archbishop.

He is the soon-to-be King of Faerghus, after all…

— He used to write you love letters all the time.

The first time you received one made you feel flattered.

It talked about how wonderful you were, and your eyes were pretty.

But as more and more showed up at your door, they began to sound more… well.. creepy.

“Your skin feels like porcelain, and I wish to feel it every day.”

“You smell like my every daydream, and I wish to never stop smelling you.”

“Your naked form is that of an angel’s, and I would do anything to bask in its glory.”

But the one that really made your skin crawl was the following;

“You look like the most peaceful river when you sleep.”

Since the letters were anonymous, you had no idea who was sending you the creepy messages.

All you could to was go to the professor, who talked to the other teachers about it.

The result was a lecture given to each house about harassment.

The teachers made it a point that “sending nonstop letters about how you want to stroke someone’s hair” was under the harassment umbrella.

It actually helped; the letters stopped immediately after.

If only you saw the guilty look on Dimitri’s face during the lecture.

— He tries his best to be helpful for you.

And, to his credit, you do appreciate how you can always depend on him.

But it can get a bit… overbearing… at times.

It’s like you can’t do anything for yourself.

Picking up books, writing notes, opening doors, don’t even try to do your chores. He’s got it all covered for you.

And don’t even think about going on the battlefield.

Dear goddess, he will throw a fit.

“You shouldn’t! It’s too dangerous for you!!”

It’s obvious the prince has a soft spot for you (to which Sylvain teases him for).

Some even hold a grudge against you for it.

But don’t worry. No one’s allowed to be rude to you.

Not when Dimitri’s giving them death stares

And poor Dedue has to follow orders without question.

“Make sure nothing happens to (Y/N),” Dimitri will say on a daily basis.

Usually, he hates giving his retainer official orders.

When it comes to you, however, he has to make an exception.

How else is he going to guarantee your safety?

— He tries to get into your room while you’re asleep.

It was only him standing at your door for the longest time, but he’s recently been getting apprehensive about not seeing you.

He simply has to see your face.

Ever since the letters, however, you’ve been locking your room at night…

Yeah, that won’t stop Dimitri.

It’s easy for him to break the doorknob and enter your room.

He tries to be as quiet as possible, sneaking into your room and standing at the foot of your bed to watch you.

He has to hold his hand over his mouth so you don’t hear his heavy breaths.

You’re just so perfect…

Perfect for him…

You’re honestly everything he could ever hope for.

It takes everything in his power to not jump into the bed with you and hold you close.

He’s gone by the morning, giving a guilty glance towards the doorknob on his way out.

He also tries to close the door as quietly as possible… as if you’re not going to notice how the doorknob’s completely fucked.

It’ll literally the first thing you see in the morning.

You’re not sure what exactly happened to it, since it wasn’t like that in the morning??

It definitely leaves you uneasy. What if somebody…?

No, that wouldn’t happen…

Not at Garreg Mach…

… right?

— He’s in complete shambles any time you touch him.

And it could be the smallest touch, too.

Handing him something and your hands brush together? His heart his racing.

Giving him a pat on his back? His face is completely red.

Bumping shoulders by accident through the corridors? His stomach leaps into his chest.

After any sort of physical contact he has with you, he’ll gush to Dedue about how wonderful you are, and how he doesn’t deserve such an angel.

Poor Dedue has to uncomfortably listen to him go on and on about you just even looking at the prince.

And, don’t get me wrong, he’s excited his liege is in love.

It’s just… well…

Sylvain puts it the best.

“He’s like some lovesick puppy when it comes to that (Y/N) person!”

It also doesn’t help that he hears the prince mumbling about you while staring off into space.

“I can’t wait for us to be wed, my (Y/N)… it’ll be the happiest day of our lives…!!”

Dedue can only stare at Dimitri like, I think that’s planning a bit to far ahead…

Again, he’s excited for his liege…

… but he’s also worried…

— He suddenly becomes extremely possessive of you.

It was like a flip switched in Dimitri’s mind.

Sylvain and Ingrid were talking about how impressive your new combat technique was (not that you would be able to use it in battle), and Dimitri began talk about how amazing you are.

“Sylvain let’s a chortle escape his lips. “You know, for someone who does nothing but talk about them, I’m surprised you haven’t ask them out yet.”

The redhead then began to talk about how he can be Dimitri’s wingman, but the prince wasn’t listening. He was too preoccupied with the horrifying realization that you two weren’t officially together.

He spent all of this time fantasizing about you, he’s neglected to actually profess his love to you..!

What if someone tries to take you away from him because they think you’re available?!

He walks away from the conversation and immediately looks for you.

He has to let you know he loves you!!

When he finds you, however, his throat becomes dry and his hands start fidgeting…

He suddenly remembered why he hasn’t professed his love to you yet…

Your very presence causes him to feel absolutely weak.

Which is why he makes sure no one is a potential love interest for you.

And I mean no one.

Teachers, his friends, even Dedue.

Your eyes have to be on him and him alone!

He’s now by your side 24/7, making sure no one’s making advances on his betrothed.

No one’s allowed to flirt with you, touch you, or even look at you a certain way. Unless they want a Lance to be pointed at them, it’s probably best they stay stay away from you…

It’s like you have your own guard dog…

And it’s kind of awkward to have a guard dog who has his own guard dog…

— He can be absolutely fucking terrifying.

Say someone isn’t leaving you alone.

They keep glancing at you from across the classroom, constantly try to get your attention, flirt with you…

… despite Dimitri’s constant death flares towards them…

Yeah. Pray for them.

He’s not afraid to pick someone up by their neck, holding them in the air as his expression grows dark.

“I’d suggest you stop harassing (Y/N),” he’ll warn them. “Your constant pestering isn’t wanted here.”

Onlookers will watch this scene on fold with pure shock.

What the hell did that person do to get the prince so mad??

The poor student will vigorously nod (well, as best as they can with their neck being squeezed), running off as soon as they’re dropped to the floor.

And all you and Dedue can do is just share a nervous glance.

What the fuck has gotten into the prince?!

He’s usually not so confrontational, and he hates creating scenes…

Why on earth would he do something like that over a student just trying to talk to you??

Afterwards, he’ll return to normal, staring at you with those lovesick eyes as he talks about your excellent job on the exam.

The atmosphere will return to normal after a bit, but you’ll never forget how dark his eyes got when he did that…

And goddess forbid if that student tries to talk to you again.

Expect to never see that student again.

A search party will go out for them, guards will question students about their last known whereabouts, it’s an extremely big deal at Garreg Mach.

No student has ever mysteriously vanished before…

You can’t help but shake the feeling…

No…

It can’t be…

But, then again…

Things suddenly start to make sense in your mind.

Those love letters that you received a while ago….

You know, during the same time Dimitri suddenly became so helpful to you…

Your doorknob always being broken…

You know, during the same time Dimitri started to be at your side 24/7…

That student going missing…

You know, during the same time Dimitri held them by their neck after “harassing you…”

Oh god.

You remember just how calm Dimitri was during the entire search.

He said something along the lines of, “maybe they went somewhere they shouldn’t of… or did something they shouldn’t of.”

Did the prince really do something to them…?

Anytime you would ask him about the disappearance, he would get this guilty look.

But not like a criminal kind of guilty;

It was like a dog who did something bad.

No matter how hard he tried to dodge the question, you knew he had something to do with it…

There was no doubt about it.

— Overall, a happy Dimitri is a stable Dimitri.

All he wants to do it be by your side, making sure you’re safe and sound.

He would never do anything to hurt you; that would be his nightmare.

He thinks of you as some sort of deity that saved his life (despite doing nothing that causes a debt for him to repay).

He’s waiting for the day he can officially bring you home so you can be married.

It’s your destiny to be his betrothed whether you know it or not. As long as you don’t have eyes for another, everything will be fine.

Make sure you do everything according to his fantasies about you.

Accept his flowers with a gracious smile.

Allow him to help you with chores and domestic task (like the good soon-to-be-husband he is).

Say yes to him when he eventually gathers enough courage to ask you out.

If you don’t, it’ll be hell for everyone else…

As time passes, you’ll be the only thing that keeps Dimitri semi-sane.

It’s a burden that you must carry if you know what’s good for the sake of everyone around you.

You’re his angel; his everything.

So make sure to play part when he’s at his worst.

[ireniclacuna]

okok so, i hope i’m doing this correctly and if i’m not then you are more than welcome to ignore, but i couldn’t help but notice you listed fe3h 👀 if possible, can i ask for a dimitri oneshot? (or drabble, idk know the difference between them :/)

i’m assuming you need a general idea of the plot so how about the reader joins the blue lions since they got a bit of a major crush on mercedes, but dimitri gets the wrong idea and thinks they’re actually into him so he gets hella upset when he finds out who they really like. that’s all i can really think of for this, it’s been awhile since i’ve played the game so i forgot some details and don’t wanna conflict with the story somehow so if you need more deets i can try and think up some more!

i’m fine with whatever you choose to do tho, i rlly like your writings so far and wanna see more in the future!! ^-^ /gen (iactuallymayhavereadyourraspberrycookiehcsmorethanonceagsjdhks—)

and i died in your arms tonight - dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader

A/N: anon ily /p TYSM FOR REQUESTING FE3H I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS PROMPT I HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE,,, andbsksm im so happy to hear that, i'm glad to hear that you liked them,,, i hope you like this too!!

tags/CW'S/TW'S: unrequited crushes, you should probably see a summary of the Blue Lions route first before reading if you've never played fe3h, violence, murder, going unhinged, dimitri,,,, my poor boy,,,,, reader uses they/them pronouns and so does byleth too in here, wanting to commit violence to someone very badly, angst all around, fluff is mainly in the early parts, name calling/insults (boar, monster), self-depreciation

word count: 4.3k ish (wow... so many words...)

please tell me if i left anything out or the like for the tags/CW'S/TW'S!!

------

Dimitri notices you one day. 

He's never really thought of you as anything more than a bystander- someone who he greets with a practiced smile on his face and nods at when passing by in between classes. Someone who is simply just there, in the Black Eagle house, with Edelgard as their house leader, who wears their emblem and has never quite bothered to actively make friends with the rest of the houses. He's sweaty when he finally interlocks eyes with you, hair matted with dust and sticking to his forehead.

The rest of his house walks behind him, groaning and sighing and basking in the content of their hard-fought victory. He wonders if there's anything that his house did not like better than the taste of victory- and wonders if that's one of the things that manages to draw everyone together. You're staring at the group, at him, eyes drifting toward Mercedes, for some reason, before going back to home, whispering to Dorothea near you. His teacher- Byleth, mercenary turned Professor extraordinaire- had already settled into their room when they had returned. They had scampered off, blue hair smacking against the back of their neck. 

He takes another look at you. You stare back, as Dorothea giggles beside you and nudges you toward him. You grin, lopsided. There's a strange feeling that whispers inside him, that tells him, it's nice to be seen, right? Something else- his ghosts, his own damn self- instantly berates him, surrounding him like hounds hungry for blood. 

Remember what you're here for.

And he understands, he will never, never forget the blood spilled on that day- but it's nice. Nice to be stared at with such a soft gaze, unlike Sylvain's or Ingrid's, always worrying, always too worried about someone like him, and unlike Felix's gaze. Felix, who has his eyes narrowed, mouth curved downwards in disgust, gaze sharp and unyielding, saying that he is a boar, and to "stop pestering me, boar." So he decides, with a sigh filled with soft air, that he likes your gaze on him. It's soft. It feels full of something he can't put a pin on. He wonders if Mercedes felt it too- your soft gaze on her. He had simply been spared a few seconds of it, the full brunt of it on the beloved healer of the Blue Lion house, but it was long enough. Long enough to decide he likes it, that is. 

Besides, he tells himself, ignoring the ever so familiar hint of guilt that likes to well up inside him, it's nice. Nice, he tells himself, over and over as he puts up his silver lance and walks with Ashe to their dorms. 

---

You join their house the next week, their Professor simply saying your name in that monotone voice of theirs. Dimitri watches his classmates go from muted interest to smiles all around, letting out cheers and declarations of how happy they are to have you. Dimitri hasn't seen his Professor smile since the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, but he swears that he sees their lip curve upwards just a tiny bit, face free from any smiles that might even show. He grins too, lightly punching Dedue near him on his shoulder, mouth moving on its own. Dedue curves his own lips upwards, punching him back. His smile feels real for once, not in the way that everything in his body is begging to let go of noble propriety. It feels nice. Feels nice to actually grin. You're nervous, he gathers, as he watches Mercedes and you share words, whispering. The Professor says some sort of speech, simply saying to treat you with respect. And then the Professor, in their usual Professor style, walks out of the room, taking a Felix who is almost begging (or what is akin to begging for Felix) for a sparring match, an Ashe who is absolutely eager to share his findings of a new book, and then the rest of the class with them. Dedue is still near him, like the ever loyal retainer he is, while you and Mercedes stick behind, caught up in conversation.

You're sweating, clutching your uniform like it's your death-day, for some reason. Even for his standards, used to the frigid ice-scape that is Fareghus, the heat isn't so bad today. It feels nice. Mercedes, perhaps oblivious to your sweating and nervousness, is smiling at you, telling you that she'd be absolutely "-delighted if you could join me and Annie to make snacks together." You let out a rather warbly "I'd love that," cheeks turning the softest shades of reds. You look around suddenly, before your soft gaze settles on him. And then your face turns a bit more flushed, as you immediately look away from him, head tilted up high. Something inside of him preens at that reaction- he isn't sure what. 

Mercedes smiles at you, turning away to the open classroom door, her footsteps light and quiet despite the cobblestone underneath her shoes.

"Ah, I'd also enjoy it if we could become better friends, as well!" Is the last thing she says before heading out, the healer's hair softly swaying in the breeze. You let out a choked sound, akin to a dying animal, as you nod furiously and say yes. He's almost positive you're going to collapse now. You let out a sigh, and yes, he thinks, he was right, as you fall to your knees as you steady yourself. He walks up from his desk, chair making almost a screech sound against the floor, and leaves Dedue, staring. Dimitri kneels down near you, head tilted and his smile a tiny bit real. It's forced, he thinks, as he pats your shoulder. 

"Are you alright?" He asks, eyes narrowing at your form. 

You peek up, eyes staring back. Your face turns red again, as you scramble up. 

You let out a hurried 'your Highness,' bowing. "Forgive-" you stutter the first word out, looking anywhere but him.

"Forgive me," is what you say, finishing the sentence. You add on a quick Your Highness, mumbling. 

He narrows his eyes, smile straining.

"Ah." He says. 

"You don't need to call me Your Highness, you know. I am perfectly happy with being called Dimitri."

You finally look up at him, eyes blinking. Your gaze is still soft on his face, he notices. You gulp, a nervous smile stretching across your face.

"Then.... Dimitri." you say, smiling. Dimitri lets out a soft grin himself. It feels nice. It feels good to be called by his name. Not a title. You let out a squeak, realizing something. 

You move past him, legs starting to run out of the classroom. 

"Wait." He says, watching you almost fall over in your running as you come to a stop. 

"Yes, Dimitri?" 

His name sounds nice, he realizes, from your mouth. 

"If this is alright with you," he starts off, voice in that perfect pitch he usually has it in, "perhaps we can become friends?" Something inside of breaks at how desperate that must seem to you, how absolutely needy, so ungrateful he must sound- 

But you nod quickly, soon continuing on your trek to somewhere else in the holy Monastery. Most likely to join Mercedes and Annette, he thinks, as he stares at your retreating form. Dedue walks over to him, and simply nods. 

"Your Highness," he starts, "we need to get going as well." 

And Dimitri simply nods. 

---

The first time he meets up with you, in attempt 1, dubbed lovingly by Sylvain as: "His Highness Gets A-" and was never finished, because Ingrid had lovingly kicked him in his shins. The Professor had agreed to make a tea party for the both of you; making batches of chamomile tea and forcing Annette and poor Ashe to tastetest. The Professor had also managed to get an unwilling Dedue roped in, getting the Duscurain's opinion. Dimitri, really, did not think that this was worth the fuss over trying to become better friends with you. But he liked it. If their efforts did pay off, then, who's to say that no one would like it? And so, he sips at the chamomile tea put out by said Professor, brewed to perfection by the former mercenary after multiple taste-tests. You're sitting still, surprisingly. Unlike all the times he's seen you fidgeting in the Blue Lion's healer presence, and Mercedes had gracefully ignored it, simply asking what did you need, while you stuttered and smiled. 

You sip at your own tea- entertaining Dimitri's efforts to strike up a conversation. Dimitri asks you what your family was like, how are you doing, what are some of your favorite hobbies, and they're all met with curt answers and quick responses. Your face is still red though, he notes. Perhaps you're nervous. And so he asks if you are. 

You stutter almost immediately, losing control of that still composure you had just a bit. 

"I'm doing quite fine, Dimitri," you say, coughing, "just. Have a lot on my mind, is all." 

Dimitri softly smiles- "What's on your mind, then?" 

You stutter again, headplanting your face into the table. Dimitri sips at his tea, ignoring the ruckus from the bush nearby, knowing full-well what his classmates were doing. (He had begged for them to leave the both of you in peace- but they all had simply grinned and tagged along.)

"Well." You say, blushing, cheeks colored a fine red, as you peek up at him with soft eyes. Dimitri, for the second time in his life, realizes that he may be falling into something. He gulps- he's never felt this nervous before, never like this- and stares at you back with blue eyes that resemble a lake. Your eyes, your soft eyes he's grown ever so fond of, dart back and forth, til you lean over in your chair, whispering. 

"You better not tell anyone, Princeling."

Princeling. He doesn't care for the nickname, but if it's from you, then it's alright. 

"I have," another baited breath, " a crush. Perhaps. On someone. In our. Class." You stop after each word suddenly, blushing a foul red. 

He looks up at you, and feels something in his chest twist and bang and explode. He's tempted to ask who it is. Maybe you can read his thoughts, or maybe you can tell by expression alone, because you say, looking away from him, body back in the chair, "At the end of the school year, I'll say." 

There's a sudden cheer from the bush, which makes you twist your head so impossibly fast and the bush goes silent once more. 

Dimitri feels his lips curve up, and he doesn't focus on anything for once that doesn't involve death, that doesn't involve fire and a field soaked in blood, and thinks of you, with your soft eyes and flushing face, and decides to hope for once.

----

Dimitri wonders what happened between you and Mercedes, during the ending of the White Heron Cup. You seem to be less flustered around her, smiling always, as the healer herself grins and giggles. You both smile and grin at each other, hands sometimes entertwined with the other's hand. Annette has pouted at it before, he notices, saying "-you already have His Highness as a best friend, don't go stealing mine!" And you simply laugh, and and you laugh in such a way that makes his heart throb and feel normal, for once.

The Professor has been cheering him on, lately, for some reason. At least, that's what Dimitri guesses is what they're doing, when they punch the air in a show of solidarity, whenever he has a tea party with you. Whenever he's close to you, really, and the Professor just happens to be nearby. He, somehow, managed to become closer to you. And he likes being near you. Likes to hear you laugh. To laugh and tug at his arm, smiling at him. The ghosts do not wish for murder, they do not wish for revenge, they stay silent for a welcomed change. It's blissful. It's peaceful, and he likes it. He needs it like he needs air, because for once, there are no screeches in his ears, there are no wails from under his bed, and there are fading bags from under his eyes. There are only soft murmurs near his ear and they are so incredibly easy to ignore, unlike yells or screeches or cries for revenge. He smiles whenever he's near you, and from how much his own chest beats like a human, not like a boar or a monster, he feels alive. Alive, he thinks, because love is such a human thing to experience. He's only ever felt it a time before, when everything was decidedly normal and both of his parents and friends were alive and not reduced to ghosts haunting him, screaming for revenge. He likes it. He loves it, if he would dare say it outloud. He only ever says that line of thought when he's alone, gulping down air.

---

Everything comes crashing down, soon after. Edelgard's- no, that monster, that monstrosity, he thinks, cursing her name for every crime that she has done- mask falls down, and Dimitri has never wanted to choke someone, has never wanted to piece someone with his lance, because finally, finally, he has a name for who has wronged him, who caused these ghosts to follow him, and they are all yelling to kill her, yelling and screeching. 

Except. Except there's a soft touch of hand on his shoulder, and he's tempted to throw it off, in this Holy Tomb, and he looks back for one second and- it's you. You with a worried face, face scrunched up, mouth parted open. He glares- he has never glared at you before, never dared to- and shrugs it off. The ghosts hiss at him- he is wasting time, "why are you wasting time, you foolish lovestruck boy, give us her head, give us penance-" and something cracks under his iron grip. He has the Crest of Blaiddyd. Of unnatural strength. Of a single touch making things shatter under his grip. He has always resented it. But not now. Not now, in this moment, when he can finally get everything he came to this damned Monastery for. The face he grips with a ferocity cracks under his touch, and he can feel blood and snot leak onto his armored glove. The knight- no, vermin, he thinks- cries out weakly for help. None of the other vermin comes to help out.  He throws his lance, and Edelgard dodges ever so slightly, axe gripped tight in her hand, violet eyes staring into hate-filled ones. She takes a single look at the Professor, before shaking her head. 

"Professor." She says. "Do you refuse?" 

And the Professor says something, says no, and Edelgard yells at a nearby mage to take her away. 

Taking her away from her fate. Taking her away from her destiny to die, to die with a life with so much left unaccomplished. And Dimitri is more than glad to be the one who ends it, who hangs her head by her white hair on the gates of Enbarr. 

And Dimitri has never felt such rage before, has never felt such anger, has never seen such red in his eyes. He knows of soft reds. He knows of the light pink on your cheeks. But he knows of blood, a deep red staining his hands, body, mind, and he practically lives in it. Felix, from somewhere, always someplace nearby but far, sneers at him. "This is the real boar prince you've all been pretending that doesn't exist," he says, voice full of malcontent and barely hidden anger, and Dimitri ignores it. He only acknowledges you turning him towards you, dull blue eyes looking into your ever so soft ones. 

He wants to promise you that he'll get her head, and then finally, he'll be free, he'll finally get to hear whoever you liked, he'll finally be- 

The Professor opens his clenched hand, staring at the blood that had stained the previously clear silver.  They wave a healing spell over him, and their stare is impossibly hard, eyes boring into his head. The ghosts whisper at him- leave them behind, go get her head, they jeer- and he yanks his hand away from their soft touch. 

He's about to walk off, shoulders straightened, on a warpath. A path that has already been bloodied, bodies strewn along it. Except. 

You tug at his arm, eyes twinkling. There are tears that are leaking out, he thinks, as he stares. Your eyes are still soft, soft as he's known. He stills. There are other sets of eyes on him, tense and waiting. Hands tightened around lances, around swords, raised up and soft shades of purples emanating. Magic, he dully realizes. Maybe they should cut him down, he muses, because he is nothing but a beast now. You grip his hand tight, sighing. 

"Dimitri," you start off, and the ghosts have started to YELL, THEY ARE HISSING, THEY WANT HIM GONE, THEY WANT HER DEAD, THEY WANT HER HEAD- and Dimitri has never hated like he has before.

"Please. You need to rest."

"I will rest," he grits out, "when I have gotten her head." 

And then he yanks himself from your soft hands, soft gaze, from everything that he likes, and continues on a warpath that will make him crack. 

----

The Professor, screeching and yelling, falls from a cliff, the Sword of the Creator wrapping around their body from a blast of magic. Dimitri is slowly being ripped apart at the seams, with each accusation, with each cry from people he has never known. That he has committed regicide, killed the Grand Duke of Fareghus. Killed his uncle. Corneila wants him executed, but she does not know that he has been dead for so many years. He is dead. He is a monster. He has been dead, and remains that way.

His eye has been taken out by a stray bandit, an arrow piercing the flesh. He ripped it out easily, blood leaking out. 

He does not care. 

He comes to the Monastery, shivering and shuddering, with a lance in hand and an eyepatch tied around his head. 

He steps into the Monastery, black armored boots banging against the cobblestone. The wreckage of the Monastery is all over the place. He kicks pure bricks and stones out of his way, lance making a screeching sound against the stone. 

There is someone. Someone who looked older, aged like the heavens. They are tucked into themselves, hands over their knees, head tucked inside their body. They look like a little mouse, he thinks, as he stalks over to them. They peek up, and- oh, he thinks, oh. 

It's you. 

Your soft eyes. Soft gaze. He stares at your head, turned away from him, his single blue eye boring into your head. You turn to him, eyes soft as ever. Something inside of his chest churns, throat turning dry. 

"Dimitri?" You ask, peeking up. Mouse is what he thinks of you, acting like one, is all his mind gives him. You move over to him, a boar, a beast, and gently place your hand on his face. 

A ghost- his father- hisses at him. "Former Black Eagle," he hisses, "they would use you. They are with her, kill them, kill them-" And you look into his eyes, and he has missed it, and he has been a monster for so long, and Dimitri falls apart.

---

Dimitri wonders if you should be here. You must be after something, he thinks, if you decide to stay here with him. If you decide to take care of a beast like him. You drag him to the washhouse. You make him clean his lance. You go with him, when he has to murder some vermin hoping for quick riches in the Monastery's treasury, despite having been long emptied out. You stay here, despite it. Sometimes, when the ghosts are particularly silent, when there are only a few yelling surrounding his ears, he thinks about what you told him. A promise, from when you both became friends. He wonders and wonders. There's the old beating of a heart- his own, he realizes- that beats at the idea. 

---

It's a nice day. The heat is bearable. Even with all this armor on him, it's alright. It isn't making him wish to cower away from everything. You're right next to him, soft breaths emitting from your mouth, parted open slightly. 

You sigh, leaning against him, covered in his cloak. His blonde hair, well-kept in the past but not anymore, has grown long and shabby, reaching his shoulders. It's a soft silence. He has never let his guard down like this before. You look at him for a second. He wonders, in a moment, if this was how they acted back then. When the both of you were friends and laughed together. Played together, weapons singing out in the tunes of battle, arm hanging off a shoulder. You and him, laughing together, and he has never felt such ease like this. At least not when you, with your soft gaze, allowed the beast to be your friend on that fateful day. 

"Hey, Dimitri." You say, eyes turned toward the sky. He wonders, once more, if this is what friends do. If this is what actual friends, not like him, not like the beast that he is, does. 

He grunts as a reply. You shuffle a bit. 

"Hey," you say, eyes turning to him.  

Dimitri simply nods back at you, eye focused ahead of him, hand slowly unfurling around his blood-stricken lance. 

"Technically, now that the school year is over-" A soft silence. Restarting a sentence, he notes, with an eye colored blue staring at you, his face still facing forward, gaunt and full of sharp lines. 

"I never told you who I was crushing on, huh?" An attempt at small talk, he thinks. "Did you, uh- Do you still wish to know?"

You look at him again, eyes blinking, a soft blush blooming over your cheeks. It's enrapturing. A punch of emotions hits him in his chest, hard and fast. Everything is warm, for some reason, and so, so, warm. 

"I think- I think I'm still perhaps crushing on them." 

You let out a nervous laugh, shifting towards him. The blush on your face is gone for a moment, and he thinks it's a pity. (Before everything happened, is what he thinks you left out to say, before he truly embraced that he is a monster, a beast, a murderer.) 

He turns toward you, and then there is a flicker of hope that lights up in his chest, and he does not kill it immediately with water from a sobering reality. He watches it flicker, and nods.

There's a deafening silence around the both of you, as the ghosts are silent and they are quiet, and there is only you and him, with his old quiet fantasies that he used to comfort himself with being reignited. You stare at him, laughing. There's a soft blush that appears on your cheeks, laughing nervously. 

"It was-" and something inside of him cracks. 

"Mercedes-" He stomps whatever flicker in his chest that lit up. 

"During the White Heron Cup, we met at the-"

And Dimitri feels a primal anger rise, the ghosts yell at him, you stupid idiot, you fool, for falling in love, you beast, why would they ever like you- (italics here before and) and then he gets up. He growls, teeth gritting against each other. You tilt your head- "Dimitri, are you-?" 

And Dimitri never in the moment has never felt such a breaking of his heart, has never felt such sadness before, that threatens to leak out of his only eye. He has never felt such red anger like this before, he has never- 

He whips his head around you, eye glaring at you. He was always so scared of doing it before. There is a part of him that loves you, that still loves you, and he wants to kill it. He wants to rip out every part of him. You ask him again, if he's alright, and he slaps away the soft hand that comes to cradle his face. 

"Leave me alone," he growls out, a blue eye resembling a tornado.

You do not. Traitor, (I) the ghosts say to him. You look at him, your eyebrows furrowed in soft anger- "Dimitri. What has gotten you so-"

"Leave me ALONE," he bellows at you, acting like an injured animal. He growls. He hates you, he loves you, he hates that healer, he hates her, hates her for taking you away from him, hates himself for being so utterly foolish to believe that he could have had a beloved- 

You step back. You remind him of a mouse. A mouse in the presence of a scary beast, of a monster who has claws for hands and a lance on the floor. He growls at you, eye akin to a tempest, to a storm raging. Blue turning to shreds. He doesn't want you to go- but you already seem to be backing away, his cloak falling off of him. He kicks it aside, and stares at you. Glares, really. 

You take a deep breath in, and walk off. He does not follow. He does not follow because he is a beast. 

A beast alone, he thinks, and suddenly, he slinks to the floor. He's tired. He's never been this tired before. Everything hurts inside of him, heart being poked at it, mouth filling up with a metallic liquid he's long since been familiar with. A beast who is alone. A monster. A horrible person.

He yowls into the sky, and then there is nothing, and then there is everything, and then there is a hand that extends out to him, while he is but a shred of humanity long gone since he was a little boy, in a field of bloodied flowers and blooming tears. 

[fun fact: title is from "arms tonite," by mother mother!]