Chapter Text
Byleth’s heart ached when he realized the sounds of Dimitri’s demented yells no longer made him flinch. It was just another sound on the battlefield, another thing to be noted in the back of his mind. No different than the clash of Sylvain’s lance or the shattering screech of Anette's spellfire.
Byleth shook his head. Just another thing he didn’t have time for. He thought as a bird-like beast blotted the sky and cast the rolling fields into shadow.
“Ashe!” Byleth roared while slashing aside a lancer’s blade. “Aim your sights for-” Byleth’s command died in his throat as he glanced at Ashe’s back.
Where Ashe’s back should have been.
Byleth felt something metal lodge into his shoulder, but all he could do was stare at the empty saddle of Ashe’s horse as it whinnied. It screamed and stamped at the ground where the crumpled form of the archer lay, his grey cloak soaked to crimson.
The fresh red of blood was so vibrant against the Ashe’s light hair.
Byleth felt his stomach turn, but it took another flash of hot pain against his side for him to snap back to reality. His eyes quickly assessing the battlefield.
There were two arrows in his shoulder. Ingrid’s pegasus wings were stained pink, Mercedes was quickly being cornered by cavalry knight, Anette’s exhausted breaths were audible even from where he stood, Felix’s blade had shattered as he resorted to spellfire, Sylvain and Dedue were practically drowning in a battalion, and Dimitri--
Dimitri was covered in red. His ragged hair was dripping in it as he screamed. His lance was a blur, only visible as a streaking crescent of silver as he cut people into bodies and sprinted through the viscera into the next wave of enemies. Byleth watched him vanish into the wave of black armor and sighed, placing a hand on the arrow in his shoulder.
“Sothis,” Byleth whispered, reaching for the magic he knew was somewhere inside him. “Bring me back to before this battle.” He felt the tug of the Divine Pulse and cast one last look at what once was Dimitri.
Byleth felt a pang in his chest before the magic that flowed over him. It warmed his chilled skin and for just a moment, he felt at peace. For the first time since he woke up beneath the rubble.
“With all the red and blue,” He heard himself say as a shattering sound filled his ears. “It almost looks like Duscurian wildflowers and Forget-me-nots, Sothis.”
He closed his eyes as he felt time rush through him, flooding every sense until the smell of blood and roar of iron faded away into the overwhelming power of a goddess turning back the hands of fate.
It took a moment for his world to stop spinning.
But when he opened them, the sight before his eyes was far from a war-torn field covered with beasts and cavalry. A sweet smell filled his mind as he struggled to take in the sight infront of him.
A neat little flower bed lined with gleaming marble bricks. Filled to the edges with perfect little bundles of pale blue petals and small velvet wildflowers.
“Sothis,” Byleth choked as the heat of the greenhouse began to seep into his armor. “What have you done?”
“Professor?” Byleth froze as a voice called out. Byleth felt himself turn as his eyes met gentle grey ones framed by golden hair. Mercedes. Swathed in an academy uniform and looking much younger than when Byleth saw her last. If his brain wasn’t currently frozen in terror, he would make a very foolish wager at how much younger. A wager that frightened him to his core.
Five years.
“Oh my!” Mercedes said before Byleth could make any sound other than a very pathetic sounding wheeze. “You’re hurt, Professor!” She ran over, barely dodging the line of watering cans as she quickly placed hands onto his bloodied shoulder. Byleth wondered if her hands always looked that way, perfectly clean with rounded nails and fingers so dainty and smooth he almost wanted to apologize for having to ruin them with his dirty armor. His Mercedes’s hands always seemed to be covered in blood, or ointment, or parchment ink. Perhaps all three at once. And littered with tiny scars and spell burns, a story told on her skin of the hardships of war.
But this Mercedes’s eerily clean hands simply lit up with holy magic as he felt his skin begin to stitch itself together.
“How did you get hurt on school grounds, Professor? And why are you in your armor?” Mercedes fretted as her magic sank deep into his bones, warming him better than the greenhouse humidity. Despite himself, he gave his startled student a wry smile.
“Be glad the arrows aren’t in me, too.” He said as her eyes widened, and mouth dropped open with shock.
“Professor!” Mercedes started. Perhaps a bit dark. He chastised himself as he began to form his apology.
“I’m sor-” But he was rapidly cut off by a loud giggle
“Did you just joke, Professor?” Mercedes said with a wide smile, her hands jumping to her mouth as she grinned. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you do that!”
“Please take your hands from your face, they’re dirty.” Byleth said, the words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them. Mercedes just smiled brighter.
“Ah, right! Sorry, Professor! I’m just so pleased! Me and Annie were beginning to think that you couldn’t make jokes,” She said with a lighthearted laugh.
“I make jokes,” Byleth said, feeling oddly defensive as this strange young version of his Holy Knight laughed at him.
Where--
When was he? Byleth scrambled to think as Mercedes finished up her healing spell. If she didn’t hear him make a joke, then it was before winter five years prior. But if there are Duscurian flowers in his flower bed then he must be on rather good terms with Dedue, so it ruled out the early months. He felt his mouth twist as he looked at Mercedes clean off her arms with the water from the cans beside them.
“I was helping out the Knights clear out some bandits after training yesterday,” He lied easily. “I must have been rather exhausted; I don’t recall my walk into the greenhouse.”
“Oh my, you really shouldn’t overwork yourself like this!” Mercedes said with a little pout. Byleth tried to tamp down his smile. At least her fretting never changed with age. She gave a small sigh “I suppose we do have the ball coming soon so that will be a nice change of pace.”
The ball. Byleth groaned inwardly. During that month it seemed his students were physically incapable of talking or mentioning anything else other than that hellish event, though he supposed it helped in this very specific situation. Any error he made could be excused by exhaustion or overwork. He nodded to himself.
“I must get back to my duties,” He said, as he began to make his way to the doors. “Thank you for the help, Mercedes.”
“Professor, I would suggest you go to your room and rest!” Mercedes fretted as he shook his head.
“I really must get back to my-” Byleth’s hand froze on the door as his eyes landed on a pair of figures walking from the dorm rooms, their argument becoming audible as they got closer.
“Sylvain, you can’t hide in my room every time you hit on the wrong girl!” The small figure whined in a poor attempt to sound stern. “This is the second time this week!”
“C’mon, have a heart, will you? Look you can just sit in there and study and I’ll just sit on the floor and-” Byleth didn’t think that Sylvain had changed much in the five years of war. His hair was kept its same wave of orange, and his jaw had the same sharp edge as always. But as this one bound towards him, the changes were obvious. His eyes were bright and vacant of the purple shadows that plagued the army. And every step seemed to bounce him forward as he ran up with a raised hand and a shout. “Mornin’ Professor! Defend a guy over here won’t you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Professor.” The figure said with a tired sigh and a helpless little smile.
Byleth felt his stomach turn as he stared down at the sweep of grey hair and the soft curve of his student’s cheeks. Did Ashe always look so young? So small?
Byleth’s mind warred in shame and rage as the three students stood in shocked silence for a moment before--
“What?” Ashe said eyes wide as Sylvain suddenly burst into peals of laughter next to him.
“Wow, Professor! Ice cold!” He shouted with glee as he began to poke Ashe in the side. “Mercedes get some healing magic for this little boy cuz he just got burned!” Ashe’s face began to flood red as he swatted away Sylvain’s hands. Byleth paused. Ah, I said that aloud.
“Professor, don’t you think that’s a little--” Ashe began to pout, which frankly did not help his case.
“My apologies, Ashe. I meant to keep that to myself.” Byleth said, inclining his head as Ashe seemed to blush brighter when Sylvan let out another bark of laughter.
"Ha-ha! That means he was thinking it,” He said as he placed an elbow on Ashe’s head, using him as a headrest while Ashe muttered something about being average height. Byleth stared at the antics as an odd feeling crept up his throat. He refused to name it and he also refused to give into the stupid desire to touch Ashe’s uniform coat. Just to confirm that he was there.
“Hey, Professor? Are you alright? You’re looking a little green.” Sylvain said, his smile fading as Sincere Sylvain, as Byleth dubbed it, made an appearance. He sighed and shook his head.
“Just a bit tired,” He said truthfully. There was just so much emotion. Everything was loud and strong and bright. Byleth spent his time as a child alone with the quiet tutelage of his father, emotion was practically nonexistent. Something only reserved for special occasions, like a fine bottle of wine. And seeing the monastery gleaming and bright with no rubble, and his students still young and squishy faced with smiles that rivaled the polished windows made him feel drunk off his own endearment and guilt. “I think I will retire to my room,” Byleth said finally as his students nodded.
“Alright, if you say so.” Sylvain said, the small downward curve to his mouth still present.
“Let us know if there’s anything we could do to help!” Ashe said his eyes gleaming with determination as if the knife in Byleth’s chest needed anymore twisting. The two boys walked off towards the feast hall as Mercedes stared at him.
“I’m fine, Mercedes. Go eat your dinner.” Byleth said with a sigh as her eyes seemed to bore into his. Byleth refused to let himself be unnerved by the younger version of his healer.
It didn’t work very well. Her eyes seemed to scan his whole form for a few long moments before she gave a curt nod.
“I’ll go check on you later,” Mercades said with finality. “Have a good rest, Professor!” She said clasping her hands together and dashing after her classmates. Byleth let out a heaving sigh and began to walk to his quarters, the warm feeling in his chest growing. Where they always so sweet? Byleth thought wryly. He recalled his early academy life being fraught with lectures, scolding skirt-chasing students, dueling prickly ones, cooking with gentle ones, and training with-
“You seem to be in a bright mood, Professor.” A voice said to his side. “It’s quite a sight to see, if you don't mind me saying.”
All of Byleth’s thoughts died in his mind, seared by the very sound. He seemed physically incapable of stopping his head from turning.
Dimitri, easy smile on his sweat-slicked face as he walked. His academy uniform perfect and pristine, vibrant blue against pressed black. Golden styled hair sweeping over the warmest eyes. Sincerity oozing from every gesture and step.
Byleth felt his feet move before he could think.
“P-Professor?!” Dimitri stuttered as suddenly Byleth ran towards him and threw his arms over his shoulders. His hands scrabbling against the soft blue fabric of his cape as Byleth held him desperately, his head pressing into the pauldron on his shoulder.
He smelt lightly of sweat, laundered soap, and faintly of the oils he must use in his ridiculous hair.
Not of blood and iron. Not of sliced flesh and the ash of ruins. He was smiling. Smiling. Not the manic grin of a madman drowning in his own rage and insanity. This Dimitri had a darkness in his eyes, but not one that had consumed him just yet. Byleth felt tears prick at his eyes as Dimitri stuttered.
“Uhm! P-Professor? Are you alright?” He asked nervously as his hands floated above his teacher’s coat.
"I’m sorry,” Byleth said, feeling his tears drip onto his uniform shirt but refused to let go. “This must be terribly confusing for you,” He said with a choked off laugh.
“Ah, yes. Quite.” Byleth heard Dimitri said as he felt the pressure of two warm hands settle on his shoulders. He almost wanted to laugh. Ever the gentleman Dimtri was, even as his teacher clung onto him in the middle of the school courtyard. “Though I’ll have to say......I’m not truly complaining.”
Byleth felt his face heat at the words, begging himself not to read into them.
“I am rather concerned,” Dimitri said as Byleth pulled away, suddenly feeling unable to look this Dimitri in his eyes, a stupid and childish motion even to himself. “Has something happened?”
Byleth stared at his feet, feeling foolish beyond words. What a fine hole he dug himself into. What was he to say?
No, Dimitri. I am not fine I have traveled back five years in time because I possess the powers of a Goddess and now am required to put my students through hell once more. You will believe this because it completely does not sound like the words of a raving lunatic.
Byleth saw the ground blur beneath his feet as his head began to spin.
Yes, Dimitri. I am completely fine and am completely and utterly equipped to see what happens to my father again and watch you fall apart before my eyes.
Byleth’s breath began to tighten.
“Professor?” Dimitri’s voice seemed distant and panicked.
No, Dimitri. I am not fine. I may a bit in love with you.
Byleth felt his eyes droop as the ground rushed up to meet him.
“Professor!”
Chapter 2
Notes:
I was putting the finishing touches on the final chapter when I realized what an odd length it was compared to Ch1. So I just did a lil chop into two. The final chapter (I swear) should be uploaded within a few days! Thank you for all the lovely comments and for sticking with me! <3
Hope you guys like cheese cuz that's this whole fic it's just cheese.
edit: ao3 formatting damn you
Chapter Text
Byleth was standing over his desk, sifting through pages of his students’ meticulous notes on battle theoretic. Sylvain and Annette’s were dynamic, each leaving room for the soldiers to improvise. A bit ambitious and required the hands of unit leaders, but the concepts were sound. He quickly checked off the work as he moved to the next pile. Ingrid and Felix. Byleth swallowed his laughter—the parchment was practically drowning in ink. Sketches of formations with entire lines of units scribbled out, an angry conversation blooming and smudged in the margin, and one formation seemed to just be a single unit with a sword against a whole army.
Byleth smiled, as silly as it was; he had used Felix against entire platoons many a time. Just him and his magic while the rest of the army sprinted by, Ashe and Annette raining arrows and spellfire as they dashed passed. Bold moves were necessary for war. And he trusted Felix’s skills implicitly.
Magic?
Byleth froze as the thought washed over him. Felix didn’t use magic. He thought it a waste of time. Why would he ever put Felix against an entire platoon? Byleth felt an odd pain in his shoulder as he stared down at the blurry lines of the parchment. The lines of writing seemed to dance and shift before his eyes, Ingrid’s neat script illegible.
There was a knock at his door.
His limbs seemed to move without him as he watched his arm twist the handle and let in the sweet summer air, the soft sound of insect chirps filling his room as he stared at the fidgeting figure in his doorway.
“Professor,” Dimitri said politely as if he wasn’t blushing a bright pink and hands weren’t tucked awkwardly behind his back. Byleth quickly squashed the urge to smile and simply tilted his head.
“Good evening, Dimitri.” He said as candidly as muster. “Did you need something?” Dimitri nodded and seemed to be visibly steeling himself, Byleth tried his best not to glance at the line of muscle flaring in his neck. And he definitely did not stare at the sharp jut of his jaw tense.
“I actually have a gift for you, Professor.” Dimitri said, slowly drawing his hands from behind himself and suddenly Byleth was staring at a beautiful bloom of delicate blue flowers.
Forget-me-nots—bundled neatly with their long leaves unfurling across Dimitri's knuckles, a deep silken blue ribbon standing out sharply against the pale stems. Byleth watched the flowers tremble a bit as he reached out and gently took them from the young prince’s hands. Dimitri’s eyes were improbably wide as he stared at the floor, the sweep of his lashes glowing in the faint lantern light above Byleth’s door.
Byleth sighed.
“Did Claude put you up to this?” He said, shaking his head. “I can talk to him about—”
“No!” Dimitri said loudly, both flinching slightly as the sound echoed in the quiet night of the monastery. Dimitri paused and cleared his throat, redness traveling down his neck. “A-Ah, no. It’s simply...”
Byleth waited as Dimitri chewed his lip, before scowling at the ground.
“Damn that Sylvaine, he always makes things more difficult than—” He cursed at the floor while Byleth’s eyebrow raised.
“Dimitri? Focus.” He said as Dimitri looked up, scolded.
“Ah, right. I don’t know why I am so embarrassed.” The prince admitted as he’s shoulders fell, a long exhale escaping his lips.
And gifted Byleth with a devastating smile. A soft thing that bloomed beautifully across his face, his mouth a gentle pink that seemed to beg for a thumb to brush across it. Or a tongue to explore its taste.
Byleth tasted blood as he bit down on his own tongue. Damn you. He thought as Dimitri continued, as oblivious as ever as he glanced at the flowers now nestled in Byleth’s gauntleted hands.
Gauntlets? When did I put on my armor?
Before Byleth could chase that particular thought, Dimitri spoke again.
“You give flowers to all the others.” He said as Byleth nodded, blinking out of his stupor. That was true. He practically drowned Mercedes and Dedue in the blossoms from the greenhouse, Ingrid and Annette got long-stemmed flowers that he had seen them weave into chains, Ashe turned a charming hue when he was offered bundles of violets, roses given to Sylvaine were found tucked into the hair of many girls, and the look on Felix’s shocked face and embarrassed sputtering was worth the threats of violence.
Dimitri had a bundle of sunflowers resting on his desk.
Byleth smiled at the pale bouquet in his hands. Gleaming beads of water caught the moonlight, looking like gems among the petals.
“I had to ask Dedue for help to grow them,” Dimitri said quickly. “I’m not very talented with delicate work, and I must have tested his resolve a few times.”
"Then I’ll make sure to thank him as well,” Byleth said with a chuckle, thumbing one of the soft blossoms. “Th—”
When Byleth looked up all his words died in his throat.
Dimitri had vanished. His room had vanished. In one instant his entire surroundings had morphed.
All he saw was the dark interior of a desolate Garreg Mach.
The summer air turned rancid as he saw streaks of blood painted across the floor. Debris and rubble piled high into a ceiling that seemed to stretch impossibly to the sky. Broken sunlight filtered through shattered stained glass, casting dancing sickly green dancing shadows upon the cracked cathedral walls.
Withered green stems and a frayed ribbon crumbled in Byleth’s armored hands as he stared at the figure lying against the wall, its violent hateful eye-piercing him better than any arrow.
"I’m dreaming,” Byleth said, hearing his voice echo into the darkness. The figure in the blood-soaked cloak shifted as its hand curled around a rusted lance, the metal shrieking as it dragged across the stonework floor.
“Dimi—” Byleth said as the figure flashed, nothing but a blur as the lance was thrust at him, giving him but a moment to avoid getting speared. He twisted and drew his sword, feeling the lance shatter against the glowing red blade. It didn’t stop the man as he let the spear fall, instead, his arm whipped out to reach for Byleth’s neck, the armored claws scraping mercilessly against his throat.
And there he was held, gripped by the throat in the single beam of sunlight that filtered from an invisible skylight. Byleth’s feet dangled in the air as Dimitri’s impossible strength held him, the claws sinking deeper into his neck.
Byleth painlessly bleed ribbons of red and stared into vibrant blue eyes.
“They won’t haunt you this time.” Byleth said to the figment of his imagination that wore the prince’s face. He put his hands over the ones digging into his throat, his hands warm with his own blood.
“I swear it.”
Byleth awoke to a beam of light directly shining in his eyes.
He blinked blearily, trying to hide deeper into the warm sheets of his bed. Winced as his shoulder whined with pain but tried to hide his face from the cold winter air.
“It always was a headache to get you to wake up, kid.” A deep voice said from the side of his bed.
Byleth closed his eyes tight. This was the cruelest dream of them all.
“C’mon, I’m not going to drag you out of there. You’re not seven anymore.” Jeralt’s voice said. Byleth cried for the first time after his father died. He cried for a week, emotion flooding from him like water from a dam. He cried during the war, silent things as he cut down students he once taught, as if the tears were blurring his vision in a pithy attempt to block out the sight of their slack faces. He cried over a silver lance that rusted with the amount of blood it was soaked in. Byleth had decided he was done with crying, trying his best to find the glimmers of his old self buried deep in his chest from before he met the students at the monastery.
It worked. He felt the emotion freeze in his veins. He became a proper tactician; the only goal was victory and to minimize casualties. Students and friendly guards vanished into blank-faced armored units and lances were simply disposed of. No more tears fell.
But hearing the stern voice of his father warmed with fondness, he felt a burning heat begin to choke up into his throat.
“Kid?” Jeralt’s voice said, concerned. Byleth kept his eyes shut with desperation as he felt a rough hand press against his face. He bit down hard onto his tongue; he could feel every little scar on his father’s weathered hands. Flashes of memories tormented him, Jeralt teaching him how to hold a sword, patting his head when the straw dummy fell perfectly in half, softer memories too. He remembered having a phase where he refused to cut his hair, and for those few months, Jeralt sighed and sat him on the floor as he gently pulled his hair into a messy teal braid. Byleth refused to admit that he did it just so he would match his father.
“Morning,” Byleth croaked, opening his eyes slowly. His vision flooded with a concerned face, leaning into his. His eyes caught on the faint grey hairs through the blonde and deep-set wrinkles and scars across his nose. Byleth was stunned at how quickly the details of his father’s face vanished from his memory the moment dirt hit the coffin. He was startled out of his daze as Jeralt huffed.
“Had me worried there for a second, kid.” He said leaning back into his chair. “Thought your wounds got an infection we missed.” Byleth felt his hands twist on his sheets as he nodded.
“Dehydration and blood loss?” He asked as Jeralt nodded, crossing his arms.
“You’re lucky the princeling was there to catch you and your little healer was close, or we would have had to add some more to that list.” Jeralt huffed as he leaned forward, ruffling his son’s hair. His heavy hands tilted his head with the vigor, Byleth would protest if he didn’t see the dark look that cast over his father’s face.
“You’ll explain later why you look like that.” Jeralt’s whispered pinching Byleth’s green locks and his eyes flickering towards the door.
Blast. Byleth thought as his hand jumped to his hair. Sothis’s gift hadn’t left him with the turning of time. Byleth felt his breath catch as Jeralt’s eyes pierced his.
“Thankfully, only your students caught your moment of weakness. It’d be shameful for a teacher if the other houses or the church saw that.” Jeralt said much too loudly, his face staring meaningfully into Byleth. Byleth nodded stiffly. His father patted his leg and stretched as he got up.
“Alright, I gotta head back before the knights forget how to lace their boots without me,” Jeralt said, rolling his shoulders. Byleth bit his lip before twisting his hands further into his sheets.
"Dad?” He said as Jeralt turned, eyebrow raised.
His father was alive. Breathing. Standing in his room, touching his hair and holding the faintest of smiles as if he would live to see the end of this moon cycle. As if he wouldn’t be set in a grave in the monastery in just two meager weeks. Sothis. The goddess herself, apparently, said his death was fate. An immovable constant in the flow of time. No amount of Divine Pulses would save him. A deep part of Byleth’s soul wanted to yell, another first, and run. Run far off from the monastery and go back to mercenary work in the small village towns. Where there were no strange little girls whispering magic to him, no unreadable Archbishops, no students who smiled at him so warmly, no handsome princes who give him flowers on damp summer nights.
“Have a good day,” Byleth said instead as Jeralt gave a faint smile. Byleth tried desperately to commit everything about his father to memory, the gleam of armor to the smell of waxed leather.
“You too, kid.” He said as he brushed out the door, pausing slightly in the doorway before walking towards the training grounds.
Byleth sighed.
"I’m docking all of you five points for stealth.” He said loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose to stifle the smile threatening his face. There was a crash of crates and a startled yelp. “Ten points.” He amended.
“What?!” Annette’s voice said as her red hair poked into the room, pouting. “That was Felix’s fault! Why should all of us get penalties?” There was a huff as Ingrid walked into the room, pulling Annette with her.
“Because the professor is right, having eight people standing outside a door isn’t exactly discreet.” She said when Ashe followed, rubbing at his hair and shooting Byleth an apologetic smile.
“Well, to be fair it really was just me and Mercedes delivering herbs before the rest of the class came with us.” He said placing a small bundle onto the bed at Byleth’s feet.
"You guys were just fidgeting outside our professor’s door.” Sylvaine scoffed as he smoothly whipped out from behind a support pillar. “Could you blame us for being suspicious?”
“It would be very rude to interrupt Captain Jeralt and the professor having a private conversation.” Mercedes said as she confidently walked up and began to unlace the bundle of herbs while Dedue followed in.
“Yet, you still stayed.” He said gruffly, Byleth did him a favor and decided to ignore the faint red splotches across his cheeks. Embarrassment was always endearing on him. Felix and Dimitri slunk into the room—Dimitri doing his best impression of a scolded puppy and Felix adamantly refused to look at anyone in the room.
“I was just here to make sure the boar didn’t injure you further in his poor attempt to help.”
"I just came to—” Dimitri floundered, excuseless. “—we were concerned,” he added lamely.
Byleth corrected himself. Embarrassment was endearing on all his students. He still gave a theatrically heavy sigh.
“At least tell me you all didn’t skip training to stalk my room.” He said as the students all jolted and a cacophony of sounds sprung.
"Never, Professor!”
“No way!”
“I finished up and came right here!”
“I was gonna go later!”
“I wouldn’t do that for anyone.”
“Already done.”
“Yeah, I did.”
They all said, their responses all blending together as Mercedes quietly mashed some herbs into a slave and walked over to Byleth.
“Professor, this is my training.” She said with a smile. “May I see your bandages?”
Byleth nodded and sat up further in bed, letting his sheets pool in his lap as Mercedes began to unwrap the cloth that neatly held his shoulder straight.
There was a deep moment of silence.
Mercedes didn’t seem to mind as she got to work but Byleth looked up with a quirked eyebrow at his suddenly quiet class.
Annette yelped, bright red blush matching her hair quickly averting her gaze. Dedue and Felix seemed to be politely glancing at the ground, only Felix’s pale face showing a hint of pink. Ingrid put her hand to her face, blocking her vision as she cleared her throat. Dimitri just seemed very red and very frozen as Sylvaine gave a low whistle of approval.
“Damn, Teach.” He said with a wolfish grin. “You’ve been holding out on us!”
Byleth cocked his head as Ingrid cleared her throat again.
“Professor...” She said quietly. “You’re...the sheets,” Ingrid said sparingly.
Byleth quickly pulled the blankets higher. He could do nothing for the bareness of his chest, but he had forgotten about his lack of most articles of clothing.
“Thanks, Ingrid.” He muttered as Mercedes giggled good-naturedly next to him.
“No need to be embarrassed, Professor!” She said brightly as she deftly changed the bandages. “You’re very handsome and very well proportioned!”
Byleth felt his face heat and he cleared his throat, suddenly unable to look at his students. More specifically, the student who seemed to be very fascinated with his boots all of a sudden.
“Thank you, Mercedes.” He said as she made the final tie and smiled.
“Of course, Professor!”
Byleth, while embarrassed, couldn't help but smile at his lap. His foolish students, crammed into his room and causing a scene simply out of the urge to see him after his little stint in the courtyard. They must have thought he'd gone mad. Byleth wasn't sure if he wasn't going mad. If this wasn't just some elaborate fever dream borne of exhaustion from the war and mounting injuries he refused to tell the healers. He thought of his nightmare, of violent eyes in the dark. He felt his resolve harden as he made an addendum to his sworn fealty.
No one would be hurt this time. No one.
Chapter 3
Notes:
I know. I know. I know I said this chapter would be the final. But if you look at the length of this compared to the first two then I think you will see what I mean ;-; I hit a bit of a rough spot in my life and time got away from me. It has almost been a month since my last chapter so I wanted to give you guys something. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and I SWEAR. I SWEAR the next chapter is the last. I don't have too much left to write so hopefully I can knock out the rest relatively quickly!!
Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy <3
Chapter Text
Byleth had forgotten how quickly time passed. He refused to sit idly in bed when a war was so close to their doorstep, but there were other matters that unfortunately sat in his lap.
Like what in Sothis’s name was his past self teaching his students.
He huffed in irritation and ran a hand through his frustratingly green hair as he tried to make sense of a madman’s inept scheduling. Felix had just started his magic training a few weeks ago.
“A bit late, dastard.” Byleth cursed at himself as he quickly crossed out hours of sword training and added in private reasoning lessons at practically every waking hour. Felix would be none too pleased, but with time being more valuable than gold he would just have to be more surly than usual. He similarly axed authority training with Annette so she could put more focus on her lessons with Mercedes in white magic. He shivered at the idea of having her lead gambits against the terrifying beasts they would face later on. Byleth sat deep into the night, taking a literal knife to his notes to make a blistering training course. Sheaves of parchment went flying as he quickly sliced in old plans for new ones, pasting them into a monstrous-looking scrapbook.
Outside, Ashe held a box of medical supplies to his chest and blinked in mild terror.
“Uhm, Professor?” He said meekly as he dodged a wad of Ingrid’s goal request. “Actually, I’ll come back later.” Ashe squeaked and ran back to his room, passing a sweat-slicked Felix on his way back from training.
“Don’t go in there!” He said quickly before closing his dorm door. Felix stood blinking in confusion on the stone pathway.
“I wasn’t planning to.” Felix said to the empty air.
“I can’t believe you skipped the sorbet yesterday, Edie!” Dorthea said as Edelgard sat down next to her, giving an apologetic smile. Hubert shadowed her movements and pulled out a chair, his elbow going as far as to —
“Hey!” The Blue Lion womanizer squawked from the table next to them as Hubert elbowed his head. The blonde girl next to him (Edelgard idly remembered her flying skills from the Battle of the Lion and Eagle, impressive, but she quickly forgot her name.) just chuckled.
“It’s not his fault you lean so far back, sit properly and maybe you won’t get injured.” She chided as she gave the Black Eagles a polite smile before returning back to her meal.
Edelgard felt a bit bad about forgetting her name. She shook her head. No, there’s no time or use for thoughts like that. She was about to tuck into her salad when the entire room broke out into shocked gasps, Dorthea jumped to her feet.
“Professor!! What happened to your hair ?!” She said as Professor Byleth blinked at the gaping feast hall. His hand was picking something off his face (glue?) and he blearily stared back. His tired eyes a startling green and his sea-green hair slightly bedraggled.
“Magical mishap.” Professor Byleth said flatly as he ignored the stares to pick up his breakfast. As emotive and detailed as ever. Edelgard thought as she squinted at him, the color was familiar; it was almost the same shade as —
“I’m so sorry, Professor!” The red-haired Blue Lion girl said loudly, putting her head in her hands. “I didn’t think the spell would backfire like that!” Edelgard watched Professor Byleth’s eyes widen a fraction as his table seemed to bluster into sound.
“You need to be more careful with that stuff!” The womanizer said with a grin, leaning back in his chair again. “Imagine if that hit Dimitri, something tells me he wouldn’t pull it off nearly as good as the Professor.”
“I hesitantly agree.” Dimitri said, wincing into his food. Edelgard glanced at his face, there was something odd about his —
“It’s ok, Annie! You didn’t mean to!” Their healer said sweetly as she patted the back of the girl who still held her head in her hands.
“Spellmagic is unpredictable.” Dedue said, nodding while he sliced into his food. “Though caution should always be taken, this was a rather minor side effect.”
Professor Byleth sat down next to Dimitri, tilting his head in confusion while Dimitri just smiled faintly back. There was a short pause before the Professor nodded and turned to the girl.
“There is really no need to apologize. I wasn’t seriously injured.”
“You were in bed for a whole day!”
“I needed the break anyways.”
“Professor!” She whined as her teacher just gave her his ghost of a smile. “Now you’re just bullying me.” She pouted as he went to eat his breakfast.
“Not that this isn’t fun to watch but we have more important things to discuss.” The womanizer said, his face settling into a startlingly serious expression. Edelgard felt her spine stiffen as she strained to hear.
“Our handsome future king’s birthday is coming up and I think that’s deserving of a day off and a night on the town to celebrate.” He nodded severely. The table groaned. Edelgard held back her annoyed huff and bit down on her fruit with a touch more aggression than what was strictly necessary.
“Sylvain!” Dimitri said, scandalized. “Don’t use my birthday to fuel your schemes.”
“C’mon it’s a great idea! Who knows when you’ll get another chance to have a normal birth—”
“I’ll think about it.” Professor Byleth said to the shock of their team. Including Sylvain.
“Hah! Yes! Thanks, Pr-”
“As long as everyone recalls that I haven’t forgotten about the White Heron Cup.” The Professor said, as the table suddenly seemed very preoccupied with their food.
“Oh, the Cup!” Dorthea said excitedly as she turned to her own table, the chatter of the Blue Lions already forgotten. “I have a few ideas about — ”
Edelgard sighed. It was difficult to tell the difference between important information and classroom shenanigans. She decided she let her attention be swept away into the excitement of her own classmates.
While a few tables away, a pink-haired knight looked to her team leader who was staring at the Blue Lion table. His eyes too sharp and smile ringing hollow.
Two days had passed since the Professor’s new look, and Claude was no closer to figuring out why. He put his hand to his mouth as he walked towards his classroom. There were so many pieces to many different puzzles. And what felt like no time for any. Claude was about to turn into the courtyard before he felt something crash into his shoulder.
“Whoops! Sorry, Claude!” Annette said as she barreled into the Golden Deer leader. She gave a slight yelp, barely catching herself from tumbling onto the stonework. The stack of books she was carrying was less lucky.
“Whoa, slow down there, little miss.” Claude chuckled good-naturedly, grabbing the text at his feet while she cursed and scrambled to pick them up. “Most folks only take as many books as they can read, ya know.” He said as he plopped the heavy tome onto the top of the pile while Annette sighed. Claude kept his usual charming smile as he quickly looked her up and down. She looked haggard and slightly startled. Most of the Blue Lions seemed to have that look about them recently.
“They’re not for me! They’re for Felix!” She said as she pressed her cheek to the stack and pouted. “Trust me, I would love to look at these, but the Professor said I couldn’t!” Claude blinked.
“Felix? The sword guy?” He said as Annette snickered before pouting harder.
“Yeah! And he doesn’t even appreciate it!” She huffed and grabbed the last book that landed opened faced on the courtyard grass. Claude held back a whistle. That stuff did not look like the basics of magic. “I’m stuck sitting in the cathedral all day, not that its not interesting but-” Claude let her rant fade into the background as he caught a yellow shawled figure leaving the Blue Lion classroom. Mercedes was holding the lance properly but looking at it like it was a litter box she’d rather leave for someone else to clean. Now that’s interesting . Claude thought as he looked back down at Annette who got to her feet.
“ — but I guess it’s kinda fun getting to teach him! He gets this little furrowed brow like he wants to insult you but knows you're right.” She giggled. “Anyway, thanks for the help!”
“Yeah. No problem...” Claude said faintly as she bounded off behind Mercedes. The students in that class were the go-getting perky types, but this was something new. They seemed exhausted. And confused.
“Let’s add that little mystery to the list, shall we?” Claude smiled, telling himself that all the deception wasn’t weighing on his chest.
He always was a fantastic liar.
Ashe collapsed into a pile of hay the moment he finished tying up the finicky horse.
His finicky horse. Ashe thought, trying not to sigh.
He was excited when the professor told him to focus on mounted fighting, he thought he would feel more like a true knight. Instead, he was stuck with a temperamental horse that barely let him ride her, much less fire a bow while galloping. Cinder, the gray mare, leaned down and began to nose at the hay next to Ashe’s head.
“Miss, could you please eat from somewhere else on the pile.” He asked as politely as he could. She ignored him and began to eat at his hair.
“Wha-Hey!” Ashe said, floundering off the hay bales. He heard a bright laugh off to his side as he saw Ingrid and Mercedes walk by with their own mounts. Ingrid leaned into the stall, her lovely pegasus wasn't even leashed as it pranced next to her as elegantly as a dream.
“Having some trouble down there?” She asked with a smile while Ashe rolled to his feet.
“Just doing my best with the new routines is all.” Ashe said, trying to put as much positivity in his voice as possible. He stared at his poor tack tying job, suddenly missing his quiver very much. He felt Mercedes pat his head.
“There, there!” She said brightly. “You’re doing your best! The Professor wouldn’t give you and Felix these hard changes if he didn’t know you could do it!” Mercedes smiled and Ashe felt his shoulders droop.
“I suppose you’re right.” He smiled and brushed off his uniform pants, feeling his determination flickering back. “I can’t let him down!”
“You always bounce back so quick, Ashe.” Ingrid said with a wry grin. “I remember being annoyed for a week when all Zyphea did was eat my hair.”
“Well,” Ashe chuckled, touching his spit-slicked hair. “It helps to be reminded that at least I’m not Felix right now.”
“Oh yes. He seems to be having quite a time of it right now!” Mercedes laughed. “He’s been so cross lately and a poor girl tried to give him a love letter. I thought he was gonna bite her head off!”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me of love letters.” Ingrid groaned as she went to tie up her mount.
“Are you getting bothered again, Ingrid?” Ashe asked, walking out of the stall and hoping his hair wasn’t sticking up too bad. Ingrid huffed despite the smile curling on her face.
“Yeah. A letter was slid under my door this morning. It was on academy sealed parchment, so I took it to breakfast instead of burning it.” A pink tinge crept up on her face. “Rookie mistake. The guy walked up to our table when he saw I was opening it and then—”
“Oh, you should have seen it, Ashe!” Mercedes giggled, her hands on her mouth. “I’ve never seen the Professor glare so hard!”
“I thought he was gonna pull out The Sword of The Creator,” Ingrid groaned and put on a frown. “I can handle my own fights.”
“I thought it was sweet!” Mercedes smiled, her hands moving to her cheek. Ashe paused and blinked.
“You know a similar thing happened with me?” He said as the two girls looked at him in confusion while he flushed.
“W-Well, not unwanted love letters but — ” Ashe stuttered and sighed. “One of the knights made a comment about Lord Lonato — ”
“No!” Mercedes gasped and Ingrid looked a moment from hunting down every knight herself. Ashe sighed.
“It’s fine! It’s like you said, I can handle my own fights!” He said as he ran his fingers through his hair. “But the Professor was nearby and well — ”
Ashe really tried not to smile.
“Turns out knights can get pretty scared when Lady Rhea’s favorite dares them to continue their conversation.”
Ingrid seemed to be holding back a laugh as Mercedes chuckled happily.
“He’s been oddly protective lately.” Ingrid said as she adjusted the blue belt on her uniform. “It’s strange but — ”
“It’s kind of nice.” Ashe finished.
The three began to slowly clean the stalls, their conversation moving light and happily among the chilly winter air. Their laughter ringing clearly through the light snowfall as the day slowly moved to dusk.
“Do not take this as an insult, Professor.” Dedue started as he stared at his teacher deftly maneuver around the kitchen, tossing a whole fish wrapped in leaves directly onto the fire. “But where did you get this recipe?” He finished when Byleth blinked at him, blank-faced as ever.
“I copied it down from a merchant.” He said dully, dumping some fresh vegetables into the cast iron pot beside it. Dedue watched him carefully but found nothing particularly odd in his movements. A bit stiff, easily explained away by the constant training they were doing the past odd days. The only strange thing was the sureness of his gait. The confidence that his last step would lead him onto the next. Dedue shook his head. A ridiculous thing to notice.
“Do you need any assistance with the side dishes?”
“Yes, could you add some extra onions to that one?”
“Of course, Professor.”
The two worked in silence, the roar of the fire and sizzling of food filling in the gaps.
Then the Professor began to hum.
Dedue froze as he heard the stilted notes come from his teacher's mouth. The fact that he was humming was cause for alarm itself, but the song itself was almost stranger.
It was the sweet tune of a folk song, a tale of a warrior coming home during a winter holiday and greeting his family.
A Duscurain folksong.
Dedue felt his whole form shake, each note seemed to warm his chest but stab his heart. He bit his tongue and felt the knife slip from his fingers onto the board. He felt the breath punch out of his lungs before he picked up the knife again.
Dedue felt himself return to cutting vegetables.
He made it only a few more bars of the song before he felt as if he was burning alive.
“I am... surprised you know that melody.” He managed as the Professor’s song immediately stopped.
He was unsure if he was grateful or mournful at the loss.
“Ah.” The Professor said. Dedue didn’t dare look over his shoulder. “I heard it from...a soldier. Is it offensive?”
Dedue took a deep breath, tasting the tang of the onions in the air.
“No. Not at all.” He said.
“Oh.”
“You may continue if you like.” Dedue said. “Though the third note in the chorus should be a bit lower.”
The Professor gave a soft smile and until the feast hall doors opened, the two worked in the kitchen, their song sweet and small as it floated between them both.
Byleth was lost.
It was not a sensation that happened often, but when it occurred it seemed to throw him more than others. At least it certainly felt so as he sat with his fork halfway to his mouth—and his entire class staring at him expectantly.
“I don’t believe so,” Byleth said and quickly shoved his mouth full of fish. Annette pouted.
“C’mon, Professor! You’re saying you never laughed once before?” She said, stabbing at the air with her knife. “That can't be healthy! Right, Mercie?”
“Well, it’s certainly not normal.” Mercedes said, her hand to her cheek. “But that just means we have to give you something to laugh at!” She said brightly. Byleth had a sinking feeling in his stomach as Sylvain whipped around with a sly grin.
“Oooh, that sounds like a fun contest.” He said, his smile promising several apologies that will need to be made to staff. “And one that I should have in the bag.”
Felix snorted behind his drink.
“With what? Your endless charm?” Felix said, his sarcasm sharper than his sword.
“Uh, duh. Naturally. The competition here kinda stinks.” Sylvain said before turning back to the girls. “No offense, of course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ingrid snapped while Sylvain’s hands went up.
“I’m just saying that us Blue Lions aren’t exactly known for our humor and laid-back attitude, you know?” He said, gesturing around the table with his fork. “I mean look at us.”
“I see no problem in our dedication. It’s an admirable quality that I’m proud our class shares.” Dimitri said, waving his spoon at Sylvain. Byleth wondered if everyone noticed how they mirrored each other's odd actions. If Ingrid’s annoyed expression was anything to go by, she did. “It is a quality you should work harder at, Sylvain.” He scolded while Sylvain just scoffed, pushing the spoon aside.
“Pft. I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt for you to lighten up, Your Highness .” Sylvain smirked.
“Byleth!” Professor Manuela’s voice rang out over the din of the dining hall as she walked over to their table. Sauntered. Byleth always wondered if it cost more energy when people walked like that, that much hip movement must be draining. “There you are. I must say I’m rather surprised to see you here.” She said her voice dipping sultry low and her arms draping across the head of his chair. Byleth could see it being an attempt at charm but really all he felt was some of his hair get trapped between her arm and the wood.
“I’m eating.” Byleth said flatly, trying to subtly pull his head forward without losing hair. “It’s the dining hall.”
There was a snort of laughter from his table that he decided not to dignify. Manuela sighed.
“I know that . It’s just—” Her eyes glanced over the table as the nearly a dozen pair of eyes looked at her. “—unconventional is all.”
“Hmmn.” Byleth murmured in response, taking another bite of his food. Dedue did a great job as usual. The war made access to certain fresh herbs impossible due to unsecured trade routes. Always surprising what some wild roots could do for a dish.
“I came in to give something to one of my dear students and I thought I would remind you of our little.... event tonight. We did schedule it so long ago.” Manuela said and Byleth nearly bent his spoon. That whole damned affair did happen this month didn’t it . He mentally cursed.
“Thank you for the reminder.” He said dully but did his best to give a firm nod. It seemed enough to please Manuela as she chuckled heartily before giving a graceful wave to his students and sauntering off to the small trio of Black Eagles in the corner of the hall.
There was a polite silence before the giggles started up in earnest.
“Damn, Professor.” Sylvaine smirked. “You sure are lucky that the girls here think you’re not bad to look at. Because that performance was lacking to say the least.”
“Sylvain!” Ashe said, though even he seemed to be holding back a smile. “That’s not very nice.”
“But you didn’t say I was wrong, did you?” He turned with a grin as Ashe just awkwardly ducked his head to resume eating. “Exactly.”
“What’s the event, Professor?” Annette interjected, eyes shining. “Is it planning for the ball?”
“We shouldn’t meddle in the affairs of our professors, Annette.” Dedue said. Byleth didn’t have favorite students. But Dedue was getting damned close. He shook his head and stabbed at his fish.
“Nothing so secretive.” He said as his mouth twisted. It was not a memory he was going to enjoy reliving but he was lacking a choice. He was already putting up enough red flags and ditching their little party for no reason would grant even more suspicion that Byleth did not need. “Teachers must hold a certain level of decorum during the ball. I’ve been told there’s a tradition to have a minor celebration to ourselves.”
“There’s a church-sanctioned time for the professors to drink?” Ingrid said, her eyebrows jumping to her hairline as Byleth nodded.
“A bit unconventional, but I suppose the concept makes sense.” Dimitri said, his hand to his mouth. Byleth wondered if he was aware of his thinking pose. Or if anyone had noticed at all and he was not an insane man for memorizing the tells of his class leader. “It would be unbecoming in the eyes of the church for one of their figures to lose themselves in the night. But denying at least one night of fun would be rather cruel.”
“‘Lose themselves in the night’,” Felix scoffed. “They get blasted drunk, boar. Just say it.” Dimitri looked like he was about to argue before Byleth sighed and interjected.
“It’s not a very long event. Most of the staff hardly stay for an hour before politely leaving.” He said as the class stared at him. “Apparently.” Byleth awkwardly tacked on. Ingrid shrugged.
“I suppose that’s true. Everyone does seem scheduled for work the next morning.” She said. “I hope you have some fun though, Professor. You need to let your hair down.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Felix grumbled as Ingrid turned to scowl.
“No richer than that from you!” She snapped as the two began to quarrel. Sylvain and Dimitri seemed to expertly dodge around their fight with the ease of men who have dealt with it for years. Sylvain leaned forward so they could yell over his head and gave a smirk.
“I bet that all the lady staff won't be able to keep their hands off you.” He scoffed. “I mean look how they act around you when they’re meant to be proper!”
“No betting.” Byleth said, quickly filling his mouth with fish again. The back of his neck did burn with the memory. He was able to escape the party before hands got too wandering by pretending he was trying to avoid Cathrine’s drinking contest. But there were a few too many undressing stares for him to truly be comfortable.
“Professor, seriously?” Sylvain groaned. “I had an entire plan to win some gold off this!”
“I’m eating.” Byleth said, shoving the last forkful of rice into his cheek. If he could avoid that one knight who called him ‘honeycakes’ he would consider the night a victory. Byleth was quickly brought back to the conversation as he heard a high bell-like giggle.
“Aww, it’s kind of cute when you're embare-” Mercedes cut herself off with a squeak and put her hands to her mouth. “Ah, sorry, Profesor. I shouldn’t tease you.” Byleth quietly reminded himself that he was a mighty tactician and unmatched swordsman. From the future . With a goddess’s power in his mind . He was not cute .
“You’re right, Mercedes.” Dimitri’s voice said, Byleth didn’t need to look up to know the dastard’s was leaning forward with hand was on his cheek. “Though it is a bit difficult to refrain when you grumble like that, Professor.”
Byleth quickly drained his drink and stood from the table. And quickly picked a target for his sudden ire.
“Felix, careful. Or I’ll make you represent us at the Cup again.” He said and tried to not take too much pleasure in the horrified scream and bouts of laughter that followed him out the dining hall.
Though he would admit. It was a rather nice dinner. The lingering warmth of the feast hall seemed to follow him. Maybe it would be enough to get him through this ridiculous night.
It was a mistake
A terrible horrible mistake. He should have never turned back time. Sothis was a cruel mistress and he would rather be dying on a battlefield during the war than be here.
“Come on, Professor !” Alois chortled; he was so pressed into his side that Byleth could feel the rumbling vibrations of his laughter. The only thing pressed tighter to him was the tankard of something foul that Alois was practically shoving into his chest. “You gotta try this one!”
“The kid is fine, Alois.” Jeralt yelled over the din of the celebration. Cathrine and some knight were having a rather vibrant arm-wrestling match and each time they yelled it seemed like the entire row on the bench shifted, shoving Byleth harder into his father—who shot him sympathetic looks every few minutes.
He didn’t think this would be the hard part of the night.
His father’s arm was around his shoulder as he quickly moved him out of the way of the ebb and flow of the small crowd that was building around them. The weight of it was far more comforting than Byleth could remember, warm and heavy against his back as Jeralt berated Alois for getting so drunk so early. The first time around Byleth only remembered a vague sense of discomfort at all the attention and a bit of embarrassment at Jeralt’s protectiveness.
Now all he felt was this deep chasm of pain in his chest when his father leaned in and said.
“You can leave if this is too much for you.” He said, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “You don’t exactly like crowds unless everyone’s got weapons.”
“I’m fine.” Byleth said hollowly and began his awkward extraction from the tightly packed bench. “I’m going to get another drink; do you want anything?” Jeralt gave him a disbelieving look but just gestured to his mostly full glass before going back to ignoring Alois. Byleth ambled up from his spot and quickly shoved through the small crowd. There weren’t too many people at the event but the meeting room that acted at their ‘tavern’ was small.
Plus, it seemed everyone was hovering around the ‘Knights and The Professor Only Table’ as Cathrine dubbed it.
Byleth quickly scanned the crowd. He was hoping he could get some work done at this party. Empire spies would get blasted drunk to keep their cover but would most likely be a bit on edge. Maybe it could give him some clues as to—
Byleth held his already throbbing head. No, they had shapeshifting abilities. He might catch some of Edeguard’s spies within the guardsman, but the true danger was those mages. Mages who implemented themselves as high as Tomas had. He wasn’t going to catch them by poking around at a party. Byleth grumbled. He only had a few weeks to change a plan that was almost a decade in the making. Perhaps more.
No. The only way to save his students was to change the way he looked at this war.
“Do you think Cathrine knows your name or thinks it’s first name ‘The’ last name ‘Professor’?” Manuela chortled as he made his way to her table. Which also happened to be the table where a beleaguered-looking kitchen hand was serving the drinks.
“I don’t think she cares what it is.” Byleth shrugged. It was much quieter in this segment of the room. He would go back to his unique form of torture later. This night was already a waste. Might as well get it over with quickly.
I should have just trained. Byleth thought as he was given a rather fruity-smelling drink. He was warned about these kinds of drinks when he was younger, overly sweet and sticky with sugar to hide the copious amounts of alcohol in it.
Byleth quickly drained half of it.
When he looked down from the drink, he saw Manuela, a high blush on her cheeks, leaning forward towards him with a sly smirk.
“So why do you eat dinner with your students so much?”
Byleth quickly drained the other half.
“It helps them be more comfortable with each other and me.”
Byleth received another drink.
“Yes, but every meal? And always next to—”
Byleth slammed back the entire tankard and was very glad it wasn’t glass as he slammed it onto the table. Byleth bitterly reminded himself that he was the lion and she was the bird. But Manuela’s grin was one of a cat staring at a startled canary.
“Oh, don’t you look so upset. Hanneman and I are the only ones who work with you daily!” She leaned in further, her smile only getting sharper. “And I am really the expert on such things.”
“Please lower your voice.” Byleth muttered darkly as his drink was gently taken from his hands as the poor kitchenmaid—who he knew was not getting paid to deal with his crisis—filled his drink again. Manuela scoffed.
“Oh please, it’s only natural! You are quite the looker, talented in battle, a fantastic teacher, wield a holy weapon, and to top it off you have Lady Rhea’s blessing!” Manuela chortled into her drink. “It only makes sense that you would go for the best!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Byleth grumbled, draining the entire contents of his tankard again. It really was much too sweet, the fruit taste seemed to stick to every crevice of his mouth and leave an awful film. Byleth pried his gaze from the spot on the wall to look at the tankard. It was rather deep and wide—his stomach was already starting to protest as he began to feel an awful sloshing feeling.
Uh-oh . His brain supplied intelligently.
“I believe I do!” Manuela put her head on her hand and stared off dreamily, swaying slightly. “Handsome, earnest, powerful, eyes like a doe, great bloodline, and just enough naivete to be rather fetching.”
Byleth felt his face burn. Each word seemed to recall a new memory. Dimitri raising his training blade as he smiles kindly at the monastery orphans that clung onto his every word. Dimitri the warrior on the battlefield, the sun casting an ethereal glow on his armor as if he was the one who had received the blessing of a goddess. His crest flashing deep magic around his form as his lance turns into a silver arc of power.
Then Dimitri, high blush on his face as Sylvain ribbed him on some topic. Or laughing despite Felix flinging biting insults at him. His gentle affection for Dedue as he fretted over him. His unwavering bond with Ingrid. The adorable awkward stilt to his conversations with Ashe. His stories with Annette. His embarrassed frustration at his projects with Mercedes.
The best. Manuela had said. Byleth felt his heartache. No, Dimitri had demons and faults that separated him from the storybook prince she was describing. A deep darkness that threatened his beautiful determination and optimism. But all it did was make Byleth want to fight harder. To kiss his cheek and hold his face in his hands and swear that he could rest. Just for a little while.
“And he always hangs on to your every word .” Manuela purred suddenly. “I’m sure he follows orders well too.”
Byleth leaped to his feet—the table cocking to the side and drenching him in Manuela’s drink as she sputtered. He quickly saved his tankard from the table and whipped back around to his table, hoping his hair covered the deep heat that seemed to pulse on his face. He barely held back his mortified groan as he realized he probably wouldn't be able to give Dimitri instructions for a week without his mind jumping to a gutter.
“Sir Jeralt!” Manuela yelled across the room and Byleth felt himself flinch. “You raised such a sweet boy!”
Byleth felt his traitorous face flush further as he saw a few of the knights look over and laugh while Jeralt just gave her a flippant wave. He tried to walk as dignified as he possibly could back to his table, the world tilting slightly on its axis. His father scooted to the side as Byleth plopped unceremoniously onto the bench.
“Sorry, kid.” Jeralt chuckled as Byleth stole his drink and began to drain it. “You got your looks from your mother. People didn’t leave her alone either.”
“Hmph.” Byleth grumbled into the drink. He hadn’t felt quite so much like a petulant child in a long time. It was like the monastery brought it out in him along with all the other emotions that he wondered if he would be better without.
“But that inability to handle it is all me.” Jeralt said as he patted him on the shoulder. “You got any important plans tomorrow?” He asked as Byleth swayed lightly.
“Not particularly.” Byleth muttered. Only trying to stop a continent-wide war and save thousands of people from dying . Jeralt nodded.
“Better drink this then.” He passed something into Byleth’s hands. He drank it.
Byleth wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t be drinking so much seeing as he was still exhausted from the goddess’s time magic, slightly lacking in blood, and minorly malnourished from the war.
And that was around the last concrete thought he had as he swayed on the bench.
Dimitri quietly walked out of the library, quickly glancing around before making his way down the halls. He had the library to himself that night, most of the students who took the time to study were discouraged by the loud noises coming from the room in the next hall over. His professor said that it was supposed to be a rather short function, but if the late hour was any indication...He had severely miscalculated.
But it had worked in his favor as Dimitri didn’t have to sneak around the stonework halls, the loud echoing cheering masked most sounds. He was busy making sure that his cape laid over the bundle on his hip when he suddenly crashed into something.
“Professor!” Dimitri yelled as he quickly grabbed his teacher’s arm, Byleth was already halfway to the floor before he did so. “Are you alright?” He held back a panicked gasp when he took in his professor’s face.
His green hair was disheveled, his eyes were vacant seaglass, and there was a high flush on his disoriented face. Also, he seemed far too unsteady on his feet. Is he sick? Dimitri quietly panicked as he tried to hall him upright. He looks feverish...but... Dimitri felt a tinge of pink come to his cheeks when he realized where Byleth must have come from.
“A-Ah.” Dimitri stuttered, feeling foolish as he stared down at his now obviously drunk professor. Byleth’s eyes finally seemed to focus on his face.
“Hello, Dimitri.” He said, his voice flat as ever. It took him a second to get upright, but he managed to do so. Even if he seemed to be swaying a bit on his feet. Dimitri starred in dumbfounded surprise when Byleth simply patted him twice on the shoulder before speaking. “I’m going to bed. Have a nice night.” Dimitri felt the worry fade a bit. Despite the appearance, his professor seemed fine. Dimitri allowed himself a fond smile when Byleth passed him by, the fluff to his hair was rather adorable. Ingrid was right, he did need to let it down.
Byleth only made it about two feet before his knees nearly buckled again.
“Professor!” Dimitri said, grabbing his elbow again. Byleth let out a huff.
“Dimitri, I’m really tired of passing out and falling all the time.” He grumbled but wrapped his arm over Dimitri’s shoulder.
“All other instances seemed magically aligned.” Dimitri said, unable to stop the helpless smile that came across his face. Pouting. His professor, always so stoic, was pouting. “I believe this time was your doing, Professor.”
Byleth groaned and leaned his head onto Dimitri’s shoulder, his eyes shuttering.
Dimitri was glad for it. It saved him from needing to explain the sudden heat that came to his face.
“Thank you, Dimitri.” Byleth muttered before attempting to walk forward. “I can take it from here.” Dimitri felt his smile fall as he put out his hand on his professor’s unsteady chest.
“I’m afraid not, Professor. We can't have you hurting yourself.” He said as he began to quietly guide their steps forward, his fingers tightening on Byleth’s jacket.
Or his tunic. Dimitri looked down in surprise. He was too busy being distracted by Byleth’s odd expressions that he didn’t realize he wasn’t in his usual uniform. Instead, he seemed to be wearing a loose grey tunic that was sloppily tucked into a pair of cotton pants. Though his boots were the same. Dimitri idly wondered if he only owned one pair.
Dimitri guided them down the staircase and tried not to think about how his heart pounded. The tunic slid far too down Byleth’s chest but seemed to easily ruck up his side, exposing far too much of his hip. It was nothing obscene, Dimitri rushed to defend his own thoughts, but when his professor was normally covered head to toe in armor and cloaks...Dimitri shook his head and tried to focus on walking when they finally made it outside.
“Fraldarius.” Byleth said suddenly, only Dimitri’s hand on his chest kept him from lurching forward.
“Felix?” He asked as Byleth’s gaze settled on him. Dimitri felt his concern rise once more, his eyes seemed to be jumping from his mouth to his eyes. He hoped his hearing was alright. “Is there—”
“Weird name.” Byleth said flatly as Dimitri stared at him.
“Um? Professor?” He trailed off as Byeth’s brows knit together in thought.
“Fra-yl-daaaar-i-ou-s.” Byleth drawled, suddenly leaning all his weight onto Dimitri. He was thankful for his strength as he was able to quickly grab his seemingly boneless professor from spilling onto the stonework. “It’s a mouthful.” Byleth said. Dimitri heaved his professor to his feet and gave a helpless laugh. It was an odd feeling, watching him be so casual. Every emotion seemed to flow freely across his face, like the twist of his brow and mouth. As if he was truly upset about how difficult Felix’s last name was to say. It spread a kindling warmth through his chest.
Dimitri quickly shook his head, his smile falling. Byleth wasn’t letting him see his emotions out of his own free will. This was theft.
A secret for a secret. He decided.
“Sylvain used to tease him for it when we were children. If I would attempt to join, he would simply ask for me to attempt to spell mine.” Dimitri admitted as he pushed them forward a step. Byleth nodded, his head lolling slightly as Dimitri watched his mind chase another thought. Something that was usually a graceful process seemed to drag across his face.
“Sylvain Jose Gautier.” Byleth said rhythmically, his lip pursing. “Easy name. Slides off.”
Dimitri nearly dropped him when Byleth turned and gave him a blinding smile.
Blinding smile. Dimitri had heard the phrase before, but this was the first time he truly felt it. The joy on his face was so bright it was nearly hard to look at. Byleth’s eyes were closed and his grin was infectious, with his hair slightly tousled and his armor missing he truly looked his age.
Dimitri felt a pang in his chest. If they were only a few miles away, they would be mistaken for any other pair of young men. Stumbling home from a tavern, leaning on each other and laughing without a care in the world. Only worried about how they would wake up the next morning for work.
In that moment, there was nothing his heart wished for more.
Maybe in that other life, he could lean down and ruffle Byleth’s hair. Scold him for not being able to hold his liquor and kiss that ridiculous look off his face. Look into his eyes and demand he never say Sylvain’s name with a smile that sweet ever again.
Dimitri felt the burn of shame in his chest as he hauled Byleth up further and began to trudge forward again. He was scum for thinking he deserved such warm thoughts.
“Hey.” Byleth voice said beside him. Dimitri didn’t dare look. He kept trudging forward. He could see the dorm rooms now, Byleth’s thankfully the closest on the end.
“Dimitri.” Byleth said louder. Dimitri kept them walking.
Then a deceptively strong hand grabbed his face in a vice.
His brain slowly noticed a few facts. Byleth wasn’t wearing his gloves. Byleth’s bare thumb pressed into the corner of his mouth. And Dimitri's blood was rapidly turning to fire as he watched the thin ring of green of Byleth’s eyes focus on his mouth, that intense gaze that only he could give. Dimitri was the one holding up his form, but he felt pinned to his core by his stare and the feather-light pressure at his mouth.
“Please, don’t look like that.” Byleth whispered, his words more air then noise. Dimitri felt his eyes widen as Byleth’s face changed. He looked so—
Heartbroken.
Byleth’s eyes carried so much weight and the shadows that stuck to his hair weighed them down further. He looked mournful. Like he was watching the death of something precious. Dimitri had never seen him be so emotive. It would be beautiful—if the sight of it didn’t twist Dimitri’s heart so badly it ached down to his bones.
Byleth was looking at him, but his eyes seemed to be focusing on something much further past his eyes. His fingers were trailing from his jaw to his hair as he stared at him as if he was a dying man.
Dimitri certainly felt it.
He could feel the trailing lines of Byleth’s fingers like spellfire across his skin. The faint portion of his mind that wasn’t memorizing the small smattering of scars across Byleth’s nose wondered if he looked like this when he embraced him in the same spot a few days earlier.
“Please.” Byleth whispered again, his fingers tangling in his hair. Dimitri’s hand weakly grasped at his wrist, bare skin on bare skin. The heat from his palm guided his eyes shut as he helplessly heard Byleth’s weak plea. “I don’t want them to haunt you anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Professor.” Dimitri said brokenly, gently pulling the hands from his face. Byleth’s face fell further and the dagger in Dimitri’s chest twisted as his head drooped, his hair swinging with the motion. Byleth was the most beautiful man Dimitri had ever seen. It was fact. Perfectly impossible yet undeniable like the metal in his legendary sword. His hair seemed to glow effervescently, moonlight catching and collecting in his eyelashes. Stunning and powerful. Endlessly clever and hardworking. And every breath seemed to be blessed by the goddess herself.
Dimitri lifted him up further and guided Byleth carefully towards his quarters.
He seemed to be plucked from the songs in the cathedral. A legendary hero that was only supposed to be read in gold-leafed books. Yet, there Byleth was. His body a warm line against Dimitri’s.
Dimitri knew his hands were perfectly clean, but as he gently laid Byleth into his bed—he could almost see the dark stains that his awful hands left on him. He was sullying Byleth just by breathing his air.
Byleth’s hand grabbed his wrist.
“Professor.” Dimitri choked out, feeling a terrible emotion crawling up his throat. Byleth’s eyes were wide as they stared at him. They were glassy, almost vacant as Byleth’s head cocked to the side from where it laid on the pillows.
“You—” Byleth said as his eyes began to slip close. “—cut your hair,”
Dimitri stared sadly at his professor’s hand, his grip loosening as he fell into slumber. He quietly slid his wrist free and began to make his way out the door. His hands gripped the book tucked into his belt tightly as he cast one last glance at the softly snoring form.
“Goodnight, Professor.”
It was much too early for this . Byleth thought as he was suddenly cornered by a furious looking Felix first thing in the morning. He had woken up in a rather bad mood already. His head pounded something furious and he planned to leave the party—which he could barely remember—earlier to finish correcting some notes. And now he was left with a pile of work to get done before class. Far too much work to be dealing with a rabid looking noble hissing at his door.
Byleth looked Felix up and down, he was shivering from the cold and his hair seemed oddly damp. But he still leaned too far forward into his professor’s space, as if trying to get Byleth to back down. It was a bit awkward seeing as Byleth refused to move from his spot. He really wasn’t in the mood.
“Felix. Good morning.” He said flatly as Felix huffed in his face like an angry wolf. “Can I help you or are you just going to stand in my doorway?”
“Spar with me.” Felix snarled leaning further still, his nose practically touching Byleth’s. Byleth tilted his head backwards if only to not get in trouble with Setheth if someone were to see Felix’s odd display.
“You’re supposed to be practicing your magic.” Byleth said flatly. “And I need to get these papers to the classroom.” Felix’s eyes narrowed sharply.
Byleth felt his feet shift back into a fighter’s stance.
This wasn’t Felix being snippy. A voice chided in the back of his head. You got sloppy. It whispered.
“Are you running away?” Felix snapped. There was fury behind his eyes. “Or do you refuse to fight me?”
Byleth felt his mouth twist, but he let out a sigh.
“May I bring these to the room first?”
After being stalked by Felix all the way to the classroom then watched like a hawk as he picked up his gear—they finally made it to the training hall without Felix jumping him. Though it was a near thing when he stopped to chat with his favorite gatekeeper on his way to his post.
Byleth hefted the training sword in his hands. He hadn’t used one in months. All his units, even the magic users, had far too much experience to practice with anything other than live steel. Or in their case, silver. Their training was a deadly dance; mages dodged slashes that could draw real blood and knights held fast against true blistering fire.
Byleth turned the sword in his hands.
It was so much lighter than he remembered.
He turned to see Felix staring at him, his eyes sharp and gaze merciless as he walked into the training pit. It was still too early for most students to have awoken, much less for anyone to train. Only the Blue Lions were being instructed to wake so early these days, but Byleth knew their morning activities would keep them far from the training room today.
Maybe Felix knew that as well.
Byleth lifted the sword and let his form fade into position. If Byleth was honest with himself, he knew that trying to stand casually was far more of an effort than it was to stand like he was preparing for a battle.
This was his default.
Felix sprinted forward, his sword carving through the air. It clanged harmlessly as it collided into Byleth’s block.
What was meant to be a block.
The force of it seemed to send Felix onto his back foot. Byleth felt his muscles react before his brain as he slashed forward, Felix’s sword barely coming up enough to defend his chest. The loud clang of cheap metal rang in his ears. Felix stumbled back a step, his blade dipping down.
His arms went numb . But Byleth stayed put, practically digging his feet into the sand to stop himself. If Felix was taller, if his hair was tied lower on his head, Byleth would dash and feint before preparing to block the next move. But this Felix was smaller. His shoulders not as straight. Byleth dug his feet in further.
Felix’s forearms shook for a moment before his eyes refocused and he ran at Byleth again.
Byleth cursed himself as he felt his feet move rather than his sword. He swiveled around easily, Felix’s form passing him by. Byleth sword raised with a blinding speed then struck down towards the head of dark hair infront of him.
Felix stopped.
Byleth’s blade pommel rested gently against the back of his head.
One good hit and he would be unconscious .
Felix’s sword tip hit the floor. The blade resting limply in his grasp.
Byleth felt himself exhale and was about to drop his blade when Felix spoke.
“What happened to you?”
Byleth stood still.
“I-”
“Don’t play dumb.” Felix snarled, but all the heat was gone. His voice was raspy and rough with something. Something Byleth couldn’t place. All he knew was that he could hear his sharp breaths. Each intake more ragged than the last. “You were training with me then you vanish . And you suddenly appear in the greenhouse with green hair, claiming that you were with the knights on a mission that was never recorded. Then you change our training and run around like a lunatic. You laugh at the other’s dumb antics. I can count on one hand the times you’ve smiled before the past four days.” Byleth felt the sword in his hands drop as he stared at Felix, he seemed to lash forward.
“I thought you were a traitor.” Felix roared, whipping around to face Byleth. His eyes were wild. Byleth felt his heart twist. “I thought you were here to kill us!” Felix jabbed at Byleth’s chest. “But no one in that blasted army fights like that so it must be you .”
“That’s why you asked me to spar.” Byleth said. His words sounding hollow to his own ears. “You wanted to ensure it was me.”
“Yes.” Felix hissed. “But you fight like a swordmaster, you seem to know exactly how to get us pass our certification exam, and you said ‘Again’.” Felix’s tongue was bleeding.
He must have been biting it for quite a while. Byleth’s mind supplied stupidly.
“And you look at all of us like we’re some—” Felix hand tugged angrily at his bangs. “—children to be protected!”
“You are—”
“And you look at that damn boar-like he’s a piece of glass!”
“I—”
“There’s only one possible solution I can fathom and it’s so ridiculous I don’t even want to voice the damned thing!” Felix yelled, all his frustration and anger coming to a head as he pushed against Byleth’s chest and shoved hard.
Byleth didn’t even move as he stared down at Felix’s blazing eyes.
He put his hands around Felix’s wrists and pulled them off.
“Give me until nightfall.” He said simply. “I’ll explain to the class.”
Felix’s face twisted further, preparing to argue.
“The others deserve to know as well.” Byleth said, turning to pick up the training swords from the ground. He huffed out a sigh.
He felt tired. The skin under his eyes itched with sleep and there was a terrible churning in his gut. Byleth quietly hung the swords back onto the wall.
“You should head to your Reason lessons.” Byleth said, his voice flat and dull. “It would be rude to keep Annette waiting.” There was a scoff behind him as he heard Felix grumble and leave the room.
Byleth stared at his reflection in the rusted blades and wondered what the punishment was for madmen in the Church of Seiros.
Byleth walked towards his classroom feeling like a man sent to the gallows.
Though it seemed the weather disagreed with his mood, gentle snowfall fell from the soft pink winter sky. The flakes piled on the frosted green gardens that sparkled under the lantern lights. Garegg Mach was always beautiful, but in the stillness of the winter night, it seemed to turn ethereal. The only sounds were the soft scuttle of cathedral workers lighting the lamps in the halls, moving quickly before the night's true chill sank into their bones.
His eyes moved from artful towers to carefully crafted walls to the magnificent mountains that shrouded them from the rest of the lands. And for once he let himself enjoy it, rather than just be thankful for their strategic benefit. It was only because he forced himself to drink in his surroundings that he caught the small reflection in the corner of his eye.
There tucked away between some barrels was a pair of gloves, only visible in the shadows because it’s leather reflected the soft lamplight. Byleth sighed. Another lost thing for him to collect. He plucked them up and even as they rested in his own gloves he could feel their supple quality, they were well oiled and the inside was lined with a beautiful hare hide.
And he knew exactly who they belonged to without needing to see the deep blue threads it was sewn with.
Byleth felt his heart sink as he tucked them into his pocket. A sign was a sign.
He took a deep breath, letting the frigid air freeze his lungs. He pictured the cold sinking over his organs, his bones, his mind, pressing against the inside of his skin. He pictured it settling over his rushing thoughts like a frosted blanket, steeling his heart and forcing out all warmth that gathered under his armor. He exhaled, heat rushing out of his mouth in a misted cloud.
When Byleth opened his eyes, he was war-ready.
He held his head high and marched into his classroom.
“This is ridiculous,” Felix said from his perch on a desk. “He’s not coming.” Ingrid heaved a heavy sigh.
“He didn’t give us a time, Felix. He can't be late if there was never a set hour.” She said, flicking through a few sheets of parchment while he huffed angrily.
“Calm down, Felix. Our professor isn’t exactly the type to run away.” Sylvain said, placing his hand on Felix’s shoulder. It was shrugged off as Felix just continued to glare at the doors, his hand unsubtly resting on his blade.
“The problem is we don’t know if it is our professor.” Annette murmured sadly, her head laying on her elbows. Mercedes carded her hands through her loose red hair, it twisted her heart to see Annette resting on her desk. She would never dare of even leaning on it if they were in class, much less looking a moment from sleeping.
“Do you really think that, Annie?” She asked, twisting her fingers in the soft locks while Annette’s eyes drooped further.
“I don’t know, Mercie.” Annette said mournfully hiding her head in her hands. “We just don’t have all the facts.”
“We have our theories,” Dimitri said, his mouth a hard line as he read from the pile on Ingrid’s desk. “We can only prepare for what we know. There is no reason to mourn something that hasn’t occurred yet.”
“Dimitri’s right!” Ashe said, though his lip was pink from where he had been chewing it. “We shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions so soon.” He said but was unable to tear his eyes from Dedue who was standing at the desks closest to the door. Standing very still, a statue of a sentinel staring straight at the closed doors. Ashe tugged at his hood strings.
The room fell into silence as snow gathered outside their classroom, the fireplace’s crackle filling the gaps in their words.
Then the door finally opened. Cold air and bits of snowflake flooding in as a blank-faced Byleth walked in.
Ashe felt a shiver down his spine. His professor didn’t look right . He had this strange hardness under his eyes and the frown that settled on his face seemed to fit almost too well. Byleth tried to walk forward but was immediately stopped by Dedue’s frame blocking him from the class. Ashe heard Felix’s sword sing against his scabbard as he pulled it from his side.
For a moment there was silence.
Then the slam of a door closing sent them into chaos.
“Dedue!” Dimitri yelled, running to yank him backward.
Sylvain wrapped his arms around Felix’s middle as he yelled and thrashed against him.
“Let me go, you fool!” Felix yelled as Sylvian silently tightened his grasp while Ingrid pried the sword from his hands, despite her eyes not leaving Byleth.
Annette and Mercedes stared sadly at Dedue who glared down at their professor, even as Dimitri’s strong grip on his arm tightened.
Byleth stared at the commotion with a flat expression. The only change was a slight tightness around his eyes.
“How much did you figure out?” Byleth asked, his voice heavy and cold with authority.
Felix cursed as he noticed everyone, including himself, seemed to freeze. They were all such well-trained children . Sylvain’s grip slackened and he felt his feet hit the floor.
“We don’t have much.” Sylvain said flatly, his vacant personality settling on his face. Byleth nodded and looked up at Dedue who was still staring down at him.
“I’ll speak from here.” He said, gaze flickering towards Dimitri who was looking back at him with an unreadable expression. Dedue’s eyes simply twitched.
Byleth turned to address the class.
“Edelgard and the Adrestian Empire will declare war on the Church of Seiros in three months.”
“What?” Ashe breathed while Ingrid’s eyes narrowed next to him.
“And how would you kno-”
“She has been gathering troops in Garegg Mach. She will try to steal Crest Stones from the Holy Tomb and within a few weeks there will be an army marching on our grounds.”
“Weeks? That’s impossible!” Mercedes gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. But Byleth kept pushing forward.
“Lady Rhea will relinquish the leadership of the Church to me. She will fight on the battlefield herself and in the process, we both lose.”
“Wh-” A voice croaked. Byleth’s expression cracked, his brows pinching. Struggling to keep his gaze level.
“We lose Garegg Mach for five years.” He said, his eyes closing for a moment. “The Adrestian Empire conquests the Kingdom and the Alliance. The war is long and the leadership of both regions struggle under the magical forces in the Empire.”
There was hardly any sound in the class when Byleth opened his eyes.
“This plan has been underway since the Tragedy of Duscur.”
After a long moment, a voice finally spoke.
“You say this as if you know.” Dimitri said, his expression hard as he stared at his professor. “How would you know this?”
He wished he felt surprised when Byleth stared back at him flatly and said.
“Because I lived it.” Byleth’s eyes seemed vacant and far away.
“You expect us to believe that?” Felix snarled, shoving Sylvain’s arm out of his way. Byleth shrugged.
“No. I expect that you will throw me to Lady Rhea claiming that I am a fake version of myself.” Byleth gave a hollow smile. Dimitri felt a strange pang in his chest. It was a terrible parody of the brilliance he saw in the snow only a night before. “It would be foolish to think anything else.”
“So what is this then?” Sylvain said, cold gaze on Byleth. “Time travel? Some weird crest magic? Divine intervention?” He scoffed.
“You really are a hidden genius, Sylvain.” Byleth said, his odd smile curling on his lips. “Right on all three counts.”
“Ah! Ingrid and I were right!” Mercedes gasped, suddenly dashing over to the piles of parchment scattered across the desks. Byleth could hardly see from behind Dedue’s large frame but they seemed to be notes and copied quotes from books. He almost laughed; they approached his strange behavior in the same way they would a strategy primer. They were sourced and annotated for the goddess’s sake. Mercedes plucked up a page and turned to grin in delight.
“We found some old books in some dusty corners of the library! There were very interesting!” Mercedes smiled down at the sheaf. “Old legends about how the goddess blessed her chosen warriors with all-knowing sight.”
“All-knowing sight?”
“Being able to fix any mistakes you made would look like that to an outsider.” Ashe recited, the same way he would repeat a lesson back to his professor. “You wouldn’t know if time had shifted.”
“Explains how they were unbeatable fighters.” Felix grumbled as if he was unhappy with the amount of sense it made. Ingrid smiled triumphantly. Feeling endlessly pleased that Mercedes and her work seemed to be correct.
“It would be difficult to lose a battle when you could just restar-” Ingrid mouth suddenly snapped shut as all their eyes shifted to Byleth.
Oh.
“Well, suddenly our perfect win record makes a lot of sense.” Sylvain’s mouth quirked up as Byleth inexplicably felt his face flush. Of all the things to be embarrassed about—
“I used every tool at my disposal to ensure your safety.” Byleth said, coughing into his fist.
It was odd, but with a single cough—all the tension seemed to slide out of the room. Felix’s hand slid off his blade and Dedue quietly shifted to the side, allowing Byleth to see the rest of the room. He quietly let go of the breath he was holding and walked forward to the piles of papers.
“So, there were others?” Byleth asked, glancing down at the ink-stained parchment.
“Nothing super concrete,” Annette piped up from her desk. Byleth quietly assumed the annotations were her doing. “I mean lots of talk of green-haired miracle workers and things like that. But nothing that gave us solid evidence.” Byleth could practically feel eyes jump to his hair. He fingered the edges of it and sighed.
“There was a large battle and I got hit with some deadly dark magic.” Byleth bit his lip. Sothis would be his secret. There was something about speaking her name aloud that he refused to do. A secret for another day. Maybe. “I heard someone speak and suddenly I looked like this and the Creator Sword was much stronger than before.”
“Is there any way to prove this ridiculous idea?” Felix asked flatly.
“The only time I've taken something back had been during the large jump. Every other instance has just reset time. Nothing physical came with me.”
"Awfully convenient."
“So, it would have to be something verbal?” Ingrid said with a frown. “No tangible proof.”
“Oh! What about information! Someone can say something, and you can turn back time and tell us what it is!” Annette chirped while Felix scoffed.
“I’ve got this.” Sylvain said, a devilish smirk crossing his face.
“Why am I suddenly scared?” Ashe sighed while Byleth looked to the others. It seemed most of the trepidation had slowly leaked from the room. In fact, Annette seemed to be bouncing excitedly, the allure of proof of time travel too great.
“I suppose it could work.” Dimitri said. “Are you sure you can handle this, Sylvain?”
“Of course! Just get ready, Professor.” He said with a wink.
Byleth nodded. He really didn’t need to do anything to start a Divine Pulse, but he felt a bit stupid standing still, so he raised his hand forward. As if to physically turn the flow of time.
Sylvian nodded.
Then grabbed Felix’s chin and planted his mouth onto his. Felix made a muffled sound of shock against Sylvain’s lips.
“Sylvain!!” A voice screeched while a chorus of gasps and Ashe’s startled laughter rose. Byleth didn’t hear it.
Only the sound of shattering glass filled Byleth’s ears as he let the goddess magic flow through him.
“Are you sure you can handle this, Sylv-”
“You are such a coward.” Byleth said flatly while a shit-eating grin spread across Sylvain’s face. “Do you really expect me to say what you did?”
“I would really appreciate if you didn’t, Professor.” His grin spread wider as he patted Felix’s shoulder infront of him. “The good news is that our professor passed the test!” Byleth was unsure what the test was, but he had a feeling that it wasn’t just about time magic.
“Why am I more frightened now that the professor won’t tell us what it was?” Ashe sighed heavily and Sylvain just preened.
“Why are you so happy?” Felix scowled. “What did you do?”
“Don’t worry about it, old friend.” Sylvain said, patting his shoulder again.
“We should consider ourselves fortunate that only our professor has received this gift.” Dedue deadpanned.
“I just should have let it go past the time limit.” Byleth grumbled while Sylviane looked at him in confusion.
“Time limit?"
“I didn’t purposely come back to this point in time. Other than that incident, I am locked to only short moments of time. It really only serves in battle, where a few seconds—”
“Could mean life or death.” Dimitri finished.
"This was an accident?” Ingrid asked, leaning forward in her seat. Byleth nodded.
“It was. It is—”
Byleth grit his teeth, unable to look at his students. He was thankful. He had time. He had a chance to fix mistakes, save lives. To save his students from that terrible five years of oppressive darkness.
“—it is painful to relive. But the opportunity to change the flow of this war is too great of a boon to overlook.”
“You keep mentioning this war.” Dimitri said, his gaze felt like fire on Byleth’s skin. He suddenly felt for all the enemies he felled on the battlefield. “Could you explain this to us? How could such a large-scale conflict happen in just a few months?”
Byleth finally looked back up at the group. His students. Terribly young, even in their future. Carrying the burdens of a kingdom since they were old enough to understand the concept of nobility. But they all stood there, the shining example of chivalry and honor. They took it all without a complaint. They all stared at him with that same determination burning in their eyes.
Byleth swallowed.
He was no fool. He was just one stupid boy trying to stop the plans made by men for decades, maybe centuries before he was even born. He needed all the assistance he could get.
And Byleth should be honored it was being gifted to him by his beloved students.
He heaved a heavy breath.
“Alright.”
And so Byleth told them everything he knew. Starting from when Rhea hired him as a professor, to the cryptic words she spoke to him, his strange magic gifts, his father’s death, the identity of Monica and Tomas, the Flame Emperor’s appearance in the Holy Tomb, her true identity—
Byleth quickly interjected saying he didn’t believe she caused Duscur. Which he was glad to do, as a few of the students looked a moment from storming the weapons hall.
Byleth chewed his lip. He knew what came next in the story, the chronological next point that must be said aloud.
He didn’t believe there would be a night where he couldn’t see the look in Dimitri’s eyes as he crushed a man’s skull in. The crunching sound, the blood that spurted, and the unflinching stare as bone pierced Dimitri’s gloves. The day he failed as a teacher and a friend.
He breathed heavily, he had long since been unable to look at said prince. Instead, focusing on the scuff on his boot. He knew he had a choice. A choice that hurt him to his damned core. But he was a stubborn bastard who would always make the right choice even if it felt like taking an axe to his ribs.
He should know, he was personally familiar with that sensation.
“I didn’t know that others were investigating on their own. People came to their own conclusions—”
“It was the boar wasn’t it.” The ice in Felix’s voice turned Byleth’s blood cold. He had forgotten about— “You finally saw him.” Felix’s stare was unrelenting as he stared into Byleth’s startled face. Felix knew. He forgot that Felix knew. How could he forget that that’s where the damned nickname came from?
“I—” Byleth croaked.
“Of course, you did. If he believed that Edelgard caused Duscur—” Felix’s laugh was cold and cruel. Byleth couldn’t help but hate him in that moment. “—I’m sure the bodies were hard to count.”
“Shut up, Felix.” Byleth muttered, his fingers digging into his arm. He couldn’t bear to look up, he knew he was right. Goddess, in the future he had many a night staring at the ceiling wondering why he couldn’t have heeded Felix’s cruel warnings. How he might have stopped it, helped Dimitri confront his demons, to have looked just a bit deeper at his words. But it had been too late then.
“Professor, what is he talking about?” Mercedes’s sweet voice asked gently. Byleth’s eyes snapped to her gentle ones. Wide and innocent still, she hadn’t had to bring her friends from the brink of death. Hasn’t grit her teeth and shove her professor’s broken bone back into his gored mess of an arm to heal it properly. He still had the scars from that one.
“Not everyone took the—” Byleth forced his voice not to shake. “—information well.”
“Professor.”
Byleth made the mistake of looking.
Dimitri was leaning on a desk, his face a waxen mask of pure vacancy. His bangs cast shadows on his face, hiding his eyes from the others and his mouth slack as he took a deep breath. A cruel mimic of his polite smile curled on his face.
“Professor. There is no need to hide the truth. I am fully aware of the crimes against humanity I must have committed. That I have committed. As Felix has made clear, I am truly nothing but a beast. I have only my apology for what you must have seen in that future.”
“How eloquent.” Felix snorted. “And how empty. Someone really did just teach a monster how to speak.”
Byleth blinked, swallowing the urge to look away. He felt raw and hurting with Dimitri being there and gone at once. It made him want to hide, to run and pretend he never came into the room. That if he just went to sleep, he could wake up and teach class and hide his smile during lunch while Annette burns their dinner in the kitchens.
But.
Then they would be doomed. They would simply relive their lives until Byleth awakens in a river and finds Dimitri in a crumbling tower covered in blood and dirt.
Haunted eyes staring back at him but not truly seeing him.
“I know you came to Garegg Mach for revenge.” Byleth said. “I know you are simply living each day to help avenge those who were lost in Duscur. Goddess, I think most people in this room are doing the same. But the path we take in the future to do so is full of blood and bodies. And the cruelest part—” Byleth felt his eyes shutter close. “—I don’t believe we were even stopping those who committed it.”
There was a long silence.
“I suppose you have all the answers as always, Professor.” Dimitri’s voice was but a whisper in the quiet.
Byleth didn’t bother responding. He couldn't with his throat as tight as it was.
“Um. I think it might be time for you to tell us the rest, Professor.” Annette said mercifully. She pressed a waterskin into his numb hands. It was a cute thing; the leather stained a dark purple and the same kind he saw her drink from during training. He watched as his own fingers wrap around it and held it in his lap.
Byleth managed a nod, unable to look at the others as he continued his retelling.
The silent throne, Dimitri’s descent into madness, Edelgard’s declaration of war, the battle on Garegg Mach, Rhea’s transformation and attack, his five-year sleep, his awakening, finding Dimitri.
The series of battles that followed, rebuilding Garegg Mach, the long fights, half rations, scrambling to find blades and people to hold them, finding odd allies, Dedue, halfcocked marching plans, and finally—
“I was fighting on Gronder when it happened.” Byleth took another deep drink, unable to look at Ashe’s face. “The battle was looking rough. The emotional toll turned the tide more than I thought. I made the decision to rewind time to try to get a more advantageous outcome.”
“Emotional toll?” Ingrid asked. Most of the class had been dead silent since he started speaking, but her face was focused. Direct. She had a mission and she was to see it through. Byleth always liked that about her. Her future battalion soldiers appreciated it as well.
“Bernadetta was the first to go down.” Byleth said quietly. And it sure was a fun gut-punch seeing her squeak in fear and run off when he saw her in the courtyard the day after he turned time. It was one of the many times he wondered if others could somehow see the cruelty stained on his hands. “Edelgard put her on the center ballista. We had to run straight for her to get rid of that threat and once we removed Petra.....she set the damned thing on fire. They were bait.” Byleth’s voice was dull even to his own ears. He could only see it as a tactic. He had to. He couldn’t think of how he heard Bernadetta's ribs crunch under Sylvain’s hammer. The wet gurgle as her blood escaped through her screaming mouth. “Sylvain and Ingrid did kill and runs around the Empire while we took out the Alliance soldiers to the west. I thought if we could take out Claude then they would pull out, but he had us flanked.”
“We killed our friends.” Ashe said. It wasn’t a question. Byeth didn’t recall which one he was fighting when he disappeared. But he did hear Leonie’s pegasus crash to the ground with a terrified whine before he did.
“ You killed your friends.” Byleth said, his eyes closed as he breathed deep. “It was war.”
“But we’re going to stop that it this time, right?” Mercedes said, her eyes blazing as she slammed her hands on her desk. Byleth couldn’t help his startled flinch. “If we know what’s going on then we can stop it!”
“You’re right, Mercie!” Annette said. “That’s why you’ve been training us so hard recently, Professor?”
“I—”
“If Edelgard’s theft on the Holy Tomb starts it all, then we need to make sure it stays locked. That ritual can’t happen.” Sylvain voice firm even as he scoffed. “It’s not like anything happened anyway. No loss to us.”
“And if we don’t want the boar to start showing his true colors again, we also need to protect Jeralt from the fake Monica.” Felix said.
“I—I apologize, everyone.” Dimitri’s hollowed voice trailed off as he gazed down at his gloved hands. Mercedes put a warm hand on his shoulder, offering her gentle smile.
“There is no need to worry about things that haven't happened yet, right?” She said.
“And we need some way to alert the Alliance that the Kingdom doesn’t want to fight them.” Ingrid said, already reaching for empty parchment and fresh ink. “Though the lands are so far away, only we cross blades. Not the main body of the Kingdom forces.”
“Then we must inform Claude.” Dedue said. “Arranging a meeting without alerting the Empire forces stationed here may be difficult.”
“Yeah, we have no idea how closely we’re being watched.” Sylvain said, running his hands through his hair. “Honestly, we’re lucky that we’re known hardasses so even this meeting could just be called a late lesson plan.”
“Stude—”
“Wait! The mission this month happens because students let Beasts in right?” Annette said, a strange quirk of a grin appearing on her face. “What if we put the monastery on high alert?”
“How would we put so much suspicion they don’t let kids wander around?” Felix snapped. “Stopping noble brats isn’t exactly a simple task.” Sylvain’s eyes went wide as they met Annette’s giddy smile.
“The same way we stop the ritual from happening.” He said slowly before a manic grin split his face. “Oh, that’s brilliant, Annette!”
“It solves a lot of our problems doesn't it?” She said with a high giggle. “Even the personal ones!”
“It sure does.” Sylvain’s voice was breathy but weighted with some emotion that Byleth couldn't place. He quickly stole the quill from Ingrid’s hand and began scrawling an inventory. “It’ll be hard sneaking out all the supplies, but—”
“Not really! We all know how to ride mounts now!”
“Except for Felix, the professor, and you.”
“Sylvain, you ride a giant wyvern and Dedue’s horse can hold him in full platemail plus great hammers. Riding double isn’t an issue.” Ingrid said, snatching her quill back. “Now are you going to explain whatever inane thing you’re giggling about?”
“This is getting—”
“Yeah, yeah!” Sylvain jumped back, his frame practically shaking with pent up energy.
The classroom stared at him while he held his hands out and took a deep breath. He paused dramatically before speaking.
“It would be hard to have a ritual if their magical vessel is missing. And it would be stupid to let students wander around if suddenly......a whole entire class disappears.”
“You want to just abandon Garegg Mach?!” Ingrid snapped but Felix’s eyes went wider by a fraction.
“No.” He said slowly. “But it would not be impossible to fight from outside of it.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous.” Ingrid huffed. “You cannot be saying that we turn into what? Renegades? Mercenaries?”
“Rebels.” Felix said flatly, his hand to his mouth. Though it was unmistakable how his eyes seemed to glitter with the possibility. Damned lone wolf. Byleth cursed.
“Have you forgotten that we have responsibilities? A duty to our people?” Ingrid said, her voice rising as Sylvian stared down at her.
“So, what? We just stay here and let Edelgard and the dark mages manipulate each other into burning the continent down?” Sylvain shook his head. “I’ll face my duty to my kingdom. But I’m not going to sit behind a desk giving orders for five years until the professor wakes up to lead us to fight a losing battle.”
“Sounds like a long way of saying you want us to run away.” Ingrid said, though her voice seemed flatter. Her shoulders lower.
“You can stay here and get married to some old bastard noble suitor. No one is forcing you to come with” Felix snapped, his voice cold as ice.
“Felix!”
“But if we win.” He continued, leaning towards his childhood friend who glared back at him. “We get to rewrite the rules. We will be the new leaders of the Kingdom and we can change it for good.”
“No more Crests.” Sylvain said.
“No more pushy suitors.” Mercedes said, her nose wrinkling.
“We could fix the prejudice against Ducur!” Ashe said brightly, looking at a shocked Dedue.
“Help all the hurts left by the tragedy.” Annette said, suddenly quiet as she stared out the door. Ingrid’s wide eyes went from each of her classmates.
She took a deep breath and a small smile crossed her face.
“It’s a stupidly romantic notion.” Ingrid said. “But what tale of rebellions and wars aren’t?”
“Yes!” Sylvaine cheered and turned to Dedue. Standing with a sullen expression, slowly taking in their classmates.
“I shall follow where His Highness leads.” Dedue said with a air of finality. Sylvain sighed.
“Yeah, I should have expected that.”
“Dedue.”
All eyes snapped towards Dimitri. His disposition seemed to belong to someone else, his shoulders were straighter than a sword blade and his stare unforgiving.
“You heard what the future holds for you.” He said firmly. “And I refuse to test the goddess’s will another time. If we abandon Garegg Mach, we abandon our noble titles until the moment the war is completed. We will practically be thieves with no promise of victory. If we do this I need you to make this choice of your own will, as an equal."
Dedue's gaze was level and unflinching.
"We will not be equals until we heal the damage in the Kingdom. But if we were.....my choice would remain the same."
Dimitri breathed deep as he looked at the floor.
"Thank you, Deude." He murmured. "I cannot say the thought of what I becom—may become—in the future is surprising to me. But I feel shame nonetheless. I may not have committed those sins yet but I feel I must do my duty to repent for those mistakes made by my alternative self." Dimitri's voice was firm even as he spoke to his boots. His eyes slid close. "If this new path leads to less bloodshed, I would be a fool not to join it with you all."
Byleth felt his shoulder sing with pain as he watched his students. They ignored him for what felt like an eternity as they seemed to come to their strange decision.
They hadn't even discussed what it was fully. There was no plan, no concrete goal. Just to escape Garagg Mach and do what? Use guerilla tactics on the dark mages?
With a smaller but talented fighting force it is not impossible.
Food and supplies?
It’s a squadron of less than ten. There are farming families with more hungry mouths to feed.
Outfitting an entire unit with weapons and armor? Then for repairs when they broke?
It seems you have lost your memory as well as your will, Byleth. Were you not raised by mercenaries who do this very thing?
Sneaking an entire class of noble students out of perhaps the most secure place in the continent?
I was unaware you gave up so easily! I was lead to believe you stormed fortresses with an army held together by stubbornness and faith.
Byleth glared at his boots. Sothis was long gone. Her voice had no reason to be insulting him so loudly in his own head.
“Wake up, Professor.” Sylvain’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “This whole thing is pointless unless you give the ok.”
“This is incredibly foolish and may get us all hunted by the Knights of Seiros and chased by dark mages.” Byleth sighed. “Actually, it will get us both.”
He hated that his students smiled.
“So,” He said through gritted teeth. “You all must be sure this is the path you’re willing to tak—”
“Ok, so where would we even go when we leave?” Annette said, immediately tuning to the others.
“Oh, for the—” Byleth cursed but was drowned out again.
“Well, the Kingdom would be too obvious. We would have support and supplies, but it would also be expected. I wouldn't be surprised if that’s the first place they send the Knights.” Ingrid said, scrawling out a quick map on the back of some parchment.
“The Empire would be a death trap.” Felix said, dragging his finger through the ink and smearing an X into the paper. “It would be unexpected, but not worth the risk.”
“Alliance territory is highly contested, and most roads are filled with merchants. We would be highly visible.” Dedue said. “But it may be our safest option of the three.”
“Could we try leaving through Foadlan’s Throat?” Mercedes asked while Annette shook her head.
“It would be really really hard going across even once. If we want to do strike attacks against the dark mages, we have to be closer.” She said, her mouth turned to a pout. “It really is a shame we can’t fight out of Garegg Mach. It’s a really good strategic location. We could get anywhere really fast.”
Byleth blinked.
“The mountains.” He said, quickly looking down at their hastily scrawled map. “Mercedes, what was that myth?”
“Oh! That they’re uncrossable! That only the army led by Seiros herself was able to march over it!” She said. “They’re very large and treacherous things. Soldiers would die very easily.”
“So, isn’t that a reason to avoid the mountains?” Felix asked. Byleth felt a bubble of something rise in his chest. He refused to call it hope.
“An army can’t cross it. But a squadron of less than ten could make an encampment there fairly easily.” Ashe grinned. “Professor, that’s great!”
“What’s stopping them from sending platoons of Knights after us?” Ingrid said. “I would hate to break up the positivity but—”
“Ingrid.” Byleth said, feeling a smirk cross his face. “Do you truly believe it would take any less than an army to kill us?”
A shy smile bloomed on her lip.
“No.” She said, turning to smile at the paper. “I suppose not.”
“Supplies are still a concern. We would need enough to last our trip into the mountains then additionally for a few days while we remain discreet. There are villages on both sides of the mountain, Kingdom and monastery, but having a strange person appear and purchase crates of provisions would cast heavy suspicion.” Dimitri said, his hand at his mouth. “We have our mounts, that will make it easier to move supplies out of the monastery. But—”
“We will have to gather them then leave without anyone noticing the direction we head in.” Ashe said. “Perhaps, we don’t do it all at once? Maybe we move our gear one day at a time? It’s not as if we are escaping tonight.”
“We could put our own weapons and stuff in our rooms and the bigger things in our classroom storage! We already put our equipment in there so what’s a bit more?” Annette said brightly.
“Moving with number of items on our mounts will not be discreet.” Dedue said, peering down at the list Felix and Sylvain were bickering over. “If we are being watched by the Empire we will be found out immediately.”
“Oh no.” Sylvain said sarcastically, yanking the quill out of Felix’s grip again. “If only there were some big huge event this month where everyone in the monastery will be looking at once place and only minimal guards on the front gate.”
Byleth couldn’t help but burst out into laughter, pressing his hand to his head. Sylvain grinned at him.
“It’s almost too easy isn’t it?” He asked. “It practically plans itself.”
“A bunch of nobles running away from the ball.” Felix scoffed. “What terrible storybook have we gotten ourselves into?”
“One that we better get to work on!” Annette said, spreading a bunch of blank sheaves onto the table. She pried the quill from Sylvian's grasp and pressed it down, smirking up at Byleth and the rest of her class.
“So! Who’s going to do what?”
Byleth quietly escaped the room an hour later, under the guise of getting some air. Well, it wasn’t much of a guise since it was very much true. There was a persistent buzz of energy under his skin, an irritating crawling feeling that left him feeling nauseous and unsettled. That and if he had to listen to Sylvain’s and Ingrid’s back and forth for another second, he was going to stick his head in the fireplace. He had never been so thankful that he planned his battle strategies alone.
Before he knew it, Byleth was staring out at the cathedral. He heaved a sigh; he knew where his feet were leading him to. The graveyard was only a few meters to the side. But he knew the grave he wanted to see would not yet be written for a few weeks.
Instead, he just stared at his breath. The white mist that rose from his mouth into the endless dark sky. He remembered he used to try to catch it when he was younger. Or climb up on the highest thing he could and pretend he was some ferocious dragon.
A part of him wondered if that was Sothis’s influence.
“Hello, Professor.” A voice called out from his side.
Byleth huffed out a breath, running his hand through his hair. Naturally, he would follow.
“Hello, Dimitri.” Byleth said as a wave of blue fabric brushed into his peripheral. He could feel the warmth radiating off him in the cold winter night, a soft presence. Like a ghost at his shoulder.
If Byleth kept his eyes forward, all he could see was the blue cape gently reflecting moonlight. If he stood there, perfectly still, he could pretend that the cape was longer and lined with fur. That if he spoke, he would only receive a snarl.
“Thank you.” Dimitri said, his voice absent of the rasp that his future self-carried. “It must have been frightening to confess that to us. But you took that risk in order to try to protect us from that awful future.”
Byleth shut his eyes, twisting them tightly. Dimitri’s words were dripping with sincerity. Every sound was honey-sweet. It choked him. There was such a contrast between his words here and the face he saw in the classroom. The one that was a frightening omen of an expression he knew far too well.
“Go away.” Dimitri snarled, yanking his frayed cloak out of Byleth’s grip. Dimitri’s eyes flashed from under the ragged strands of blonde, bloodshot and unfocused. They were aimed at him, but they didn’t seem to see Byleth. Not truly.
“Dimi-” Byleth said weakly. His own voice cracked with disuse.
“Leave!” Dimitri roared and slammed Byleth’s arm away with so much force it sent a wave of numbness all the way to his chest.
“I know that with that knowledge and your strength, we can save many innocent lives from a terrible fate. With some preparation—”
“Dimitri. Please.” Byleth whispered, his cold fingers clasping the stonework in a white knuckle grip. “Give me a moment.”
And blessedly he did.
Byleth stood there, breathing heavily like a fool. His breath curled out of his mouth in little puffs of clouds. It took several counts of those clouds for Byleth to finally raise his head and look at the man standing at his shoulder.
Dimitri stood with his hair tousled by the run to the bridge—each golden strand seemed to retain starlight. The sharpness of his jaw cast deep shadows across the pale expanse of his neck. With his uniform, he looked all the parts of a fairytale prince, ripped straight from the pages of a child’s storybook. A storybook Byleth somehow found himself tangled in as Dimitri looked on him, his eyes so open, so unguarded and filled with naked concern.
Byleth felt his stomach twist. It was overwhelming to be trusted with so much emotion . Everytime Byleth looked at Dimitri it felt like he was being gifted something, some precious thing that he refused to give up unless some dastard pried it out of his own bloodied hands.
It was a terrible paradox. The Dimitri he wanted to save was still there, standing there by his side. His grief hadn’t overwhelmed him yet. But it was still there, simmering below the surface from years of neglect. And the only way to ease that burden from him was to slowly, inch by inch, prove to him that he wasn’t the monster he believed himself to be.
And Byleth was awful at softness and sweetness.
Byleth desperately tried to find something to say. Anything. Every inane conversation he had with his students at lunches and tea parties seemed to vanish from his mind. Fleeing the moment he needed them. Byleth stared at the castle walls as if they would give him an answer. He jolted when Dimitri’s voice spoke up beside him.
“I apologize,” Dimitri said, his eyebrows knitting together. “I tried to think of a lighter conversation topic but I’m afraid everything is escaping me.”
Byleth blinked at him. Dimitri's eyes were downcast, his gloved hands at his mouth as he concentrated deeply.
About small talk.
Byleth couldn't stop the helpless laughter that bubbled up from his throat as their ridiculous situation sank into him—two fools standing awkwardly in the cold because they were almost physically incapable of having a casual conversation.
Dimitri stared at him startled before a smile crossed his lips.
“S-Sorry.” Byleth gasped out, his lungs burned .
“Goddess, preserve me.” Dimitri said as Byleth’s form shook with the force of his choked out sounding chortles. As if his body itself was shocked by the concept of laughter. “Having to confront the idea of time-travel and the fact that my professor has the oddest sense of humor on the same day.”
Byleth just laughed harder as Dimitri’s chuckles followed his.
“Guess we must be cursed.” Byleth said as Dimitri’s answering smile warmed him to his core.
“I believe we both knew that already.” Dimitri said as his shoulder bumped into Byleth’s good-naturedly. Byleth felt another burst of laughter leave his chest.
His face hurt from the freezing breeze and his cheeks were damp from the snowfall. He felt half-delirious off his confession to the class and half-frightened by the depths of his emotions for the student beside him. But for the first time in months, he felt happy. He felt hopeful.
“Were you ever told knight’s tales, Professor?” Dimitri said suddenly, his gaze fixed on the mountains ahead. Seems like he found his topic. Byleth thought wryly.
“Not from books.” Byleth said with a slight shrug. “My father told me stories and I heard some from the other mercenaries at camp, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you the names.”
“I imagine they might be similar, if a bit more—” Dimitri gave a cough into his closed fist. Byleth tried not to find it incredibly adorable how his cheeks colored. “—bawdy. Perhaps.”
“Oh, incredibly. My father was infuriated with them when I asked him why a forest nymph with an axe was a ‘slattern’.” Byleth chuckled as Dimitri’s eyes flicked quickly around them, as if Setheth would materialize to hit them with a book for bad language. But there was a charming upturn of a grin on his face.
“You called the Lady of the Shining Shire a slattern?” Dimitri said with an incredulous look.
“No, Radel the archer called her that.” Byleth defended. “And the alliteration fit.” He was able to hold a flat expression for a total of five seconds before he quickly dissolved into snorts of laughter along with Dimitri. Though his chuckles quickly faded off, his gaze fixed on Byleth’s. Only a soft smile remaining on his lips.
“It is good to see you smile. I was worried.” He said. Byleth’s face suddenly felt less cold, but before he could make a retort Dimtri leaned forward again on the battlements. “Your knight’s tales sound more colorful than mine, but they are similar.”
“Yes.” Byleth said slowly, watching Dimitri’s eyebrow furrow. Catching the flash of white as he bit his lip in thought.
“This plan of ours—” Dimitri said, staring solemnly at the high walls of the cathedral. “—does sound like the fairytales we read as children. Large battles. Daring escapades. Young knights fighting on belief and hope alone.” He said, but eyes seemed to darken with every word.
“The role of the rebel prince doesn't seem quite as fun when you think on it.” Byleth agreed. Neither does the mad king.
“If there’s any prince of a rebellion; it's you, my friend.” Dimitri said Byleth raised an eyebrow. He gave a sigh, the cloud of warm air vanishing quickly in the breeze. “I never liked those tales as much as Ingrid did.”
“Really?”
“Ah, well. I think the only true competition for her adoration would be Ashe’s. But rather—” Dimitri’s eyes seemed hazy and unfocused as he lost himself in thought. “—I never liked the tragic beginnings. They always distracted me through the rest of the tale." Byleth shrugged.
"They didn't have very happy middles either."
"Only the endings seemed to be pleasant."
"Well—" Byleth leaned on the battlements, closing his eyes and letting the breeze sting his face. "—the stories were kinda shite anyway."
"Professor!"
Byleth laughed, peeking out of the corner of his eyes where Dimitri was smiling despite his scandalized tone.
"The heroes also didn't have time magic." Byleth amended with a shrug. "So perhaps you were right before." Though he still felt like dry heaving over the banister.
"Perhaps we can break out of this terrible folktale." Dimitri said, though his gaze was heavy as he stared out towards the mountains. Byleth felt his teeth grit as he held tight to his promise. No one would be hurt this time.
"I think we deserve that happy middle." He said firmly. Dimitri's eyes didn't quite meet his. But Byleth decided that his vacant nod would be enough.
It didn't stop him from clinging tighter to the glove in his pocket.
It also didn’t stop a wave of guilt when he saw the glove poking out of his coat pocket the next day. There was always a constant nagging sensation in his mind to return the lost things he found. Perhaps, it was just a small feeling of satisfaction. The students always gave a little surprised smile when they got something they believed was gone forever. Either way, he held the gloves in his hand and walked out for lunch.
Should he just hand them back while they ate? It wasn’t as if it was abnormal for people to lose things, it seemed like Byleth found multiple items per day. But it seemed a bit cruel to bring attention to such a minor mistake while the entire class could hear. But lunch would be the only time he would see Dimitri that day—
Byleth sighed. He was making this much more complicated than it needed to be.
He caught a flash of red and gold behind the crowd of students. Sylvain and Ingrid making their way to the feast hall.
Ingrid had lance practice with Dimitri that day. Problem solved.
Byleth quickened his pace and quietly began to fall in step behind the pair.
“—I just don’t think about it. It is truly not that strange!”
“No. It’s super weird, actually.”
“It’s pointless to talk about this with—”
“Ingrid.” Byleth interjected. He didn’t know whether to be proud or sad that their hands instinctively reached for the empty air behind their shoulders.
“Goddess preserve me. Professor, do you make any sound when you walk?” Ingrid huffed, trying to pass off her flinch for adjusting her uniform pauldron. Byleth shrugged and pulled the gloves out from his pockets.
“Could you give this to Dimitri for me?” He asked.
“Oh? Yes, of course!” Ingrid replied easily, but before she could take them—Sylvian’s hand whipped out and snatched the gloves.
“You have axe training tonight with Dedue. Your lance work is fine.” Byleth said dully. Sylvain rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m not bringing these to His Highness. I want to know—” And there he went with the smile that told Byleth he was in for a migraine. “—why you want to give him these.”
“They’re nice gloves. It’d be a waste.” Byleth responded flatly. He really would rather be eating.
“Oh?” Sylvain said, his eyebrow-raising to a comical level.
“Leave our professor alone, Sylvain.” Ingrid snapped, before turning to give a kind smile to Byleth. “I’ll get them to him. You go on to lunch.”
“Thanks, Ingrid.”
“Whoa, wait. These are really nice gloves. I mean they’re for battle but—” Sylvain said, carefully inspecting the soft hide. He wasn’t incorrect. Byleth was rather fond of the neat blue stitching, the thread was so very thin and nearly iridescent. As if they were kept together with navy spider silk. “Would you really give battle gloves as a gift?”
“I would in fact but—”
Byleth’s was cut off by Sylvain suddenly deciding to go insane in the middle of the sidewalk. He was laughing loudly, with his palm slammed against the side of his face as he barked his laugh into the sky.
“Oh my—You—” His words broke, and he dissolved into snorts. “I mean, I guess it’s better than a dagg—actually, is it?” Sylvain’s words seemed to break into nonsense as Byleth raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t see what’s so funny? It’s practical and I wouldn’t call those war gloves. They’re sleek and tailored, they would function for casual wear and for battle and—”
“And what else would you need?” Sylvain finished, giving him a smile as if he was the dumbest fool in all of Fodlan.
Byleth’s mouth flattened in way of an answer. His student slapped his back twice.
“Goddess, you really are such a Blue Lion.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Byleth asked while Sylvain just shook his head.
“It means you’re stupidly hardworking, impossibly stubborn, an overdramatic martyr, and take everything far too seriously.” He said, swatting his back with every descriptor. Byleth felt his annoyance build as he glared at Sylvain. He wasn’t entirely wrong , per say. It was just aggravating to have it thrown in his face while Sylvain laughed hard enough to gather the attention of passerby.
“May I remind you that you’re also in our class?” Ingrid said flatly.
“Oh, trust me. I’m aware of my faults.” He gave a dramatic flip of his hair paired with his prizewinning flirtatious smile. “They just add to my charm. Ladies love-”
“A brooding noble, yes.” Byleth finished with an eyeroll.
“And so do handsome overworked professors, apparently.” Sylvain said with a sly smirk as he patted Byleth’s shoulder. “So, go collect yours before some girl ties him to a chair and runs off to go have broody babies.”
“Sylvain, that is hardly any of your busines—”
“Bold words for someone who hasn’t kissed Felix yet.” Byleth snapped over Ingrid's head. Ingrid made a choked off sound of surprise.
But Sylvain just laughed in his face and tossed the gloves back, walking off towards the feast hall.
“Shows how much you know, Professor!” He yelled, vanishing behind the crowd. Byleth blinked. That was.... new. Sylvain in his time had stopped his philandering ways and spent most of his time leading his noble house via letters and couriers. When he wasn't doing that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Felix either training or exchanging whispers. Deep melancholy seemed to cling to both of them, draining the light from them both. Byleth remembered accidentally coming across a scene; Sylvain had been injured in a fight and Felix was going ballistic over it, screaming and calling him moronic.
Sylvain reached out his hand to grab Felix’s. And his entire arm whipped away like he had been burned. The amount of long-suffering hurt that crossed Sylvain’s face wrenched even Byleth’s heart. It was not the image of lovers.
Byleth blinked at Ingrid, who gave him a quirk of a smirk and leaned in conspiratorially.
“Judging by his stupid smile, I think it happened sometime after our class meeting.” She chuckled into her hand and looked off at his retreating back with a soft smile. “I’m glad. They’ve been like this since they were kids. I was worried it they would stay orbiting each other forever.”
“Hmm.” Byleth murmured as Ingrid turned. Her smile was rather lovely, a genuine thing that brightened her face and made her look like a princess. Byleth felt a pang in his chest and couldn't help the smile he replied with. All his students were all so beautiful and strong. He didn’t deserve his luck. Even if they were all incredibly pushy and stubborn.
“Don’t tell them I said that. They’ll think it’s an excuse to regale me with details.” Ingrid said.
“I won’t. As long as you don’t tell Felix that I know. I have a few comments to get back at him for.” He whispered back. Ingrid laughed for a bit before it trailed off. She fixed Byleth with an odd look before looking back towards the docks.
“Did you know that they used to throw pebbles at Dimitri during training to see if he would notice?”
“What?”
“Oh, I yelled at them for hours after, but it was actually rather interesting.” She said, “They would first toss them at his shoes, then his legs, and go up from there while using slightly bigger rocks each time.”
“That seems a bit—” Byleth was cut off as Ingrid gave him a firm look.
“That was when we realized it would take a literal brick to the face for him to notice us.” She said and her gaze so intense, that even Byleth with his approximately zero talent for nuance understood this was not about Dimitri’s impressive level of focus.
“I see.” He said faintly. Ingrid patted his shoulder and began to walk off towards the food hall.
“You better start throwing, Professor!”
Byleth stood like a fool in the middle of the walkway for a few moments.
And realized he was still holding the gloves in his hand.
"Damned brats."
Byleth’s world seemed to be a mess of emotion, plans, hiding from Rhea, and denial.
The only thing he could take pleasure in was fighting.
Byleth bit back a smile as Felix stumbled back a step, shaking his arms to get the feeling back into them.
“Now remember, don’t charge forward unless—”
Byleth was cut off as Felix began to run forward again. He twisted easily, letting him pass by.
Then barely dodged out of the way of the dagger that whipped dangerously close to his ribs. He grinned but Felix just angrily huffed as he sat in the dusty sand. Byleth didn’t quite catch how he fell; it was probably overbalancing as he thought about the dagger throw rather than where his feet were going.
“Sneaky. But your initial problem was your enemy reacts too quickly. An attack like that would be ineffective.” Byleth explained, offering his hand. And was only mildly surprised when Felix took it.
“It wasn’t meant to hit you. It was meant to buy me a few extra seconds to counterattack.” Felix grumbled, walking over to where their scabbards and uniforms lay. Despite the harsh mountainous winter outside, the knight’s hall held in heat like a nightmare. They only lasted a few minutes before they both shucked off their armor and uniform to fight barefoot and in their loose tunics.
“And that would be a great idea,” Byleth said drinking from his waterskin. “If you didn’t fall on your face.”
“I don’t recall landing on my face.” Felix grumbled. Byleth snorted.
“Perhaps that’s a sign of your exhaustion. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”
There was a pause as Felix took a deep drink from his waterskin, his hands lingering on it for just a breath too long. Not that it took a genius to see, the thought and debate warring in his mind was clear on his face. His frown was moving from perpetual annoyance to constipation when he finally grunted and looked at Byleth.
“No, you can’t argue for more training tim—”
“What exactly do you plan to do with the boar prince?” He said as Byleth blinked at him.
“I thought Dimitri’s skills as a Paladin are clear. With a bit more time in the stables, I think he’ll be able to pass the test fairly easily—”
“That is not what I meant.” Felix snapped, dragging his hands through his hair. “Are you really going to make me say it?” He said as he glared at Byleth, who cocked his head. His eyes filled with tired confusion.
“If you’re referring to the last assignment all I can tell you is that it’s clear that he favors martial fighters too much and needs to—”
“Oh, forget it.” Felix snarled, his face quickly turning pink. “I don’t care anyways.” He snatched up his gear and began to stomp out of the training grounds. Ensuring to shoulder-check the poor sod who was walking in. Byleth counted the steps before letting a huff of breath leave his mouth.
He makes it much too easy . Byleth smirked behind his waterskin.
“Good evening, Professor!” A voice said suddenly as Byleth startled, drenching his tunic in water. He hissed as the cold shocked his system, yanking the fabric from his heated skin as he glared up at a chucking prince.
“Ah, my apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you” Dimitri smiled, not looking sorry in the slightest.
“I thought you were in the training hall.” Byleth said, trying to dry the now cold wet spot on his shirt. Dimitri quirked an eyebrow.
“It is half-past ten. We completed our training quite a bit ago.” He said, shouldering the long cloth bag that hung on his shoulder. If the plan went right, they were filled with spare lances of various qualities to be smuggled into the classroom. Byleth nodded. If Dimitri left the knight’s hall with Byleth it wouldn’t be too odd for them to walk to the classroom this hour of night. Plenty of professors worked terribly late.
Byleth began to pick up his gear before glancing at his student.
Dimitri was the picture of anxiety, his fingers curling and uncurling around the strap of the bag, his feet shifting in the sand, and eyes staring hungrily at the swords on the wall. An idiotic part of Byleth’s brain noted how soft his hair looked now that it escaped its oiled prison. It truly was a crime. No one as strong and powerful as Dimitri should look so fetching wearing nervousness. It made him look his age, just a sweet boy who had a passion for swordplay and fighting. Byleth could almost picture him as a normal villager, helping out farmers and old ladies with their wares, telling his friends to stop complaining about dragging water up the well, awkwardly chuckling as village girls bring him flowers—
Byleth wondered if anyone had even kissed Dimitri, yet.
Then his exceedingly stupid brain thought if he would be the first. The thought of being the first to touch Dimitri like that, to run his fingers through that gold hair, to watch that perfect posture crumble under his—
Byleth cleared his throat.
Goddess, kill him. He was a student . His student. His student.
“Professor, are you alright?” Dimitri’s voice snapped him out of his moronic spiral.
“Spar with me.” Byleth’s mouth blurted out. Dimitri's eyes widened by a fraction as Byleth mentally scrambled. “You’re fidgeting. You helped Mercedes with her lance work and neglected your own didn’t you?”
There was a quick pause before a sheepish look slowly spread across Dimitri’s face.
“Mercedes is on a timeline to pass her exam. I simply thought it would be prudent to assist her rather than spend time on a skill I already excel in.” He said, palming the back of his neck.
Byleth sighed. Because it was just so Dimitri . No matter how minor, there was never any question. No question, no thought, if someone needed help Dimitri would run full tilt to answer. He was far from perfect, but that unstoppable compulsion to do the right thing was bored into his bones. Byleth sighed, his skin warming for a whole other reason than his earlier thought. It would be so much easier if he just thought Dimitri was attractive. He thought plenty of people were attractive but—
No. He loved Dimitri. Loved him as his student, always so bright-eyed and eager to learn. Loved him as the warrior who watched his back on the battlefield. Loved him as the friend who chased him down to the graveyard to make him smile. Loved him as—
Byleth shook his head and grabbed two swords off the wall. Cutting off his dangerous line of thought. Perhaps, he could salvage his own dignity and behave like a proper professor. He tossed one of them in the sand at Dimitri’s feet.
“Come on. You won’t be able to sleep otherwise.” Byleth said, taking a duelist position. Dimitri stared at him for a moment before a slow smile crept across his face.
“In light of new information; I must admit I’m curious as to your skill level. I accept.” Dimitri said and with far too much grace, stripped off his uniform coat to reveal the loose blue tunic beneath it. It was meant to be a simple layer under a uniform to wick away sweat and stop chafing, but it hung charmingly loose on Dimitri’s form and tucked in neatly to his black uniform pants. Paired with his tall boots it almost looked like a purposely made outfit. Byleth held back a scowl. Like dastard needed any assistance looking like a storybook character.
Dimitri fell into a stance parallel to him, his eyes and smile sharpening.
They both exchanged a bow, leaning deep as they stared at each other.
Byleth flashed forward. Blade crashing loudly against Dimitri’s block. The metal sang as Byleth spun, then stabbed forward, Dimitri barely able to dodge from it. He stumbled a moment, before catching himself and using the momentum to launch himself back at his professor.
“Good!” Byleth yelled over the clang of their swords reconnecting. A flicker of something passed over Dimitri’s face. But before Byleth could think on it, he dodged out of the way of a disarming twist of his blade.
And held up his sword as Dimitri’s blade slammed down onto his with all his might.
Byleth grit his teeth as he felt his world ring. His fingers were nothing but pins and needles as he ducked away, watching the sword sink inches deep into the coarse sand.
He stared with wide eyes as Dimitri yanked it from the packed dirt. There was a deep red flush on the back of his neck. Byleth knew Dimitri was strong, but it came in flashes. Mostly during battles. Byleth had honestly attributed it to his crest.
“Dimitri.” Byleth said slowly. “Have you been holding back during training?”
“I—” Dimitri stuttered, the flush now traveling to his face. “I wouldn’t subject others to—”
This man . Byleth thought fondly, shaking his head. He raised himself to his feet and took the blade from Dimitri’s hand and hung their dueling blades back onto the wall.
“Professor?” Dimitri asked, wide-eyed confusion on his face. Byleth grabbed the gleaming broadsword from the hands of the suit of armor that rested in the corner of the room. It really was a beautiful thing, an utter shame it was never used.
“Grab your lance.” Byleth said, his grin turning manic. Dimitri blinked.
“What?” He asked, but his professor just walked back into the sandpit. Forgoing the duelist stance, he simply dropped into a loose position, the heavier blade resting casually in his hands as he grinned at a startled looking Dimitri. “Professor, you can’t be serious!”
“Dimitri. I rarely get the pleasure to train—even fight—someone near my skill level.” Byleth said simply and allowed himself the other pleasure of watching Dimitri’s face color a deep pink. “Would you do me the honor of this battle?”
Chapter 4
Notes:
heeeey........heeeyyy....how yall doing? ok so I'm sorry it's been so long but I promised that I would finally upload the last chapter next like 3 times and kept not doing that so I wanted to hold off on updating until I was finished. but as you can see by the word count...it uuuuh got away from me. so I'm sorry about the (2 year??) wait time but at least its long?? don't worry I'm too attached to this monster to never finish it. it might just take a bit. also thank you so much to all the kind commenters this would take decades if I didn't see your kind words <3
Chapter Text
“Good morning, sir!” A voice rang out over the din of the crowd. The summer markets always brought swathes of people from the surrounding villages to do their shopping and gawk at the small town rarities. The press of bodies did nothing for the sweltering noon sun, the wind was sweet with the smell of the surrounding forest but it offered no respite this deep in the market.
“Morning,” Jeralt said, nodding slightly at the fishmonger who grinned up at him. “Just here to pick up the order from yesterday.” The man nodded, shuffling to the side of his small market stall. But his eyes seemed fixated on something just above Jeralt’s head, his grin only spreading wider.
“And what is your name, young sir?” He asked as he began stacking small bundles of butcher paper. The boot digging into Jeralt’s chest twitched but there was no response.
“Byleth,” Jeralt said with a shrug, feeling his son shift slightly from his perch on his shoulders. The fishmonger quirked a brow but his smile remained on his face.
“A quiet lad. That’s good.” He said with a chuckle. “The children here couldn't keep quiet unless their mouths were sewn shut. My daughter even mutters her fool thoughts in her sleep.”
“Hm,” Jeralt muttered noncommittally as the man handed over the sack of dried fish and tossed a small sachet of coin onto the table. “Have a nice day.”
“Ah, hold a moment.” The fishmonger said, before plucking up a skewer of seared salmon and reached up high until a small fist grasped it from his offering hand. “There you go. Free of charge! Enjoy the festival, little Byleth.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Jeralt said, tilting his head. “Enjoy the day.” He said as he turned and began to push his way back through the crowd, only breathing when they were finally free of the city and his boots hit the coarse dirt—worn flat only by the pounding of horse hooves.
He smiled softly when he felt his son loosen his grip on his shoulders increment by increment as they walked deeper into the forest to their encampment.
“Yeah, kid. Me too.” He said, reaching up behind himself and picking him up by the armpits, and placing him on the ground. “But we’re out now.”
Byleth Eisner, age seven and wearing what would be a perfectly flat expression if not for the slight downward pull to his mouth. Large blue eyes stared back at him, framed by choppy teal hair that brushed down past soft cheeks stuffed with fish.
Byleth was pouting. Jeralt’s smile only grew as his son sourly ate the only gift he seemed to appreciate from the festival.
“I know you hate when I put you on my shoulders, but people were going to keep patting your head unless you were out of reach.” Jeralt bit back a chuckle as Byleth tore out a bigger bite of fish, chewing unhappily. Byleth had inherited his patience for being touched, which was none. But he also inherited the adorable features and magnetic charm of his mother, which was quite a lot.
It made for a combination that seemed to invite every passerby to dote upon the cute quiet boy whenever they walked through villages. Byleth made a little unhappy sound as he finished the last of the skewer and pulled off the small daisy crown that some local girl had shoved onto his hair. His nose scrunched in distaste.
“C’mon, you can give that one to Crow. I’m sure she will appreciate it.” Jeralt said, leading them down the path while Byleth shook off flower petals, brushed away colored chalk dust, and emptied his pockets of several small candies and tiny wooden figures. All things forcefully foisted upon Byleth as he stared mutely and impassively. “Thank you for being polite, kid.” Jeralt said as Byleth nodded, quietly separating things into things that could be gifted to the others in their small mercenary family or eaten. Jeralt was sure the only thing Byleth would personally keep were things that could be put into his stomach. Byleth stared at a tiny sculpted figure. It seemed to be a simple line of three children, all hand in hand in some sort of frozen dance.
“Dad?” Byleth’s small voice said, creaking slightly from disuse. Jeralt looked down with a quirked brow, Byleth’s eyes were fixated on the little figure. His mouth quirked down slightly as teal eyes focused on the joined hands and the crude curve of a smile on their faces. Ah . Jeralt thought. Time for this talk .
“Listen, kid.” Jeralt sighed, kneeling down to his son’s height. “Children your age are loud and expect you to act like them. But when you grow up they’ll change, hell, you’ll change too. It gets easier to be like us when everyone is older.” Byleth’s eyes didn't leave the small figure as his lip downturned further.
“You said to be myself.” Byleth muttered. "I don't wanna change.”
“No, it’s not like-” Jeralt sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He glanced at the small chain of flowers poking out of his son’s pockets and gently plucked two different wildflowers, their sky blue and soft white petals slightly crumpled at the edges. “Here. Look. This blue flower once was just a small sprout. It probably looked the same as this white one for a while. Then it turned into a bud. Then it changed again into a flower. Now, ‘s pretty much unrecognizable from the small thing it was before.”
“But it’s the same,” Byleth said, his intense eyes now watching the forest light catch on the blue flower’s petals. Jeralt smiled.
“Exactly, kid. Same plant, same nature, but it just grew a little.” He tapped the flower to his son’s nose. “You’ll grow too. But you can’t force yourself to be something you’re not, the same way this flower can’t be the white one.” Byleth reached for the small thing, his fingers gingerly grasping the stem from his father’s hands as a soft look graced his features.
“I like this one better, anyway.” Byleth said quietly.
“Yeah.” Jeralt smiled and ruffled his son’s hair. “Me too, kid.”
Byleth let out a shout as he barely managed to slide his broadsword under Dimitri’s lance—the metal screaming as he redirected what felt like a waterfall of steel off to the side. He caught the flash of Dimitri’s eyes as he stumbled with the momentum, smirking at the frustration he found there.
“You’re incredibly strong, you’re quick. You were taught to throw your weight into your downswings but-” Byleth said, twisting back onto his rearfoot, prepping another round of attack. Dimitri’s head swung towards him, face dripping with sweat as he stared at him in confusion. Byleth could only grin wider. He didn’t even know . “It’s not necessary. Not for you.”
Dimitri’s eyes narrowed before he nodded, heaving his lance from the ground and charged forward. Byleth smiled—overcompensation. After being told that he didn't need to throw his body into the movement, he stopped leaning into his stance. Which left him-
Dimitri slashed at Byleth’s head, the air screeching as it was sliced with the sheer force of power behind just the prince’s arms. But Byleth ducked and slammed the flat of his blade against Dimitri’s knees. And watched him crumple to the floor, dropping like a sack of bricks.
Byleth chuckled as Dimitri grumbled in pain.
“I was not braced, was I?” He asked, standing slowly and brushing the orange dust from his pants. Byleth just smiled.
“Not your fault.” He said, stepping back into their starting positions. “You were taught as if you were a common noble soldier.” An odd quirked smile came across Dimitri’s face.
“I believe that is an oxymoron.” He said as he plucked his lance back up from where it clattered from his grasp. Byleth shook his head, sharp green eyes fixing on crystalline blue.
“Nobles are a dime a dozen. You’re one of a kind, Dimitri.”
There was a deafening pause as Byleth watched Dimitri’s face flood with red.
Then his quickly followed suit as the weight of his words finally sank in.
“A-Ah, I meant—” Byleth stuttered, his broadsword feeling too heavy in his rapidly slicking grasp. “—as a combatant.”
“R-Right.” Dimitri said, coughing into his fist and shaking out his sweat-damp hair. He adjusted his grip on his lance and looked up, though his smile seemed a fraction more nervous than before. “Shall we go again?”
“Yeah,” Byleth said with a wince, thankful for the escape. Goddess, preserve him. “Let’s go.”
The moment Byleth straightened from his bow, there was a flash of metal that sent his guard up at the last moment—diverting the spear from impaling his skull. Did he just throw—
Byleth wasn’t even able to finish his thought as a boot slammed into his chest, Dimitri’s full strength impacting his ribs as he crumpled into the dirt and blade scattering out of his grip. His shoulder, still damaged from the arrows before he got sent in time, seared something awful. He struggled to get air back into his lungs as his spotty vision was blocked by Dimitri’s form standing over him, his spear back in his hands.
And a full smile on his student’s face.
“Do you yield?” Dimitri asked, sweat dripping from his gleaming blonde hair as Byleth panted up at him.
“That was impressive,” Byleth said, unable to stop the proud grin threatening to split his face. “Using your weapon then blindsiding your opponent with pure strength.”
“Thank you, Professor.” Dimitri said, smiling as he pressed the tip of his spear into Byleth’s armored chest. “It was a risk, but I decided it was a worthwhile one.”
“Seems so,” Byleth said smiling sagely. “Though you made an error.”
“Oh? What was—” Dimitri’s reply was cut as Byleth’s arm whipped out—his wounded shoulder utterly screaming with pain—and slammed the flat of his sword against Dimitri’s leg. “Ah—” Dimitri yelped as his leg buckled just enough for Byleth to roll out from his loose pin and leap onto his feet.
“Don’t let your guard down, Your Highness .” Byleth laughed, watching Dimitri stumble oddly before quickly throwing his spear up in a block as Byleth’s blade crashed with silver.
“Apologies.” Dimitri gritted out, as the hall was filled with the deafening sound of metal grinding on metal as they threw their weight into each other. My blasted shoulder isn't going to last. The lack of proper food during the war, the huge surge of time magic, and raw stress and lack of sleep since he arrived were finally catching up to him. Byleth felt his feet slipping against the sand as he looked into the beautiful determined blue of Dimitri’s gaze. He would never be able to beat his student in a battle of pure strength so he must—
Byleth smirked and watched the flash of confusion cross Dimitri’s face as he shoved his sword up . The hilt caught the spear’s grip and Byleth twisted until both their wrists gave and their weapons clattered to the ground.
And it was his turn to kick Dimitri in the chest, causing him to stagger into the brick wall behind them and with a flash of speed—
Byleth pressed the dagger from his hip under Dimitri’s chin and watched the bounce of his throat as he swallowed heavily. He let his eyes follow a bead of sweat from his damp blonde hairline down the pale column of his throat. It was rapidly turning red.
They both stood there for a moment, their breaths stealing from the thin space of air between them.
Byleth could do nothing to stop the smirk that crossed his face when he realized he could see Dimitri’s pulse jumping under that mouthwatering spot of skin.
Meanwhile, Dimitri seemed to be looking everywhere but Byleth. Something that Byleth decided needed to be rectified.
He tilted the blade, Dimitri’s head shifting with it.
And beautifully terrified eyes finally locked onto Byleth’s. Dimitri’s hair was falling in his face, sweat dripping down his temples, the highest of blushes smattered across his cheekbones. And his mouth dropped wide, panting openly. Byleth felt blood pounding in his veins.
Defeating Divine Beasts had nothing on this.
Then all at once, Byleth was acutely aware of the heat that radiated from Dimitri. The high flush on his face was from the blood that beat from his heart. Sweat caused dark spots to bloom across their clothes like flowers in spring. Byleth's terrified eyes met Dimitri's shocking blue as the realization sank into Byleth's bones.
This was no dream. No fantasy. Dimitri was painfully alive. He was real .
And just as quickly—Byleth’s confidence vanished like the traitor it was.
He rapidly took a step back, tearing his eyes from that damned jawline, and began wiping the warm dagger on his tunic. He was a fool. The biggest moron in all of Fódlan. He accosted a prince . Byleth heard his mouth ramble.
“That was a good match. You did well—”
His words were cut off by a strong hand on his hip, tight enough to feel fingers.
And his mouth was being crushed by a heavy warm weight.
Dimitri.
Dimitri kissing him.
Though kissing would be a rather kind word for what Dimitri was doing. Byleth let loose a muffled sound against Dimitri’s mouth.
It mostly just felt like Dimitri was a moment away from shattering his hip and grating the inside of his lip against his teeth. But before he could do anything to save himself from the pain, Byleth was quickly and sharply released as Dimitri seemed to rip his hands from him and leap back an impressive distance.
The two stood, breathing raggedly in the silence as they gaped at one another. Dimitri’s eyes were wide and panicked, looking a moment away from bolting.
“Dimi—”
“Oh Sothis, I am so sorry.” Dimitri babbled. “I just—” His gaze dropped to where his hand had definitely imprinted on Byleth’s hip and where the heat from the heavy press of their legs lingered. “I—” Dimitri swallowed his words, his breath trailing into nothing.
They both stood in the oppressive silence. Byleth's thoughts ran so loudly he was certain all of Gerrag Mach could hear his long strings of curses. A distant part of his mind—the one that wasn't screaming in his deep petrifying fear of the unknown—missed Sothis. She would enjoy hearing his anguish. The awful child would probably laugh at how his skin seemed to wail where Dimitri touched him, equal parts joy and searing discomfort. Byleth held back the urge to yell. He couldn't even be an embarrassing young adult properly. He couldn't be the adorable blushing creature that Dimitri deserved to share a kiss with. Instead, they got—
Well, painful silence as Byleth watched Dimitri's mouth open and shut several times before his voice finally followed.
“I—” Dimitri’s voice cracked as Byleth’s eyes met his. He would have laughed at his expression if he wasn’t busy drowning in the deep chasm that seemed to be building in his stomach. Dimitri’s eyes were comically wide, his hair sticking every which way, and his face was so red Byleth wondered if it hurt.
“Do you want to run away, now?” Byleth’s voice asked. Sothis, he was the most stupid man to ever live.
“Yes,” Dimitri said, eyes widening but not breaking Byleth’s gaze. “Very much so.”
“I as well,” Byleth murmured. Dimitri gave a startled chuckle, though his expression stayed frozen in its panic.
“Well, at least we are both lost.” He croaked, pulling out of Byleth’s space and running his hands through his sweat-slicked hair. There were white streaks of salt down his cheeks and neck from dried sweat, looking like dust from a statue. Byleth heaved a sigh and rubbed at his own cheek.
“I’m—” Byleth started. “—lost as what to do. Er. Say.” He started, wincing at his words. Goddess, who allowed him a voice. Dimitri nodded, his gaze moving to the floor.
Byleth watched the blue sash hanging from his belt, and was reminded of that day in the woods. Of a small wildflower, crumpled slightly at the edges.
His father may have raised a mute but he didn’t raise a coward. Byleth took a deeper breath, letting his lungs fill and his thoughts quiet.
Then he strode forward and let his free hand brush under Dimitri’s chin and kissed him properly.
He felt a gasp against his lips and let himself press into it. He knew he had no heartbeat, only an empty void where Dimitri’s thudded strongly, but Byleth thrilled at the speed of his pulse from under Dimitri’s fingers. His head lowered and Byleth lost himself in the warm slide, the gentle pressure, and the burst in his chest as he felt the smile on Dimitri’s lips.
There was no rush, no illicit thrill, none of the fairytale nonsense that had been filling his head.
Byleth just felt like a boy. A sweaty boy in a tunic that didn’t quite fit, kissing his friend that he had been pining after. It wasn't perfect. Dimitri smelled a bit strongly, and one of them was pressing too hard. But he didn't care. It was warm and soft, and just a little bit silly.
Dimitri’s hand sprawled out on his hip, his thumb soothing the ache left by his nervous grip. Byleth pressed a last thankful peck to Dimitri’s slightly swollen lip and pulled back. And enjoyed watching blue eyes blink slowly and dazedly open, taking a few moments to focus back on Byleth’s face.
“Hello.” Byleth said, his mouth aching a bit from the impact and from all the smiling. But it was worth the deepening flush on Dimitri’s face as he stared at his probably ridiculous-looking grin. There was a hitch and hesitation before he finally spoke breathlessly.
“Hello, Professor.” His voice sounded raw and his eyes didn't leave his mouth.
“Please, don’t call me that when you just kissed me.” Byleth said. Dimitri’s gaze finally cleared as his mouth twisted into a pout.
“But I—” Byleth cut him off with a laugh and pressed his forehead to his chest, he was certain his wet bangs were not comfortable, but he was too busy muffling hiccuping laughter. The pout was so cute. He had kissed those lips that pouted. Dimitri’s mouth. He kissed Dimitri. Byleth couldn’t seem to stop his laughter, like the ridiculous bubbling feeling in him could only escape through his throat and his hand carding through Dimitri’s short hair.
“Byleth?” Dimitri said concerned, he felt the hand on his hip move to his back. “Are you alri—” Byleth pressed his lips against Dimitri’s again, a quick pressure, before nipping lightly at the swollen edge of it.
And grinned brightly when Dimitri found a new shade of red to turn to.
“A reward.” Byleth said simply as Dimitri’s gaze jumped to the floor again.
“I—uhm—” Dimitri stuttered. “I-I’m afraid if that’s going to be the response. I will most likely not call you that in company.”
Byleth chuckled, feeling Dimitri's arms slowly encircle him. He couldn't help his lazy smile as he pushed further into the embrace, pressing his cheek against Dimitri's shoulder. He was far too old and had seen too much death to be giggling and hugging like a schoolchild having his first kiss. But—
He could count the number of hugs he had been given on one hand. In the future, a few of his students had embraced him. Quick things; given to him during moments of emotion where they forgot the invisible line that separated Byleth from them. A quick squeeze from an exhausted Annette when he found her a book she needed, Sylvain’s shoulder hug borne from a pitiful drunken stupor, Mercedes’s warm relived grip after he finally woke after losing nearly half his blood, and a tearful embrace from Ashe when they found his siblings.
Byleth felt his fingers tighten in Dimitri's tunic. Dimitri's soft smile was far too warm and sweet. Too sweet by far for him to even consider pulling away.
So like everything else in Byleth's life it was immediately interrupted by the sound of a sword leaving a sheath.
Dimitri and Byleth quickly sprung apart as loud voices echoed in the halls.
"What do you want?" Felix's voice said in the distance. There was the sound of armor shifting as a voice replied.
"The Knights Hall is closed at this hour."
Dimitri and Byleth quickly exchanged panicked looks.
" Guard ?" Dimitri mouthed frantically as he quickly grabbed the sword from the sand. Byelth could barely manage a shrug as he threw Dimitri his uniform coat and kicked Dimitri's spear under the bag.
Byleth snagged two training swords at random when Felix and an armored guard came into the hall.
An armored guard with a red sash hanging from his belt.
"Try explaining that to our professor." Felix grumbled. Byleth gave his best withering stare at the knight.
Considering the circumstances—it was a very good one.
The knight's face was unreadable behind the visor as they silently scanned the room. Byleth quietly weighed his choices. Each of the territories had knights and guards stationed at Garreg Mach. This could simply be a guard who was quite a stickler for the rules, Sothis knows there were several of them in the monastery. Or it could be an Empire spy wondering why the Crown Prince was walking around at night.
Byleth quietly wondered if Edelgard was above assassination. If she was, Hubert certainly was not.
"May I assist you?" Byleth asked coldly, doing his best approximation of an aggravated teacher. "Or are you simply here to keep me from doing my job?" The metal visor shifted to his face.
"I was led to believe these students were wandering unsupervised after curfew. My apologies, Professor Byleth." The knight said, tilting forward in a bow. Byleth gave a huff. Hoping the sweat dripping from his temple would pass for exertion.
"We were wrapping up. I'll escort His Highness to the dormitory after he assists me in bringing these spare weapons to storage." Byleth said, making a show of picking up his coat.
"I may deliver them if you wish, Professor Byelth. It is late." The knight said while Byleth waved his hands.
"No, it's alright. You take this one—" He made a flapping motion at Felix, who blinked at him in surprise. "—to his quarters. He has early dance training for the Heron Cup tomorrow night."
The surprise quickly morphed to anger. The knight nodded and turned to escort Felix out. And at that moment, Byleth and Felix’s eyes locked.
And after I helped you?! Felix’s scowl seemed to say.
“Nosey.” Byleth mouthed, repeating his dismissive motion.
Felix looked like he was about to make a gesture of his own before the knight pointedly pushed at his shoulder.
"I'm going!" He snapped and trudged out the door, casting one last annoyed glare at his professor. The two stood silently until the sound of clanging armor faded from earshot.
“That was far too close for comfort.” Dimitri shuddered before gifting Byleth a small smile. “Though seeing you interact with Felix is nothing short of amusing.”
“He really is a great dancer,” Byleth said. “But I suspect I will be paying for my decision.”
“I suppose you would have seen him dance already,” Dimitri said with a laugh that slowly trailed off into silence. Byleth watched his eyes fall to the ground, the soft curve of his mouth shifting into a frown. “Professor, I have to ask—”
Ah. Byleth thought, his breath stilling as if preparing for a punch. I should have seen this coming.
Dimitri’s hands reached out to hold his. Byleth felt his chest twist as he saw Dimitri’s gaze, full of trepidation. Praying for some sort of certainty that Byleth knew he could not offer.
“Did this happen in our future?”
Byleth gave a deep sigh and shifted their hands until he could grip Dimitri’s hands tighter—he couldn't bear to look at Dimitri’s face as he slowly shook his head.
“No.” He said quietly. “I cared for y—him, deeply. But I realized my feelings far too late. He hardly even looked at me, much less spoke.” Byleth screwed his eyes shut tightly. “I’m sorry, Dim—”
“Oh, thank the Goddess.” Dimitri’s voice said and suddenly all Byleth could feel was Dimitri’s warm embrace, his body nearly covering his own entirely as he felt the rumbling of Dimitri’s deep sigh surrounding him.
“What?” Byleth’s confusion was muffled into Dimitri’s shoulder. “You’re not upset?”
He was stunned as Dimitri pulled back far enough for him to see the bright joyous smile that spread across Dimitri’s face.
The one that left Byleth so distracted, he nearly missed the words coming out of it.
“Goddess, no. I was—and still very much am—terrified of what I may have sullied in that terrible future. I know my grief must have destroyed many things.” Byleth watched as Dimitri swallowed, and felt the hand from his waist move until it became a spot of heat under his chin. “I could not forgive myself if one of them was— this .”
Byleth’s breath stuck in his chest.
“No.” He whispered when he finally got air into his lungs. “His words stung and his actions caused concern. But I—He was still you. I still—” Byleth felt his words jam in his throat. It was hard enough to breathe, to think , with Dimitri's warm hands and warmer attentions on him. He tried his best to conjure his anger and frustration towards the shadowy figure from his future, to scrape together his disappointment and fear, but all he could find was that deep echoing sadness that all his memories seemed to reside in.
"I loved him as well. He was you, afterall." Byleth said with a helpless shrug, looking up at Dimitri's soft melancholic smile.
"What an odd feeling." He murmured to himself, before chuckling softly. "Being infuriated and jealous towards a version of yourself who is yet to exist."
Byleth gave a shocked laugh before pressing one last kiss to Dimitri's mouth.
"Quite strange. So, let's hope he never comes to visit."
The two quietly made their way through the still winter night, gently falling snow collecting in their hair as their skin had long since cooled after their delivery to the classroom. It was a pleasant night, the scattered lanterns burning low in the late hour chasing away any shadows the stained pink winter sky didn’t vanish. Byleth wiggled his fingers in his gloves, squinting past their visible breaths for guards.
“I wish I knew if the spies were hidden or simply traitors in the staff.” Byleth muttered lowly, Dimitri’s head tilting imperceptibly in affirmative. The healthy distance between them felt like a canyon, and the puffs of wind that passed felt practically arctic. Damn them for stealing this from them as well. Byleth sighed, trying to cover the action by breathing into his gloves as if to warm them.
He blinked down at the thin blue thread.
“Ah, right.” Byleth said, pulling the borrowed item off his hands. “I believe these are yours.”
He presented them as casually as he could bear, pretending he was looking at Dimitri’s curious expression and not at all at the gleaming gold of his hair in the lantern light. Though he caught the strange expression that crossed his student’s face as he slowly reached out and took them from his hands.
“R-right.” Dimitri said, looking down at the gloves—almost disappointed . “So, they are.”
Byleth blinked in confusion as he saw Dimitri stare at them like he was handed a badly graded paper.
“Do they not belong to you?” Byleth asked as Dimitri seemed to startle and look up at him apologetically.
“Oh. No.” Dimitri smiled, the edges forced. “My apologies, Professor. Thank you for bringing them to me. They must have fallen out of my fool pocket on the way to class.”
“No need to apologize, but—” Byleth quirked a brow. Dimitri’s eyes were jumping from him to the gloves, his fingers twitching slightly. He was a terrible liar. “—I didn’t tell you where I found them.”
Byleth decided Dimitri’s startled expression was incredibly endearing. His eyes were wide and a faint blush started to cross his face as he stuttered slightly. If he hadn’t seen the prince’s future he would say he got the wrong animal mascot. He seemed much more like a startled deer than a lion.
“I-ah.” Dimitri stuttered before looking at his gloves with an awkward smile—then turned his hands outward in explanation.
“Oh.” Byleth breathed as he stared at the sides of Dimitri’s hands. In the emotional ride of the past days, Byleth had tried his best to avoid looking at the young prince for plausible deniability as to the depths of his feelings. But he was rather disappointed in himself for missing something so obvious.
Byleth stared at the beautiful floral embroidery blooming from the seams of Dimitri’s old worn gloves, smiling as he looked upon the delicate blue flowers punched into the soft leather, faint green thread twisting into leaves encircling his thumbs and their lovely curled stems trailing up his palms.
“Mercedes?” Byleth asked as he met Dimitri’s gaze, full of warmth as he stared at his own hands.
“Annette and Ashe as well.” He said quietly, touching the edges of one of the petals. “The seams ripped in both, and despite Mercedes efforts, I was utterly useless in hemming them shut. I placed the order for new gloves that night—”
“Suddenly, your gloves vanished and then reappeared like that.” Byleth finished, remembering Ashe asking for lockpicks one day. He had given them the usual set they brought into battle with no question. Why would he ever suspect Ashe of any foul play?
“Yes, Ashe was very apologetic,” Dimitri said, chuckling. “Apparently, Annette forced him to break into my room.” Byleth laughed behind his hand, eyes gleaming with mirth as he pictured a nervous Ashe being cheered to rule-breaking by a bubbly Annette.
“I wish I had seen that,” Byleth said, smiling at Dimitri who returned it brightly.
“It was my quarters, but I find myself wanting the same.” His smile softened as he looked back down at his gloves. “I would have never met those three unless I came to the Academy. They are far too kind for their own good. I am lucky they consider me worthy of such a heartfelt gift.”
“They consider you their friend , Dimitri,” Byleth said, shaking his head slightly as Dimitri’s eyebrow furrowed. “It’s a fact. They said as much in the future, and I am sure they have said the same to you in this time.”
“I—” Dimitri sighed. “Yes, they have.”
“Then I believe these can stay lost.” Byleth smiled and took the new gloves from his loose grip. “With the number of things I recover, I doubt anyone will find them again—”
“Wait, I—” Dimitri said suddenly, before freezing as Byleth looked back at him in confusion. His cheeks colored once again. “It would be a shame to waste such good craftsmanship. I hid them in a panic when they arrived.” Byleth cocked his head.
“Then I’m sure I can find them a good home?” He said slowly as Dimitri shook his head and bit his lip.
“No, I simply mean—” Dimitri made a soft sound of frustration as he took one of the gloves from Byleth’s grip and pulled off one of his own. “Your pair are war-torn. Quite literally torn by war.” He said, his gaze unable to meet Byleth, instead focused on the mismatched pair of gloves he pressed into Byleth’s hands.
“I—” Byleth blinked in surprise, staring down at the gift. The lovely oil black glove, with its masterful threading and comfortable yet utilitarian shape synonymous with traditional Faerghus stylings. Then its soft worn sibling, once a twin, its color faded from the sun and weeks of hard use but with beautiful blue threaded flowers twisting along its edges; holding the leather together from the tears that threatened to split it.
Byleth pulled them on without a second thought.
He felt Dimitri’s gaze upon him, but couldn’t find himself able to look up as he felt his face heat. He brushed his loose hair behind his ear and cleared his throat, glancing down at the dark Faerghus glove.
“It’s—It’s good. I cast magic with my left. And you anchor your lance grip with your right.” Byleth muttered, flexing his fingers to have something to do. “It would strain the embroidery if—”
“Right!” Dimitri said too loudly, shifting his weight awkwardly. “It would be a terrible waste.”
The two stood in dead silence in front of the stairs to the dormitory for a long moment, before Dimitri hefted out a sigh and brushed the blonde fringe from his eyes.
“Professor, I—” He started, eyes wide and desperate as they stared down at Byleth’s. “—have no earthly clue what I am meant to do here.”
“I am also—” Byleth looked up at Dimitri. His face was practically sore with how much he had been smiling in the past few hours. His chest hurt with the different rushes that had run through it. But seeing Dimitri’s look at him, lost and confused but the desire for something spread plain across his face—
It made him smile once more. If Dimitri felt for him even a fraction of the love that he held for the prince; Byleth considered himself very lucky indeed.
“—I’m also at a bit of a loss, myself.” Byleth breathed out. Dimitri nodded firmly, before taking a short step forward, visibly steeling himself.
Then leaned down, his lips lightly brushing the edge of Byleth’s cheek. Leaving the softest pressure for but a moment, his breath ghosting over his nose. Barely there, passable as a whisper.
“Then, I thank you for your company,” Dimitri said, a nervous smile gracing his features as he pulled back. “Have a good night, Professor.”
“Right,” Byleth said, the croak of his voice betraying him. “Goodnight, Dimitri.”
The young prince gave a short bow and vanished up the stairs, his footsteps echoing down the stone steps as Byleth waited for the rhythmic sound to vanish from earshot.
He breathed for a few moments, watching the soft clouds that escaped his mouth. Letting the day's events sink into his mind.
Byleth clung to the idea that there were spies watching his every move. Deadly soldiers lying in wait. He walked with his head held high, retreating back to his quarters, and prayed that from whatever distance those strange mages were—
That they couldn’t see the blush burning his face off.
The next morning, Byleth winced as the sun seemed to shine straight into his eyes. He breathed into his mismatched gloves, seeing the flower blooms on his palm worked wonders for his mood, but it was hard to relish in it when every step felt like he was pushing against water. Byleth's body had been fighting him since he cut his rest time short but—Byleth bit back bile—exhaustion pooled in his throat like nausea. All the excitement from the day before seemed to be the final blow to his system. He put his hand to his head as he stumbled through the stone halls, squinting at the blurry walls trying to find his classroom.
“Oh! Professor!” A bright voice said as the heavy classroom door creaked open, long brown locks streaming from it as Dorthea grinned at him. “Could you perhaps let me borrow your impeccable tastes for just a moment? It’s for the White Heron Cup performance.”
Byleth blinked at her, before looking up and down the hall for Professor Manuela.
“Uh—” He said slowly as he realized he was alone. Dorthea gave him an indulgent giggle.
“Yes, silly. I mean you.” Dorthea pushed the door open another crack, a flash of a pout passing her face as the bite of cold hit her. “Come in, quick!” Byleth walked into the Black Eagle classroom, confusion evident on his face.
“Dorthea, I know nothing about music. Or singing.” Byleth said, staring quizzically as Dorthea bounded behind the podium that seemed to be acting as her music stand. “Or dancing for that matter. I just got back from begging Professor Manuela to instruct Felix.”
“Felix? That’s an interesting choice. Though I suppose his sword fighting does have a certain gravitas—” Dorthea said, easily brushing over the first half of the professor’s words as she turned through a thin book resting on her podium. Then she stilled for a moment and looked up at Byleth with an expression of mild shock. “What? Did you wait until today to begin his practice? The competition is tonight!”
“He’s going to be drilling it all day,” Byleth said with a shrug. “I figured a few hours should be plenty.”
Dorthea started, scandalized as if Byleth had just thrown fertilizer at her.
“ Professor . I have been practicing this aria for days . And my singing is just the backdrop for the dancers!” She put her hand, rather dramatically, to her head—all while wincing as if she may faint. “I’ve seen ensembles work for months learning steps that don’t require half as much grace that’s needed for such a prestigious event!”
“That’s exactly what Manuela told me,” Byleth said blithely. The last time. Her affronted speech was cut short now that he knew she would happily take the irritated-and-slightly-murderous swordsman off his hands for the price of an expensive bottle of wine.
Byleth had got the bottle as a gift from one of the many nobles that they had assisted over the past few months. It might have been one of his student’s parents? His gut told him it was Ingrid’s father whose name had escaped him. He felt as if he would have remembered a gift from Rodrigue, he was nice. And if it was Margrave Gautier—well, he would have gotten rid of it a long time ago. Either way, it was an item he was happy to give up to ensure victory and his life from an angry Felix.
“I shouldn’t be complaining, really,” Dorthea said, smirking from behind her podium. “You just guaranteed victory for us. Ferdie has been dancing his little noble feet off for days, he’s sure to grab us that title.”
“I thought you’d be given the role, Dorthea.” Byleth said, taking a seat on the abandoned desks. “Edelgard isn't one to give up any advantage she can get her hands on.”
“Oh, she wanted to. But the songstress who was meant to come is stuck somewhere on the north roads because of those pesky bandits tormenting caravans. It really is such a shame. Seteth said it would be dealt with, but I guess not in time for tonight.”
“Bandits on the north roads?” Byleth’s brow furrowed. Something about that seemed off but he couldn’t think through his exhausted mind—
“Ok, ok. Listen to this and tell me what you think!”
Byleth was about to make some half-assed excuse to go when the first note left Dorthea’s mouth.
It was beautiful. Of course, it was. She was a diva who had risen up from shadows to the courts of high nobility. But it occurred to Byleth that he had never heard her truly sing before. And in another time, he was going to kill her.
He was supposed to march on Enbarr—with his ramshackle army made of the fractured husks of his once bright students—and watch her fall as he slid his sword across those vocal cords that once caused hundreds to weep with its beautiful sound.
And he would have never heard it before.
He would have just stepped over her corpse, just another student to haunt his sleep.
Like Lorenz, like Ferdinand, Leonie, and Bernadetta.
“Professor? Are you alright?” Dorthea asked. Byleth looked up, nausea bubbling in his throat.
He knew he was in the wrong time—but as she ran over and started to ramble in concern—he swore her uniform was a trailing crimson dress and her hair inches longer.
“I-I’m alright. Just feeling a bit ill.” He said, trying to bat her hands away and was shocked when he realized he was on the floor. When did he fall? He blinked, dazed.
“Professor, look at me!" Dorothea said. Her mouth seemed to keep moving even though the sound of her voice was replaced with a high shrill note in his ears.
“I-I don’t know.” Byleth shook his head, trying to clear the fog of exhaustion. He felt an arm slide under his shoulder as he was heaved onto his feet. The movement only caused nausea to rise further.
“I’m going to bring you to your room then I’m going to get Professor Manuela," Dorthea said quickly as she began to half-lead half-drag Byleth out of Black Eagle classroom.
“When did I start getting carried by my students everywhere?” Byleth muttered as he tried to move his feet over the flagstones. Dorthea huffed as the sun hit his eyes again.
“Well, if you rested like Professor Manuela and Mercedes told you too then perhaps you could walk on your own.” She said as they tripped across the courtyard. “But instead you’re making a lady drag you around in public. I wasn’t aware this is where your tastes lie, Professor.”
Byleth gave a sarcastic laugh as he saw two pairs of heeled boots stop in front of them.
“Professor?” Edelgard’s voice said.
Shit . Byleth thought. He could hardly lift his head enough to even look up. He was being carried by one of her classmates. It would take no effort at all for her to take advantage of his weakness and—
“Dorthea, is he alright?” She said sternly and Byleth felt a hand go under his chin as his gaze was suddenly met with sharp violet eyes. “Professor? How are you feeling?”
“I—” Byleth said, startled at the sheer amount of concern in The Future Empress’s voice. Either she was a very talented actress or—
No. He could not further that thought.
He shook his head, trying once more to clear it.
“Sudden dizzy spell is all.” He said in a clipped tone. “Just dehydration and lack of sleep, I assure—"
“He fell down and cut his head and the wound isn’t healing with my magic.” Dorthea interrupted. Byleth bit back a curse. He cut his head? When did Dorothea try to heal him? Damn it all, his head must be shaken badly if he was losing time. Byleth put his hand to the warm side of his head, and sure enough, there were spots of wet shining against his gloves.
Edelgard’s eyes flickered over to his hand. “I’m going to bring him to his quarters and—”
“Oh no, Professor!” The figure next to Edelgard finally spoke. Her voice dripped with performative sadness. Byleth hated the sound, the shrill voice seemed to grate against every corner of his mind. “I know healing magic, too! I’m sure I can help!”
Byleth’s eyes flicked over to meet red. Deep murderous red eyes hovering above a smile that slashed across her face like a knife wound. He felt the blood in his veins freeze.
“Monica.” Byleth’s voice croaked as the girl’s vicious smile turned up further.
“Oh! I didn’t realize we met before!!” Monica said brightly. “You seemed so busy this month, I didn’t want to interrupt! Though, seeing how you ended up, maybe we should have! Right, El?”
“Perhaps so,” Edelguard replied, though her searching gaze still hadn’t left Byleth’s even as he stared at Monica.
Byleth couldn't parse out if he wanted to scream, sob, or attack her on the spot. Head wound be damned.
Monica’s smile didn’t move as she spoke.
“But like I was saying—I know a lot of healing magic so if you want to hand the Professor over to me then I can—”
“Oh, you ladies don’t need to trouble yourself with that.” A voice said at Byleth’s back.
He couldn’t pull his eyes from that awful red even as a pair of strong hands pulled him off of Dorthea and slung his arm over much taller shoulders.
“Us Blue Lions have a lot of pride, ya know.” Sylvain’s smooth voice said as the Empire girls stared up at him in mild surprise. “And are well-known as steadfast gentleman.”
Byleth didn’t need to see his student face to know there was a wink attached to that.
“Sylvain—”
“Yeah, we’re pretty stubborn when it comes to accepting help from outside our house. We’re close like that.” Byleth felt his perch shift as Sylvian shook his head. “Though it leads to things like this, damn shame, we should really work on that.”
“ Sylvain— ”
“Yeah yeah, Professor.” He said easily as they began to take a few steps back. "I'll take him back to his quarters. Would one of you lovely ladies grab Mercedes for me? She's probably in the market. It's just a small cut, no need to bother Professor Manuela, she'll know what to do."
"If you're sure—" Edelgard started.
"We are." Sylvain said sharply, smile still perfectly in place. There was a moment of tense silence before Dorothea sighed.
"Oh, all of you quit with the dramatics. This is not the time for an inter-house squabble." She put a warm hand on Byleth’s shoulder and smiled sympathetically. "I'll bring Mercie over, you feel better, all right?"
"Thank you." Byleth said tightly as his chest felt. Monica's cold gaze hadn't moved an inch. There was a quick shuffle as Dorothea ran off with a swish of her skirt and her two classmates quietly backed away.
"I wish you a quick recovery, Professor." Edelgard said with a polite bow as Monica gave a mild wave, her smile only growing wider as they both vanished off into the training hall.
Byleth stared at the closing of the wide doors for a moment before sagging against Sylvian's side.
"How do you feel?" Byleth could only grimace in response. He felt Sylvain's warm hand grip his side. A faint pressure, just at the bottom of his ribs. Almost passable as a hug. "Alright, let's get you out of here."
Byleth couldn't muster a reply.
Sylvain pushed the door open with his foot. The two of them stumbled half-blind into the dim room, the winter sun only faintly reaching through the dusted window. He had seen his professor's room enough times that the novelty had worn off—the organized piles of books and weapons were oddly comforting.
At least it usually was—instead, wild stacks of parchment were spilling onto his chair, random books were haphazardly strewn across the room, and it looked like the wardrobe door was held shut by a silver sword. There was a pile of old notes and tunics piled upon his bed with just a corner of it pushed far enough for a body to curl up and sleep.
Sylvain had a bitter taste in his throat. He knew Byleth was frightfully busy since the moment he arrived in their time, but he didn't think it was possible to make such a mess. Was the only time that Byleth slept were the times that he passed out? Heedless to Sylvain’s concern, his professor simply unhooked himself from his grip and stepped over the half polished armor on the floor like it was apart of his rug and slumped onto his bed. Sylvain shook his head.
One problem at a time, Gautier.
"Ok, professor!" He said shoving as much pep as he could muster into his voice. "Rest time, c'mon now."
Byleth shot him an unamused look, but he pulled off his gloves and yanked on the two clasps fixing the armored piece of his chest.
Then promptly keeled over and retched on the floor.
"Shit! Byleth!" Sylvain shouted, running over to his professor's side. Byleth was still making awful sounds though nothing but spit left his mouth.
When was the last time he ate?! Sylvain thought incredulously as he lifted him off the floor. There was barely even water. The Blue Lions had sat with him at dinner a few days ago but he hadn't seen him eat since then. But Byleth didn't even seem fazed as he instead started rambling at Sylvain's stunned face.
"Edelguard and Monica were talking," Byleth said quickly.
"What?" Sylvain asked, trying to wrangle his loose-limbed teacher onto his bed .
Byleth didn't seem to care about it as his empty-looking eyes focused on something past Sylvain's ear.
"They were talking, Sylvain," Byleth repeated. "That means they were—"
Sylvain's hands froze as he felt his eyes close.
Shit.
"That means they were planning. So Edelguard does know Monica." Sylvain finished as Byleth finally sat down on his messy bed. There was the faint sound of papers crunching as he settled.
It was quite the contrast to Byleth's empty face. Sylvain felt a wave of nausea and nostalgia. He looked the same way he did when he first arrived at Garreg Mach. A strange empty-faced stranger who promised violence in the depths of his eyes.
Sylvain hated it.
“Sylvain, I wanted to kill her.”
“Well, yeah. She murdered your dad. Even if she didn’t do it here; it’s not like it didn’t happen. I’m honestly surprised—”
“Not Monica,” Byleth said, staring down at his gloves. “Edelgard.”
“Oh.” Sylvain said. “So, why didn’t you do it? Killing her for probably having a hand in Remire and ending your dad seems pretty fair.” Sylvain said trying to catch his professor's face in his hands. Byleth wavered unsteadily, his eyes focused on something far off. His forehead was burning.
“Because strangling a princess in the middle of Garreg Mach is a death sentence.” Byleth muttered dully as Sylvain shrugged.
“Not really. I mean you’re pretty strong. Kill her, take a sword, fight off whatever guards come near you. Plus, I’m pretty sure killing Edelgard would stop the war.”
“It would,” Byleth said faintly.
“So, you would complete your goal.” Sylvain said with a flourish. “Crisis averted.”
“It would.” Byleth repeated and stared at his twitching hands. Sylvain clenched his teeth, his heart hurt as he could practically watch his friend's addled mind try to make connections. He desperately wished he could tell Byleth to simply drop the subject and rest. But the conflict was written clearly on his face. So Sylvian pushed forward.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because?”
“Because I can’t kill her. She’s one of my students too.” Byleth finally whispered to his hands. “Damn it.”
Sylvain shrugged and watched Byleth shoulders slump. He stared harder, his fingers itching to comfort him in some way. Instead, Sylvain just tapped them on his thigh.
“Guess it’s a good thing you came back then. That’d kinda be an issue in your future.”
“No,” Byleth said with a hollow laugh. “ He would’ve cut me down if I tried to take her death from him.”
Sylvain’s eyes went wide and he finally looked at Byleth's eyes. He knew that Dimitri had gone kinda insane in the future. But the concept that the soft-hearted Highness, at any point in his life, would even think of harming a single hair on his precious professor’s head was—
Purely unfathomable.
“You’re exaggerating,” Sylvain said. Byleth’s shoulders shook in a weak shrug.
“No. I’m not.” His hand moved to his hair, tugging at the green strands for a moment before falling limply at his side. “Maybe I should find a way to go back further. Teach her class and convince her myself.”
Sylvain looked at his professor’s vacant expression and felt endlessly cruel—but didn’t regret his next words.
“Then would you be able to kill me?” Sylvian watched Byleth’s head whip towards him, sea glass eyes wide.
“What?” He said while Sylvain fixed him with a cold stare.
“Dimitri would still find out about the Flame Emperor. And you wouldn’t be able to stop him from chasing her down. And we're pretty damn loyal, you know?” Sylvain said, staring down mercilessly at his professor. “The fight would have started much sooner.”
“I—” Byleth’s voice croaked but Sylvian just pushed further.
“Would you be able to kill all of us to end the war? Really kill us the same way that—”
Sylvain realized belatedly that he may have been spending too much time with Ingrid and Felix. He had honestly expected Byleth to get mad, to shove him and yell and then realize that escape was the only option. But instead—
Sylvain stared in horror as Byleth’s eyes turned glassy, tears falling silently from his cheeks.
“Oh.” Sylvain said. “Oh, shit.”
He suddenly felt like a little kid, making some stupid joke and making Felix cry until he ran off. And then having Dimitri scold him and spend the rest of the day finding him before Glenn found out.
Sylvain quickly dropped his facade and waved his hands around desperately.
“I didn’t mean that!” He said while Byleth stared at him in shock. “I just wanted you to think about it and—Well—I was just being dramatic! Of course, you wouldn’t have to kill us. You could have warned us and there are a million other ways that could have ended and—” Sylvain rambled. Byleth simply blinked at him, a gloved hand wiping at his cheek.
Byleth stared at the water on his glove.
“Oh.” He muttered. “Was I crying? Is that why you’re acting strange now?”
“I—” Sylvain stared at his professor. “Yeah. It’s pretty weird to see.”
Sylvain wanted to sigh in relief when an odd smile quirked across Byleth’s face. Good. Now he didn’t have to worry about the rest of his class murdering him in cold blood.
He wasn’t kidding about that loyalty thing.
“I suppose it would be,” Byleth said, rubbing at his eyes. “I never cried before my time here.”
"Oh." Sylvain said. He shouldn't be surprised seeing as Byleth apparently had never laughed before either but—
It wasn’t the first time Sylvain wished he knew Byleth earlier. Before it was a little thing, just wanting someone who quietly listened during his formative years but...He tried to picture a tiny scruffy-haired Byleth running with them through the castle, laughing, joking, and being better than them at everything. Ingrid joining him in the mud, Felix hanging off his shoulders, and Dimitri free to be gross and adorably in puppy love.
Glenn would have liked him.
The corner of Sylvain’s mouth twisted. He choked down the urge to walk over to the stubborn wall of a man and hug him. It wasn’t a new feeling.
If he didn’t tamp it down he would just spend his days lounging over Felix’s shoulders with the occasional break to braid Ingrid’s hair or smother Dimitri.
Sylvain sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He hoped Mercedes would come soon. His heart was exhausted from being yanked around all month. He needed the distraction.
Finding the right herbs this time of year was always difficult. The winter chill killed the local fauna and importing was cruel on the wallet. Mercedes sighed and gave an apologetic smile at her shopping companion.
"Thank you for accompanying me on this silly little chase, Dedue. I would have gotten so incredibly lost otherwise, and you found some lovely substitutes that I never would have thought of!" She said as they made their way back through the iron gates of the monastery. Dedue gave a short nod as he glanced down at her.
"No need for thanks. My knowledge of plants is focused on cultivation. You have the expertise in their use for medicinal purposes." He said as they passed a crowd of knights mounting horses. A Knights of Seiros battalion ready to ride for a mission. Mercedes held back a smile, they looked so strong and sure of themselves—shining like they came out of a storybook. She hoped that her friends would look like that when they rode out as their own team. She turned and smiled at Dedue.
"Well, Sir Deflector, you must admit that I got us lost a few times!" She giggled at Dedue's confused expression.
"'Sir Deflector'?"
"Why yes! Because you—Good Afternoon, Dorthea!" Mercedes said as the pretty songstress ran up to them. She seemed to be in quite a hurry as she bounced down the stairs.
"Mercie! There you are—I've been looking all over the academy for you!" Dorothea said, having a breath. "It's the professor. He looked tired and terrible then he just fell over and hit his head. It wasn't a bad fall at all but he could hardly walk and I tried to heal him but it's like his body has no energy to stitch itself back together and—"
"Byleth?" A deep voice said from behind her back. She bit back a squeak and turned to see the handsome figure of Jeralt the Bladebreaker.
"Sir Jeralt!" Dorothea said. "I—"
"What's wrong with my kid?" Jeralt said, tucking a long strip of leather under his arm. Mercedes recognized it from her new mount training. Horse reigns. And he was fully dressed in riding gear.
And was staring at Dorothea hard enough to make her sweat.
"He's—ah. I believe he's sick? Or the poor thing is so exhausted he may as well be? I'm sorry, sir, medicine isn't my specialty. I only know a bit of white magic." She said, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The corner of Jeralt's mouth tightened.
"I believe our professor pushed himself too hard." Mercedes interjected, trying to keep her voice as light and comforting as she could. "He is still hurt from the accident in the greenhouse, after all."
"I'm aware." Jeralt said, running his hand through his beard. Mercedes wondered if Byleth knew he made the same face as his dad when he was thinking hard.
Jeralt was in riding gear when the new Byleth crashed in the greenhouse and passed out in the courtyard, as well.
He must have held up the mission until he saw Byleth back to his version of normal. Mercedes thought quickly. And now he was most likely thinking of staying longer to ensure his son rested this time around.
Like a good father.
Mercedes quietly scolded herself. Jealousy was a sin. She pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her hands.
"No need to fret, Captain! The professor is a very skilled teacher and I've learned a lot about healing. I'll get his head fixed up right away and I'll even make sure he stays in bed this time!" She said with a firm nod. Jeralt just gave her an indulgent half-smile.
The professor got that look from him, too. She thought, feeling pleased.
"Yeah, well. That one can be stubborn, so I'll hold you to that." He nodded firmly at Mercedes and Dedue. "Do make sure the kid rests. He looked like hell."
"Certainly. We will see to it." Dedue said, bowing slightly before looking at Jeralt with an odd look in his eye. "Will you be back for the mission at the end of this month? Or are you returning sooner?"
Mercedes tried to stifle her surprise. Oh, she was a fool. If Jeralt rode out now, he may not make it back in time for the ball. She wasn't even sure if their professor had talked to his father about the plan. And if he returned after—it would be to his son considered missing or a fugitive.
"We'll be cutting it close. But we should be able to get back for the mission. I can't make any promises. You guys may need to take that one alone." He said. Dedue's face betrayed nothing as he gave a respectful nod.
"Then, consider the mission completed." He said firmly as a small prideful smile crossed the captain's face.
"Of course." Jeralt said before turning back towards his men. "You two take care of him. Can't have him bleeding out before class."
"Yes, sir." Dedue said with a deep bow. Jeralt gave another nod and walked off, his bellowing voice issuing commands as the Knights rode off, the stomping of hooves echoing off the stone walls and high mountains like thunder.
Mercedes sighed in relief and blinked in surprise as she felt Dedue's heavy hand on her shoulder.
He said nothing, but she could feel his comforting solidarity practically radiate from his firm look.
The past few days seemed to change her fellow Blue Lions. They all seemed to stand closer to each other, shadows at each other's backs and ghosts at their sides. She couldn't recall any time in the past week—other than while she slept—when she was without one of her classmates.
"Thank you, Dedue," Mercedes said warmly, putting her hand over his. She knew she didn't have the largest figure but her hand seemed almost childish next to his. "That was a bit stressful, wasn't it?"
"He is a kind man. One who cares deeply for our professor." Dedue said, though something twitched at his lip. "But yes, stressful."
Mercedes giggled as they turned to go deeper into the academy.
"Then let's go help our professor to make sure we don't make him actually angry!"
The two Blue Lions began to weave their way through the market, too distracted by their mission to notice the heavy stare from the songstress they left behind.
"No. Out of the question." Byleth said sharply.
His frown was considerably less terrifying than his father’s.
"Professor, please don't be difficult about this."
It didn't take long for Mercedes and Dedue to get to their professor's quarters and catch up with a now-grumpy Byleth and a fussing Sylvain.
Mercedes sat back in the chair she dragged to Byleth's bedside.
"His injured shoulder is manageable. But his body and mind are in such awful condition that he’s quite lucky that his injuries from his original time haven't gotten worse. He should have spent his time resting but instead, he threw himself into planning and stress." Mercedes said firmly. "It's poor timing, but a few days of rest and a few good meals should put him back into his right mind."
"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here." Byleth grumbled, his eyes had lost their strange glassy quality and he regained some color in his cheeks after Dedue practically forced water and warm bread down his throat. But he still wavered a bit as he spoke.
"Sorry, Professor. People who forget to sleep and eat get ignored." Sylvain said with a sharp smile that Byleth glared at.
"I've done both."
"Yeah? How many times in the past week?"
"I don't have to answer that."
"Thought so."
“Professor.” Mercedes said, doing her best to smile. “You were terribly exhausted and malnourished even before you came to our time. And we have no idea how much magic you used to come here. Just take a few days to rest. Like you were meant to. Have faith in our plan. We can handle it.”
“Mercedes.” He said. “It’s a bit hard to have faith.”
Mercedes gave him a smile.
“That’s the funny thing about faith, Professor. If you know what’s going to happen then you don’t need it!”
“Right...”
“And if you don’t really need it then—”
“It’s not faith.” He sighed dejectedly.
“You always catch on so quickly, Professor!”
“I’m so tired, Mercedes.” Byleth’s voice said dully. “I don’t know if I can have faith in the plan when I feel as if I’m going mad.”
“Then do not.” Dedue’s deep timber said as Byleth looked up at him in surprise. Dedue’s gaze met his, perfectly level and unyielding. “If you cannot trust your own mind then trust in ours.”
“I—”
“Professor, you said you were proud of us.” Mercedes said, smiling softly as she watched her professor’s eyebrows furrow. “Then let us do the jobs you gave us. We’ll all be safe, okay?” She said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I—yeah,” Byleth muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “Yes, you’re right.”
“Of course, I am!” Mercedes said brightly. “You can start with going to bed and leaving this silly Heron Cup to us.” Byleth looked at her confused.
“Mercedes, it’s not even noon. And that’s ridiculous. I’m the professor of the Blue Lion house. I think I have to be ther—”
“
Professor
.”
“Right. Right, okay.” He said, rubbing his eye once again. “But if Felix comes at you with a sword, don’t blame me.”
“We will live, Professor.” Dedue said, too dignified to roll his eyes. Even if his voice seemed to be positively dripping with the urge to do so.
“You better.”
“Ooooh, woooow!” A sugary sweet voice called out to Felix the moment he entered the room. He tamped down the urge to turn and leave as Hilda, the pink-haired girl from the Golden Deer flounced over to him. “You look great, Felix! A little sweaty, but maybe that will make you look all cute and shiny under the candlelights.”
“I was practicing.” Felix said curtly, choking down his bile at being called cute by the little sister of Holst Goneril. This whole event felt like a complete and utter joke. He was meant to let his hair be braided and danced around a ballroom in front of the vacant eyes of the nobility as if there wasn’t a war brewing outside the walls of Garreg Mach. As if they all were just normal students and none of them held secrets of coup d'etat under their lips.
Foolish. All of it.
But Hilda Goneril seemed to ignore his stormy expression as she smiled plainly at him.
“Yeah, I heard you’ve been practicing all day!” Hilda said with a wink. “You guys really wanna win this thing!”
“Was that meant to be sarcastic?” Felix said flatly as he leaned down to fix his ridiculous sandals. He hated the torture implements more than anything, if soldiers wore comfortable boots meant for flexibility and speed during combat then why wouldn't dancers do the same for their art?
“Nope!” Hilda said, sliding into the seat next to him and kicking her feet, her painted toenails poking out of her pair of ridiculous sandals. She looked perfectly natural—pretty, even—in her frivolous garb. Felix just felt like a jester in costume. “I mean, you guys are like ‘Rahhh, Rahh, I’m a Blue Lion!! Hear us roaaarrr!’ with all your training and fighting. Especially recently! You guys have been putting in the work .”
“I see.” Felix said, his fingers slipping as he pulled the straps on his feet too tightly. That confirms that everyone has noticed the change. We need to be more—
“I could never ever work that hard. Unless I had a real real good reason.” Felix froze as he felt Hilda’s gaze suddenly snap onto him. Were her eyes always that sharp? He focused hard on re-ting his shoes and the piercing look suddenly lifted. “Actually, probably not even then! I really don’t like sweating, you know?” She said with a giggle.
“I’m afraid not.” Felix said, trying to force his usual frosty tone. He must have imagined it. The girl was laziness personified.
“Well, maybe the professor really likes dancing!” Hilda said, fully ignoring Felix’s attitude. “If so, it sucks that he's been all sick and missing the dance. I heard from a good friend of mine that it's even making Lady Rhea all concerned.”
Felix blinked and looked at Hilda, who just kept kicking her feet.
“What did you just say?”
Hilda smiled at him.
"Annette?"
Ingrid giggled a bit as a head jolted up from behind the back of the pew, a loud bang echoing through the cathedral. Annette's tired eyes blinked at her for a bit before her face flooded brighter than her hair.
"Ah! Ingrid!" Annette said, quickly brushing a few flyaway hairs behind her ear. "I was just—"
"No need to explain," She chucked. "I just wanted to wake you before the Cup starts. The professor said we have to keep up appearances."
"Right, right!" She said, gathering up the book she was half-laying on. "I really didn't mean to leave you for so long. I just wanted to pray and it was so quiet I guess I just fell asleep—"
"Annette, I do mean it. You don't have to explain." Ingrid said, her smile fading a bit as she saw the deep-set circles under her eyes. "You're allowed to nap. Have you not been sleeping?"
Ingrid didn't need to hear her answer, her deepening flush told her what she needed to hear.
"It's just—" Annette started before sighing and tucking her hair behind her ear again. Ingrid watched as her eyes slid to the floor and her fingers fidgeted with the edges of the book. "—been thinking a lot is all."
"Well, that is what you're the best at," Ingrid said and was rewarded with her shy smile.
"Thank you." She said before her small frown returned. "But yes, it's why I wanted to pray. I thought maybe if I did that I would feel less odd about it."
"'It'?" Ingrid asked, tapping Annette on her head. "It's not like you to be so vague all of a sudden."
"I know!" Annette said defensively, a pout now crossing her face. "It just sounds so silly so—"
"Annette. It's just me." Ingrid said, pointing at herself. "I'm not the best at judging what people deem normal behavior."
"I guess that's true." Annette giggled before her small pensive frown returned. "I was just thinking about how sad she must have been. The other me, I mean."
"Oh, I see." She said, sliding into the pew next to her. "Did you ask the professor about it?"
"Yeah, I'm guessing everyone else did too. Even if they won't admit it." Annette said, fiddling with the edge of her skirt. "Her life wasn't too bad, I guess. She could have had it worse. Even the professor said that she seemed ok if a bit lost. I can't imagine what it must have been like for those of you who had to run a region."
"I was told that I jumped onto the cause without a second thought. I'm sure the professor thought I was being honorable, but I'm certain my future self was just trying to run from her responsibilities." Ingrid said, staring up at the stained glass windows. "I suppose I'm doing the same now. Except, this time we have a chance to really change things."
"Yeah, I mean, that's why I feel bad." Annette frowned down at the book in her hands, gripping the edges until her fingers turned white. "She saw all that pain and destruction. All of her friends dying. And she would go back to the Academy without knowing that it was all for nothing."
"I would have been married off the second the war ended. All of Fódlan would be unstable, we would have needed to show solidarity with the other territories by marriages and bloodlines."
Annette's frown grew deeper.
"Dimitri wouldn't have made you do that." She said firmly while Ingrid smiled wryly.
"He would have to do the same. He would need to marry some woman with a good crest to make heirs as fast as possible. Just in case someone tried to kill him to take the throne." Annette's lip curled in distaste. "You know I'm right."
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Annette sighed, letting go of her grip on the book. "It's just, none of that sounds right. Dimitri shouldn't be king of all Fódlan. You, Sylvain, and Felix would be terrible at leading everyone—"
"Thank you for your enthusiastic support, Annette." Ingrid said dryly while Annette poked her in the side.
"Oh hush, you know you would be! You guys would be such good advisors or on a council! But to lead everyone alone? No way! We would be up to our necks in wars."
"I'm sure that's why these magicians wouldn't mind too much if we won. The entire continent would be unstable enough that they could just try again in a few years." Ingrid said with a sigh, pressing her hand to her cheek. "A political marriage, having to give birth to several grubby-handed little kids, and leading a lonely region filled with strife."
Annette stared at Ingrid's downcast eyes.
"That's how you thought it would always be didn't you?" Annette said, taking her friend's hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Ingrid looked at her and smiled sadly.
"I thought I would be less powerful, so I must have considered it a good improvement."
"Same here." Annette giggled, feeling her eyes burn with tears. "I would have gotten my few years of playing the hero before reading books alone for the rest of my life in the Academy."
"At least you don't have to have kids." Ingrid said jokingly, feeling tears stream down her face as she held Annette's hand tighter. "Goddess forgive me, could you imagine me as a mother ?"
"Ingrid, I don't think you even know what an Adrienne dress is!" Annette giggled while her friend blinked at her in confusion.
"Why would I wear someone else's dress? Wha-Stop laughing at me!"
The two girls sat on the bench, sharing hiccuping laughter and tears of grief for mirror versions of themselves that would never be. Ingrid brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffling a bit.
Suddenly, Ingrid froze.
Her body moved before her mind even processed the sound she heard. She grabbed Annette and shoved her to the ground, pinning her there and coving her shocked squeak with her hand.
There was someone in the cathedral.
Ingrid tried to press them deeper into the floor as the sound of clicking heels reverberated on the walls, as loud as thunder to the girls holding their breaths.
"-based on a pure assumption." A deep voice said, the girls watched as shifting white robes passed by their row.
"We risk nothing in this assumption , Seteth." Lady Rhea said. "And we can gain so very much."
"I still say this is quite a lot of work and hopeful spirits dependent on a change of hair color and a bit of weakness," Seteth said after a pregnant pause. "It's been a week. Have you even spoken to him yet?"
"Always such a pessimist, Seteth. Not yet. He is cautious and prone to paranoia. A trait we must be thankful for. It has protected what resides in him long enough for him to come home to us." The smile in Lady Rhea's voice was clear. "All that is needed is the ritual and then our long wait is over. We should be grateful indeed."
Ingrid and Annette stared at each other as the voices faded, the heavy doors to the cathedral creaking open as the figures left.
"We will finally be a family again."
The gates creaked closed with a sharp finality.
"Oh," Annette said meekly, her voice coming out in a squeak. "That can't be good."
"Goneril, what did you just say?" Felix repeated, though Hilda just smiled at him vacantly. He cursed under his breath, his eyes flicking to the large doors that lead to the hall. The sound of a hundred chattering students, professors, and visitors beat against the walls. The notes of the orchestra and choir buzzing between it all.
“Oh, you know! It’s just a bit of gossip. You know how chatty some of the monastery staff can be!” Hilda leaned forward, giving a theatrical whisper. “Apparently, a few of the big boy ardents are asking around about your professor. He must be quite a popular guy!”
Felix's eyes flickered back to Hilda. She knew that mentioning this would surprise him. But was it a petty play for the ridiculous dance or was this something greater? But his thoughts were cut off as Hilda took a step back, her hair swinging with the motion as she sighed dramatically.
“But too bad he got all sick! He really shouldn’t push himself that hard. It must be terrible sitting in his room—” Her eyes suddenly snapped to him, her stare boring into him. “—all alone.”
Felix’s blood ran ice cold—before rushing back searing hot. His own rage nearly threw him as he stomped one step towards an unimpressed-looking Hilda.
“Is that a threat , Goneril?” He snarled while she cast a lazy glance around them.
The only other person in the hall was Ferdinand Von Aegir, fussing with his hair in the reflection of a vase. If Felix attacked Hilda, weaponless or not, the man would try to stop him. His eyes went to Hilda's arms. She was no wilting flower. Felix had seen her bring a hammer down on many a foe. Without a blade, he might not—
“I have no idea what you mean, Felix.” Hilda said suddenly with a bright grin. Her giggle was so light and girlish—Felix blinked and almost wondered if he somehow imagined the entire conversation.
"Dancers!" A peppy voice shouted over the loud creaking of the door, Professor Manuela poked her head through, a bright smile painted across her face. "It's time for your debut! Come, come!"
The door was thrown wider, the sound of applause and the final note of a song ringing alongside it.
"Oops! That's our cue!" Hilda said with a wink, flouncing out into the hall. Her arms out and waving at the crowd. Felix cursed again as he yanked on the ridiculous dress and stormed out the doors.
First, win the stupid dance then he could alert the others about Rhea and the odd threat. At least he could hold faith that nothing would happen while they were making fools of themselves on stage. The whole monastery was packed into the audience.
They were effectively all trapped here for the next hour.
Felix huffed as he squinted into the crowd, getting into position alongside Hilda and Ferdinand. He raised his hand to stiffly wave, not finding the strength to feign a smile.
He knew he wouldn't be able to smile until they were on horseback, with Gerreg Mach far behind them.
"Excuse me! Sorry! Oops, was that your foot? Pardon me!" Annette whispered loudly, Ingrid's hand in hers as they both shoved their way through the dense crowd of students.
"It's a good thing you two are freakishly tall," Ingrid said with a sigh as they pushed their way to Sylvain and Dedue, both sticking out clearly from the rest of the uniformed students with Sylvain's hair and Dedue's broad stature.
"You mean you didn't see Ashe first?" Sylvain asked with a sarcastic smirk, using the shorter boy as an armrest for emphasis.
"Must you always find a way to bring that up?" Ashe whined, shrugging him off before turning to the others. "I'm glad you two made it! They're just about to start."
"Actually, we need to tell you guys about—" Annette's voice was immediately drowned out by loud whooping cheers from the crowd as the large doors to the hall opened. The orchestra sang triumphantly as three figures walked out onto the stage.
Annette knew she should be frightened about Lady Rhea, but a part of her couldn't help her childlike glee. It was Garreg Mach's White Heron Cup. A dance competition held by the royals of the continent.
The darkness of the night was chased away by the glow of hundreds of tiny candles protected in glass on the stage. Small mirrors hung behind high chandeliers, aiming their light perfectly onto the beautiful silken dresses of the dancers.
And the dancers themselves were somehow more beautiful. Annette had seen her classmates every day. Between sweaty sword practice and bad hair days; it was easy to forget that they were nobility. But there they stood—their skin rich with expensive oils, wrapped in fine silk dresses, their manicured nails glinting in candlelight, and their free hair curled delicately around their cheeks—they finally looked the part.
"Felix looks so lovely! Like a handsome princess!" Mercedes giggled into her hands. Annette elbowed her while smothering her own laughter. Felix did look lovely, scowl and all. The dancer's uniform hung coyly low, giving glimpses of the powerful pale muscle of his chest. His dark hair hung in loose waves, only held together by a silver chain that kept it draped over his shoulder. His face was as delicate and fair as always, even marred by his pinched expression as he scanned the crowd.
"He looks—"
"Sylvain. Whatever you're about to say is repulsive and inappropriate and we don't need to hear it." Ingrid said, cutting him off quickly while the others laughed. Finally, music began in earnest, the melody rising as the three dancers began to position themselves. The room darkened as castle staff began to extinguish the sconces in the hall—the only light remaining all focused on the figures on the stage.
"Ingrid," Sylvain whispered sharply. Annette stopped giggling, her eyes jumping to Sylvain's. His expression was full of concern as he stared at the stage. "Why does he look off?"
"Perhaps he’s simply nervous?" Dimitri whispered back as he looked closer at his classmates. Ferdinand's head was bowed low, his posture a bit stiff and brow twitching as he focused. Hilda was the very picture of serenity as she held her fairy-like pose. And Felix—
Felix was staring straight at them.
Annette bit back a gasp as his dark eyes seemed to bore into theirs, holding all their gazes for a deeply unsettling amount of time before he finally raised his arms and slowly fell into position with the other two dancers on stage.
“Yeah, something is definitely wrong,” Sylvain said darkly. “Move, Ashe. We gotta get closer.” Dimitri quickly grabbed his arm, ignoring his classmate’s glare.
“And then what do you plan to do?” Dimitri whispered while Annette nodded fervently beside him.
“You can’t stop and ask him what's going on! We already look suspicious sneaking around all the time. Do you really want to make a scene in front of the entirety of Garreg Mach?!” She whispered, yanking on his arm as well. “I’m worried about him too but nothing bad can happen to him while he’s on stage. And if Felix was ever in danger, I’m pretty sure we would know about it because he would be stabbing them before we even knew!”
Sylvain looked down at her before sighing and pulling his arm back.
“Alright, alright. So what’s the plan, boss lady?” He asked, eyeing the few students who were standing close to their group. Everyone in the hall seemed enthralled enough by the performance on stage. Not to mention the dramatic distance that other students kept from them when Dedue was near.
Annette chewed on her lip while staring at the dancers. They moved like a dream, their silk dresses shining in the firelight and making their flowing movements create afterimages trailing behind them. Annette quickly did the math in her mind; Felix’s position was behind the others and too far for them to be able to speak to him subtly from the audience. Not to mention the orchestra would be booming that close to the stage.
Think, Annie, think! She yelled to herself. Come on! You’re supposed to be the smart one!!
“Um, Annie?” Mercedes’s voice said gently over her thoughts.
“Hang on, Mercie. I’m trying to think!” She whispered fervently. Maybe there was some sort of spell she could use? Something that didn’t take too much movement to cast? But how would that be useful—
“Annie, I—”
“Ugh! What is it?” Annette said, finally looking over to her best friend. But Mercedes was squinting over the crowd, completely ignoring the stage.
“Do you see the leader of the Golden Deer, anywhere?” She said thoughtfully. Annette blinked at her in confusion.
“Claude?! Why do you care about where Claude is all of a sudden?” But unable to help herself, she gave a cursory glance at the small clusters of Golden Deer students scattered in the audience. And Claude’s frock of dark hair and his bright sash were missing amongst all of them.
“I could have sworn I saw him when Annette and I came in.” Ingrid said thoughtfully.
“Mercedes, does this matter?” Dedue said, looking down at her. Mercedes smiled back up at him serenely.
“Because if looks could kill—Felix would have murdered Miss Hilda Goneril by now!” She said, pointing a manicured nail at the stage.
Where Felix was glaring holes into Hilda’s head. It was easy to miss unless one was looking for it—the eye was dragged to the pretty dresses and movement—but though every turn and spin Felix’s attention was either on Hilda or Lady Rhea or desperately trying to make eye contact with his classmates.
“Maybe he’s just being competitive?” Ingrid said, though even she seemed unconfident in her answer. Sylvain’s brows pinched.
“Ingrid did you and Annette see Claude coming in, or was he—” Annette’s eyes went wide.
“—he was leaving!” She finished with a gasp, her head whipping towards the doors. “We were so busy trying to make it in, I didn’t even notice that was odd!”
“So, Claude came in with his class then left before the dance even started?” Ashe asked quietly.
“The lights would have been dim and everyone would be too busy talking to notice he was gone,” Annette added. “Goddess, why didn’t we think of that? The Cup would be a great time to smuggle things around.”
“Too late to worry about that now,” Ingrid said darkly. “I’m sure he’s up to no good but does it have anything to do with us?”
“Maybe he’s just up to his usual tricks?” Annette muttered weakly. “Maybe it has nothing to do with why Felix is upset?”
“What reason would there be for him to sneak around now? The dance isn’t long enough for him to get anything done. And there's no one to talk to since everyone else is here.” Sylvain said, quickly going through an imaginary list in his head. “Other than—”
“Our professor who is completely alone and the most suspicious person in the entire continent!” Annette’s eyes went wide as she whispered back aggressively “Goddess, we are so foolish.”
“We need to send someone to check on him. Claude may seem harmless but he’s a complete wild card. Ashe can you—”
“His Highness already left the moment you said Von Reigen was missing.” Dedue said plainly. The class’s eyes went wide and looked around them.
“How the hell did we miss that?” Sylvain cursed. “Dedue isn't it like your thing to protect him?!”
“I do not believe anything other than force would keep His Highness here. And I do not believe causing a scene would help us in our mission.”
“Oh, you mean like the one we’re making right now?” Annette hissed, shaking her head in the direction of a few students who started eyeing the Blue Lion’s whispering session. “Dimitri left to go check on the professor. There’s nothing we can do about it now. We can only wait till the dance is over and ask Felix what is going on when he’s done!”
“Just try your best to pretend to enjoy the show,” Mercedes said with a small smile, patting Sylvain. “Now, look at how pretty Felix’s sandals are! Do you think he’ll let me borrow them?”
As Dimitri escaped the hall, he remembered why he was a spearman and never tried to wield a knife. Despite Ashe’s distaste for his own skillset and his fervent desire to be a knight, Dimitri always held a bit of jealousy towards him. Ashe was able to practically vanish; melting into people’s blind spots and could expertly sneak behind enemy lines to deliver punishing silent maneuvers with ease. It was an ability that took large amounts of dexterity and quick thinking.
Dimitri knew he didn’t have either skill as he took off running from the entrance hall. Hazy gentle flakes fell from the darkened sky. It was a forgiving kind of snow—light and puffy—and hardly cold to the touch. It should have been the perfect snow for moving undetected. But instead of muffling his footfalls, his stomping feet crunched audibly and his heels still hit stonework. Dimitri knew he should be quieter, knew that he shouldn’t be stringing his hopes on the guards all being at the Cup, but he couldn’t find the strength to care. All that he could think about was how many times in the past week his professor had fallen unconscious. Even before his time jump, the man was frequently knocked out from unknown magics. And now he was so confused and weak from magical exertion and exhaustion that he needed to be kept in his room despite their deadline looming ever closer.
Claude . Dimitri thought as he skidded into the courtyard, nearly tripping up the ice-slick staircases. He trusted Claude. He truly did. He was a trickster prone to pranks and underhanded tactics. Wickedly clever and completely and utterly unafraid to use his strong mind. He was no monster. But—
But Dimitri also thought that Edelguard would never stage a coup. He couldn’t fathom her throwing her classmates into battle as fodder and bait. He couldn’t picture her burning villages and crops to the ground for a tactical advantage.
But Byleth’s haunted eyes, war-starved form, and frightening amounts of scars told him otherwise.
So, perhaps Dimitri wasn’t the only one hiding a beast under his skin. Maybe Claude and Edelguard both held that cruel burning hatred with them, simmering just beneath the surface. And it was the thought of one of those beasts sinking its claws into his professor that made him slam his snow-wet shoulder into Byleth’s door with all the force he could muster.
The latch broke before the door did—the metal snapping like a twig the moment he made contact—and the door threw itself open and Dimitri with it.
Years of shield training helped him get his footing immediately, and he came to a solid halt in the entrance of Byleth’s room.
He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting to see—but it certainly wasn't Byleth's sleeping form slowly rising and blinking at him. His hair plastered to the side of his face from sweat and drool. And Claude, casually sitting on Byleth’s desk without a care in the world. As if it was perfectly normal to be sitting in a dark room staring at a sleeping teacher.
There was a beat of silence.
“Are you going to close the door? Because it’s already freezing in here without you letting all the wind in.” Claude said in a bored tone. “Or are you just going to stand there slowly becoming a snowman?”
“Am I hallucinating?” Byleth muttered, putting his hand to his head. He didn’t feel too weak anymore, which annoyingly, meant that Mercedes was right and that he needed to eat and sleep. But if he was doing better—then that didn’t explain why he woke up to the sound of his door lock being shattered. The only thing that kept Byleth from grabbing the knife under his pillow and stabbing at the intruder was the fact that he must be dreaming. Because if he wasn’t dreaming then that means Claude Von Reigen broke into his room and Dimitri quite literally broke into his room.
“‘Fraid not, Teach.” Claude’s voice said from beside him. Byleth blinked the sleep from his eyes and tried to comprehend why Claude was in his room and sitting on his desk. “Seriously, Your Princelyness. Close the door.”
“I—Right.” Dimitri said. Byleth almost sighed in relief, at least someone else seemed as confused as he was. Dimitri placed—rather lifted—the door back into position. He turned back and lurched a bit towards Byleth as if wanting to move closer before instead falling back onto his heels and regarding Claude sharply. “I see you only made it here a bit before I did.” He said simply.
“Yep,” Claude said with a casual shrug. “I looped through our dorms before coming here in case someone was watching me leave. Let them think I ditched the dance to go to bed early.”
Byleth let them speak while he slowly tried to get his bearings, cursing his exhaustion-addled mind. They were both at the Cup. Claude came to his room first after making an effort to not be seen. Dimitri, somehow knew that Claude was gone and followed at what must have been a dead sprint and broke into his room preparing for a fight.
“Though, I see you didn’t make such an effort to cover your tracks.” Claude continued, heedless to Byleth’s confusion. “We heard you coming even with the door closed. Well—I heard you. Your entrance was what finally seemed to wake up our dear professor here. Which is good for him because I was about to dump some snow down his shirt. The guy was out like a light.”
“So, that is why you left the Heron Cup? To play a cheap trick?” Dimitri said, crossing his arms as he stared down at the other house leader. Claude snorted and leaned back onto the desk.
“Of course not.” He said, his smirk fading into his fake smile. Though his eyes carried much more sharpness than the day Byleth first met him in the forest. “I came to ask our Teach a few questions. Now, I’m usually the kind of guy who likes to puzzle things out for myself and I obviously hate cheating. But things have gotten so odd lately I just couldn’t help but want to skip to the end.”
“I can’t imagine what you mean,” Byleth said, all dull sarcasm. He flexed his stiff hands under his sheets, using the sharp ache of his inflamed shoulder to ground himself. He knew Claude would only be more trouble the more the month went on—but Byleth was a sore loser. He hated feeling foolish and outmaneuvered. Something Claude made everyone feel the moment he sauntered into any room in his ridiculously bright yellow uniform. Byleth bit back a curse, he should have spoken to Claude earlier. Made a plan, maybe got one of his clever speaking students, and found a way to meet him on higher ground.
But instead, he was feverish, half asleep, trapped in his room, without a plan, and on a time limit. Byleth’s eyes flicked to Dimitri’s, feeling desperate. But instead of Dimitri’s hopeful eyes that always asked Byleth for direction—he wasn't even looking at him. There was only the determined set to his jaw as he stared Claude down.
“No, Claude.” Dimitri said, his voice strong. “We’re not playing some political gambit where we trade snark and witticisms. I refuse. And we must make this quick.”
Claude blinked at him, his smile flickering for a second before turning into almost mocking pity.
“You can tone down the darkness there, buddy. No need to be so serious.”
“It is serious. Deadly, in fact. We haven’t the time for any games, we can only give you information and you may decide what you wish to do with it.” Dimitri’s voice was free of its shaking and he stood firm, a strong and poised line in the moonlight. A true king. There he is . Byleth thought quietly. “We have strong reason to believe that the Empire has been hiding soldiers in the monastery. They plan to declare war on the Church of Seiros in but a few weeks.” Claude’s eyebrow twitched.
“Ooh ‘kay.” He said slowly, propping his arms behind his head. Byleth wondered if it was instinctual. Since not a single soul in the room bought his act of casualness. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”
“No. You’re not supposed to do anything.” Byleth said flatly. “We’re giving information.”
“Alright, Teach.” Claude said with a shrug. “Anything else I need to be enlightened about?”
Byleth bit down on the inside of his cheek. He always hated high-risk plays. Risk meant death. But—
“The Blue Lions are pulling out on the night of the ball.”
He would be lying if he said he didn’t take the slightest amount of pleasure in watching Claude’s mouth nearly drop open. Even if he quickly stop it.
“Woah. So, you’re just leaving? You?” He gestured at Byleth. Then quickly turned to point his thumb at Dimitri, who just quizzically stared down at his finger. “And him? And all your honor-drunk students?” A strange look fell across his face. There was a beat of silence as Claude’s features darkened, his eyes meeting Dimitri’s.
“How exactly are they planning to take the monastery?” He asked, his voice pitched lower in its sheer intensity. Ah, so he does care.
“The Empire's plot appears to be a full-frontal assault. Yet, the battle is not why we are leaving the monastery. There is no need to worry about the safety of your classmates. We only wished to inform you of both of these facts because—” Dimitri sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “—It may seem trivial to you. You and Edelgard both have made your stances quite clear, but I consider you a friend. And my classmates have connections to yours. I fear for a future where we must cross blades. I would take great pains to avoid seeing your bow aimed at the Professor and I.”
Claude’s face remained a carefully constructed mask. Byleth sighed and pushed forward.
“As far as I know the Empire is going for the Church. I don’t know how or if they will change their sights for the Kingdom or the Alliance. We think that the leader of the Empire is being manipulated by an outside group and—”
“You’re trying to get Edelgard out of this.”
Byleth’s mouth shut violently, the clack of teeth echoing even in the small room. Claude’s eyes seemed incredibly cold as he chuckled and shook his head.
“There’s gonna be a conflict with all of us in the middle of it. So you’re dragging your class away, telling me to stay out of it, and you’re gonna try to kill whatever big evil monster you think is controlling sweet innocent naive Edelgard. To keep all your cute little students out of the big bad battle.” Claude’s head tilted. “Does that sound about right, Teach?”
All Byleth could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. He tried to stand from his bed, but the sharp pull to his shoulder only made an awful keening whine escape his throat as he glared up at Claude.
“This is not some joke! There will be war . Do you have any idea what that means?” He yelled, feeling his vocal cords strain. Byleth never yelled. Why was he yelling? He could barely feel Dimitri’s hand trying to steady his good shoulder back down. When did he come over to his side?
“You shoot people and they die, right?” Claude grinned. Byleth’s voice turned to a strangled whine. He had spent so much time shoving every emotion down, pushing them into the depths where they could be useless and annoying in peace. And then he got dragged back to the happiest moments of his life, just before it all went to hell and fell to pieces in his hands.
There were just so many feelings. He thought he was drowning, dying, that all of it would come spilling out of his mouth as the fear and adoration choked him.
He heard his breath turn ragged in his ears.
“Byleth,” Dimitri said, his voice not sweet and imploring but sharp and stern. “Stand down.”
Claude’s punch-begging grin just widened as Byleth silently settled back into his bed and took a moment to focus on getting air in his lungs while Dimitri stepped forward.
“Claude. I—”
“Yeah, yeah. I got the information. No need for sappy speeches.” He said. “Thanks for the heads up. Though if Rhea starts being creepy and asking me weird questions about where you guys disappeared to—”
“Tell her. Don’t stick your neck out for us.” Byleth said. Rhea was the wild card. She was probably the only thing that made him fear for their plan. Her role in it all was something they needed more time—that they didn't have—to figure out. Claude paused for a moment, glancing about the room at nothing in particular.
“You know you ruined my whole plan here.” He said conversationally as if he didn’t drive Byleth to near insanity but a moment ago. “I had an entire speech prepared. I was going to tease out all these details I learned about the odd happenings here at the monastery.”
“Sorry for ruining your game.” Byleth said, not bothering to hold back his scoff.
“Yep, you and your damn Blue Lion earnesty. Now, look at me.” Claude heaved a sigh, scratching at the back of his neck. “Thinking about fairness and all of that.”
“Fairness?” Dimitri said slowly, glancing at Byleth who could only shoot him an equally confused look back.
“Yeah,” Claude said simply before finally casting a level look at the two. “I’m deciding to believe your weird confession. Mostly because I honestly don’t think your group is creative enough to make up something like this. So, I guess fair is fair.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out several notes of parchment. Claude slid them onto Byleth’s lap before leaning back.
“Some of it is things that are explained by your little ploy. I’m going to take a wild guess that Ashe isn’t having late-night meals and all that food he’s been stealing is for your escape. Same with Ingrid’s sudden obsession with the training hall’s weapon storage.” Claude gestured at a sheet that had various students’ names and locations labeled with date and time. “And Edelguard leaving her room nearly every night for the past month and Hubert vanishing for weeks at a time lines up with your information.”
Byleth thumbed at the edge of the parchment, staring down at Claude’s thin script. None of the other Black Eagle’s names were on the list, thankfully. It seemed like Edelguard had kept her fellow students in the dark. He had a feeling that was the case but it was a relief to confirm.
Though, it only made the grisly deaths of their future selves settle uncomfortably in his chest.
“But I think what you guys want is that.” Claude said, pointing at a small bundle of paper. A handful of pages torn out of some religious text and a few hastily written transcripts of conversations. “Lady Rhea’s inner staff has been in quite the rush the past few days trying to get some ritual ready. Lots of scrambling around odd areas of the monastery and ardents cornering students asking unusual questions.”
“How was I unaware of this,” Byleth cursed under his breath as he shifted through the snippets of conversation. Most were about him and the Blue Lions—asking where they were or what they were doing or their schedules. If it wasn’t for him manically changing their lessons to rush their tests then they might have all gotten questioned before Byleth admitted the truth. He quietly balked at what might have happened if Mercedes or Ashe had gotten cornered by the church ardents. Maybe Sothis was still watching over him after all.
“You were too busy doing—” Claude cast an eye over the state of Byleth’s room. Weapons haphazardly stashed under the bed and his wartime armor in half-repair across his bed. “—whatever your plan is.”
“I suppose so,” Byleth said, still staring at the notes. It seemed like they planned to have the ritual done sometime this month, the bastards. Rhea must have been pushing hard on the idea that his change of hair and behavior must mean that he bounded with Sothis. He rubbed at his temples and tried to calm himself. “We only need to delay them until the ball.”
“I find myself surprised that they’re moving so quickly to get this ritual prepared.” Dimitri said, putting his hand to his chin.
"Shame for them that it’s a pointless endeavor." Byleth muttered. "But we can't let them unlock the underground temple. I have a rough idea of how to push the date to one after we leave. But—"
"You would need to speak to Lady Rhea face to face." Dimitri finished.
"Something I would like to avoid but it seems we are out of options," Byleth said, biting back a huff and looking up at Claude who seemed to be regarding the both of them quietly. "Thank you for your input, Claude."
"No prob, Teach." He said slowly, his eyes lingering on The Creator Sword and his new-old armor. "Glad we had this talk. It was very clear and not at all confusing at all. Really should schedule more time for vague chats. Had a grand old time."
"The dance will be ending soon. We should head back." Dimitri said as Claude snorted.
"Uh, you mean I'm heading back. You're staying here, Princeling." He said, though instead of going towards the door—Claude began to fiddle with Byleth's window.
"I beg your pardon?" Dimitri said as Claude wiggled a blade beneath the windowsill, snapping the frost and ice that practically sealed it shut.
"Yeah, no way you're running out there again. It was a miracle you weren't caught with all your stomping around, you're about as quiet as—what does your swordsman call you? A boar?" He said as Dimitri shifted awkwardly.
"Well yes, but that's unrelated—"
"Either way, if you get caught we both get caught. And seeing the heirs to the Kingdom and Alliance sneaking out of the room of the Church's favorite? That's going to spread like wildfire and suddenly those Empire soldiers might not just be sitting around waiting for game time." Claude explained as he shoved the window open, the winter night cold flooding into the room. "You can just wait till morning and leave like you had a discussion with your professor bright and early because you're a punctual goody two shoes."
"I—" Dimitri started. "—suppose you're right." He finished awkwardly as Claude did a two-finger salute.
"Thanks for the cryptic talk, Teach. I hope your weird mystery injury that has no explanation gets better. See ya." He said as he gracefully stepped out, and almost instantly vanished into the darkened courtyard.
There was a moment of silence as the two boys left in the room blinked at each other.
"You know. He could have at least closed the window behind him." Byleth muttered before looking up and giving Dimitri a small smile. "It's good to see you. We really must stop meeting like this."
Dimitri felt like such a left-footed fool. It was as if his body was in constant war, part of him wanted to simply revel in the warm comfort that swallowed him by simply being in Byleth's presence, but the decade of deep-seeded training utterly screamed at him. A voice that sounded like an amalgamation of every tutor he had; all admonishing him for feeling any emotion at all when there were such heavy stakes.
"Well, that is quite terrifying." Byleth continued, heedless to his struggle. "The day they open the vault for the ritual is the day Edelgard will strike. And it seems they're keeping the secret of the ritual as well as they did last time, which is not at all. Claude is aware of an unclear level of information, but enough to know that we don't wish to draw the eyes of Lady Rhea."
"That is an apt summary." Dimitri said, feeling a bit nauseated.
"This changes nothing for us." Byleth said curtly, pulling at the thick covers on his bed, heavy things designed to keep out the mountain chill.
"I'm afraid I don't follow." Dimitri said slowly.
"It's as I said. It changes nothing. I have an idea to delay the ritual onto a date that will be after our escape. Though, Claude’s information is a bit nerve-wracking. Honestly, I am more intimidated by Claude's intellect than Edelguard's strength. At least hers is something I can comprehend." Byleth said, holding up the pile of quilted blankets. “Anyways, which do you prefer?” He asked, looking at Dimitri from the corner of his eye.
“I'm afraid both of them are rather frightening opponents. Though familiarity—” Dimitri said. Byleth snorted.
“I mean in bed, Dimitri.”
There was a strangled sound that came from somewhere.
Dimitri belatedly realized it was from his throat when Byleth’s eyes widened.
“A-Ah, no! I meant—” Even with the low light Dimitri could see the red flooding his professor’s face. He mortifyingly felt his face heat further as if echoing it.“—side of the bed. Not as in—”
Byleth let out a groan and put his head in his hands.
“Sothis, save me. Forget it, I’m going to sleep on the floor.” Byleth said, pulling a pillow and the animal pelt at the foot of the bed. Dimitri felt his feet move before his mind as he quickly blocked his way.
“No!” He blurted as Byleth blinked at him in surprise. “I—These are your quarters. And you are ill. I shall take the floor.” He tried to grab the pelt, but Byleth yanked it back at a near blinding speed—
And held it over his head.
Dimitri blinked.
“Professor.” He said slowly, feeling a laugh, of all things, build in his chest. “You are aware that I am taller than you, correct?” Byleth scowled but let the pelt fall.
“You are my guest, Dimitri. And a prince. You are not sleeping on my floor.”
“With my entrance? I believe I may be more akin to an intruder. And we are not in Faerghus.”
Byleth glared up at him for a moment before tossing the pillow back onto the bed and climbing onto it.
“If you’re choosing to be stubborn about it, then we’ll share.” Byleth huffed, ignoring Dimitri’s sputtering as he began to bury himself in the sheets without any grace or preamble. “This room has terrible insulation anyways. The floor would be awful.” Dimitri chewed the inside of his lip as he quietly agreed. His snow-wet shoes were starting to become almost painful.
Byleth had fully wormed his way under the heavy quilts, only a mop of seafoam hair and two piercing eyes visible from the pile.
“Dimitri, it is very late and I am very tired.” His muffled voice came from under the fabric. “And I cannot sleep with you staring at me like a specter in a school uniform. That has already happened far too much today.” There was a moment as the two stared at each other, Byleth’s eyes tiredly glaring at Dimitri’s.
Dimitri finally huffed a sigh and began to quickly remove his boots and overcoat, trying very hard to ignore the fact that Byleth was staring at him as he undressed. He took the blanket corners from Byleth’s hand and began to climb in.
And froze.
He could see the entire line of Byleth’s body, his tunic rucking up his hip exposing the pale lines of his stomach. Dimitri cursed himself, should he have left one of the quilts low? Slept on it to separate themselves?
And now he was standing and staring at the curve of Byleth’s waist like a fool—
Despite the muscle, it was rather small, he wondered if his fingers would touch if he spread his palms on the soft pale skin there—
Goddess, he was still standing—
“Dimitri, it’s freezing.” Byleth gritted out, worming deeper into the covers. Dimitri swallowed and climbed the rest of the way, careful not to bump into Byleth with his longer legs. And tried not to sigh at the warmth that greeted him as he settled into his side. He now understood why Byleth buried himself so. The outside air felt harsh on his cheeks. Dimitri allowed himself to indulge in the heat, sinking low into the covers and nearly drowning in the scent of Byleth.
He swallowed. The scent of leather armor and parchment seemed to only engulf him further.
When he opened his eyes it was to shocking green staring back at him.
He offered a shy smile and was rewarded with a sleep soft one.
“Hello.” Byleth said. Dimitri felt his face flush with the memory of the last time Byleth greeted him with his voice so heavy.
“Hello.” Dimitri echoed.
And like their kiss before, Dimitri felt he could almost forget what they were. He was just a foolish boy who was nervously inching towards Byleth’s smile. He reached out tentatively, gently laying his arm over Byleth’s waist.
He was close enough to watch the black of Byleth’s eyes shift as his fingers brushed the heat of his back.
“Do you mind this?” Dimitri whispered, wide-eyed. As if speaking too loudly would break the strange delicate thing between them. Or not strange. It was strange in the way that it didn’t feel strange at all. It felt natural the way that Byleth’s cheeks turned a darker shade as he nodded and pressed a leg between his own cold ones.
“Not at all.” Byleth said, gifting him another smile. “It is bound to happen during the night, right?”
“Naturally.” Dimitri whispered his lie. He had no idea how he behaved in the night. Sharing a bed with anyone as the prince would be highly inappropriate. He nearly jumped when Byleth’s fingers found themselves palming the side of his neck.
Not doing anything. Not moving closer or pulling him towards himself. Simply laying there, his thumb brushing against his jackrabbit fast pulse. He watched Byleth’s mouth twitch as his eyes fell to that spot.
“Ah. Sorry.” Dimitri mumbled, he could practically hear his heartbeat in his ears. Byleth simply smiled and shook his head.
“No. That’s not it.” He said quietly. “I wouldn’t know how to explain. Here.” His hand moved to grab Dimitri’s that laid between them. His fingers slowly wrapping around his wrist, leaving a trailing heat down the crease of his veins and pulling it across what felt like the sea of fabric between them.
And pressed Dimitri’s hand over the laces of his tunic, until his bare fingertips laid against the firm heat of his chest.
He would be startled by the gesture if it wasn’t for the odd sensation under his palm. He could feel the rhythmic tapping of Byleth’s pulse in the fingers that pressed on the back of his hand. Each point lightly singing its pinprick beat on his skin. But where it should be the strongest, Dimitri felt only echoes.
“How?” He asked breathily. It was an impossibility. It felt as if Byleth had no heartbeat. His eyes flickered up to Byleth’s nervous-looking ones. A shudder went through him. A shudder that Dimitri felt through his arm slung over his waist, his legs tangled in his, and his fingers that now sprawled out between the laces of the tunic. As if they knew he was desperate to touch as much of Byleth as he could.
“I don’t know.” Byleth said, his hand dropping off Dimitri’s. “Another one of my mysteries, I suppose.”
Dimitri decided he wouldn't stand for the frown that began to bloom across Byleth’s face and leaned forward. Pressing a lingering kiss to the charming bow of his mouth.
And in the privacy of his thoughts, he decided to memorize the hitch of breath that escaped the softness of it.
“Forgive me.” Dimitri murmured, pulling back to adore the dazed eyes that stared back at him. Byleth stared back at him, mouth slightly open as if he had never seen Dimitri before—much less be kissed by him.
Dimitri decided he loved that look very much.
Almost as much as he loved the slow smile that caused his lungs to seem three sizes too small. Byleth’s fingers found his again, easily twining together with his and resting in the gap between them.
“I will if you let me sleep.” He said, his fingers squeezing his once. He had seen those scarred hands wield blazing inferno as if it was a tinderbox and heave a sword with enough strength to crack straight through the plates of a Divine Beast. But they looked so delicate wrapped with his. They were beautiful long things that could not be finer even if they were carved from marble. And Dimitri was utterly terrified of breaking them with his monstrous strength.
He was terrified to break many things about Byleth. And afraid that he may already have.
“Of course, Byleth.” He whispered instead.
And always true to his word, Byleth smiled and pressed a kiss to Dimitri’s palm. His breath ghosting over his veins as he leaned his forehead against their joined hands, sea glass eyes shuttering closed.
Dimitri counted the breaths that rolled across his fingers and watched the moonlight shift across Byleth’s hair, feeling his warmth seep into his body.
Tears blurred his vision and pressed his own head to their hands, shutting his eyes tight and twisting his other hand deep into the fabric of Byleth’s tunic.
And prayed that the merciless silent Goddess would forgive a monster like him for having something so beautiful and precious in his terrible grasp. Dimitri pressed his lips against the smaller hand he held in his own. And began to mouth the words.
“I’ll deserve this one day. I swear it.”
And repeated it until sleep claimed him.
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EmbraceMe on Chapter 1 Fri 02 Aug 2019 12:34PM UTC
Last Edited Fri 02 Aug 2019 12:34PM UTC
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grandtrashking on Chapter 2 Fri 09 Aug 2019 04:57PM UTC
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ytf_chevalier on Chapter 2 Fri 09 Aug 2019 08:37PM UTC
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KrimsonRayne on Chapter 2 Fri 09 Aug 2019 06:33PM UTC
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ytf_chevalier on Chapter 2 Fri 09 Aug 2019 08:35PM UTC
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