KINGDOM COME

by TheMasterless

Summary:

Civil unrest and sporadic acts of insurrection plague the continent of Fódlan following the costly war that resulted in the widespread destruction of cities, villages, nature, and the deaths of thousands upon thousands of soldiers and civilians alike.

The promises spoken by Kings Claude and Dimitri of ushering in a new era of peace, prosperity, and unity are revealed to be nothing more than a falsehood forged to encourage soldiers across the lands to keep fighting only to come out of the war broken and impoverished.

The chaotic masses gradually manifest into a collective voice demanding the pardoning and release of Edelgard and her surviving supporters, resulting in genocidal inquisitions across the continent.

Notes:

PLEASE READ THIS WARNING:
This fic will eventually include scenes/chapters involving graphic depictions of genocide, rape, torture, and war.

Chapter 1: Part I: The Devout

1185. Fhirdiad.
-
Byleth sits on the balcony of the royal bedchamber. The air is chilly, contrasting the bright sun distance itself from the horizon. The Queen Consort wears a light gown beneath a thick, lavender coat. Her eyes and hair are a matching shade of light green. She has been pregnant for eight months.

“My love, we talked about this.” Dimitri opens the balcony door. His eyes shift to her engorged belly. “You worry me too much, Byleth.”

Byleth smirks and glances up at him. “You’re the one who decided it was time to conceive an heir.”

Dimitri scoffs at her teasing words and tone. “And you did not object. Rather, you were rather eager to receive my immediate attention that morning. Come, I’ll be leaving soon.”

He uses his strength to swiftly help her to her feet. “Heh. You might as well carry us inside.” Byleth says.

“Tempting.” Dimitri closes the balcony door then assists Byleth back into bed. She groans, her eyes shutting for a bit. “Ah…I know this entire ordeal will be worth it once the little one is born, but…I’m scared, Dee.”

Dimitri sits beside her, his right hand rubbing her. He nods for her to continue. “Whew. Um…you know how I purged Sothis from my body? I know I did. I don’t…feel her presence within me. Not since that day. But there’s something else. My mother died once Rhea arranged the transfer of the Crest Stone.” Byleth pauses. The stone still resides within her chest. “What if history repeats itself?”

Dimitri sighs, kissing her cheek the smelling her temple, his nose tickled by strands of unkempt hair. He speaks in a whispered tone. “You’re scared, beloved. So was I. I have faith in you. I know you’ll push our child into this world and that child will be screaming like every other newborn.”

Byleth closes her eyes and gulps. “I am so, so scared, Dimitri.” Her voice is shaky and discouraged. “I don’t want to die.”

Dimitri carefully wraps his left arm around her. His demeanor does not falter. “You survived a war. You survived a deity attempting to consume your mind and soul. Our baby will not be the end of you. You both will survive.”

Byleth remains uncertain and Dimitri knows that. They press their foreheads against each other. “Besides, you’re my goddess.” Byleth chortles at his words. “I’m everyone’s goddess, my love.” “Maybe. But I’m your most devout follower.” He moves his hand from her stomach to her left breast, squeezing softly. “Byleth…let me show you how perfect you are.”

Byleth laughs. “Dimitri, stop. You’ve a banquet to host tonight.”

Dimitri pulls away, sighing. “It is a shame that my wife won’t attend.”

“Perhaps a substitute? A cheap courtesan from the nearest brothel?” Byleth teases, kissing his left knuckle. “Perhaps.” Dimitri dives for another kiss, but Byleth playfully grabs his chin. “You go on ahead. We’ll be waiting for you tonight.”

They share one more kiss. Dimitri slips out of their bed. “I’ll drop by around noon.” “That’s too early.” “Afternoon?” “Sure. But you can’t stay too long.” Dimitri turns to her and smiles after putting on a coat. “I can never get enough of you.”

The King leaves. Byleth sighs then grunts. Her staff enters the chamber not even a minute later to tend to her needs for the remainder of the day.

-

Noon.
-
Marianne strolls through the massive garden. Many other nobles and royals alike along with military leaders and politicians examine the flowers or gossip near the trees and columns.

“Margrave Edmund.” Marianne is approached by Duke Felix. His hair is still long and kept in a ponytail. “Your Grace.”

“Eh. Felix will do.” Marianne nods. “Marianne will also do. This garden is new.”

“It is. Dimitri had it installed in memory of Dedue.” Felix says, adjusting his right glove. Marianne lightly scoffs and rolls her eyes. Felix snaps his gaze back at her. “Hmm?”

Marianne walks slowly to further examine the variety of flowers. Felix follows. “Has His Majesty made the proper reparations regarding the genocide of the Duscur?” She already knows the answer to this question. Everyone on the continent does.

Felix feels uneasy answering but does so anyway. “Not yet. He…he is taking time. It is a delicate matter.”

“The Sreng, the Almyrans. The Dagdans and the Brigidians…quite a pattern for Fódlan’s coterie of adversaries. Correct?” Marianne halts and glares at Felix.

“Every country carries their respective sins. We cannot all be responsible for every tragedy or conflict. Besides, this continent is undergoing changes-”

Marianne cuts him off with a look of disgust. “Changes? Hardly any that encourages a new era of prosperity promised by the fools dangling their pretty words above us on a daily basis. Edelgard is a prisoner whose followers have resorted to insurgency and subterfuge. Nothing effective on a grand scale while she rots away in the depths of that fortress. And her successor? A puppet for the Central Church.”

“Marianne, that’s enough.” Felix sternly demands.

Marianne shakes her head. “I should’ve known that bemoaning would be pointless. Have a blessed day, Your Grace.”

Felix rubs his face with his left gloved hand as the margrave leaves the garden.

-
Evening.
-
Dimitri mingles with his guests for less than half an hour before Marianne finally confronts him. They are both cautious approaching each other, preparing for any hostile conversation regarding the current political climate.

Dimitri kisses Marianne’s left hand. She wears a false smile. “Your Grace.” “Your Majesty.”

The king offers his right arm. Marianne accepts and they begin walking at a slow, matching pace. “You stirred up a sensitive confrontation in the garden today.”

“Will you warn me of the church’s hidden eyes and ears? Their clandestine forces have garnered a frightful reputation among the populaces.”

Dimitri keeps up his smile. “I needn’t warn you if all you have to offer are words.”

“Correct. No one is taken seriously these days unless they set a cathedral ablaze or openly protest military installations near villages. But when will the day come when the church decides words alone warrant a threat to our newfound prosperity?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Edelgard.”

“Only because she was the first to stand up and shout.” Marianne pauses, smiling and briefly greeting an Adrestian artist alongside Dimitri.

They resume their conversation with Dimitri speaking. “She spoke and acted. Look at the outcome. Widespread riots and consistent insurrections. I would say she failed but she did succeed in amplifying the chaos. Her fire spread and roared. And here we are, burning.”

Dimitri leads her to an available balcony. He leaves the door open. Marianne speaks without a smile after taking their seats. “The fire was already present. Everywhere. The war with Sreng and the genocide of the Duscur? All you have to offer your neighbors are threats and a pitiful garden? All the while your people die from famines and attacks from desperate raiders and disillusioned knights? This is the reign of King Dimitri?”

“You listen, Marianne. You and I fought and bled in the war. One day, we’re fighting side by side and the next? Our blades at each other’s throats. Edelgard’s choices brought everyone to their knees and we are struggling to stand back up as a unified continent.”

Marianne snorts. “Through the half-assed coalition? The Central Church, the Federation and your precious Kingdom? The empire is a lost cause, all the while.” She leans back against her cushioned chair, staring at the scattered stars above. “The Agarthans were no common enemy.”

“They were.” Dimitri says, his head hanging low and his hands dangling over his knees. “They were the ultimate evil and we vanquished them.”

“Hmph. From one genocide to another.” Marianne replies. “They were the monster hiding away in the closet. But now? We’re the beasts who took their place.”

Dimitri does not respond. A trio of Leicester Separatists hoping to gain favor with the king approach the two. Marianne stares at Dimitri. “Smile.” They both smile and greet the three.

To be continued.

Chapter 2

Three months later.
-
Byleth breastfeeds Lear Skellan Blaiddyd, who was born a month prior. The wind has died down outside, having chased away the clouds that threatened a potential storm. Dimitri lies beside Byleth, his fingers nudging the temple of their child.

“He’s so pretty.” Byleth whispers.

“Indeed.” Dimitri retracts his hand. Lear wept loudly upon being pushed into the world, much to the relief of his parents. They had feared he would be born with complications. “He has your strength.” Dimitri kisses Byleth’s temple.

Byleth lightly snorts. “I doubt it. He’s awfully strong and clingy. Like his father.”

Dimitri’s kisses become seductive, traveling down to her neck. “Physical prowess? That’s not what I meant, love.”

“I know.” Byleth’s eyes close. “Don’t get too close to my breasts. Not now.”

Dimitri sighs. It has been two months since they last had sex. Since then, they have been mildly sexually intimate. They do not trust themselves to hold back, especially they are particularly reckless when it comes to intercourse. “Very well. Rhea seems…almost reliant on our child’s upbringing.”

Byleth nods. “We haven’t spoke yet in private, as you already know. I’m bracing myself for any possible mention of Lear fulfilling some prophecy. I don’t want that for him.”

“I know.” They lovingly stare at Lear. “Dimitri. Promise me that you’ll stand by my side if Rhea demands anything of him.”

“I promise, beloved. Even if it means waging war against her.” Dimitri vows.

Byleth chuckles. “You should’ve secularized the kingdom during the war. Let Claude assassinate the archbishop…all our troubles would be resolved.”

Dimitri frowns. “Byleth…”

“You know I’m kidding, Dimitri. To a degree.”

-

Marianne reads a novella in her office when a servant knocks then enters. “Lady Marianne. Your father has returned from his voyage. He is waiting in the common room.”

The Margrave sets her book down and clears her throat. “Let him know that I will meet him within the hour.”

-

“Thank you, Ceryla.” The former margrave says, holding his tea. He crosses his legs, briefly peering out the massive windows of the common room. “A beautiful day in these lands. Hmph. Compared to those within the kingdom.”

Olivier von Edmund is a thin, towering man with sharp eyebrows, equally keen eyes, an elongated yet squared face, red hair with silver streaks, and wears an eloquent set of Dagdan garbs of various colors. “This manor retains its boorish layout. Most might assume you’re something of a traditionalist, Marianne.” He sips from his tea, he gaze fixated on his successor’s brown eyes.

Marianne ignores his teasing remark. “I know why you’re here, father. The relic. I wish not to argue. It was confiscated by Her Excellency upon retrieval.”

Olivier shakes his head as he gulps down his tea. “I’ve made my own peace with that infernal weapon’s existence.” He sets the cup down on a small, circular table near the sofa he is currently sitting on. “Chaos thrives in Enbarr. The Church, in response, has deployed inquisitors. Citizens and insurgents alike are being flogged. No discrimination.”

Marianne knows he is telling the truth. “How many fatalities?”

“Recently passed a thousand.” The grim answer disturbs Olivier even now. “I know this only because of a movement that was publicly detained by imperial forces on Brigid’s shores. I am a witness. I investigated further. I reported my findings to our colleagues and adversaries here at home. His Majesty has discreetly sent out letters to everyone, inviting us to establish a new round table.”

Marianne quickly processes the information. “I have not received a letter of invitation.” “That is because I volunteered to invite you in person.”

To be continued.

Chapter 3

Jeritza enters the depths of an ancient temple where Constance’s laboratory was installed two years ago on the outskirts of Enbarr.

“Oh, Emile. I take it the city is usually peaceful tonight?” Constance undoes her hair, which falls just below her waist.

“Yes. The curfew was initiated right before I left.” He and Constance share a kiss though he leans his head this time. “Have you made progress?”

“I have.” She holds his wrist and guides him to a largely empty part of the room. Seven goblets are arranged in a strange pattern resembling what appears to be a crest. “What is this?”

“This-” Constance gestures for Jeritza to stand idle outside the design. “-will supposedly allow us to relocate Edelgard to here. And the strand of hair she gave me before her capture is the key.” Constance gently pulls a white strand of hair from a compartment of the bandolier strapped to her waist and sets it directly at the middle of the floor. Jeritza finally realizes why she needed an area where not even a breeze could blow the hair away. “Grab that tattered tome for me, darling.”

Jeritza does as instructed. The tome is ancient, given to Constance by an old crone who claimed to have hailed from Morfis before passing away the following morning.

Constance clears her throat as she flips through the aging pages. “Hopefully, Edelgard is expecting to be transported from one place to another at any moment. Hush now. I’ll be speaking the incantation.”

The ancient, long forgotten language fluently spoken through Constance’s lips instills awe and pride in Jeritza. His sage of a wife has certainly grown in power and prowess within the last two years.

A few minutes into the ritual, organs, muscles, bones, and nerves gradually manifest, briefly disturbing the couple.

Edelgard’s corporeal and astral bodies are successfully extracted, though at the cost of her garbs being absent. “What the hell? Constance? Why is your hair-you’re experimenting again?!”

Jeritza quickly drapes his coat over Edelgard’s smaller frame as Constance speaks in an attempt reassure her. “You are in a safe haven, Edelgard. Far from the eyes and grasp of the church. But enough of that, how did you feel during the-”

Edelgard cuts her off. “The church? Which one?”

Constance raises a brow. “The Central Church, of course.”

Edelgard scoffs. “Enough of your foolishness. I held high expectations for you and your research ever since you slew Nemesis-”

“Slew Nemesis?!” Constance cries out in confusion.

“Both of you, silence.” Jeritza demands. “Something terrible is amiss. Lady Edelgard, Constance performed a ritual that would steal you away from the clutches of the Archbishop. She succeeded, but it appears that you may have been subjected to side effects. What you’re speaking of is pure illusion.”

“There is no ‘pure illusion’. You…you both must be Agarthan agents!”

Constance speedily speaks an incantation that allows her to delve into Edelgard’s mind. Both women are frozen as Jeritza observes, ready to act should either of them resort to violence. Constance then suddenly screams, falling back only for her husband to catch her. Edelgard too collapses, her eyes wide and mouth agape. The women sweat profusely and shake terribly.

“She is-is not of this reality.” Constance mutters, standing to her feet with Jeritza’s assistance, who goes to support Edelgard. “This is not our Edelgard. What have I done?!”

To be continued.

Notes:

I never liked how Constance was treated as a joke when it came to her experiments in the games.

Chapter 4

Edelgard holds her chest in an attempt to master her panicked breathing. She finds herself in the royal bedchamber of the imperial palace. It is nighttime. And she is naked. The former emperor dresses in a casual tunic and successfully regathers her focus. "Was this Constance's doing?" No one else is present to answer her question. Edelgard stares out the window and gasps upon seeing the lively city of Enbarr. No ruins. Only lights and distant crowds in the streets. This must be a dream, but the Crest of Flames communes with her soul, her mind, informing her that this is no illusion or a dream. It is reality. How? She lacks an answer and exits her chamber to explore, only to immediately run into a tall, short-haired man wearing a black tunic. HIs eyes and hair are a matching light shade of green. Edelgard's heart reacts strangely, as does the Crest of Flames. "O-Oh. Hello." She blushes, staring into his emerald eyes.

"You okay?" The man asks, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, though she backs away. The man seems slightly offended. "Are you still angry at me?" Edelgard decides to play along. "Yes, I am. But not for long, obviously. I'll be in my study." She puts on an annoyed expression. The man speaks. "You feel it too? The tightness in your chest?" Edelgard ignores him but mentally agrees with him.

At the study, she sees that it has been rearranged to accommodate two occupants. She lights a few candles and opens the curtain to allow the moon to further illuminate the room. She spends two hours sorting through records, documents, and personal journal entries that contains amateur sketches of the man from earlier, who she identifies as Byleth, her husband, though where she hails, she has not met or heard of a Byleth. Yet, her crest is attracted to him through familiarity, nothing romantic in contrast to the drawings and many intimate journal entries, which are more akin to a child's diary. "El?" Byleth knocks on the door four times. "We must speak. Urgently."

Edelgard sighs. She goes to unlock the door and returns to the desk, sitting on the edge of the surface with her arms crossed. "About?"

Byleth locks the door. "I know you're not my Edelgard."

-

"How did she escape that fortress?!" Dimitri demands. Felix shakes his head. "No one knows. The lord of that foul region attempted to prevent word from spreading, but he failed. Which explains the riots." Dimitri shakes his head in disappointment. "Damn. Rhea's behavior and choices will only worsen from here. Claude will take advantage, and-" Felix places a firm hand on Dimitri's left shoulder. "One thing at a time. Let Rhea and her dogs deal with the situation. We must-" "We must secure our regions. Cities, villages, send word along the way. I'll send for Margrave Gautier and Sylvain. The Sreng will see this as an opportunity to strike again."

To be continued.

Notes:

Summary of this chapter if you haven't figured it out and you have questions: In the previous chapter, if it wasn't obvious enough, Constance performed a ritual to teleport Edelgard from imprisonment to she and Jeritza's location, but unbeknownst to Constance, she incorrectly performed the ritual which instead caused her Edelgard and an Edelgard from a concurrent, alternate timeline to switch timelines. The alternate Edelgard is married to a male Byleth variant who, unlike Queen Consort Byleth, utilized his divine power, which is why he was able to deduce Edelgard's unfamiliar presence in his timeline.

Chapter 5: Emerald Embers: Part I

Faerghus territory. 1183.
-
Shamir and Jeralt walk side by side through a mercenary encampment.

Jeralt speaks. “Alois informed me of your exploits when you were both with the knights. You’re unconventional. And even Rhea approved of your ways.”

“I did what I had to in their service. Even if I was disdained.” Shamir answers.

“Hmm. I’m sure you’ll fit in with the rest of the company, especially with one of my commanders. Have you ever worked with an outfit before?”

“I have. Back in Dagda.”

“Eh, should be no different than working with the knights anyway. At least from my experience. You know where we’re tented?”

“I do.”

“Good. By the way, don’t expect meet and greets from us. Though I’d keep an eye and ear out for Alois.” Jeralt halfheartedly warns, ready to take off.

Shamir nods. The two part ways.

Upon arriving at the band’s side of the encampment, Shamir is welcomed by Alois.

“There she is! It’s good to see a familiar face among this crowd other than Jeralt. How’ve you been, Shamir?”

Shamir feels partially alleviated and grins. “Better. I suppose.”

“I bet you do. But then again I didn’t expect you to leave Catherine behind so easily. You two were rather close.” Alois remarks.

“That’s in the past, Alois.” Shamir says with a stern look.

Alois nods in understanding. “Very well. Ooh! There is someone I’d love for you to meet.”

Shamir tenses her face. “I’m not interest-”

“Byleth!” Alois hollers.

A man clad in unusual dark attire quickly answers with his presence. “What is it, Alois?”

Shamir and Byleth immediately lock eyes. The latter steps closer to the former, holding out his left hand. “I am Byleth Eisner, son of my father.”

Shamir snorts at his introduction. She shakes his hand. “Shamir Nevrand.”

Alois smiles at the interaction. “Byleth, she’s our newest ally.”

Byleth gently releases Shamir’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Shamir. Do you have a tent of your own?”

Shamir nods, patting her traveling pack.

“Good. Alois, will you serve dinner to the others? Father wanted me to meet him once I finished cooking.”

“I will. Go on ahead. Shamir and I have much to KETCHUP on!”

Both Shamir and Byleth stare at him with blank expressions.

“Uh, I’ll be going. Good to have you, Shamir!” Alois departs.

Byleth turns to Shamir and nods. She nods in return. They go their separate ways.

-

The following week.
-
“King Dimitri, you say?” Alois says in disbelief. He, Jeralt, and Byleth are conversing a short distance away from the band’s camp.

Jeralt nods. “I have the letter if you still don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt your words, Captain. I met the lad once when he was a student at Garreg Mach. I would be honored to serve alongside you under him.”

The Blade Breaker softly chuckles. “You’re on board. What about you, kid?”

“You told me that it would be best for us to avoid getting involved with the church. By accepting His Majesty’s invitation, we would be doing the opposite considering the relationship between the Kingdom and the Central Church.” Byleth explains.

“You’re right. But the war led us here. And we need a new contract to feed everyone and to maintain ourselves. Plus, turning down a king would definitely tarnish the band’s reputation.”

Byleth nods. “We will follow your lead, father.”

“We’re here at your side, Captain.” Alois adds.

“Good. I’ll make the announcement. Alois, gather everyone.” Jeralt orders.
-
Shamir stands at the back of the crowd as Jeralt announces that the band will serve the Kingdom for the time being.

“Have you been to Fhirdiad?” Byleth asks, now standing beside Shamir.

“Only a handful of times. You?”

“Never to the capital itself. Only the surrounding barren areas. We did serve under the prior king, Lambert, when he launched his campaign against the Sreng.” Byleth reveals, his eyes fixated on Jeralt.

“Really? That was a long time ago.” Shamir says, wondering how old Byleth is.

Byleth nods. “I was nine.”

This surprises Shamir. “How long have you been a merc?” She mutters.

Byleth shifts his blue gaze towards her. “Since I could walk, according to my father.”

“Huh. You’ve been in the profession longer than I have.” She says, looking forward past the heads of her fellow mercenaries.

“When did you become a mercenary?” Byleth asks, his gaze returning to his father.

“I was nine.” Shamir answers.

She remains quiet, as does Byleth. They both continue listening for the remainder of the announcement, which garners disappointed grunts and sighs of relief.

After the announcement concludes, Shamir nudges Byleth. “Do you want to hunt?”

“I was going to invite you to go fishing with me.” Byleth replies.

Shamir snorts. “I don’t know how to fish.”
“Hunting it is.” Byleth says, the corners of his mouth slightly curving.

Jeralt observes from afar with Alois. “Here’s hoping they get along.”

“Indeed, Captain. Indeed.”

-

Eastern Faerghus. 1184.
-
Byleth sits slumped against a single tree on top of a small hill. To his right, a sea of towering trees stand. To his left, his fellow mercenaries occupy a large pond in hopes of catching enough dinner for the week.

Several layers of dark clouds obscure the skies. The air is cold and unforgiving, accompanied by a gentle breeze.

Byleth pulls his scarf upwards to shield his face. His hair, which recently changed into a light shade of green along with his eyes, has attracted the attention of many, including his employer, King Dimitri.

He hears whispers and conversations about his change in appearance. Many claim he must be related to Archbishop Rhea, who was affiliated herself with his father two decades prior.

The rumors and gossip go as far as claiming that Byleth must be the result of an unholy union between the two.

None of this surprises or bothers Byleth. He is accustomed to such attention. Before the war, he was feared, resented, and even directly targeted due to his reputation as the “Ashen Demon”, his one and only moniker. The moniker he deeply hates.

What truly concerns Byleth is his potential relation to Rhea.

In the recent past, Jeralt warned Byleth to avoid Rhea and any who seem to belong to or are affiliated with the Central Church.

Byleth never bothered to question why. He trusted his father and obeyed.

Things have changed. Sothis, the goddess, has made numerous attempts in conquering his body. He has dreams that really feel like memories of an ancient past. His power and prowess has been enhanced. To his horror, he can even manipulate time.

All this frightens Byleth. He is not certain of who or what he is or who or what he will become.

“Byleth?”

Byleth returns to his senses. Before him is his partner, Shamir Nevrand. She is dressed in a dark coat concealing daggers in case of an ambush or immediate attack.

“Shamir.” Byleth stands up.

“Are you okay?” Shamir quietly questions.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Shamir points to her right eye.

Byleth’s hand reaches for his left eye. A tear trails down his cheek.

“Huh.” He slips out in disbelief.

Shamir senses he is in distress, especially since this is the first time she has seen him shed even a single tear. “Do you want to talk?”

Byleth uses his sleeve to wipe away the tear. “Do you fear me?”

The Dagdan snorts. “Why would I? Because you have a reputation?”

“Because I’m most likely an inhuman.”

Shamir’s smile drops. “Byleth. What are you getting at?”

Byleth looks past Shamir towards the mercenary camp then back into her violet eyes. “Are we more than allies? Are we friends?”

Shamir does not hesitate to answer. “Byleth, it’s been a year since we met. I care about you. We ARE friends.”

She is careful with her words, wanting her responses to be honest but gentle so as to not rattle Byleth, who is clearly upset at this point.

Byleth accepts her response. “My…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned our friendship’s authenticity.”

Shamir sighs and stands beside him with the busy pond in view. “The knights didn’t immediately accept me into their ranks even when I proved myself to be capable. Some of them hailed from Adrestia. Their relatives, friends, and fellow countrymen fought against Dagda and lost their lives. That crowd saw me as a threat. They wanted me dead or banished. I stuck around but only to repay my debt to Rhea. I eventually befriended some of the knights from Faerghus and Leicester. One of them, Catherine, is from the former. But that’s always been the case for me. Making friends and enemies”

Shamir pauses for a brief moment. The tips of her right fingers touch her choker. She continues speaking. “Friendships, animosities, rivalries, I’ve experienced them all during my time in Dagda. It’s the same everywhere else. People will resent you for the shade of your skin or where you were born. Even faith. Heh.” She chuckles. “That was another reason why I was despised by the knights. I don’t believe in the goddess.”

Byleth hopes Sothis does not take offense to that.
Shamir continues. “I’m used to it. But what I feel doesn’t apply to everyone else. Like you.”

She turns to face Byleth, who does the same.
“Byleth, I can’t promise that you and I will remain as friends forever. Catherine was my friend. I even…a part of me loved her. But I couldn’t love her enough. I couldn’t stay with the church to deepen my bonds. However, I don’t regret leaving anymore. I definitely didn’t belong there. Heh. Maybe if I stayed longer I wouldn’t be saying this.”

“Why would you say that about us?”

“One of us might die. And I know what it’s like to lose someone you feel strongly connected to. A chunk of you dies with them.” Shamir responds.

“I wish I could understand, Shamir.”

Shamir pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ah, Byleth. You will. We all do. But I won’t be the reason why. I hope.”

Byleth shakes his head. “Neither of us will perish.”

Shamir scoffs. She is relieved that his confidence has somewhat reignited. “By the way. I don’t care if you’re inhuman. You’re a good friend. Let’s head back and fish what we can.”

Byleth smiles and nods. “I’d love to.”

-

Three months later. Garreg Mach.
-
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of wounded soldiers from the Kingdom, Federation, and Central Church flood into the monastery following a brutal battle with the Agarthans, who launched a surprise attack on the coalition during their battle against the invading Almyrans.

Byleth and Shamir are among those who are still active and available for duty.

Shamir notices Jeralt and a squadron of mercenaries and Kingdom soldiers escorting King Dimitri towards the cathedral.

“Your father didn’t seem too pleased to arrive here.” Shamir says.

“Like I told you. He fears the Archbishop. Shamir, there’s something I must reveal to you.” Byleth says.

Shamir nods. “Wait until we settle in for the night.” She sighs. “There’s someone we have to meet first.”

-

Shamir locates Catherine less than five minutes later. She and Byleth approach the Archbishop’s most loyal warrior.

Catherine is speaking to a Kingdom officer when she notices the Dagdan approaching.

“By the goddess, Shamir!” Catherine rushes towards Shamir and embraces her with a tight hug, nearly lifting her into the air.

Shamir grunts and gasps. “Cath-My breas-”
Catherine lowers Shamir then places her hands on the Dagdan’s shoulders.

Byleth smiles at the reunion.

“Why did you leave? A-are you injured? I’ll get you immediate attenti-”

Shamir waves her hand. “No, no. No. I’m in good health.” She composes herself. “Mmm. Ahem. Catherine. It’s good to see you again.”

Catherine smiles. “Shamir…”

“Really? Don’t cry over me.” Shamir says.

Catherine turns to the officer to dismiss him.
“I can put off my duties for a moment. Where have you been?” Catherine questions.

“Traveling with my partner.” Shamir nods her head towards Byleth, who bows his head. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Catherine.”

Catherine snorts in partial jealousy. “Your partner? Well, I’m glad you have someone watching your back out there. Who are you with? Which king?”

“Dimitri. I joined his father’s company after I left.” Shamir points her thumb towards Byleth.

“Your father?” Catherine asks Byleth.

“Yes, Jeralt Eisner.” Byleth replies, wondering if she will report this to Rhea.

“The Blade Breaker, huh? Then you must be the Ash-”

Shamir interrupts Catherine. “Don’t call him that.”

Catherine chuckles at the two. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to offend.”

A member of the church staff interrupts the reunion. “Dame Catherine. You’re needed urgently.”

Catherine nods. “I’ll catch up with you two when I’m available. Which probably won’t be anytime soon. Stay safe.” She then departs, taking note of Byleth’s physical description.

“Let’s find an inn before they reach full capacity.” Shamir says, gesturing for Byleth to follow.

She leads him through the crowds of soldiers, civilians, and church staff.

-

Byleth and Shamir were unsuccessful in acquiring rooms for themselves. They are camped out on the outskirts of the city.

They sit across from each other, a campfire between them.

Shamir tosses a small stick into the flames. “You wanted to reveal something to me?”

Byleth shakes his head. He believes Sothis will harm Shamir if he tells her. “Not anymore. It’s…you’re safe not knowing. Do you believe me?”

“I trust you.” She affirms.

“Thank you, Shamir.”

“And thank you for having my back.” She chuckles. “You’re bearable. And odd.”

Byleth grins. “What will you do once the war concludes?”

Shamir does not answer immediately. Her eyes are briefly captivated by the sparks of the burning wood, still observing as the air vanquishes them.
“Not sure. I’m never sure. Always moving from one place to another. Fighting, living…surviving. And being a woman doesn’t make traveling easier.” She pauses, touching her choker. “That’s my life. Killing for pay. Paying for food and shelter and equipment. Paying to live. Killing to live.”

She falls silent.

Byleth speaks. “Living with no ties and loyalty to anyone. I have my father, but…” He lifts his current weapon, a silver sword, into the air. “I’ve been wielding weapons ever since I began walking. I had to. My father wanted me to hold my own. I needed to do my part in his company even as his son. He wanted me to survive and rely on myself.” Byleth lays the sword back on the ground.

Shamir recalls her father scolding her into hunting on her own if she wanted a meal. She recalls hunting for several until she would drag the carcass of a wolf back home. She recalls sharing with her identical twin sister on most occasions as the latter twin hated killing animals. Shamir frowns. “Have you ever had someone who relied on you?”

“I do. You.” Byleth says.

Shamir grins at him. “I guess you’re right.”

Byleth goes on. “We rely on each other. We protect each other.” His beatless heart feels strange. He feels stronger. He feels safer in her presence.

Shamir hesitates agreeing with him. Her heart aches. A familiar pain she used to be able to obscure resurfaces stronger than ever.

The Dagdan sighs. “You’re a good partner.”

“I’ve never had a partner before last year. I hope this partnership lasts.” Byleth replies.

“Me too.” Shamir says.

The mercs resort to less personal topics regarding tactics and how to procure more supplies for themselves.

-

The following day.
-
Byleth, Shamir, and other mercenaries have been summoned by Captain Jeralt to one of the recently installed outposts surrounding the monastery.

Tents have been set up, occupied by those bearing payment for each merc.

The mercenaries line up for their pay. The independent mercs renegotiate their contracts while others, like Byleth and Shamir, who belong to companies, are informed by their leaders of their respective courses.

Jeralt speaks to his band.

The Blade Breaker appears exhausted and full of dread. His words and tone compliment his appearance. “We’re no longer under the employment of his majesty. We were hired by the Church to work alongside the Knights of Seiros.”

Byleth senses something deeper in his father’s speech. He and Jeralt make eye contact for a moment.

Jeralt’s eyes seem as if they are begging for forgiveness.

Shamir side-eyes Byleth. She decides to be cautious from now on, especially around Catherine.

-

“I spoke to father once he returned.” Byleth sighs. “The Archbishop requested my presence. I’m due to meet her tomorrow.”

Shamir scoffs. “There’s a war going on and you’re her primary concern? Tch.”

Byleth tosses a stick to the flames of their campfire. “My father suggested I either go through with the meeting or leave Garreg Mach.”

“That’s a hell of a suggestion.” Shamir says.

“It is. But…” Byleth stands up. “I must know who and what I am.”

Shamir’s gaze falls on his sword, which is planted into the ground. “I’ll accompany you.”

Byleth nods.

Shamir had always suspected that this man was special in one way or another due to his appearance, skills, and demeanor. Not only that, but there are also moments when he appears to be conversing with someone who is not there. She knows there is a reason for this behavior, for all of his odd traits.

Byleth trusts Shamir more than he realizes whether it be on the battlefield or during moments of quiet, brief peace outside of battle.

The wandering flame gazes into the once distant archer’s eyes.

His beatless heart longs for her even though she stands before him.

Her heart yearns for another chance at love, to conclude a preceding chapter in her life.

Both mercenaries sense the palpable bond that holds them together.

“Thank you.” Byleth whispers.

Shamir smiles a rare, warm smile. “You’re welcome, By.” She murmurs.

-

Byleth's eyes open. An eternal blue sky partly occupied by white clouds grace him. He sits up. He is surrounded by an apparently endless sea of flowers of various colors and perhaps origin. He looks down at his body, seeing that he is wearing a white tunic with short sleeves and stands up. He feels shorter, soon realizing that he is back to being a child. Most likely age Twelve.

"My heart." A gentle, soothing voice mutters.

-

Byleth awakens, sitting up and gasping, waking Dimitri from his own slumber. "Byleth? Are you okay?" He sits on his knees to better examine Byleth's body. "You're crying." Byleth's eyes sting. She uses a sheet to wipe away the tears. "I'm not okay, Dimitri. I had a..." She chokes up. "I dreamt of my mother...but..." "Tell me, beloved." Dimitri softly says, rubbing her lower back. "Or take your time."

Byleth tries processing what she just experienced. Experienced. That was no dream. And her Crest of Flames feels even stranger. As if something, or someone, tethered to the crest briefly parted from the world only to return in an instant. "Something's wrong. Terribly wrong." She mutters.

To be continued.

Notes:

SPOILER SUMMARY: Byleth experienced bits and pieces of an alternate Byleth's life while dreaming but she finally awakened when the other Byleth fell alseep. Upon waking up, female Byleth felt the two Edelgard's switching places in the timelines, but she does not know the whole context yet. It's basically the dreamwalking sequences from Multiverse of Madness.

Chapter 6: From Before: Part I

Summary:

In 1183, Dedue and Petra formed a friendship before the former’s untimely death at the hands of a renegade battalion. One day, the two indulge in a personal conversation at a military installation near Garreg Mach.

Notes:

I really don’t get how Shamir, who hails from the land farther from Fódlan than Brigid, is way more fluent than Petra, who should’ve also been fluent by the end of each time-skip in both games.

“Tell me, Dedue, do you ever intend on arranging reparations to Duscur through Dimitri?” Petra holds her hip with her right hand. It is a cloudy day with moderate warmth.

Dedue looks at her for a moment before answering. “Firstly, this war must be won. I cannot guarantee that Duscur will receive any support anytime soon. Especially since many refuse to accept the truth that we were wrongfully blamed for the previous king’s death.”

“Your people…they incurred a genocide from the Kingdom, yes?”

Dedue nods, adjusting his left gauntlet. “His Majesty saved me but we could not persuade the masses of the truth without proper evidence that his father was assassinated by another party.”

“The Dark Ones?” Petra whispers, her tone cautious.

“Yes. Them.” Dedue once again attempts to ignore the echoes of screaming voices that has dwelled inside his head for several years. “While the survivors struggled to rebuild and recover, I lived in the comfort of a royal’s environment even when I faced prejudice on a daily basis.”

Petra sighs, smirking at her own past. “These Fódlanders and their habit of instilling hatred and sorrow within foreign lives. Yet here you and I are, helping them in this pitiful war where they fight each other. Dragged in with no choice but to fight to survive.”

An all too familiar rage swells within Dedue. Having to rely on Dimitri despite his undying loyalty to him, the Duscuran knows it is shameful and darkly humorous. “Sometimes I wonder which is better; a world without borders or a world with impassable borders.”

Petra frowns. “That is when I begin thinking like an enemy to my allies. That is not who I am to them. I do not want to be that way. An enemy. A villain to their cause, but is that cause worth dying for? I am far away from my homeland. I do not wish to be dying on foreign soil. But I bleed in every battle, leaving traces of myself in a place I will never call home. I want to return home to live and to give my people independence from Fódlan. That is why I fight on the side of the people of this continent.”

Dedue nods. “One day, when the war is over, you and I will spend a day observing Duscur’s flora. It is unique and beautiful.”

“Like a rainbow?” Petra asks, smiling again.

Dedue smiles. “Yes. Like a rainbow.”

To be continued.

Notes:

The story seems all over the place, but I’m writing chapters that will include VERY sensitive topics and I want to ensure that they’re respectful and appropriate instead of relying on shock value. So chapters like these fill in the gap and allow me to generate more ideas on how to better craft the overall narrative.